The road to Polwithiel led southwest out of Falmouth, passing through woods where wild rhododendrons thirty feet high were in full bloom. Color was everywhere between the cool trees, and then, as the road rose to the moors, there was even more color, from the bright gold of the furze to the vibrant purple of the heather. From up here it was possible to see the narrow creeks of the Fal estuary creeping fingerlike between the hills, the water almost entirely concealed by the luxuriant trees.
Kathleen did not travel in the carriage, but was instructed to follow behind in the little dogcart hired from the Black Boar Inn. The coach’s magnificent team of grays soon outpaced the little cart, leaving it far behind along the dusty road.
Delphine remained tactfully quiet, having swiftly realized the effect of her revelation about the imminence of a visit from Sebastian. Bryony was glad of the silence, for it enabled her to think a little. Subconsciously she had been hoping that it would be some time before the ordeal of meeting either of them was upon her, but now she had to accept that she did not even have one day’s grace.
The road dipped down into a tree-choked valley and from time to time she noticed the flash of the sun upon water, and Delphine briefly broke the silence to tell her that it was Polwithiel Creek, a long, narrow arm not of the River Fal but of the Helford. Bryony gazed out at the beautiful scenery, thinking how strange it was that the sea could creep so secretly inland, as if it was not satisfied merely with the coast. She was reminded of her geography lessons with Parson McKenna, the stalwart gentleman who had taught her as earnestly as he would have instructed his own son, when she had learned with wonder about the land of Norway and its magnificent fjords. Maybe Cornwall lacked Norway’s ice-capped mountains, but it certainly had a unique magic of its own.
The coach traveled on, following the line of the creek, which gradually grew wider and wider the farther southwest they went, and then she suddenly noticed through the trees to the left the chimneys and roofs of a very large country house. “Are we nearly there?” she inquired in surprise, thinking that they had driven the miles between Falmouth and Polwithiel with amazing speed.
Delphine hesitated, the beginning of a flush touching her cheeks. “No,” she said quickly, “we’re not there yet, although I suppose as the crow flies we are fairly close.”
“Then what house is that? It seems very large.”
Delphine looked positively embarrassed now. “It’s Tremont Park, where Sebastian is the guest of the Countess of Lowndes.”
Bryony gazed at the rooftops, and quite suddenly she wanted to know a little more about the countess. Delphine’s embarrassment could only mean that she knew something of the situation, and Bryony decided to press her for information. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but it seems to me that mentioning the countess and Sir Sebastian causes you some discomfort. Is there perhaps something I should know?”
Delphine gave a start at the directness of the question. “No,” she said quickly, “of course there isn’t.”
“I believe you are trying to be kind by denying it.”
Delphine toyed unhappily with the black fringe of her shawl. “I ... I do not know that it is my place to say anything, Bryony, for it is none of my concern.”
“Which reply alone conveys to me that I am right to be suspicious,” pressed Bryony, wanting very much to learn all she could of the woman who had virtually declared war upon the future Lady Sheringham.
“Please, Bryony—” began Delphine, but Bryony was quite determined.
“The countess is his mistress, isn’t she?”
Delphine was quite disconcerted. “How did you find out?”
“It doesn’t matter how, I just want to know if it is true.”
“Yes,” confirmed the other at last, “but I would never have told you had you not insisted so. I find the situation acutely embarrassing and think it very bad of them to be so obvious and lacking in sensitivity at a time like this. When I heard that he was going to lodge with her at Tremont while you were with us at Polwithiel, I was very angry with him. He and I had a dreadful argument and he told me that it was none of my business and to keep my nose out of his affairs. I haven’t spoken to him since and do not know how I shall go on tonight at dinner. To be truthful, I’ve been considering pleading a headache and avoiding the whole thing.”
“Oh, please,” said Bryony quickly, “you must join us, for I shall be lost without you.”
Delphine’s brown eyes were kindly. “If that is truly what you wish ...”
“It is, oh, it is.”
Delphine nodded. “Then of course I will attend. Oh, it really is too bad of Sebastian, for it makes for so much difficulty and embarrassment all round. Mother disapproves, of course, but she disassociates herself from the whole thing by pretending it isn’t going on. Sebastian is her nephew and Petra her neighbor, so great problems and awkwardness could arise between Polwithiel and Tremont if my mother spoke her mind. As to my brother ... well, Felix loathes Sebastian and isn’t all that fond of Petra, but he takes the view that what they do is their own affair and as long as it does not encroach upon his life at all they can continue to do as they please.
“He says that as your marriage will be simply one of convenience anyway, it is rather foolish to expect love or constancy from either side. So there you have it, and you will know exactly what to expect when you arrive at Polwithiel; everyone knows Petra is Sebastian’s mistress, but no one will mention the fact openly. Discretion is the order of the day; the real sin is to be too careless and force it upon others when they do not wish to know. If you remember that, I suppose you will go on well enough.”
She paused for a moment. “Felix is right about the marriage, you know: it is simply one of convenience. Oh, I know Sebastian is saying that it is on account of the pledge between his father and yours, but everyone knows that that isn’t so. No one knows what his reason is. Or at least, perhaps only a few do.”
