Page 30 of The Cornish Widow

“Ysella,” Jack said, more than a little stiffly. “Sam, Captain Carlyon. May I introduce you to my new neighbor, Mrs. Penhallow.” He turned back towards Harriet, and she couldn’t miss the displeasure in his eyes. What was it he didn’t like about this chance meeting? Surely not the effervescent young woman. “Harriet, may I introduce you to my friends, Samuel and Ysella Beauchamp of Carlyon Court. And this is Ysella’s cousin, Captain Carlyon, of the local militia. He’s in charge of apprehending smugglers locally, not to mention anyone else who catches the attention of the law.”

Harriet kept her face straight, afraid her confusion would show if she wasn’t careful. That Jack was not at all pleased at this encounter puzzled her no end. Did he not like any of them? No, it had to be this Captain Carlyon, whom he’d deliberately not included as his friend, he was directing his disfavor against. Ysella, Mrs. Beauchamp, appeared very happy to see Jack, and immune to his look of annoyance, and yet…?

Mrs. Beauchamp brought her little chestnut mare up closer to Peggy. “How lovely to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Penhallow. Oh, fustian. I can’t call you that can I? Might I use your first name? I call all my friends by their first names, and I know you’ll be one of them. This is Cornwall, after all, so I believe we’re allowed.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled becomingly, her eyes twinkling. She couldn’t be more than twenty or so. Scarcely any older than Lydia. Harriet suddenly felt ancient and world weary.

However, she smiled back, trying hard to ignore the interested, speculative gaze of Captain Carlyon. “It seems formalities are to be dispensed with here in Cornwall, which I own is not a bad thing.” She paused. “Ysella. What a beautiful name. Is it a traditional Cornish one?”

Ysella Beauchamp beamed. “It is. Both my sisters have Cornish names, too, despite our dear Papa having hailed from Wiltshire, for the most part at least. Mama insisted, as she was born and bred in Cornwall and says she is Cornish to the core and always will be. Only our brother, Kit, escaped. He’s Christopher, you see, but we often call him Kitto which is so much more Cornish. And you are?”

A compunction not to share her name with the wolfish Captain swept over Harriet, but it was too late by far now. She kept her eyes fixed on Ysella, as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “Harriet. My own parents were from Truro but sadly didn’t grace me with a name typical of our county.”

“Don’t hog our new friend, Ysella,” her husband said, getting between Harriet and Jack. For some reason, an urge to hide herself behind Jack and Shadow’s solid presence rose, and Harriet had to swallow down her fear and stiffen her backbone. She couldn’t behave like this in public, no matter how uncomfortable being the focus of a strange man’s attention made her feel. Jack’s sudden protectiveness endeared him to her, bestowing on him the mantle of knight in shining armor. For the moment.

Surely his behavior had been prompted by the dashingly handsome but cruel-eyed captain rather than the solid and dependable Sam Beauchamp. But as she well knew, you never could tell what a man was really like under the façade they chose to erect for public view. Ben had been handsome and charming when she’d met him…

“Sam Beauchamp, Mrs. Penhallow. Delighted to meet you. I’d kiss your hand and bow, but, alas, all I can really do is doff my hat whilst mounted. Please imagine I’ve done my duty.”

Harriet managed a small laugh. “Being on horseback does present an obstacle to polite exchanges. I used to hunt when I was a girl, and frequently the niceties of polite conversation had to be abandoned in the heat of the chase.” Oh, if only she were that girl again, what wouldn’t she do to change her life?

The wolfish captain, Ysella’s cousin, who’d been half hidden all this time by Jack and Shadow’s imposing bulk, brought his horse around to stand beside Ysella’s, giving Harriet her first proper view of him. He held out a hand to her, his dark eyes smoldering in a way that sent heat flaring to her cheeks and made her suspect he knew what she looked like naked. His dark eyes and high cheekbones betrayed his relationship to Ysella, but other than that he was his own man. Tall, taller than Jack probably, with hair that might have started out carefully curled and coiffed but now was windblown, as they all were. Probably, with his looks, he was very successful with the ladies. The windblown hair only served to accentuate his rather devilish handsomeness, although she wasn’t blind to the cruel set to his mouth and the coldness in his eyes. He would not be a man to cross. No wonder Jack was wary of him.

With slight hesitation, she took the offered hand.

