Authors: Denise Patrick
Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes and sighed. What was wrong with him? Why was he suddenly having maudlin thoughts about a wife he hadn’t truly known? And why now?
Corrie’s face floated before him. Perhaps he was reacting to the feelings he sensed in her. He hadn’t asked, but it was obvious she missed her parents. She had not taken him to task over his casualness about his own family, but he had felt the rebuke nevertheless.
She shouldn’t have to toil at someone else’s beck and call for the rest of her life. She should be cared for, cherished and loved. What she really needed was a husband, not an employer. Perhaps, when the other governess returned, he’d talk Felicia into sponsoring her for a season—at his expense, of course. Then she could find herself a husband.
Marcus didn’t delve too deeply into his reasons for suddenly wanting to help a woman he had only met the day before. He wasn’t ready to examine his motives for the sudden empathy he felt for her.
When Douglas died, he had stood beside his friend’s grave and vowed to take care of his sister. The letter that arrived from Douglas’s stepbrother had deprived him of the opportunity to fulfill his vow. Amy was beyond his help now, but Corrie wasn’t.
If the regular governess returned before Brand and Felicia left, he might let his interest show, but until then he’d spend time with his niece and nephew, knowing that Corrie came with them. If, after getting to know her, he felt comfortable with the possibilities, he would decide if he should, or could, help her.
Corinna stared into the darkness, listening to the sounds of the sea beyond the window of her room. Going over her conversation with Marcus earlier, she wondered at his thoughts. That he didn’t recognize her was obvious, confirming her earlier speculation. She was certain she knew why.
She had changed dramatically in appearance since the last time he saw her.
He had known her as Amy Houghton. Corrie wouldn’t strike a chord with his memory at all, unless he remembered her first name from the ceremony.
She wondered if he had traveled to Houghton Hall looking for her. What would Gregory have told him? That she had disappeared? That he didn’t know where she was?
And what would Marcus’s reaction have been to that? Maybe he had someone out looking for her right now. He could have hired a detective to try to find her. If he had, how would the person go about finding her? And how would she find out if he had?
Too many questions. Not enough answers. Especially since she’d asked Miss Ridley to deny having had any contact with her after she left school at eighteen.
Turning over, she punched her pillow in frustration. Her reaction to his touch yesterday had startled her. Today, however…she wasn’t sure what to think. He had been the perfect gentleman during their walk in the garden. Of course, he had nearly forced her to walk with him in the first place, but he hadn’t made any overtures.
His presence had been comforting. He had been solicitous, but not importuning. That he had insisted on the stroll had only been in response to her remark about stretching her legs. Perhaps he thought she had been extending an invitation. She frowned. She did not want him to think her forward.
Nonetheless, she found herself drawn to him. The ease with which they conversed and his sympathetic understanding was like a soothing balm on an open wound. She realized now that she had been very lonely since Great-Aunt Mirabel had died. And very scared.
With no friends to confide in, she had busied herself with first finding a position, then fitting in, and watching over the children. Once they left London, she ceased to look over her shoulder and, gradually, her fear of discovery had faded. She and John’s nurse spoke occasionally, but it was obvious they had little in common beyond the children. They were rarely even together because Miss Timson often took the baby outside when the twins were at lessons in the morning, and John napped in the afternoons when his sister and brother were usually outside.
She wondered how much of her attraction to Marcus was due to the relationship she knew they shared. Would she have reacted the same without it? Would she be just as attracted to him if they were two strangers? Would she have spoken as freely with him if they hadn’t shared a past?
Groaning, she flopped onto her back. There was no way to tell. They shared a past—that was a fact. So, all of her responses to him carried that knowledge with them. She would never be able to separate the two. It was useless to try.
So where did it leave her? Once again she was facing a situation that posed too many questions, not enough answers, and all manner of possibilities. It was a quagmire, and how she was going to get herself out of it no one knew.
Especially her.
The next morning dawned blustery and overcast. A sharp wind blew in off the channel, requiring warm cloaks for their morning ride. She had thought to cancel it, in deference to Caroline, but Caroline begged her not to and Corinna could see that the inactivity of the day before made Caroline eager to be out and about.
They rode down to a beach farther along the coast, the small ponies following her mare along the narrow track as they made their way down. Here the sand was smooth and relatively rock free and the children could race their sturdy mounts to their hearts’ content.
Thankfully the beach was not very long and Corinna could dismount and wander along the water’s edge, all the while keeping an eye on her charges.
The cool breeze had a decided chill to it, but it helped to blow the cobwebs away and keep the weariness at bay. She had been awake for entirely too long during the night, thinking of Marcus.
As if her thoughts conjured him up, he was suddenly there, on the beach, riding toward her. Sitting atop a massive bay, he looked completely at ease, and she could not stop the sudden fluttering of her heart at the sight.
“Good morning,” he greeted her cheerfully, slipping with an easy grace from the saddle.
“Good morning, my lord,” she responded in what she hoped was a normal tone.
What he was about to say was lost as Michael noticed him and the two children came trotting down the beach.
“Uncle Marcus!”
“Uncle Marcus!”
Further conversation was impossible with the children about, so Corinna contented herself with watching him interact with his niece and nephew.
He was patient with the twins, answering their questions and, most importantly, not allowing them to be rude or cutting to one another, something they were wont to be occasionally. He duly exclaimed over finds, talked to them about the birds they spotted, and told them of other animals he had seen during his travels.