“Petra, for instance?”
“Maybe.”
Bryony was quiet for a moment. “He is not the angel you said he was in Falmouth, is he?”
Delphine flushed. “I thought it best and more kind to say it. Sebastian isn’t an angel, but he isn’t a devil either, and it will be up to you to make what you can of what is presented to you. But then, isn’t it always up to the woman to do that?”
Bryony said nothing.
Delphine looked at her for a long moment. “What Felix said about marriages of convenience ...”
“Yes?”
“Well, you will not be approaching it from an entirely innocent standpoint, will you?”
Bryony stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You haven’t mentioned it all, but there is the matter of you and Mr. Carmichael.”
Bryony’s eyes widened with shock and her heart seemed almost to stop. Her voice was barely audible. “What have you heard?”
“I know only what Mr. Carmichael wrote in his letter to Felix.”
“Letter?” cried Bryony in the utmost dismay. “What letter?”
“When the match between you and Sebastian was first announced, Mr. Carmichael wrote to Felix, begging him not to allow you to stay at Polwithiel for the purpose of meeting and eventually marrying Sebastian. He was adamant in the letter that you had already promised your hand to him and that therefore there could not possibly be a match with anyone else.”
Bryony was so astonished that for a moment she couldn’t reply. “There is no truth whatsoever in his claim,” she said then, “for I have most certainly not promised to marry him. Indeed, I cannot think why he should imagine there is anything even remotely approaching such an intimacy.” Her head was spinning. Why would Anthony write such a letter? Why?
Delphine looked uncomfortable. “Oh, dear, I wish I had not said anything.”
“You must believe me, for I would swear on the Bible that I am innocent. I haven’t given Anthony Carmichael any reason whatsoever to think I will marry him.”
“Perhaps he has a tendre for you and sees this as a way of preventing the match with Sebastian.”
“I suppose that could be so, but I cannot believe it. He gave no hint at all of being in love with me and I am sure that there were opportunities when we were riding together when he could have confessed all, had he wished.” She looked earnestly at Delphine. “Please say you believe me.”
“Of course I believe you, and I think this wretched Mr. Carmichael is an insect for writing such a letter. Still, if it was his purpose to make Felix behave awkwardly about your stay with us, then he did not succeed. Felix is far too cynical a man of the world to be swayed by such a thing.”
“Does ... does Sir Sebastian know of the letter?”
Delphine nodded. “Yes, but he has so far completely ignored it.”
Bryony looked out of the window, suddenly too upset to say anything more. First her father had learned of the rumors, and believed them, and now those rumors had crossed the Irish Sea to plague her again. What did Anthony hope to gain by this? Perhaps her father had been right all along, and Anthony Carmichael’s sole purpose in befriending her had been to try to gain Liskillen House. What a fool she’d been to think him genuine!
She fought back sudden tears as she continued to stare out of the window, hoping that Delphine would not say anything more for the time being. Outside the trees were more sparse now and the road had curved more to the south, allowing her a clear view of Tremont. The house was white, like Liskillen, only much larger, and with an impressive portico. It rose majestically at the head of what appeared to be a lake in the creek, its beautifully landscaped grounds sweeping along the banks of the glittering water. Closer to the house there were wide terraces and formal gardens, like those at Versailles, and Bryony had to admit to herself that the Countess of Lowndes’s home was very lovely indeed.
The road approached a crossroads, with the lodge and entrance gates to Tremont on the left, and the road to the fishing village of Polwithiel, on the banks of the Helford, leading away to the right. The way to Polwithiel Abbey lay directly ahead, passing a low thatched inn called the Royal Charles, where evidently the workers of both estates congregated to enjoy their ale.
Bryony was looking at the gates to Tremont when suddenly a lady and gentleman rode through them, reining in to speak to the lodgekeeper. The gentleman she recognized immediately, for Sebastian Sheringham was the very image of his portrait. He was very elegant in a dark green riding coat and white buckskin breeches, his top hat tipped back casually upon his golden hair. The woman was tall and slender, and very graceful in a sapphire-blue riding habit, a little plumed black beaver hat resting neatly on her red hair. They both turned as they became aware of the Calborough carriage.
The coachman immediately began to rein in, fully expecting Delphine to wish to speak to them, but Bryony was alarmed. “Please, no!” she begged. “I couldn’t speak to them just yet!”
Delphine didn’t seem to know what to do for a moment, but then quickly she lowered the glass of the window away from the lodge, in a low voice bidding the coachman to drive on. Immediately the carriage began to pick up speed again, leaving the gates of Tremont far behind.
Bryony leaned her head back with relief. She knew that she had to face them both that evening, but she needed the intervening time to screw herself up to the pitch she knew would be required for such an ordeal. She had to go through with it well, she had to carry it off and make sure of the match, for Liskillen depended upon her.
But as she thought this, there was something else at the back of her mind, a deep disappointment which went right through to the depths of her soul. She had hoped, so vainly and pathetically it seemed, to make something more of her marriage than merely a contract; that hope had been cruelly dashed by each unkind word of Petra’s letter.