“Mrs. Penhallow. Might I, too, take the liberty of calling you Harriet?” He smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile as it never reached his intense dark eyes. “It’s so seldom we get to meet anyone new down here. So, you’re Jack’s neighbor. Lucky devil, Jack.” His voice had a languor to it, a world-weariness that sat well with his looks. The sort of man her mother would have told her to avoid like the plague.

A shiver ran down Harriet’s spine. A not at all pleasant one. The captain’s lazy eyes slid sideways to consider Jack as he spoke, cold intelligence foremost in them, as though he was assessing her companion and finding something fascinating about him. “So lucky to bump into you, Captain Trevelyan. I’ve been wanting to meet you again for some time.”

What was there about the way he said this? It had sounded almost like a threat. As though, he, like Jack, didn’t like the man before him.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Pray don’t let us hold you up. Harriet and I were going to ride inland a little before turning back to Rosudgeon.”

News to Harriet.

She caught the tension in Jack’s voice even though she sensed he was trying to hide it. He didn’t want to ride with these three. Now why was that? Even if you didn’t care for someone, why would it make you so keen not to be in their company? It was Captain Carlyon, she felt certain, who was provoking this reaction. Her mind shot back to the day they’d all arrived at Keynvor Cottage when Theo and Lyddie had come running up from the cliffs with tales of a ship in the cove unloading goods they’d thought might be smuggled. Was Jack keen that his tenants, who might well be the smugglers in question, should remain unthreatened by the revenue men? Was that it? Did he know about the smugglers? Probably, as she’d been sure he’d gone to the kiddley himself, which was bound to be their base, on the day he’d escorted her home in the storm. Confusing.

“Oh, do ride with us at least part of the way,” Ysella said, pouting a little. “I would so like to get to know Harriet a little better. You can’t keep her to yourself. And you can ride inland any day you choose, Jack, but the chances of us riding over here from Carlyon Court again and meeting up with you like this are tiny.” She smiled a sweet smile. “Indulge a poor lonely lady, Jack.” This last came out as a wheedle.

Would Jack be rude enough to turn her down?

No.

“Very well, Ysella, we’ll accompany you some of the way. You have appealed to my better nature.”

She giggled. “And there was I thinking you didn’t have one.” She flashed him a smile and moved closer to Harriet. “There, it’s done. I do hope you won’t mind me depriving you of your tour of our countryside and confining your ride to the road?”

Harriet smiled. “Not at all.”

“Then we’ll be off,” Sam said. “I’ve a notion to be at Roskilly with the Treloars in time for a bite to eat at noon.” He rubbed his belly and grinned.

The five riders, reassembled, resumed the road towards Marazion.

Jack, Sam and Captain Carlyon rode ahead, and Ysella and Harriet kept their two mares behind, lagging by some twenty yards, just far enough not to be easily overheard. Captain Carlyon had shown an urge to ride beside Harriet, but, thankfully, Ysella had shooed him away. “Nonsense, Fitz. I am busy making friends with Harriet and don’t need you butting in. Off you go and ride with Sam and Jack and leave us in peace. Talk about the things men like.” She glanced at Harriet. “Men. They see a pretty face and think that every woman wishes to be flirted with. What nincompoops they are. Now, let me give you the sort of guided tour Jack would no doubt have omitted.”

True to her word, for the first part of their ride, Ysella contented herself with pointing out and naming all the points of interest they were passing, but this information rapidly ran out. An inquisitorial gleam in her eye, she turned to Harriet. “Now, you must tell me all about yourself, or I shall die of disappointment. You have about you an air of mystery that intrigues me.”

Harriet, acutely aware of Jack’s ramrod straight back up ahead, bit her lip. Ysella had about her a hint of not being the best person to confide any secrets to. Of being a flap-jaw. But that could just have been her chatty friendliness and the fact she claimed to have been starved of female company. She did seem very keen to add Harriet to her list of acquaintances. But whatever she was like, Harriet was no more prepared to bare her chest to her than she had been to Talwyn Trevelyan.

“There’s very little to tell,” she said. “I’m a widow with two children, whom my late husband’s aunt has provided with somewhere to live. It’s a small cottage but very manageable in my reduced circumstances. We haven’t been there long, but it’s homely and,” she nodded at Jack, “the neighbors are kind and friendly.”