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“Yes, and ’twas the most romantic weddin’ we ever saw, wasn’t it, Mother? Both classes present and teary eyes aboundin’. Though, mind, not from ’em upper folks. But still, ’twas perfect.” Poppy sighed. “Would that such a thing’d ’appen to I as to marry a wealthy gent.” Then she dropped her gaze. “Oh, speakin’ of ’elp in the cellars. I was thinkin’. Per’aps ye ought to ’ire Lieutenant ’Arris, Trevik.”

Morvoren caught the look shared between Mrs. Honeysett and her son.

“Ye know the lieutenant already works at Golowduyn, Poppy. We see ‘im there every week.” Mrs. Honeysett turned to Morvoren. “The lieutenant’s been on reserve from the navy and supplementin’ ’is income while ’e nurses a wound, see.” She turned again to her daughter. “Why’d ‘e need more work than ’e already does?”

Poppy shrugged far too flippantly. “Per’aps ‘e wishes to.”

Mrs. Honeysett smiled knowingly, and Morvoren paused. Did Poppy fancy this Lieutenant Harris?

Before another word could be said, Poppy shifted the conversation again. Mrs. Honeysett did her best to fill in details for Morvoren, but soon enough, Morvoren kept her head down, not wishing to impose on their family meal and discussions any longer.

Would she feel like an imposition when she joined the Prouts? Or would Zennor be in no position to help Morvoren at all?

Her worried thoughts continued to spiral as she thought back to living with Uncle. Rather than a simple feeling, Morvoren knew she had been a burden on him. He could hardly stand to be near her, Morvoren rarely eating with him beyond dinner parties. Otherwise, she was forced to take her meals in her room alone, which was admittedly preferable to having Uncle’s watchful, condemning gaze on her.

His condemnation had been the worst the night she’d left. “Mr. Foss will make you a fine husband, Miss Hollow,” he’d said. “And his father will make me a fine business partner.”

A fine husband, indeed. That was the last word she would ever use to describe Mr. Foss. That gentleman seiner was rumored to have a mistress in nearly every town in the southwest of Cornwall.

She shuddered to think of suffering through life with such a husband. Living with Uncle had been unbearable—how would it have been living with an openly debased spouse?

“At any rate, the men won’t be ’appy for long. I’ve ’eard talk…”

Mr. Honeysett’s words pulled Morvoren back from her thoughts, and her ears perked at the instant dimming of the mood around the table.

Mrs. Honeysett lowered her spoon. “What news ’ave ye?”

Mr. Honeysett lowered his voice with a glance toward the door, as if someone might overhear their conversation. “Ye’ve ’eard o’ who be in St. Just. They asked Gryffyn if ’e wanted to work for ’em.”

“No.”

Mr. Honeysett nodded. “Fortunately, it be ’im they asked. ’E won’t be leavin’ we. But the Cardys…”

Morvoren did her best to focus on her stew instead of their conversation. After all, why should she take any interest in what they were discussing?

“Ye ought to give ’em more credit, son,” Mrs. Honeysett said. “Edern Cardy was friends with your father ’fore ye were even born.”

His father. Morvoren had yet to have heard a single mention of the man until that point. Had he died? Is that why Mr. Honeysett owned the lugger?

“Yes, but we know ‘e ain’t be as devoted. And them seiners be awful sweet talkers.”

Shock jolted through Morvoren’s body at the mention of seiners, and a sudden numbness weakened her limbs. She tried to regain the feeling in her hands, but it was too late. Her fingers lost their grip on the spoon, and it clattered loudly against the table.

Instantly, the eyes of the Honeysetts were upon her.

CHAPTER NINE

Morvoren mumbled an apology, retrieving her spoon and stirring her soup around for a moment. Her appetite had entirely vanished.

The conversation continued despite Mr. Honeysett’s gaze in her direction, and she shifted against the dark wood of her chair.

Seiners. In St. Just. Morvoren shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d heard of Uncle sending out representatives to various drifters before, luring them to join his company. Were those in St. Just sent by him? Had he been alerted of her presence already, or would the men not recognize her if they saw her?

“Sweet talkers or not,” Mrs. Honeysett said, “it’d take an awful lot for Edern to leave ye, son.”

Trevik’s eyes were still on Morvoren when he responded. “I do ’ope ye be right, Mother.”

Silence centered around the table, but Morvoren’s mind hummed with concern. She had to know. She had to know if they were Uncle’s men. If they were, she’d leave that very evening. She’d crawl to Sennen if she had to. Never mind that her foot still pulsed or that it might be a risk to walk alone. Waiting around for Uncle was even more of a risk.