He would be a good father, she thought, then blushed at the direction of her thoughts and turned to study the vista before her. It was a few moments later that she heard her name and looked up to find him watching her. His gaze was unreadable, but the spark of awareness that passed between them was unmistakable. She had to tear her eyes away from his in order to pay attention to what Michael was saying to her.
“I’m hungry,” he told her. “Is it time to go back, yet?”
“Me too,” Caroline chimed in. “Can we go back now?”
“Of course,” she responded readily. “Have you had enough for this morning?”
A resounding “yes” came from both children and they raced toward their mounts. Walking back toward her mare, she was surprised to find Marcus beside her, the reins to his own mount in his hand. When she reached the mare, she was unprepared for the feelings his touch invoked as he fitted his large hands around her waist and lifted her to the saddle.
She hoped her eyes did not convey the lightheadedness she was still feeling when she looked down to thank him.
He stepped back as she took up the reins. “My pleasure,” he replied with a grin, then watched as she followed the two ponies up the narrow track back toward the house.
He wondered if the twins had noticed his preoccupation with the governess as he answered their questions. At one point, when she had glanced over at him and blushed, he had been entranced at the way the delicate color highlighted her skin and his fingers had itched to find out whether it was as soft and smooth as it looked.
Mounting his own horse, he headed in the opposite direction. He was due to meet Boggs for a tour of one of the mines this morning and an introduction to the workers.
Shaking his head to clear it, he allowed his thoughts to wander as he rode. He had finally finished all of his father’s letters last evening. In many ways, he hadn’t been surprised by what he had learned.
His father had lived by a strict code of honor, which he had instilled in his son. Marcus easily understood what his father had done and why. The family had to be protected at all costs, and that cost had been his life. He had shielded his children from a scandal that would have rocked Society and given the gossip mill fodder for months, if not years.
He was certain his mother had murdered his father. He just wasn’t certain why. By the time of his father’s death, there was no possibility of him inheriting. With Brand’s return, he had been relegated to the position of second son. Perhaps it had been for revenge after all.
The speculation was intriguing, but would provide no ready answers. Answers that were no longer needed anyway. It would be better to just let it go, he thought as he came upon Boggs waiting for him at the crossroads.
The steward hailed him cheerfully, then turned his mount and led Marcus southward.
Marcus spent a profitable morning, learning all about the processes and problems of tin mining. The workers all looked healthy and well fed and he learned Brand had seen that their wages were adequate and improvements had been made which made the work less dangerous. Even the village on the edge of the mine was cheerful, with many small plots in the front of houses planted with flowers, vegetables and herbs.
There was also a small school in the village, with the curate doubling as the schoolmaster. Brand had decreed no children younger than thirteen could work in the mine and Felicia had set up the school for the children and any adults who also wanted to learn.
All in all, Brand had done an excellent job in Marcus’s absence and he would be happy to pick up the reins. Looking around at the well-run mine and village, he wondered how much time Brand had taken from running his own affairs in order to keep St. Ayers running smoothly while he was away. Boggs was competent and knowledgeable, but he would not have been able to institute some of the changes he indicated had been made in the last eight years. He’d remember to thank his brother later.
The weather cleared by the afternoon and Michael and Caroline wanted to return to the cove below the house. Corinna agreed, taking with her the book Michael found in the library.
As it turned out, the book was about the natural history of their particular area of Cornwall, describing not only the birds, but also other wildlife, plants and some local history, including that of St. Ayers.
The children brought bread with them in hopes of enticing some of the birds close enough to get a better look at them. They succeeded mostly with the gulls who, they discovered, were more than willing to come close enough to get a bite to eat, but not quite close enough to touch, much to Caroline’s disappointment.
With a smile, Corinna watched the gulls jostle each other for a chance at the free food. Occasionally a tern would appear, its dark feathers showing up easily among the white gulls. Corinna, however, was disappointed in her wish to see a kittiwake.
She had put down the book and was watching Caroline dig shallow holes with a stick in the sand near the edge of the water when a shadow fell over her and, looking up, found Marcus standing beside her.
“Do you come down here often?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “I would venture to say that this is the children’s favorite place. There is so much to see and find.”
He watched as Michael poked around in some of the small pools created by the retreating tide. Caroline was already redigging her holes, only to have the sea refill them each time the tide came in and retreated.
“I shall have to have them take me around some more. I suspect they know this place quite well.”
“Well, yes, I suppose they do,” she replied. “Will you be staying for very long?”
He looked down at her for a long moment, his expression blank. She wondered if he’d heard her at all.
“My lord?” she prompted.
“Uh, yes.” The confusion in his eyes told her he’d forgotten her question. “I think so.”
Surprise caused her to comment. “You think so? Are you under orders to report somewhere else?”
She’d startled him. She knew by the way he seemed to pull himself together before answering. “No. That is, I’m here to stay. I’ve resigned my commission.”
She looked out over the ocean, unwilling to meet his gaze.
“Did you not find the army to your liking after all?”
“In a manner of speaking, no,” he replied. “I found my enthusiasm waning lately.”
“Oh.”
He joined her on the large boulder, but she didn’t turn to look at him. His nearness had infiltrated her senses enough. She was afraid that if she looked at him, she might forget herself altogether.