Elaine
Elaine broke into a run. Of course Gareth would bring up John.
Maybe he suspected it was because of her John had been killed. No. He couldn’t. She’d never told a soul about Gareth’s proposal and her refusal and then her sending John out into the night. Even John had not known about Gareth’s offer.
She never should have gone to Gareth for help.
Not to mention that he thought she’d lost her mind, leading him down to Merlin’s Cave for apparently no purpose whatsoever.
She slowed to a walk. Her day of pleasure had quickly turned sour. She’d accomplished nothing more than proving herself the lackwit Gareth already considered her to be. Though she hadn’t missed the way he’d looked at her with her gown wet. Nor the way his coat smelled of him.
She slipped in through the back door. Even with the coat on, she shivered from the cold.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she paused. A voice came from the drawing room. A man’s voice. Perhaps her father had at last decided to come out of his library.
She crept across the hall and pressed her ear against the door. Her mother’s voice came through, going on about how nice of him to visit and should she call for tea.
Then she heard a voice she thought she’d never hear again.
Lord Chiverton.
What on earth could he be doing here?
At that moment, the drawing room door opened and her mother nearly ran her over.
“Elaine!”
Elaine had a clear enough view over her mother’s shoulder to see Lord Chiverton stand. If it had been King George himself, she could not have been more surprised. She stood there, in the open door, gaping at him like a startled fawn.
“Close your mouth, dear. You’ll let the flies in,” her mother whispered.
She tried, but it was not so easily done. She’d thought he would be done with her after the scandal. Now he was here. And she looking like a ratty polecat.
Her mother smiled at Lord Chiverton. There was no escape now.
“Here she is,” her mother said. She stepped aside and motioned Elaine into the room.
He bowed to her, and she curtseyed back.
“Lord Chiverton.”
He smiled as his eyes traveled from her disheveled hair to her dripping and muddy boots. “That is a very fine coat you are wearing,” he said.
Appearing in another man’s coat would not better his opinion of her. Quite the contrary. She would have taken it off, but her dress underneath was still wet through. She’d not forgotten the reason Gareth had lent it to her in the first place.
And now that Lord Chiverton mentioned it, it was a very fine coat. Finer than she’d expected Gareth to be able to afford.
The room waited in silence for her to explain the gentleman’s coat and water seeping from her shoes.
She smiled at Lord Chiverton. “It is so good to see you, sir. And good of you to come. And I am . . . If you just . . . Please excuse me a moment while I tidy up.” Elaine left the drawing room before she could make herself into a greater fool. Already she wanted to crawl under the floorboards and hide. She called for her maid as she ascended the stairs.
Betsy appeared in Elaine’s room.
“I must change immediately,” Elaine said, throwing Gareth’s coat onto her bed.
Betsy sprang into action, helping Elaine out of her wet and ruined dress and into a pretty little green-sprigged muslin that would bring out the color of her eyes. It was a dress made for London, not the West Coast, where the wind howled and the air chilled, but she looked splendid in it. What did it matter if she froze when Lord Chiverton was here. Perhaps all was not lost.
Half the girls in London had their eyes on the handsome Lord Chiverton. The other half had their eyes on his money. She had come to appreciate him for more than that.
It was at the Wilmslows’ ball that she had first met him. He’d smiled at her from across the dance floor and made his way toward her through the crush of people, much to the dismay of at least a dozen other young ladies. And much to Elaine’s surprise, for she was nobody and Lord Chiverton could have anyone.
Since that time, they’d danced together frequently. Played cards at his house. Even taken a turn around Hyde Park. He owned a large estate in Warwickshire, right in the heart of England and far away from Cornwall. A perfect situation.
Her cheeks were too pink from her morning in the sun, but there was naught she could do about it now. Betsy reset her hair, and Elaine hurried back to the drawing room in an amazingly short amount of time. Her mother had just finished pouring tea.
Lord Chiverton stood again as she entered. Her efforts to restore herself did not go unnoticed as a small grin softened his face. The smile that had first drawn her to him across the ballroom back in London.
The simple fact that he was here meant something. He could have stayed in London and pretended with the rest of them that she’d ceased to exist. But he hadn’t.
He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It is good to see you again. I have missed you.”
“I’ve only been gone less than a week, sir.”
“Even so.” He escorted her to a seat near the fire. “You should sit here. Your hands are cold.” Always the gentleman. Perhaps chivalry still survived after all.
