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“Are ye well, miss?” Mr. Skewes asked. “Might I offer some very fine smellin’ salts I ’ave in stock ’ere—”

“No, no,” Mrs. Honeysett interrupted, her words echoing in Morvoren’s ears, as if spoken from a great distance. “We’ll see to ’er now, thank ye.” Then she wrapped her arms around Morvoren’s shoulders and led her from the shop.

The bright sunshine pierced into Morvoren’s eyes, and she winced, turning away. In the next moment, however, she wished she’d kept her eyes closed, for Mr. Honeysett stood before her, confusion pressed against his brow.

“What ’appened?” he asked, his gaze shifting to his mother’s.

Morvoren didn’t miss the subtle shake of Mrs. Honeysett’s head.

Mr. Honeysett looked back at Morvoren, as did the rest of his family as they searched for an explanation, but she only ducked her head, blinking back tears of fear and humiliation. Why had she not been honest with them from the start? She’d used them ill, had treated them in a manner no one ought to be treated. But now, it was her responsibility to right the situation. After all, they deserved the truth after everything they’d done for her.

She straightened her back and faced them, pulling away from Mrs. Honeysett’s comforting arm. She didn’t deserve such kindness, not after the lies she’d told them.

Swallowing against the growing lump in her throat, she began. “I…I have some things I’d like to say to ye all. If ye care to listen.”

At once, Mrs. Honeysett nodded, and she led the four of them to the inn down the road. The dining area was mostly empty, one man seated at the bar and a couple near the front door, so the Honeysetts and Morvoren chose a table at the back of the room. After the plates of food had been given to the women and a drink to Trevik, Morvoren began her confession.

“I first need to say how sorry I be for all of this. I can’t imagine what ye be thinkin’ of I now, and ye really have no reason to trust what I be sayin’, but I’d like to be honest with ye now.”

Poppy’s eyes were rounded with worry, though Mrs. Honeysett gave Morvoren an encouraging nod. Mr. Honeysett merely focused on his drink.

Morvoren winced. He would be the most difficult to speak with about all of this. After all, he’d given her multiple chances to tell the truth, and she’d only lied all the greater.

With a burning conscience, she continued, focusing hard on the smooth, knotted wood of the table they sat around. “I have no memory loss from me near drownin’. I admit that I was confused in the beginnin’, but soon after, things were quite clear.” She took another breath. “Five years ago, when I was fifteen, me parents died one after the other, leavin’ I to be looked after by me only livin’ relative. Uncle took me in, but…he didn’t care for I. He changed me accent, forced me to do as he wished, and threatened to take away everythin’ I loved if I didn’t. His last command was to help him with a business venture.”

Humiliation branded across her cheeks in a heated blush. For so long, she’d refused to blame herself for Uncle’s lack of care. But admitting his animosity toward her made it difficult to not to blame herself for his behavior. After all, had she done more, had she been a different person, could Uncle have ever loved her?

“He made an arrangement with another gentleman,” she explained, “a joinin’ of their two companies—and a weddin’ ’tween me and the gentleman’s son.”

She grimaced, picturing Mr. Foss’s ceremonious bow to Morvoren when his father and Uncle had let them both know of the arrangement. They’d been at a ball the night before she’d left, and after Mr. Foss’s expression of pleasure over their arrangement—and Morvoren’s stunned silence—he’d promptly helped himself to half the drinks at the refreshment table.

“I couldn’t agree to the marriage,” she said, her voice as small as she felt, “so I…I left.”

Memories of her and Uncle’s last argument flooded her mind. He’d shouted at her, far louder than he ever had before. And though he didn’t strike her, he had always found different ways to cause her suffering.

“You shall marry Mr. Richard Foss,” he’d threatened, “or I’ll send you to a workhouse in London where you’ll never see your beloved sea again.”

She shook her head. “I took the earliest coach I could, stoppin’ in St. Just. From there, I swam in the sea to clear me head, though I was intendin’ to only be a moment.”

“And then ye were caught in the net,” Mrs. Honeysett finished.

Morvoren nodded. “I hadn’t been allowed near the sea in weeks, so I took the first chance I could.”

Poppy frowned. “Ye weren’t allowed to see the sea?”

Morvoren shook her head.

“Your uncle do be a tyrant.”

“Poppy,” Mrs. Honeysett said in a soft rebuke.

But Morvoren shook her head. “’Tis an accurate description.” She moved to tell them that he was a seiner, as well, but then, wouldn’t that sully their opinion of her more fully?

She drew a deep breath and continued with more important truths. “I would’ve told ye all this ’fore, but I didn’t want no chance of Uncle findin’ I and forcin’ I to go back to St. Ives with him. Feignin’ forgetfulness seemed the easiest option.”

Mrs. Honeysett nodded, understanding filling her eyes. “I can see why ye kept most o’ this to yourself. Must’ve been harrowin’ to make such an escape, then to end up with a family ye didn’t know if ye could trust or not.”

Morvoren swallowed hard, blinking furiously to keep her tears at bay. Was there no end to this woman’s generosity? Poppy, too, seemed more than willing to forgive Morvoren’s trespasses, her eyes as soft as her mother’s.