Page 53 of The Cornish Widow

What a surprise that Jack was turning out to be some sort of connoisseur of French food. Harriet dabbed at her lips with her napkin and managed a smile. Really, the wine was making her feel quite mellow and relaxed. A smile came readily to her lips and this time she didn’t chase it away. “I wonder why our own peasants don’t also dine on snails? Perhaps they’ve never thought of it. Or perhaps they do, and we’re just ignorant of their eating habits.”

Jack topped up their wine again. “Mrs. S has come up trumps with that dress.” His eyes ran over her outline before reverting to her face, and, for once, she didn’t feel as though she wanted to curl up in a ball and vanish. No wonder Ben had never let her have more than one glass of watered wine and banned her from drinking it while he was away from home. “It is rather pretty.” She stretched out her arm to admire the delicate puffed sleeves. “Such a lovely color.”

“And so becoming to your complexion.”

She felt heat swarm up her cheeks but this time it wasn’t embarrassing. The wine was depriving her of her inhibitions as well as giving her confidence. “Thank you.”

He grinned. “Although I have to admit you made a pretty boy.”

“I was in fear of having to return to Cornwall still clad as a boy. Mrs. S has kindly said I might keep these clothes until the next time you are here.” She pursed her lips. “Which I imagine will be quite soon as you claim to be a man who is fond of the excitement of the trade.” She wouldn’t think of the familiar glance Mrs. S. had given Jack on their arrival. She just wouldn’t. Could she be jealous? Drat it, she was thinking about it when she’d just sworn not to.

“It will indeed be quite soon. There are always goods to be taken back and forth, with the exorbitant taxes both our governments levy. But at least they don’t match one another, which makes it easier for us to take over goods the French pay high duty on and bring back the ones our government charge high duty on. It works well for both sides.”

Gaston reappeared along with the tray. “M’sieur, Madame.” He swept up the platter of empty snail shells and set another bottle of wine and two fresh glasses on the table. “Je reviens, tout d’suite.”

True to his word, he was back in a moment with the tray freshly filled with two plates of some kind of rich chicken stew. “Coq au vin, madame.” He set Harriet’s plate in front of her with a flourish. Steam rose from the hot concoction to waft the enticing aroma into her nostrils. At least no frogs legs were in sight. She waited for Gaston to leave before taking a forkful of the tender meat. Delicious.

They ate for a while making only small talk, but eventually both their plates had been emptied and the bottle of red wine held only the dregs. Harriet was replete with good food and glowing from the effect of rather too much of the wine. What a good thing she’d eaten enough to soak some of the alcohol up.

“Gaston will bring us coffee shortly,” Jack said. “While we wait, come and sit beside the fire a while.”

Surprised by her own lack of fear, she let him take her hand, feeling a little light headed as she stood up, but covering it well. Three steps took her to one of the two fireside chairs, and she sat down a little heavily. If he were to importune her now, she’d have no defences, and what was more, she probably wouldn’t care. What a disturbing thought that was. She hiccupped.

*

Jack regarded hiscompanion with a wary eye. She’d rather guzzled the wine, but he’d been powerless to prevent her. Besides, it hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t be used to it until it was much too late. And a little inebriation suited her well. In vino veritas, his mother was wont to say, and she was right. The reclusive Mrs. Penhallow was emerging from her shell with a vengeance, and he rather liked it.

Gaston arrived bearing the coffee with young Marie-Hèlène in tow to clear the table. He drew a small circular table to between the two fireside chairs and set the coffee tray on it, before stoking the already blazing fire. With a discreet cough, he and the girl departed, Gaston having fielded a sizeable tip.

Harriet shifted in her seat and stretched, like a cat. “Goodness, I haven’t eaten so much in a long time.” She frowned. “Not since I was a girl after a day’s hunting, I don’t think. Ben told me I’d get fat if I ate what he said was too much. He told me didn’t want a fat wife.”

Nice of Ben. Jack was himself fond of a girl with curves in all the right places. “Nothing to stop you eating whatever you wish now.”

She nodded. “He wouldn’t let me drink, either. Nothing more than a single glass of ratafia, watered, of course.”

So that was why she was so pie-eyed now. The temptation to lean forward and take her in his arms had never been stronger. Instinct told him she would probably offer little resistance. To tell her she was quite safe now and she could do whatever she wanted all the time. But of course, he didn’t. How ungentlemanly would it have been to have taken advantage of a woman in her condition.

However, she took him by surprise by leaning forward herself. “Ben was very particular about what his wife was allowed to do.”

“He was?”

She nodded. “Very. He didn’t like it if I crossed him. He said I did it on purpose, but I didn’t.” She screwed up her face at the memory as if straining to recapture it. “I never meant to be a bad wife. To do the things he said were what bad wives did.”

“How did you meet him?” Jack asked, avoiding asking the question he wanted to ask—what the departed Ben’s definition of a bad wife was. Probably not the same as his own. If he wasn’t about to take advantage of her virtue, he had no scruples about questioning her while her guard was down.

She sat back in her seat, legs stretched out towards the fire, and kicked her shoes off. She had dainty, fine-boned feet. The longing to lift them onto his lap where he could massage them swept over Jack, but he resisted.

She frowned. “At the assembly rooms in Truro. He was on leave from his regiment and was attending with some of his officer friends.” She pulled a rueful expression. “He was so handsome in his regimentals.”

Jack had seen enough of soldiers in all their regalia to understand why a young girl such as Harriet had been might get carried away by the sight of a young officer.

“He asked Papa for my hand in marriage the following week, and Papa agreed. He didn’t want to, because he thought seventeen was too young for marriage, but I told him I was old enough to know my own mind and he gave in, at last.” Her voice trailed away. “Ben was very handsome, you understand, when he was happy…”

But from what Theo had said, that wasn’t all the time. Not by any means.

“When did he begin to bully you?” Jack asked, determining to be blunt.

Her eyes widened a little. “Not straight away. After Lyddie came along… after I found out I was to have a child… then, he wasn’t quite so kind to me anymore. He didn’t like me being… fat and unattractive. We had rooms in London, to begin with, but when Lyddie was born, we moved to Bath to be near his aunt, Mrs. Bolitho, who has allowed us to live in Keynvor Cottage. She lived in Bath at the time and Ben would go to visit her when he was home from the wars. He never took me… although he did take Theo, once.” Her eyes clouded at the memory. “He never did again. He said Theo was a devil child and I was a terrible mother to indulge him so and that was why he was so badly behaved.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. “That was the first time he didn’t stop at shouting, but struck me.”