“Lord Chiverton,” her mother said. “What brings you out to our part of the country?”
“I have a shipment coming into Plymouth.” He finally took his eyes off Elaine and turned to her mother. “I don’t usually see to these things personally, but this cargo is quite valuable, so I thought I’d come myself.”
Lord Chiverton had likely never once taken the slightest interest in what happened with his various ships and cargos. He had a man for that. And a second man for his land. And a third to manage the house. Not to mention that he could have saved himself a day’s worth of travel by going straight through Exeter and south.
“We do hope your business is not so urgent that you can’t stay a few days.” Her mother handed him a plate with a piece of hevva cake on it. “Do you come to Cornwall often?”
He shook his head. “No.”
The only people who came here were either miners or fishers. Or smugglers.
“There are some lovely sights to be seen,” her mother said. “Isn’t that right, Elaine?” She cast Elaine an artful glance. “Elaine is very fond of Arthur’s Castle. Perhaps she can take you there.”
He looked over at her.
For all his soft brown eyes and face of an angel, she had little desire to take Lord Chiverton to the castle ruins. He might want to see the cave. A place Elaine would be happy never to return to. Especially after today.
“Have you seen the moors at Bodmin?” Elaine asked. “Some of the rock formations are quite astounding. Cheesewring or Rough Tor.”
“I have not had the privilege, no. But it sounds fascinating.”
Her mother beamed. She’d thought, as Elaine had, that no man would come within twenty miles of poor Elaine.
He set his teacup down and leaned toward her. “Do you often go out walking in a man’s coat?”
Just when she thought he’d forgotten. “No, sir. I was down by the water, as you may have suspected, when I . . .” What? Found a woman hurt and alone who later vanished? Sought help from the man who had once offered to marry her? The less he knew about Gareth the better. “Tripped in the incoming tide.”
He laughed. “And you were rescued by a handsome gentleman?”
“Something like that.” She tried to sound amused. He seemed awfully interested in the owner of the coat. She was certainly not going to let him lure her into a discussion about Gareth Kemp.
“Well, I am glad he was there to rescue you.”
Her mother’s voice cut across the drawing room. “I do hope you’ll be able to stay a while, Lord Chiverton.”
“That is very kind of you. But I must first see to my business in Plymouth.” He set his empty cake plate to the side. “I wonder, Miss Cardinham, if you would give me a tour of your charming house and grounds.”
Havencross was one of the more respectable houses west of the Tamar, but it paled in comparison to the great houses around London. Many of the walls were bare stone. The ceilings were not nearly as lofty as was fashionable in London. And the furnishings had not been updated in some time and gave the house rather a medieval feel.
But she would never refuse a chance to have Lord Chiverton to herself. “If you wish.”
Lord Chiverton stood, and Elaine followed him to the drawing room door. Her mother picked up her knitting and scooted closer to the fire, as if having an earl in her house was as common as the daily egg gathering.
“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” Elaine said as she led Lord Chiverton to the front hall.
He grinned at her with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I hope not.”
She started her tour on the main floor, but Lord Chiverton insisted he wanted to see everything, bottom to top. And so she led him down the rear stairs to the cold and damp basement.
He poked his head into every door, listening intently as she explained how Havencross used to be an abbey and these were the sleeping quarters and food cellars.
“The monks up north were being persecuted by heathens,” she explained, “so they came here to escape. It was they who erected the large cross by the elm tree.”
“And did they find it?”
“Find what?”
“The refuge they were looking for.”
She shrugged. “I suppose so. They stayed, so they must have been pleased.”
He looked pensively down the dark and cobwebby hall. “What about you, Miss Elaine Cardinham? Did you not also flee persecution by heathens and come here for refuge?”
He meant the scandal. It was an apt way to describe it. She could not tell his thoughts on the affair, not from the look of curiosity he was giving her now.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.
“No.” All she’d found were bitter memories and heavy burdens. No refuge at all.
He gave one nod. “Perhaps in time.”
“Perhaps.” She started back toward the stairs. “Let me show you the upper levels of the house. They’re much more interesting than these cellars.”
Elaine walked him along the main level, skipping over the library door and her sequestered father inside. She stepped lightly to keep the floorboards from creaking, but they creaked anyway, when Lord Chiverton followed. She apologized when he had to duck under the lintel of some of the shorter doors. He didn’t seem to mind.
