Page 19 of The Cornish Widow

Chapter Ten

Jack ground to a halt, staring at the woman seated opposite Nat’s wife, Caroline. Unmistakable and every bit as alluring in her vulnerability as he remembered, her slightly wind-blown appearance told him she must have walked along the cliff path to get here. But of course, she had no other mode of transport other than her own two legs. Why was it she seemed to be everywhere he went at the moment?

“Caroline. Mrs. Penhallow.” He made a polite, and rather stiff, bow.

“Nat, my dear.” Caroline Treloar greeted her husband. “And Jack as well. How lovely.” She smiled. “I didn’t know you were here, Jack. You seem to have the advantage of Nat and already know our guest.” She glanced back at Nat. “May I present Mrs. Penhallow, who has taken Keynvor Cottage. You know which one. That little thatched cottage round in Bessie’s Cove. Mrs. Penhallow, may I introduce my husband, Major Nat Treloar.”

Nat swept a slightly more flamboyant bow than Jack had done. “Delighted to make the acquaintance of a new neighbor, Mrs. Penhallow. Please forgive this interruption. I had no idea my wife was entertaining.”

Mrs. Penhallow managed a wide-eyed stare, reminding Jack for a moment of a frightened deer, but had her face under control in an instant. “And I you, Major Treloar. But it is I who intrude, as I called without invitation.”

Jack tore his gaze away from Mrs. Penhallow’s face and regarded his friend’s wife. “Nonsense. We are the intruders. Or rather, I am. I do beg your pardon, Caroline. I’ll go.” Anything to get away from the disturbing presence of his rather too lovely new neighbor who, it had to be admitted, appeared to regard him with abhorrence.

“Nonsense,” Caroline said, her smile genuine but, nevertheless, firm. “Sit down, and I’ll send for some refreshment. It’s far too early for brandy, even though I know it’s what you men prefer, so will tea do? I haven’t seen you for such a long time, Jack. We can catch up.”

Nat gave the bell a tug and took one of the upholstered chairs. “Tea will be perfect, my love. We’re happy with a lady’s drink, are we not, Trevelyan?”

Jack frowned. Damn it. No escape. He’d have to sit down and socialize with them all. He took a second chair, pulled further back so they’d have to turn half round to include him in their conversations, too late realizing it gave him a perfect view of Mrs. Penhallow’s rather exquisite profile. What a delicate nose she possessed, and such a high, intelligent forehead. No. He’d best look at Nat’s scarred visage instead. Much better.

“What brings you here today, Jack?” Caroline asked, her air one of someone determined to extract every ounce of information from her visitors.

Flummoxed for a moment by his proximity to Mrs. Penhallow, Jack groped for an answer. “The bad weather,” he finally came up with. “And how it’s affected the crops here at Treloar.” Damn it again. That didn’t sound at all natural, even though it was true.

Caroline raised a delicate eyebrow as though she might not believe his explanation.

Jack managed a smile. “I hear from Nat it’s not caused too much damage to the standing barley your farm manager’s yet to get in.” How was it he felt perfectly at home on the deck of a ship with his men, or in the kiddley, or in a Roscoff drinking den, when here in a society drawing room, even though it belonged to his friends, he felt more like a tongue-tied schoolboy. Ridiculous. Upper-class ladies were surely like other women the world over. Why should it be so much harder to talk with them than it was with those women he was more used to? Even Caroline, whom he knew well, had suddenly taken on the specter of a daunting obstacle.

“That is fortuitous news after all this rain,” Caroline said, ignoring his discomfort and glancing at her husband. “Mrs. Penhallow has a young son, Nat. Yves has taken him outside to show him around. I think it would be nice for our boy to have someone of his own age to play with.”

Nat snorted with laughter. “I hope you told them to stay within the gardens. You know what Yves is like, and if he’s got another boy to egg him on, they could end up anywhere.”

Caroline had the grace to look guilty. “I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.”

Jack would have smiled if he hadn’t been so on edge. They were boys, for goodness’ sake. Hadn’t Nat got up to all sorts of mischief as a boy? He was damned sure he had himself. He kept silent on that, though.

Mrs. Penhallow’s brows had knit in a frown. “Should we call them back?” She glanced towards the door and her nervous fingers entwined themselves in her lap. She looked as though she’d have liked to jump up and run after them. That boy of hers was far too firmly attached to his mother’s apron strings.

Caroline reached out and patted her guest’s hands. “Pray don’t worry yourself. Yves has enough sense not to go wandering off. I’m sure they’ll stay in the gardens.”

“Since when has Yves had any sense at all?” Nat asked.

His wife shot him a frown. “Since he has become more grown up and responsible, now he’s ten.”

Jack again forbore from commenting, which was just as well, because they were suddenly treated to some shouts of boyish laughter from outside. All eyes turned towards the wide, leaded windows, through which the two boys in question could be seen playing with a dog and a ball. The dog, Yves’ little russet spaniel, Dash, was barking excitedly around them as they threw the ball to one another.

Mrs. Penhallow heaved a sigh of relief. “Perhaps, Major Treloar, you might tell them not to leave the gardens?” She hesitated. “I am a little more conscious of the precarity of life since I lost my husband. My son, Theo, has a propensity to act impulsively, taking after his father the way he does.”

Nat rose to his feet. “If it will set your mind at ease, of course I will.” He went to the window and opened it. Leaning out, he called to the boys. “I would prefer it if you boys stay within the gardens for now. Mrs. Penhallow needs to know where Theo is. We don’t want to be launching any search parties for you when the time comes, now do we?”

Mumbled agreement could be heard from the boys. It sounded disappointed, so who knew what they might have been planning had Nat not intervened. Boys could be daringly adventurous when they wanted to be, as Jack well knew.

Nat returned to his seat. “I gather, Mrs. Penhallow, that your late husband was in the same hussar regiment as I was. I believe I knew a Penhallow. What was his rank?”

For a moment a haunted look flashed over Mrs. Penhallow’s face and in her lap her fists clenched. Whatever for?

When she looked up at Nat, though, her face had gone oddly blank. No emotion at all. The thought that she had to be hiding something washed over Jack. “Captain,” she said, her voice as flat as her expression. “Captain Benedict Penhallow.”

Nat frowned. “A man of medium height with dark hair? I believe we fought side-by-side in Spain.” He touched the right side of his face, where the jagged scar had disfigured his looks. “But, as you can probably imagine, I try not to remember too much about the war. I didn’t return for Waterloo.” He glanced at Caroline. “My wife insisted that I remain here, and I took little persuading. I’ve had my fill of war.”