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‘That explains the resemblance,’ he said, and she smiled but with a hint of nervousness that surely his innocuous comment couldn’t have provoked.
‘Are you staying here long?’
‘No.’ She slumped very slightly, her tone dejected. ‘I have to get back; you know how it is. Duty calls, but I wish I could stay. There is something so special about Polhallow, don’t you think? I would love to spend more time here.’
‘I know what you mean. I just moved back from London, and I can’t believe it’s taken me so long.’ It was definitely the right idea to move his family back to Cornwall. London felt too big, too dirty, too dangerous for his girls. He wanted them to grow up with beaches to play on and with sea air filling their lungs.
Of course, their childhood was very different to his, thanks to the big clifftop house, the swimming pool and treehouse, the playroom filled with everything their hearts desired. Jack knew the dangers of spoiling his girls, but he also knew what it was like to go without, and it was hard not to be indulgent when they’d lost their mother at such a tender age. He wanted to give them everything he had never had—including a name that was respected. His fortune and success impressed some people, but to far too many he was still that wild Treloar boy.
The cast had taken their final bow and moved off the stage and the audience around them began to move. ‘It was nice meeting you.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Jack Treloar. Have a good rest of your visit and do pass my congratulations on to Clem. She’s quite something.’
The woman hesitated before taking his hand. As his hand closed round her soft, cool fingers a tingle shot up his arm, unexpected and potent, and it was all he could do not to drop her hand; it had been a long time since he’d had such a powerful physical reaction to a woman, not since Lily. Sometimes he thought that part of him had been buried with his wife.
‘Rosy,’ she said after a brief pause. ‘My friends call me Rosy.’ A flower name. His chest squeezed. His wife had insisted on flower names for their daughters, to mirror hers.
‘Nice to meet you, Rosy. If you find yourself making a longer stay than expected, look me up. I’d love to buy you a drink.’
Rosy looked as astonished by his offer as he felt having made it. He had been a married man since he was just eighteen thanks to an unplanned pregnancy, widowed for just two years. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked a woman out. Dimples flashed in her cheeks, adding an elfin charm to her undeniable beauty.
‘That’s a very kind offer, Jack. Maybe one day I’ll be able to take you up on it.’ She nodded towards the exit. ‘I need to go. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
Jack watched the slim, graceful woman make her way out and a wry smile twisted his mouth. The first time in years he’d been tempted to make a move on a woman, and she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Nice job, Treloar.
He watched her for another couple of seconds before making his own way out of the theatre, acknowledging the few who acknowledged him but not stopping to join any of the chattering groups. He wouldn’t be welcome anyway. Besides, he was keen to get home and check in on his sleeping girls, to drop a kiss on their foreheads and whisper his daily affirmation that he was here, and they were safe.
Glancing towards the exit Rosy had disappeared through, he headed in the opposite direction towards home. He was unlikely to see her again and that was a good thing. He didn’t have time to date. His family came first, his business second and restoring his name third. That was his choice and he stood by it.
But part of him was still disappointed that they wouldn’t have time for that drink before Clem’s mysterious cousin disappeared again.
Arrosa Artega, soon to be the Crown Princess of Asturia, made it back to the little clifftop cottage where Clem lived before her half-sister and let herself in with the key she valued far more than any of her heirloom jewels. Henri, her ever-present driver and bodyguard, manoeuvred the bulky hamper she’d brought with her into the house before returning to guard the outside while Arrosa poured herself a glass of wine and curled up on the sofa in the sitting room waiting for Clem to return.
Maybe it was foolishness to risk exposing Clem’s identity for such a fleeting visit, but Arrosa hadn’t seen her sister in so long. She’d wanted to see her sister act, true, but she was also in a real tangle and Clem was the person who always helped her see straight.
As she sipped the wine she looked around the cosy room with its filled bookshelves and colourful paintings, Gus, the latest in a string of rescue cats, asleep on the window seat. This cottage always felt like home to her, far more than the luxurious château in which she had been raised, and she would always be grateful to Clem’s mother for letting her be part of the family, even if Arrosa’s—and Clem’s—father, Zorien, had deceived the French woman about who he was, and then paid her off to keep Clem’s existence a secret. The room was filled with Simone Beaumont’s eclectic taste, reflecting her larger-than-life personality, and Arrosa’s heart ached with grief for the woman who had been a second mother to her, remembering the summers she had spent here and Simone’s warm wisdom and affection.
She was still lost in memory when she heard the sounds of Clem’s return and jumped up to embrace her before standing back to examine her closely, drinking in the sister she barely saw.
‘It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, Rosy, but what on earth are you doing here?’ Clem asked as Arrosa handed her a glass of wine.
‘Apart from watching my sister play Juliet? Clem, you were brilliant.’
‘You’ve never come to see me act before.’
Guilt hit her hard as she curled back up on the sofa. ‘I wish I had. Clem, I’m so sorry I didn’t come to Simone’s funeral. I loved her so much, but...’
‘That’s okay, she would have understood. And you sent such beautiful flowers.’
‘But you’re my sister, I should have been there for you.’
‘It’s hard for you to get away. I know that.’
It was, but that was no real excuse, not when Clem needed her. ‘It was easier when we were children,’ she said wistfully. ‘Especially when I was at school and could spend my exeat weekends here as well as some of the holidays.’ It had been eight long years since she had last spent time here in Polhallow as plain Rosy, Clem’s French cousin. In her memory every day had been sunny and filled with laughter and happiness. The joy of being just Rosy, not a princess.
Clem came and sat next to her, squeezing her hand. ‘Fess up, why are you here, apart from coming to see me as Juliet? Don’t think I’m not pleased to see you, but I know you and impulsive isn’t in your schedule. Is everything okay?’
Arrosa took a swig of wine and summoned up the courage to say the words she had barely dared to think, memories of her conversation with Akil Ortiz echoing through her mind. ‘I’m not sure.’ She paused and glanced at her sister. ‘I think I just asked someone to marry me.’