She led him up the stairs to the upper story. From the northward windows, they looked out across the grazing sheep and freshly plowed fields, the black choughs following along. And toward Lowentop, but she did not mention that. To the east, she pointed toward Camelford. The westward windows looked out over the gardens, a short span of heath, and then the sea.
“The Atlantic,” she told him, just to be precise. Though surely he already knew. “Sorry,” she said.
He took his eyes away from the window and rested them on her. “Why are you sorry?”
She shrugged, not entirely sure herself. “I fear our home is not up to the standards you are used to in London or Warwickshire.”
“I think it’s perfect.” He took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry you left London so quickly.”
They’d had little choice, as he well knew. General Forton had bypassed the dual to save his wife’s honor and had gone straight to threatening Elaine’s father’s life. A circumstance also known throughout London.
“I didn’t get to say good-bye.”
Is that why he was here? To say good-bye?
He placed a hand on her cheek and turned her head until her face was barely a foot from his. “You left so fast, I didn’t have a chance to ask you a very important question.”
She lifted her eyes to his.
“I have admired you for some time now. More than admired, I fear.” He leaned close so his words had nowhere to go except into her heart. “I had hoped—nay, I do hope—that perhaps you might feel the same. It would be my greatest pleasure if you would agree to marry me.”
Elaine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was what she had dreamed about for so long. But his proposal didn’t make sense after the disgrace of London.
“What about my father?”
“A scandal one day is forgot the next. I’m not willing to lose you over something that will mean nothing in less than a fortnight.”
She looked out the window, carefully keeping her eyes from drifting toward Lowentop.
Lord Chiverton still cared for her. He wanted her for his wife.
This was more than rebuilding a shabby cottage; this was a mansion of marble and gold. And he had come to the ends of the country to tell her so. It was all a bit sudden, but what did that signify? He was under no obligation to offer his hand. He wanted to. He wanted her.
“Can I assume by the smile on your face that you accept?”
She would be a fool not to. He was handsome, wealthy, respected, titled. He would sweep her off her feet and carry her away to his great house in Warwickshire. Her knight of Camelot. “Of course, yes.”
He smiled, taking both of her hands in his, kissing first one and then the other. “You have made me the happiest of men.”
For the first time since her brother left Havencross and never returned, her future looked bright. A new life with a man she could trust. A man who would not betray her like her father had betrayed her mother. She could not do better than Lord Chiverton.
“Elaine.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “May I call you Elaine?”
She nodded.
“I really do have business in Plymouth, and so I must away. I shall return in a fortnight. I will go now to your father, then stop at the vicar’s. He can start the banns on Sunday, and we can be married by the end of the month.”
So soon?
But why not? This was what she wanted. Waiting would accomplish nothing save prolonging her time in Cornwall. If Lord Chiverton was ready, so was she.
She nodded again.
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I will go to your father.”
“Oh.” What to say about her father. “He’s . . .”
Lord Chiverton stepped away. “I know where he is. I can smell pipe smoke as well as anyone.” He winked at her, then left her by the window.
His boots thudded on the stairs as he descended.
Now she must wait. For him to go to Plymouth and come back. And she must tell her mother the good news.
She hurried back to the drawing room. Her mother was still sitting by the fire, her knitting needles dancing a jig. They dropped to her lap when she looked up and saw Elaine.
“By Saint Piran,” her mother said. “I never thought we’d see him again.”
Elaine sat across from her.
“Where is he now? Did he already leave?”
“He is with father.”
Her mother stared at her while a whole host of visages crossed her face. “How is that possible?”
“He is an earl. He can go where he likes.”
“Elaine, what has happened?”
“He asked me to marry him.”
Her mother leaned back into her chair with a satisfied smile. “I knew he would. The moment I saw his face at our door, I thought to myself, ‘He’s going to offer.’ A man does not travel the breadth of the kingdom to pay a social call.”
She supposed her mother was right. Had Elaine been in her right mind when she’d first seen him, she might also have formed such a conclusion. Her morning in the cave with Gareth had left her befuddled.
“I am pleased for you, my dear,” her mother said with a smile. “I want nothing more than for you to find true happiness. But I cannot deny I will miss you terribly when you are gone.”
