Page 112

Still, her breathing shallowed as she imagined what they must think of her. Would they assume the worst—that she’d known of the connection between Uncle and the Honeysetts all along?

Their eyes were upon her, questioning, fearing, until she finally found her voice.

“I didn’t know,” she said, looking at each one of them before settling her eyes intently on Trevik. “I swear I didn’t know.” Her voice broke, tears flooding her eyes as emotion made it impossible for her to say another word.

Trevik frowned, though she couldn’t tell if he believed her words before he turned back to her uncle.

“It would appear that my being here has unsettled the lot of you,” Uncle Truscott said with a genial smile. “I take it my niece did not inform you of our connection?”

Silence.

He sniffed. “Unfortunately, this does not surprise me. My niece has always had a penchant for falsehoods.”

Morvoren, desperate for the truth to shine past Uncle’s darkening lies, took a step forward. “I didn’t know of any connection until yesterday.” Trevik’s eyes darted toward her in question, and she lowered her voice. “When ye said his name, I-I panicked. I feared, if ye knew he was my uncle, ye’d ne’er wish to see me again.” She glanced to Mrs. Honeysett and Poppy. “That any of ye would e’er wish to see me again.”

“I take offense to your words, niece,” Uncle said in mock offense from the door. “To suggest that a relation to me would be considered upsetting to you is beyond hurtful.”

She ignored him, still speaking with the family, desperate for them to know the truth. “I was goin’ to tell ye, but one thing after another kept happenin’. Church, Poppy, then the lugger.”

“Ah, yes,” Uncle piped in. “Terrible business, a lugger being destroyed during a storm. We saw the smoke on our way here.”

Morvoren did her best to ignore his words, but when they finally registered, she paused. “We?”

He gave her an innocent look, though something lurked behind his dark eyes. “Oh, yes. The thief taker I hired to find you.” He gave a short laugh. “You weren’t easy to discover, I give you that, dear niece.”

Morvoren’s stomach sloshed back and forth. The man with the walking stick on the cliff. Of course he’d been sent by Uncle.

“Now,” he began again, still in that sweetened tone, though she knew a snake lurked beneath, “I’ve grown weary of this little cove. Come, Miss Hollow. It is time for you to return home. Your Mr. Foss is waiting for you quite anxiously.”

Morvoren started. She’d been so upset about Uncle’s connection with the Honeysetts that she’d nearly forgotten about Mr. Foss.

Uncle paused then, observing her head to toe with a curled lip. “Heavens. We’ll have to do a great deal to make you presentable for Society again, I daresay. But never you mind. I am up for the task, as usual.”

He’d peered at her in that same degrading way countless times before, even if she was dressed for a ball. She’d never received his approval, and she never would. So why would she ever consider going back with him? Especially to Mr. Foss, who didn’t care whether she lived or died?

“No, Uncle,” she said, acutely aware of the Honeysetts’ eyes upon her. “I ain’t goin’ back with ye.”

His smile slowly faded away. “I see you’ve lost all manners while here, including your proper tongue. Do stop speaking so heinously and come here at once.”

Morvoren could always tell when Uncle’s time for games was spent, his voice turning as cold as his eyes.

“Miss Hollow,” he said again, taking a step forward.

Trevik’s hand immediately shot forth, preventing his entrance into the house. Uncle narrowed his eyes at Trevik, a silent battle taking place between the two before Trevik spoke. “I was smaller when ye saw me last, Truscott. Would ye like to see ’ow I’ve grown?”

Uncle hesitated, then retreated back with a subtle step. “Still harboring grudges, I see.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I thought we’d be able to move past this. But I see my hopes were in vain. Ah, well. I will respect your wishes if you would be so kind as to respect mine and deliver my niece to me. If not, I’ll gladly enter…”

Morvoren held her breath, but Trevik didn’t move. “This be me ’ome now. I’ll not allow ye to terrorize me family or anyone else within these walls.”

His family…or anyone else. That was the category Morvoren had fallen into. Not someone he cared about, not even his friend. Simply anyone else.

Uncle narrowed his eyes, glancing between Morvoren and Trevik before a smile stretched tightly across his lips. “Oh. Oh, I see now. You’ve gone and fallen in love with a fisherman and his family.” His cruel chuckle echoed unwelcomingly about the walls of the Honeysetts’ home. “How amusing. I suppose your dream to be parted from fishermen altogether was not realized after all then, was it, my dear niece?”

Morvoren’s chest tightened, and she gave up hope altogether of being able to breathe freely in his presence. “It matters not what happened,” she said, hating how quiet her voice sounded compared to his. “All that matters is that I’ll not be returnin’ with ye this evenin’.”

His smile faded once again. “Is that so? And you think that you’ll stay here? That you’ll be wanted here? After all you’ve done to deceive these fine folks?” He faced the others. “I assume my niece has spoken of her great dislike for all fishermen? That she said she’d rather die a thousand deaths than to ever live with one again? Surely you do not wish to house such a deceptive girl any longer.”

Morvoren cringed. She’d said those words the night she’d left Uncle, referring to Mr. Foss.