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Aware of the driver’s curious gaze, she stepped up and in. Kenver followed, shutting the door, and the vehicle started off. Sarah leaned out to wave at her parents and wondered if her expression was as uncertain as theirs. She watched them until the carriage turned a corner and headed northeast. They would pass by the road to Tintagel on their way to Kenver’s home, which lay beyond it. “I suppose there must be a lake at Poldene,” Sarah said.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Pol, lake, anddene, valley,” she added.
“You know Cornish?” he asked.
“Only a few words.”
He nodded. “I am the same. I don’t think anyone really speaks it anymore.”
“No. Not like Welsh.”
“Welsh?”
“They are related languages.”
“Are they?”
He looked amused. Might she say fondly amused? Sarah almost dared to think so. “Along with Breton,” she added. “All three are remnants of the old Celts. According to what…”
“You have read,” he interrupted.
She hunched a little, self-consciously, and then saw the twinkle in his hazel eyes. Heartened, she added, “They would have spoken something like it at King Arthur’s court.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Nobody spoke the way we do. Back then.”
“Because English is a mixture of Saxon and Norman tongues,” Kenver said. “I read occasionally too.”
Sarah was delighted to hear it.
Kenver was glad to see his new wife—still such an unfamiliar word!—smile. He pointed out various attractive views, and Sarah admired them. But all the while, he was brooding about the reception they would receive at Poldene. Kenver wished again, as he had been doing since the marriage was decided, that they could take a honeymoon trip. Preferably a long one, lasting for some months—plenty of time to settle in together. That would be ideal. But his personal allowance was too small to allow for such travels, and when he’d hinted that a boost was customary upon an heir’s marriage, his parents had ignored him. They had an uncanny ability to make one feel that words were simply dropping into an icy void, echoing and ineffectual. He couldn’t quite imagine the heat it would take to break through that barrier.
“There is the road to Tintagel,” Sarah said.
He followed her gaze to the lane that led out to the ruin. Where all this had begun. Tintagel had long been one of his favorite places, and now it was imbued with tender memories of their night in the cave. Had he ever felt such a magical weaving of connection before? He couldn’t recall another. “We will have to go back there one day soon,” he murmured.
“We could lower a rope and climb down to see the cavern.”
Kenver looked at her. Sarah was such a bright presence, with a mind full of ideas no one else would have. “And search for traces of giant tentacles?”
“We agreed that the monsters of the deep would not venture so close to shore,” she replied with mock severity.
“Very true.”
She laced an arm through his and leaned against him. She felt soft and delightfully rounded and very sweet at his side. Kenver bent for a kiss. This one was just as satisfying as the one in her gazebo garden, rousing a heady mixture of affection and urgent desire. He turned to slip his arms around her and pull her closer. Sarah fit just right in his embrace. He let his hands roam over a shape that promised myriad delights. He was afire to show her what that meant. If this endless drive would only finish and he could get her alone.
Her bonnet was in the way, and he nearly tore it off and threw it aside. But then a pulse of warning shot through him. They shouldn’t arrive at Poldene panting and disheveled. That would be a serious mistake. He pulled away and was happy to see that Sarah looked disappointed. “We will have a suite of our own at Poldene,” he told her breathlessly. He straightened his neckcloth and pulled his coat back into place. Sarah put her hands to her bonnet and righted it. Clearly she grasped his meaning.
Since a trip was not possible, nor an establishment of their own for now, Kenver had concentrated on preparing spacious rooms for them in the wing opposite his parents’ quarters. The suite was unused, and he could ask the servants to pay special attention to it without involving his mother. Poldene was a large house. He and Sarah would make their own place within it. There would be long stretches of time when they need not see his family. Not to mention all the delicious nights that lay ahead.
After more than two hours, the carriage turned sharply left and entered the head of a valley that gradually widened as they descended. The vegetation grew lusher in this sheltered landscape. Sarah caught glimpses of the sea far ahead. They passed a small lake, its dark-blue surface reflecting the sky. “There is the lake,” she said. She was torn between observing the landscape and gazing at Kenver with thwarted desire. She decided not looking at him was best, lest she throw herself into his arms again. She mustn’t be drooling when she met the in-laws she had yet to set eyes on.
They moved farther downhill, into heavier woods. Sarah lost sight of the ocean. And then, Kenver said, “Here we are.”
Sarah leaned out to look. At the end of a tree-lined drive, Poldene Hall was massive, a stone pile that had clearly been built over several centuries. It loomed over the landscape, meant to impress, if not cow, visitors. Somehow, on this drive, she’d forgotten about the earldom and the weight of history and obligation that accompanied such a position. She’d forgotten that this marriage came with a host of expectations, none of which she knew how to fulfill. Poldene didn’t look like a place where she belonged, and Sarah was assailed by a sudden attack of nerves.