Her mother need not say what they were both thinking. She would be left alone at Havencross with only her father for company. If things carried on as they were now, that would be no company at all. Once again, so much of her family’s trouble came back to John. If he were alive, he would marry and settle here and her mother would never have to be alone.
Her mother picked up her needles again and started knitting. Without looking up, she asked, “What did he say about your father’s slip?”
His slip? As if disgracing the entire family name and breaking his most sacred of vows was an accidental misstep. As if he could right the wrong by merely readjusting his footing.
Perhaps a discreet dalliance was tolerated in the ton, and perhaps Elaine was old-fashioned, but wrong was wrong. And however much some people might be accepting of a little indiscretion, it did not lessen the humiliation for those involved.
“He said it was already forgotten.”
“Ah.” She tugged more yarn from her spool. “That was generous of him.”
It was. Very generous. Elaine could learn a lesson from Lord Chiverton. No good would come from wallowing in circumstances that could not be changed. Better to put it behind her. Her father’s slip. Gareth. John. All of it.
That was exactly why Lord Chiverton was good for her. He was her crossroads, the place where she buried her shameful past and moved on.
“Mother.” Elaine leaned forward and spoke quietly. “What happened? I feel there is more to Father’s situation than what the rumors supplied. What did Father tell you?”
“Hush.” Her mother’s needles sped up. “He didn’t tell me anything.”
“Cannot you ask him?” She was his wife and had a right to know.
“Of course not.” Her mother jerked a length of yarn out of the spool. “I am not speaking with him. Besides, it will do no good to stir the pot until it boils over. We must remove it from the fire as fast as possible. The pot will grow cold soon enough.”
Elaine was unsure whether her mother meant the scandal of London would grow cold or her own indignation. By the way her hands were flying, the pot was a long way from going cold. Her mother took everything out on those poor knitting needles. At this rate, they’d have enough woolen goods to clothe all of Cornwall.
Elaine had one or two memories of catching her father and mother stealing a kiss. There must have been love at one time. Somehow it had slipped away, John’s death being the final wedge. During their time in London, she’d rarely seen them together—at least not in any affectionate sort of way. They’d spoken when necessary, usually about the weather or their list of engagements or whatever other business had to be dealt with.
For all the blame she’d leveled at her father, her mother had not been quick to offer civility. Surely it must have taken the both of them to get the wedge so deeply imbedded.
The library door creaked open, and Elaine jumped up. She hurried to the hall to catch Lord Chiverton. One last moment alone before he left.
He winked at her again with a contented smile. “He has given consent, and all is settled.”
A new start. She thanked heaven Lord Chiverton had come into her life.
“Only three short weeks and we shall be married. How will you like being called the Countess of Chiverton?”
Countess. It was more than she ever imagined. “I shall like it very much, my lord. But . . .” She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “That is not the reason I said yes.” She couldn’t look up.
She’d never said anything so intimate to him before. But he did say that he more than admired her. Hopefully her feeble attempt to return the sentiment would not fall flat.
He took her hand again and kissed it. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he whispered. “And now I am off.”
Mr. Winkleigh opened the door, and Lord Chiverton strode out. Mr. Dean had his horse ready, and Lord Chiverton mounted up and rode away.
***
Elaine flopped onto her bed. It had been a whirlwind of a day, and it had sucked her breath away. Everything had changed so quickly. She needed a moment to take it all in.
Gareth’s coat lay draped across her changing screen. Elaine stood and walked over to it, lifting it to her nose. His scent brought a flush of memories as powerful as the wind that poured off the sea.
Days of their youth, scouring the beach for shells. The best finds were the mermaid purses—or even better, a sea potato, with its bleached white skeleton and pudgy heart shape. She had a whole collection of them lined up along her windowsill—all of them from Gareth. No matter how low her spirits, Gareth could always cheer her up. How often he had made her laugh until her sides hurt. It was a great talent of his, and she had loved that about him.
She laid the coat down.
Those were memories of the past. Memories she intended to bury. She must bury if she was to have peace in her marriage with Lord Chiverton. She could not bring all the weight of her past into her new life with him; it would only drown them both.
And yet, perhaps she owed it to Gareth to tell him personally that she was now formally engaged to Edmund Crawley, Earl of Chiverton. She had thought to have one of the staff return the coat to Lowentop, but if she set off early tomorrow, she could do it herself. Tell him of Lord Chiverton, and say good-bye.