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Morvoren nodded, but the elder Mr. Foss paused, remaining where he stood.

“If you have but a moment to spare, Mr. Truscott?”

“Of course, sir. Of course.” Uncle instantly glanced to Morvoren, sizing her up as if attempting to decipher if she was the one whom Mr. Foss disapproved of. “What do you wish to discuss, Mr. Foss?”

The younger Mr. Foss moved from Morvoren’s side and stood before the window, staring out of the glass with his hands clasped behind his back.

Was he avoiding his own unease, or did he care less about what his father had to say than he cared about Morvoren?

She didn’t think she’d like to know the answer to that question.

“Well,” Mr. Andrew Foss began, his surprisingly thick hair standing rigid, not a strand out of place, “I am sorry to say, but it is a delicate matter. One in regard to your niece.”

Morvoren’s heart stopped. Her? A delicate matter? A torrent of possibilities flooded her mind with what the man could be referring to, but she froze when Uncle’s eyes focused on her.

“My niece?” he asked, feigning surprise. His stare penetrated Morvoren’s confidence. He was threatening her, that much was clear. But to what end? How could she stop what Mr. Foss had already heard?

“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Foss continued. “Now, I am not one for gossip. I cannot abide by it. But my source was notably concerned. You see, only just last night, I heard that Miss Hollow’s time in Sennen did not actually occur.”

Uncle pulled back, sending another glance to Morvoren. She read his look in an instant, pulling on her best impression of innocence.

“Wherever did you hear such a thing?” Uncle laughed. “Of course she was in Sennen. Were you not, niece?”

Morvoren nodded. “I was.” How she hated lying to people day in and day out to ensure Uncle’s cover for Morvoren’s departure remained valid. According to him, Morvoren had spent three weeks in Sennen with a trusted friend under the constant supervision of a chaperone.

Mr. Foss still appeared hesitant, though he’d stop shuffling his feet. “I have it on good authority that my source was telling the truth,” he continued. “Furthermore, I was told that Miss Hollow was not with friends, but instead living unchaperoned with a lower drifter’s family, under the same roof as an unmarried male.”

Uncle’s face reddened, and he sputtered, unable to conjure a single word, but Morvoren hardly noticed.

She was too overcome with shock, tears welling in her eyes. For the last two weeks, the Honeysetts had existed purely in her own memory. Uncle refused to speak a word about them while swearing Morvoren to silence, too. But now, to have her time with the family—her time with Trevik—brought to the forefront of her attention by someone other than herself, the memories rushed back unwavering, as powerful as a broken dam.

Being caught in Trevik’s net in the sea. Being welcomed into his home. Her friendship with Poppy and Mrs. Honeysett. Trevik’s kiss.

She’d given them up for their own safety. But that did nothing to stop the ache from returning full force into her heart.

Uncle’s continued sputtering brought her back to the present, though her longing to see Trevik again remained the same.

“And just who is this source who has spread such fanciful rumors about my dear niece?” Uncle blurted out. He didn’t have to hide his anger, no doubt furious that the truth of Morvoren’s attempted escape was beginning to make its rounds through Society.

Morvoren couldn’t help but wonder the same.

“My source is my own,” Mr. Foss said, all hesitation gone.

Uncle was clearly revealing more than he intended as his anger rushed forward. “Well, this is simply preposterous. What reason have we to lie about such a thing?”

“To save our business arrangement.” Mr. Foss glanced to Morvoren. “And to save your niece’s reputation.”

Morvoren swallowed. He knew. There was no denying it any longer. But then, what did that mean for her?

“Well, I don’t have to save either,” Uncle said a little too vigorously. “For my niece was in Sennen.”

Mr. Foss shifted his jaw back and forth, as if tasting Uncle’s words. He must have decided he didn’t like them, for he turned to study Morvoren instead. “And what do you have to say about all of this, Miss Hollow? Were you in Sennen, or were you not?”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Morvoren could hardly breathe. She glanced to Uncle, whose stare made her want to crawl back to her room and lock the door behind her.

“My dear Morvoren,” Uncle said—using her given name for the first time in her memory, “do tell Mr. Foss where you were.” His pointed gaze told her that he expected her to lie.