Page 55 of The Cornish Inheritance

“If you find a girl who loves you, she will not hesitate.”

He laughed. “In order to love me, she will have to get past her first sight of my face, and I fear no girl, not even one with the capacity to eventually come to love me, could do that. Save if she were blind.”

“Beauty is only skin deep.”

He shook his head. “Whoever said that knows nothing of wooing. For physical beauty is the first thing that attracts people to each other. Only then do they discover if the beauty of the body is matched by the beauty of the soul. And by then it’s often too late. Whereas for me, my lack of beauty is something all too evident. I am unlikely to find a bride who can overlook my all-too-obvious faults in search of a beauteous soul.”

“Then all girls are fools.”

Nat stiffened. Did she class herself in this statement or mean something else by it? He wanted to ask her, but diffidence kept him silent. And besides which, if all girls were judged by Hetty, then they were definitely fools.

They walked on a bit further until they came to a particularly fragrant rose bush where Caroline halted. “I know this one. Common Provence. We had these roses in the gardens at Cadley Grange, my old home.” She bent to inhale the intense scent. “The smell reminds me of my mother. She always had vases of them about the house all summer long.”

Nat’s heart did a skip of shock. That her mother should have chosen this particular rose above all others as her favorite was too much of a coincidence. He bent to smell them as well, their fragrance sending images flashing through his head that he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. Despite playing in here as a child, he’d never taken a lot of notice of what grew here, except for these roses. It had been more fun to race around the paths with Jacka and the dogs, but every so often, when this bush was in bloom, he’d stopped to drink in their evocative scent.

And remember.

On an impulse, he reached out and plucked one of the best flowers from the bush. With careful fingers he pinched out the few thorns, and held the stem out to Caroline. “Might I put this in your hair?”

Her eyes met his, suddenly serious. “You may.”

How long it was since he’d touched a woman’s hair. In Spain, of course, he’d had a few dalliances with young women who’d been little more than camp followers. After Julia, that was, but they’d been unsatisfactory, and he’d come away from those liaisons discontented and unfulfilled. He’d had to acknowledge that none of them had been what he was searching for, and give up on them. And of course, since his face… well, that had made any further amors of any sort out of the question.

He settled the rose just above her left ear in her soft brown curls, so silken under his touch. The urge to run his fingers through her hair and luxuriate in the sensation was strong.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you… Nat.” She had an uncommonly deep voice for a woman, with a hint of huskiness in it that was most attractive. Odd that he’d not noticed this before. And that he’d also not noticed how clear her skin was, nor the generous curve of her lips…

He stepped back, flustered. He was reacting like a green boy would to the first woman he ever encountered. Not like a man who’d already been married and widowed, and… No, he wouldn’t think of that.

“It’s odd how certain things remind us of home, isn’t it?” he said, the words tumbling out in far too much of a hurry. “When I was in northern Spain, I had occasion to see the ocean and a long sandy beach. It reminded me so much of Morgelyn Beach I was nearly overcome. Silly, but true, and yet now I’m here, it doesn’t feel any more like home than Spain did.”

Caroline touched her fingers to the rose in her hair as if to make sure it was secure. “I understand, I think. Cadley, my parents’ house, will forever be my home, but were I to return to it now, and find others living there, it would no longer give me the same feeling I used to have. The safety it imbued in my soul would be gone.” She began walking again and he kept pace with her. After a bit, she turned to look up at him. “Tell me, Nat, do you feel safe here?”

What an odd question. But now she’d asked it, he felt obliged to consider his answer. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t thought about it before, but there is, perhaps, a feeling of insecurity here that I hadn’t noticed at first. A sense of waiting for something to happen. Something bad.” There, he’d said it. Would she agree with him?

Caroline bit her lip. Was there something else she wanted to ask him? He waited.

She gave herself a shake. “I’m sure it’s probably just that both you and I are unused to being here, even though this is your childhood home. You must be glad to be back within the bosom of your family, with your mother and sister.”

Now it was his turn to hesitate, wondering if he should reveal more to her. She had such an air of quiet reassurance about her, as though he could tell her anything he fancied. Why not? “She’s not really my mother, you know.”

Her eyes widened. “Hetty didn’t say. And you refer to her always as your mother. I had no idea.”

“Hetty doesn’t know. Almost no one does.”

He could see she was twirling all sorts of theories in her head so he’d better come clean and tell the truth. “My father was married before. My mother’s name was Margaret. I remember very little of her, as I was barely three years old when she died. Soon after her death, my father married Ruth, who’d been my grandfather’s housekeeper, and instructed me to call her mother. I think perhaps they hoped I’d never remember and grow up thinking she was indeed who they said she was. But I have fought to keep my memories, fragmented as they are.” He paused, and she gazed up into his eyes, lips slightly parted, as though hanging on his words. It was a long time since a woman had looked at him like that.

He hurried on, again pushing aside that urge to take her in his arms and kiss her. “And by some strange coincidence it is the scent of this very rose…” He indicated the flower in her hair. “That brings back images of my mother the most strongly. Like your mother, she liked to bring flowers into the house, and my clearest memory is of her holding a bowl of roses with the scent all around her like a mist of fragrance. She’s standing at the foot of the stairs, and like you, there’s a rose in her hair. Sunshine is pouring in through the windows, and I am happy.”

Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I had no idea. So, you and Hetty are only half-brother and -sister.” Her eyes narrowed. “And that makes all the difference, I fear.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said that.” She glanced back at the house. “I think I need to go inside and make sure Yves has gone to bed. He’s inclined to misbehave for Bridget, whom he doesn’t like.”

And she turned on her heel and strode away, head up, determined, a woman on a mission. Nat watched her go, confused. That she’d meant something by that last remark he was certain. And whatever it was, he felt sure he needed to know it.