Page 70 of The Cornish Widow

Harriet met her accusing gaze. She’d always inculcated honesty in her children. She couldn’t then lie to them. And besides, Theo knew, and he was bound, at some point, to divulge this to his sister, even if only in wanting to show off to her that he’d done something she hadn’t. “He did.”

Lydia sat down on the nearest bed, which happened to be her own. “Oh my goodness, Mama. Does that mean you and Theo are smugglers now? Will Captain Carlyon clap you in jail?” Her eyes widened. “What will I do if you’re transported, or… or hanged?”

Trust Lydia to think only about herself.

“No one will ever know,” Harriet managed, remembering all too well the scrutiny Fitz Carlyon had given her when she’d come on deck. He knew. But would he do anything? He’d not been able to catch Jack and his men in the act, but he must have guessed she knew what they were about. What sort of a man was he? Would a gentleman consider reporting her?

Lydia fanned her face. “Mama, I feel quite overcome. I don’t think I want to know any of the details. Just promise me you won’t go out again in that ship with the captain.”

Good heavens. Easy to mistake Lydia for the mother and herself for the wayward daughter. Could she promise this, though? Didn’t she secretly want to go out to sea in The Fly again and visit France and stay with Mrs. S in her inn, even though she suspected Jack had been intimate with the lady in the past? For the adventure in it that had made her feel more alive than ever before… well, since she’d ridden to hounds as a girl. Well… more alive than that if she was honest with herself. More alive because she’d been with Jack.

What?

Guilt washed over her. She was not some energetic, romantic heroine from a sixpenny novel. She was the responsible mother of two children. She could not involve herself with a smuggler. And yet…

“Mama!” Lydia leaned forward, eyes accusing. “Mama—you liked it, didn’t you?”

Harriet bit her lip. “Yes, I did. And I would do it all again.” There. That was being honest and she should be proud of herself for it.

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “And you like the captain, don’t you? And I don’t mean because he’s a gentleman.”

Harriet swallowed. “Yes. I do like him.” She managed the smallest of hopeful smiles. “Do you mind dreadfully if I do?”