Page 19

“I remembered somethin’,” she said, raising her voice a fraction to be heard from the next room. “I was on me way to Sennen yesterday, to meet with me friends. I’ll be takin’ the coach come Monday.”

“Mother told I only just now.”

He offered nothing further. Had Mrs. Honeysett warned him of her lies? Or was he simply maintaining his suspicions from before?

He faced sideways so she could see his profile, though his eyes continued to rove about the kitchen.

Morvoren was not so proud that she could not admit that he was one of the more attractive fishermen she’d seen, what with his angled jaw and strong brow. Certainly nothing like Mr. Foss with his weak chin and overly shaped hair.

Then again, she hardly knew Mr. Foss enough to make such an observation. She’d only met with him a handful of times and had spoken to him even less. He was handsome enough, in spite of the chin, but his behavior—especially at the ball the night before she’d left—had been swift to secure him as last place in a veritably nonexistent list of men Morvoren would ever consider marrying.

Unfortunately, Uncle didn’t think her opinion on the issue mattered.

She watched in silence as Mr. Honeysett’s eyes settled on the table, where a plate of pastries sat. Those must have been the cherry tarts Mrs. Honeysett had mentioned earlier. He wasn’t planning on eating them, was he?

Sure enough, he reached for the plate, removing one of the tarts.

Morvoren should remain silent. After all, as strangely as Mr. Honeysett was behaving, this wasn’t her home. And yet, Mrs. Honeysett must have slaved over those tarts all morning. Surely she would not wish for her son to eat them before she was ready to serve them.

“I believe those were meant for after luncheon.”

Mr. Honeysett paused, the tart halfway to his mouth. “Pardon?”

She motioned to the tart. “Your mother said those were for after luncheon.”

He blinked. “She won’t mind.”

He moved to take a bite, and her mouth dropped open in disbelief.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d seen this thoughtless behavior before. Uncle was always disrespecting his cook, leaving plates of food untouched to go to waste and more often than not sending his meals away because it did not meet his impossibly high standards.

But to see Mr. Honeysett treat his own mother’s efforts in such a way? She couldn’t stand for it. Indignation boiled within her. “I be certain she would mind.”

The pastry still hovered near his mouth as he turned to face her more fully. “Are ye now?”

She nodded with a single jerk of her head. “If I had a son, I wouldn’t wish for him to eat what he wasn’t s’pposed to.”

“’Ave ye a son?”

She frowned. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll defer to me own opinion o’ me mother’s wishes, ‘stead of a stranger’s.”

With that, he sunk his teeth into the pastry and chewed a hearty bite.

Morvoren pulled her lips into a frown. She had a mind to scold the man further, but when the door opened, she knew she didn’t need to.

Mrs. Honeysett and Poppy entered the house, and Mr. Honeysett promptly shoved the rest of the pastry into his mouth, swiftly turning away.

Morvoren would have laughed at the sight had she not been so irritated.

“Morvoren,” Mrs. Honeysett greeted with a smile, “don’t ye look lovely this mornin’. ‘Ow did ye manage to dress? I…” She paused, turning to her son standing in the kitchen. “Trevik ‘Oneysett, I know what ye be doin’!”

“Hmm?” came his muffled reply. His jaw worked as he chewed ferociously, but Mrs. Honeysett was already upon him, followed closely by Poppy, who gave a friendly smile to Morvoren in greeting.

“I should’ve known,” Mrs. Honeysett said, covering the pastries with a cloth and setting them farther back on the table. “I told meself to put these away.” She turned back to her son with a pointed look. “Ye know how rare it be when we can actually afford to make pastries li’e these. They be for after we eat.”

“Ah, it be only one, Mother.” Mr. Honeysett glanced to Morvoren with a look of annoyance, no doubt because of the grin she wore from ear to ear. How nice it felt to be right.