Isabel gives her a grateful smile.
“My, the look on your face, Mrs. Henley,” Mr. Tredinnick says. “You’d almost think there was something to it and my wife here had discovered your great secret.”
Lieutenant Sowerby swallows a mouthful of wine. “What ridiculous notions the inhabitants of these parts hold. No wonder Mrs. Henley looks startled. Skin of a conger eel? I declare, it’s an insult! If I knew the man responsible for starting this absurd rumor—”
Jack says, “There isn’t a single man responsible. It’s a local legend. A myth, if you will.”
But you believe it,she thinks.Maybe.
“But where would they get such a mad idea?” says Sir Hugh, pointing his wineglass in Isabel’s direction. “Do you know, Mrs. Henley?”
“It’s because there issometruth to it,” she says, forcing herself to look at them one by one. When she meets Jack’s eyes, he gives her a nod. “But only a very little. I am a foundling. I was found in the town of Helford, where I now reside, nineteen years ago, and I was adopted by my parents, Admiral and Mrs. Farnworth of Woodbury House.”
Mr. Tredinnick says, “But that is remarkable! Have they never found your parents?”
“They have not. As far as I’m concerned, Admiral and Mrs. Farnworth were my parents.”
“You have lost them both?” Harriet asks. “I am ever so sorry to hear it.”
The cranberries look strange swimming in her pudding. How did she not notice it before? Quietly, she says, “It happened many years ago.”
Sir Hugh says, “That may be so, but it’s tremendously difficult to lose one’s parents. I know, as do my grown sons, who lost their mother, my first wife, when they were but small. But I’ve had the good fortune to marry again, a woman of great beauty and understanding: my dear Harriet.” He speaks with unexpected feeling, and when Isabel looks up, he gives her a smile warmer than she imagined him capableof.
Her voice soft, yet carrying across the table, Harriet says, “Thank you, Sir Hugh. I consider myself fortunate as well.”
After that, the conversation moves on. Jack resumes his assault on Lieutenant Sowerby’s defenses, prying from him what intelligence he can. Isabel eats quietly, sometimes adding a word here or there. Outside, the night grows dense. By the time the women rise to go to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and snuff, it’s past ten in the evening. Isabel casts a glance over her shoulder and catches Jack looking at her. He mouths something—she thinks it’ssoon,but she cannot be certain.
In the drawing room the conversation moves along like a rusted wheel. Harriet and Isabel have much to talk about, but it isn’t easy to find subjects that allow them to include Mrs. Tredinnick. Despite this, as the evening wears on, Isabel feels more and more at ease. The house, the company of the two women in their silk dresses, the footmen in their livery offering brandy and port—all of it conspires to create such a copy of the life that was still hers just weeks ago that she begins to feel as if her time living in the cottage has been a dream and she has only just woken to reality.
The men seem to have no trouble with their conversation; they remain in the dining room for over an hour and only join the women for some twenty minutes before the party breaks up. Isabel hasn’t found a moment to speak to Jack alone.
The Tredinnicks leave in their carriage and so does Mr. Pickford.The two lieutenants have only a short ride to the customhouse at St. Keverne and Jack, too, has come on horseback. When Isabel is putting on her gloves, ready to step out of the door, Jack moves to stand beside her and, leaning in, whispers, “Can I continue to rely on your discretion now you know who I am?”
Before she has the chance to even so much as nod, Harriet has taken her arm. “Oh, Isabel, you cannot mean to go out in the night like this! Not on your own, surely. You must stay.”
Jack says, “I’m happy to accompany Mrs. Henley back to her house.”
Her heart leaps, but then Lieutenant Sowerby says, “As am I. I know where Mrs. Henley lives; I’ve had the honor of visiting her several times, and unlike you, sir, I am well positioned to deal with any bandits along the way.”
Harriet sees her consternation. “Isabel? I’m afraid I must insist you stay the night. It’s very kind of the two gentlemen to offer their services, but I would be glad of your company and it’s awfully late and dark along the path.”
“I shall be glad to stay, dear Harriet,” she says. The regret sits heavy in her stomach; she wanted nothing more than the chance to ride back to Helford with Jack.
Harriet says, “You shall have the best room in the house.”
“It’s settled then,” says Lieutenant Sowerby, adjusting his neckerchief before going out. “I promise I shall call on you before the week is out, my dear Mrs. Henley. I look forward to conversing with you at length. It’s my sincere hope the more mundane aspects of your current situation shall not deprive me of a few hours of your delightful company.”
Mundane aspects?Does he mean the daily washing, cleaning, baking, and cooking that now form the foundation of her existence? She tries not to grit her teeth when she makes her response: “That will be lovely, Lieutenant, thank you.”
Chapter Seven
Her bed that night almost makes up for the disappointment of not having Jack accompany her back to the old pilchard shed. One of the maidservants, a girl named Sally, helps her undress, just as Mary used to at home. Isabel luxuriates in the abandonment of her struggle with ties, hooks, and laces.
The bed is a pudding made of silk and feathers, yet she lies awake for a long time. She keeps going over the events of the evening and the intense happiness as well as shock at seeing Jack again.John Carlyon,she says in her head, over and over, trying to get used to the name, but it’s no good. He remains simplyJackto her.
Harriet knocks on her door in the morning to offer Isabel the use of one of her gowns. Isabel is touched but declines, saying she doesn’t mind wearing the blue muslin another day, and doesn’t Harriet agree the benefit of muslin cotton is that it so easily moves from day to night? Over a late breakfast of honey and plum cake, strawberries and fresh cream, brioche with jam, coffee, tea, and hot chocolate, Isabel asks her friend, “Pray, where is Mr. Carlyon’s estate? I don’t believe he mentioned it last night.”
After eating steadily for half an hour, she feels as if her stomach is stuffed with wool, but she gets another slice of honey cake and nibbles on it. Now that the reality of the cottage hovers on the horizon again, she’s determined to enjoy as much of the food at Weatherston as shecan. If she eats enough, the meal may last her until the next morning. She has to resist the temptation to try to hide a fifth slice in the folds of her gown.
