Page 40 of The Cornish Inheritance

Chapter Seventeen

As the dance continued, several older gentlemen came over and requested a dance with Caroline, men whom Hetty gleefully pronounced as widowers on the lookout for a strong young woman who could look after their broods of motherless children. No doubt they were after other things as well, but Hetty didn’t mention that.

Throughout all this, Caroline kept a careful eye on Hetty, who seemed to be very much enjoying herself. She introduced her two cousins, sons of her father’s two sisters, to Caroline, and Abel Nancarrow, the older one, took Caroline for a spin around the dance floor while Hetty danced with Thomas Polmear, the younger one, who was home from Oxford. Or was it Cambridge? Caroline hadn’t paid that much attention.

Both young men had a slight look of Nat about them, being tall and dark, but that was as far as any resemblance went. What they both had, but he didn’t, was a cheerful disposition. Both were jolly and fun to talk to, and after her dance, Caroline let Abel promenade her around the edge of the ballroom. This was mainly to keep an eye on Hetty, who was doing the same tour with young Thomas, whom Caroline had noticed had rather a wicked glint in his eye. She didn’t disclose her reason to Abel, who seemed more than happy to parade with her on his arm, despite the hard stare they received from Mrs. Treloar as they passed her.

Trefusis was no longer in attendance, but she seemed to have buttonholed poor Ysella, who had a hunted expression on her face.

“Shall we take a turn into the card room to see who’s hiding in there?” Abel asked. “I’ve a mind to see if my cousin Nat is lurking amongst the hardened gamblers.”

As Mrs. Treloar now had charge of Hetty for a while, Caroline allowed herself to be steered through the door and along a paneled corridor.

Nat was indeed in the card room, seated at a table playing Faro, with Trefusis and three other men, all of them with glasses of whisky to hand. Neither raised their heads at the advent of the newcomers.

Abel stopped by the Faro table, watching for a moment. It was well on, and there weren’t many cards left to turn over. Nat had a larger pile of chips in front of him than Trefusis, and the other two punters were betting recklessly, no doubt due to the amount of whisky they’d imbibed.

“Calling the turn,” said the man in the banker’s seat. Everyone placed their bets. He turned over the cards. The dealer won heavily from Trefusis.

“Play again,” Trefusis snapped, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll have some more chips.”

Nat stood up. “I’ve had enough. I need something to dilute this whisky.” He saw Abel and Caroline and a slight frown wrinkled his brow. “Abel, I didn’t know you were here.”

Abel grinned at him. “But I knew you’d be here. Many’s the time you’ve hammered me at Faro, whether I played punter or banker. You have the devil’s own luck, man.”

“Not so lucky as all that.” Nat’s hand went to his face. “But in luck tonight.”

A moment’s awkward silence followed, as no doubt Abel searched for something to say other than what the hell happened to you?

Best to leave them alone together. Caroline extricated her hand from Abel’s arm. “I think I should go back and make sure Hetty is all right, if you don’t mind. Thank you for the dance, Mr. Nancarrow.” She bobbed him an elegant curtsey, sure Nat would be glad of her departure, and returned to the ballroom.

Hetty was with her mother, drinking lemonade and talking to Ysella, who seemed happier to be talking to her than she had been with Mrs. Treloar.

Caroline, the oppressive heat making her a little breathless, went in search of refreshment. And was snared by a redoubtable matron, easily as old as Aunt Agnes, wearing what looked like an old-fashioned powdered wig. This lady, who turned out to be even deafer than Aunt Agnes, kept her occupied for a full half hour, by which time Caroline was even hotter and more breathless than before. Escaping when the lady’s equally ancient husband came in search of her at last, she decided to sneak out for some fresh air on the terrace.

Night had long fallen and only a few lanterns illuminated the almost empty outdoor space. A low wall surrounded the paved terrace, with steps leading down into the shadowy gardens, and at the top of the steps a lone figure of a man stood, silhouetted in the moonlight.

Caroline hesitated, a nub of unease rising. What if it was Trefusis? Instinct warned her never to be alone with him.

The man swung round at the sound of Caroline’s light footsteps on the flagstones and the nearest lamp illuminated his ravaged face in stark clarity. Nat Treloar.

Caroline halted. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought to have the terrace to myself.”

He had a glass in his hand, of something that probably wasn’t the lemonade the ladies had been imbibing, despite his earlier avowal to seek it out. “Miss Fairfield. Don’t let me put you off.” He waved his empty left hand. “There seems plenty of room out here for two. Or I can depart and leave you in sole possession.”

Caroline tried a smile. “You have the air of one who would rather be alone.”

He gave a shrug. “You have me right. I’ve grown tired of being the center of attention for all who long to stare at a monster. And there’s only so long I can lurk in the card room without either making myself unpopular by winning or in danger of returning home penniless.” He paused, perhaps conscious of what he’d just said, although it seemed unlikely he regretted it. “By that I don’t mean you. Just the rest of the rabble who can’t wait to whisper behind my back at how I’ve been transmuted into this.” His hand came up and almost, but not quite, touched his cheek.

Caroline nodded. “I noticed. There are many fools about who can’t wait to comment on another’s misfortune.”

Perhaps she’d allowed her own bitterness to shine through too much, for his eyes narrowed and he peered at her more closely. “You speak as though you know this to your cost.”

She nodded, the darkness between them loosening her tongue, for now he moved out of the light to stand a little closer to her, just a shadowy shape, featureless and without threat, despite his size. “I do.”

He was close enough that she could hear him breathing in the silence on the terrace. The muted music and chatter spilling out through the open doors seemed far away, as the night pressed in about her. They might almost be in another world. A world where terrible things had happened to them both.

“My father…” she began.