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He kissed her again. It was even better this time, and it went on for a tantalizing stretch of time.
They returned to the house with the matter settled between them. Her parents received the news with what looked like relief, shifting into a warm welcome to their family. Kenver knew that this was more than Miss Moran—Sarah—could expect at Poldene. At first. But he was sure now that his parents would warm to this surprising girl. How could they resist her?
He went on his way in the early afternoon, when the rain had passed off and streams of cloud scudded across the sky. He was nearly to the edge of Poldene land when a male acquaintance, also out riding, hailed him. “Pendrennon! Heigh-ho!”
Kenver pulled up to await him.
“Everyone’s chattering about you today,” the fellow said.
“Are they?”
“Like magpies. I heard you’d fallen into a sweet little honeytrap.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“But your mother told mine that you’ll wiggle out of the girl’s clutches all right and tight.” He grinned. “Not that Mama put it just that way.”
Kenver felt a flash of anger. He hated to hear that people were speaking of Sarah in this disrespectful way. If he’d had the least lingering doubt about his course of action, it dissolved. “Rumors are so often incorrect,” he said. “I am, in fact, about to be married to an exemplary young lady.”
“Huh? But it was your mother…”
“You may wish me happy,” Kenver interrupted.
“Are you though?” His friend peered at him.
“Thoroughly.” It was nearly true. More or less true. It would be, later on, when he’d scotched these insulting rumors and surmounted some of the other difficulties that lay ahead. He did wish his mother had been slower to speak. She clearly meant to fight this marriage, which was a lowering reflection.
“Well, that’s…good then,” said the fellow.
With a nod, Kenver turned his horse’s head and rode away.
Sarah went back to the gazebo after Kenver had gone. She sat there with bowed head and folded hands, outwardly quiet but swept by a welter of feelings. Itwasalmost like being carried away by the riptides at Tintagel. In the course of two days, her life had been snatched and tossed like flotsam on the waves.
Should she have said no? The gossip would be hateful and humiliating, but she could have weathered it somehow. Probably. The thing was, she’dwantedto say yes. When she gazed into Kenver Pendrennon’s entrancing hazel eyes, she saw the handsome, earnest suitor she’d dreamt of from the edges of ballrooms while the young men in London barely noticed her. She’d been swept up in his chivalrous notions, his apparent enjoyment of her conversation, which society had found awkward and odd. And those kisses! She felt dizzy when she thought ofthem.
Very soon, though, wouldn’t he notice that she was ordinary-looking and unpolished? In her group of four dear friends from school, Ada and Harriet were the pretty ones. Charlotte was striking and witty, always ready with a comeback to any conversational sally. Sarah, on the other hand, was…quiet and bookish, practically a bluestocking. She preferred reading to almost anything else.
In school, that had brought her success. She’d been praised and admired. Even later, when she and her friends had solved a mystery, her abilities were prized. But a London season had shown Sarah that such skills meant nothing to the larger world. She said unusual things. People stared and sometimes tittered. The young men who’d approached her, making her heart beat a little faster, had wanted to know how to interest Harriet, who was an heiress. Kenver—the son of an earl!—would soon discover that he’d engaged himself to a social failure. That would be dreadful in his elevated circle.
But she had said a great many odd things to him, Sarah remembered, and he hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d wanted to hear more. He’d held her so tenderly through that night in the cave. And he’d kissed her as if…as if he liked it, as far as Sarah was able to judge. Which wasn’t very far at all with her utter lack of experience. Reading about passion wasnotthe same. That had been made crystal clear this morning.
Still, Sarah’s heart yearned toward Kenver Pendrennon. It shouldn’t, she told herself. She scarcely knew him. Actually, she didn’t know him at all, even if part of her insisted that shedid.
He was the son of an earl, her brain repeated. They hadn’t talked about that. Or how his wife would move in the highest ranks of society and be expected to shine there. This was a far better match than Sarah had imagined making. His family must think the same. Yet they must be kind people to have reared such a wonderful son.
This sent her off in a reverie about resting in his arms through the night with many more of those astonishing kisses. It might be wrong of her, but shedidwant to marry him. She could observe and learn how to go on. She was good at learning. His family would help her. She could become the sort of wife he deserved. Resolve made her sit straighter and raise her chin.
Was this really the adventure the Irish Traveler had seen in her cards? It was nothing like what Sarah had imagined. She’d thought of solving a mystery as momentous as their discovery of the Rathbone treasure or going on an expedition to a far-off land or uncovering a priceless ancient manuscript in a dusty attic and deciphering it. And yet, Sarah suddenly thought that under certain circumstances, marriage could be every bit as amazing as these pipe dreams.
Sarah’s father had no patience for banns. He pointed out that the weeks they required simply extended the opportunities for talk and speculation. The sooner the marriage took place, the sooner these would die down. And so a marriage license was procured. One of Sarah’s London gowns was embellished for the occasion, and she stood up beside Kenver in her local church on a misty August morning less than ten days after she’d met him.
The timing of the ceremony had been kept quite private. They had not wanted curious neighbors “happening by” to stare. Sarah had agreed that was best. But she was unhappy that Kenver’s parents did not attend. He’d made excuses, murmuring about the smallness of the occasion and the length of the drive, which did not seem such great obstacles to Sarah. She still had not met them. It kept being put off for one reason or another, and that made her uneasy.
As she spoke her vows, she couldn’t help but compare this subdued event to the recent weddings of her friends Ada and Harriet. They’d been surrounded by rejoicing family and a crowd of friends. Even Harriet’s irascible grandfather had been celebratory. Sarah had only her parents, the bland vicar, and the creeping damp of the mist. Her fingers curled tighter on Kenver’s coat sleeve, wrinkling it under her hand, and she watched his face as he made his promises. He looked and sounded determined. Which was good—he showed no sign of doubt—and bad—he evinced no visible joy. Sarah told herself that weddings were serious, anxiety-provoking occasions. But she found her spirits sinking as the ceremony proceeded. Only Kenver’s smile as they signed the register lightened her mood.
The wedding breakfast at Sarah’s old home afterward was also a small affair. Her parents had invited a few local friends and some mere acquaintances like Mrs. Chine. Her less-than-delightful presence would ensure that news of the wedding would spread quickly, be marveled over if necessary, and pass into history. Seeing the neighborhood gossip interrogating the vicar, Sarah thought they’d accomplished their purpose. Later, as Mrs. Chine wondered loudly about the absence of Kenver’s family, she hoped they had not made a mistake.
The newlyweds stayed only an hour before setting off on the drive to Poldene Hall, Sarah’s unknown new home. As Kenver handed her into the carriage, she searched his face for doubts or regrets. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Nearly done,” he said.
