Page 20 of The Cornish Widow

Mrs. Penhallow nodded. Was that relief in her eyes? “A wise decision. Returning to his regiment turned out to be my husband’s death.”

Not a tear glistened in her eyes as she said this. Jack frowned. In truth, she didn’t appear unduly upset at discussing a husband so recently lost. Not the usual grieving widow, no matter how black her gown and bonnet. Almost, they might be construed as her armor to keep the world at bay.

“There’s another ex-hussar lives in St Ives,” Caroline said. “Captain Fitzwilliam Carlyon. He’s a cousin of my friend Ysella Beauchamp of Carlyon Court. He also would in all probability have known your husband.”

That haunted, wary look flashed back into Mrs. Penhallow’s eyes again, only to be swiftly hidden as she lowered her gaze to her hands.

Jack pressed his lips together in a hard line. He had other reasons than whatever hers were to not want that particular ex-hussar officer hanging around this corner of Cornwall. Captain Carlyon now headed up the county militia charged with both the prevention of smuggling and the apprehension of those doing it. Which meant him and Will for a start, not to mention all their men. If Mrs. Penhallow made friends with him, thanks to a connection with her late husband, the fellow, who was unmarried and had a reputation for liking the ladies, might end up coming calling on her. And that would never do.

“I believe Ysella told me that Captain Carlyon is a bit of a rake,” Jack said. “Not to be entirely trusted around ladies.” He ignored the fact that this might be the pot calling the kettle black. “I would not trust him with a sister of mine.”

“You have a sister?” Mrs. Penhallow asked, her face brightening and her attention diverted from what appeared to be the worrying thought of another hussar officer in the neighborhood. With any luck she wouldn’t want anything to do with Fitzwilliam Carlyon.

Jack shook his head. “Alas, no. Just an expression of speech.” Although this wasn’t entirely true. What about Horatia, Honoria and Lavinia? Nat and Caroline knew about them, of course, but he didn’t feel ready to share their existence with Mrs. Penhallow. Any mention of their names would inevitably lead to explanations he didn’t want to go into. Not with a stranger, beautiful and mysterious or not.

Mrs. Penhallow bestowed a gentle, and slightly bolder, smile upon him. “I myself grew up an only child. So it seems we have something small in common, Captain Trevelyan.”

“Are your parents not still living, Mrs. Penhallow?” Caroline put in.

Mrs. Penhallow shook her head. “My mother died when I was twelve, and my father shortly after my marriage, so until now, there’s been nothing to bring me back to Cornwall. I should mention that I was born in Truro, and my late husband was also Cornish, so for me if perhaps not for my children, this is a return home.”

Caroline nodded. “Your name gives your origins away, of course. But I’m so sorry you’ve lost both parents. My father died some time ago, but my mother was to come and live here with Nat and myself this spring. She was so excited that I was presenting her with a grandchild at last, but she caught a chill last winter and passed away before she could join us. I understand all too well your sadness at losing both parents.”

Mrs. Penhallow bowed her head, evidently a lot more moved by the loss of her parents than the loss of her husband. “I still miss my mother despite the length of time she’s been gone.” She glanced up at Jack from under her long lashes. “You are lucky to have your mother still living and in such robust health.” Her voice, a little bolder again, held real envy.

Nat set down his empty tea dish. “I think you must be the only one here with parents, Jack. I have none, Caroline has none, Mrs. Penhallow has none, Yves has none.” He nodded to Mrs. Penhallow. “I suppose we can count your boy, Theo, as having one parent. But Jack, rather unfairly and greedily, has both of his.”

Jack suppressed a frown. What was Nat doing, bringing his parentage into this conversation? Mrs. Penhallow’s lovely face had taken on a puzzled frown, as well it might with no sign of a Mr. Trevelyan at Rosudgeon.

“Do you ride, Mrs. Penhallow?” Jack asked, in an effort to change the subject before she asked him about his father. “My mother doesn’t ride as much as she used to, and her mare is much in need of exercise. I could ride down leading her and take you out to view the local countryside, if you would care to accompany me? Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

What on earth was he doing? If he didn’t want to involve himself with this woman, despite his body telling him otherwise, why had he just offered to take her riding? Because, on the spur of the moment, he’d not been able to think of anything else to distract everyone from discussing his parentage. Not that it was a particular secret. Just that he didn’t want it bandied about to someone he didn’t know. Yet…

Her face lit up as though he’d just gifted her the crown jewels. “Oh yes, Captain Trevelyan. I love horses and rode to hounds as a girl but had no opportunity to do so when I lived in Bath. I should adore to take to the saddle again. Thank you so much.” Her hazel eyes sparkled at him, her whole face suddenly brought to life with anticipation, the wary fear banished as though forgotten.

Jack couldn’t help the warm feeling that pervaded his chest at having been the one to cause such apparent happiness. This was ridiculous. What was he thinking?

“Bath must have been interesting to live in,” Caroline said. “With the remains of the Roman baths to visit and being able to take the water whenever you wished. You were lucky to be there.”

The joy vanished, and Mrs. Penhallow’s face clouded. “Yes. I suppose I was.” But she didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about her old home. Another odd thing. Not that Jack would have liked to live anywhere but Cornwall, though.

“Nothing so beautiful as Cornwall on a fresh spring day,” Nat said. “Especially after the arid landscapes I saw in Spain and Southern France. Once Cornish, always Cornish. Not something you can extract from your soul and cast away.”

Very true. Jack had been away from Cornwall only a few times, and every time he’d returned it had been with relief. His frequent jaunts across the channel to Roscoff and St Malo didn’t count, as the deck of The Fly felt as much his home as Rosudgeon and just as Cornish.

It was at this point in the conversation that Theo and Yves returned, their faces flushed from being outside and their eyes shining. A reproving hand, held up by Caroline, kept them silent, although their desire to chatter radiated from their eager eyes.

Caroline nodded to Yves, who performed a respectful bow and, after a second, Theo did the same. Jack suppressed a smile, memories flooding back of his own boyhood and how irritated he’d been when he’d wanted to tell his mother something and been prevented from doing so by etiquette.

“You may speak,” Caroline said.

Yves began. “Theo says Cap’n Jack’s going to take him out in The Fly and I can go too.”

Drat it. Jack had let their exchange slip from his mind. He’d dug himself a hole there. He should have known an impressionable, adventurous boy would never have forgotten.

Mrs. Penhallow’s face fell into an even more worried frown than the one she’d worn earlier.

Caroline looked at Jack, her brow furrowing as well. “You did?”