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They spoke as if the marriage was certain. Sarah shook her head. The earl’s son was probably regretting his hasty words. He must be. She would never hear from him again.
There was a knock on the study door, and a maid came in. “Mrs. Chine has called to see you, ma’am,” she said to Sarah’s mother.
“Tell her we aren’t in,” said Papa.
“No.” Sarah’s mother rose. “I will talk to her. It’s best to stay ahead of the gossips when one can. She should spreadourstory, not one she concocts from flying rumors.”
Sarah sprang up. “I will go and tell her it’s all a misunderstanding,” she declared.
“No,” said her parents at the same moment.
“You’re worn out from your ordeal,” said her mother. “You should go and lie down on your bed.”
“I refuse to marry a man who does not really wish to marry me,” Sarah replied. She meant to speak forcefully, but her voice wavered a little.
“You don’t know that he does not…”
“How could he?” she wailed. In that moment, she felt she had nothing to offer a handsome, high-born, prosperous gentleman. London society had certainly thought as much.
Her parents exchanged a long glance. “Take a rest,” said her father. “We will talk of this again when you are recovered.”
Her mother went off to receive Mrs. Chine.
Sarah felt she ought to keep fighting. But she was tired and befuddled by this sudden change in her life. Surely nothing more would happen today. She allowed herself to be persuaded to go to her room.
Kenver rode out to call on the Morans early the next morning. He’d had to consult the Poldene estate manager, who knew every inch of the countryside for miles around, to discover where they lived. The Moran estate was just far enough away to be out of Poldene’s main area. But it was close enough that he could visit and return the same day.
He left before his parents were up and was glad to escape his home. They had not stopped trying to persuade him not to marry. Not for a moment. They’d hammered at him through the evening, making the same points over and over, insisting that he draw back from his impulsive offer and never considering that he was old enough to make his own judgments. They were expert at rousing doubts, especially his mother, full of stinging criticisms of Miss Moran. Kenver told himself that they knew nothing about her. He set aside the thought that he didn’t really either.
It was true that he hadn’t been contemplating marriage just yet. He was only twenty-three. He’d planned to enjoy several more London seasons as he looked about for a bride. The marriage mart was full of lovely, aristocratic, wealthy young ladies, and his mother never tired of enumerating their charms, or arguing that he could reach as high as he pleased. She made these girls sound dazzling. The polar opposite of the small, bedraggled Sarah Moran.
But with that thought came the memory of a soft, sodden form nestled confidingly against him, talking of tentacles and dragons in the most nonsensical way. Kenver smiled as he rode along. He’d never felt as…at home as he had in that cave. It made no sense, but there it was.
And then there was the matter of honor. From his earliest youth, Kenver had devoured tales of chivalry and knightly quests. He’d often imagined the exultation one must feel on achieving such a task. He had not been encouraged to formulate many tangible goals. But he was determined to be an honorable man.
After two hours riding, he came upon a substantial house situated on a small rise that ran down to the River Camel. He was conducted to a pleasant parlor where Miss Moran was sitting with her mother and received with some surprise. Had they not been expecting him? Had they imagined he wouldn’t come?
His companion from the cave looked far better today in a fresh blue cambric gown with floral embroidery, her sandy hair artfully dressed. Yet she appeared much more conventional too. Kenver found he missed the dauntless adventurer streaked with green algae.
They exchanged commonplaces for a time, and then Kenver said, “I had thought to discuss our plans.”
Miss Moran stood up. “We can walk in the garden,” she said.
“Surely we are comfortable here,” objected her mother.
“Mr. Pendrennon and I should have a private conversation.”
“It’s not proper that you…”
“If we have anunderstanding, Mama, then there can be no objection to a stroll. You will be able to see us through the windows the whole time.”
Kenver admired the way her light-blue eyes flashed when she said this. Here was the spirited creature he’d met the other night. Miss Moran was far prettier when she was animated. In repose, her face seemed to retreat into the background.
Mrs. Moran had no reply to this statement, and her daughter went out briefly, leaving them to make stilted conversation. She returned in a bonnet. He followed her outside into a pleasant terraced garden with the river flowing below.
“How is your rib?” she asked him.
Even Kenver’s mother had not remembered to ask about it. “Better,” he replied. “The doctor bound it up.”
