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Heavens, she would even be humble enough to live with a fisherman in exchange for living on the streets of Sennen.

But there was one thing she couldn’t look past. “I just…I can’t put ye out again.” Her gaze found Mr. Honeysett. “Any of ye.”

A beat of silence followed her words.

“Ye won’t be puttin’ we out,” Mrs. Honeysett reassured her, then she turned to face her son. “Will she, Trevik?”

Mr. Honeysett finally glanced up from his drink, staring at his mother for a moment before finally meeting Morvoren’s gaze. With a smile that looked as strained as her shoulders felt, he nodded. “No, ye won’t be no trouble at all.”

“There, ye see?” Mrs. Honeysett said with a satisfied smile. “We’ll not take no for an answer. Ye’ll stay in Tristwick with us for as long as ye need.”

Morvoren hesitated, but with Mrs. Honeysett’s expectant stare and Poppy’s grin, she found herself nodding. “If ye insist.”

Poppy grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, I be so ’appy ye be comin’ back!”

Morvoren attempted a smile, but uncertainty still tightened in her stomach. Mrs. Honeysett and Poppy may have been more than pleased, but Morvoren knew at once that Mr. Honeysett’s approval hadn’t been genuine. His words had been too stoic, too rehearsed.

As his sister and mother celebrated, he averted his gaze from Morvoren’s, jerking away from the table as if he’d spotted a rat crawling toward him. “I’ll ready the wagon for our return,” he mumbled, replacing his cap on his head. “The three of ye ought to eat ’fore we leave.”

Mrs. Honeysett and Poppy nodded in agreement, but Morvoren merely watched his back as he departed, wondering who would regret her return to Tristwick more—she or Mr. Honeysett.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

On the journey home, Mother attempted to involve Trevik in their conversation numerous times, but he could only manage a few grunts and nods in response. He didn’t trust himself to speak, afraid his irritation would manifest itself and he’d say what he really thought of Morvoren Hollow.

Of course, his frustration was merely a mask to disguise the hurt and embarrassment she’d caused him. He’d known she’d been lying. Well, he hadn’t known. But he’d suspected it of her since the beginning. In truth, he rather admired the humility she’d exhibited in admitting to her falsehoods, but after all she’d put them through, her deceit, riling up the Cardys, then making them go to the trouble of borrowing a wagon and traveling to Sennen, he was ready to part ways with the woman.

He felt for her plight and had compassion for her past. But what person in this forsaken world did not have his or her own struggles? At some point, one had to accept life the way it was or rise above it—without exploiting another’s charity.

More than anything, Trevik was concerned for the well-being of his family and for Tristwick. For what in heaven’s name was he going to say to Edern and his crew when they discovered Miss Hollow would be staying with them indefinitely?

At least Mother and Poppy seemed more than happy with the situation, though he believed them to be entirely too forgiving. Mother was smiling a great deal more, and Poppy chatted away in endless streams of jolly musings until they stopped to stretch their legs midway through their travels.

Trevik checked the horse’s tack—if only to avoid being near the others—but just before their departure, Mother approached with Miss Hollow limping along beside her, the woman’s cheeks a charming pink, green eyes averted.

“Me legs keep seizin’ up sittin’ in the front,” Mother said. “I need to stretch ’em in the back o’ the wagon, so Morvoren’ll be takin’ me place beside ye.”

He narrowed his eyes, glancing to Miss Hollow, who shook her head. “I told ye, Mrs. Honeysett, I don’t need to—”

“Nonsense,” Mother interrupted. “’Twill be nice for ye to ’ave the view o’ the sea from the front o’ the wagon. When we round that ridge, you’ll be glad to see it.”

She walked away without giving either of them a chance to contest, though she took the time to turn around behind Morvoren, mouthing out, “Be nice,” to Trevik before she clambered into the back of the wagon with Poppy.

Trevik stood there with Morvoren, who shifted her footing with another limp. “Your mother insisted,” she mumbled.

“I’ve no doubt,” he returned, then he offered his hand to help her into the wagon.

She hesitated a moment, finally resting her bare hand in his, having forgotten to replace her traveling gloves after the meal at the inn.

He ignored how small her hand felt in his—and how smooth her skin was—waiting until she was settled securely in the seat before releasing his hold of her and walking around to the other side.

The wagon’s seat shifted back and forth as he climbed up, taking the reins in hand and tapping the leads against the horse’s back. “Move on, Glastaish.”

The horse moved forward, and he focused his gaze straight ahead, grateful the width of the seat allowed him ample room to avoid any accidental touch.

Poppy and Mother chatted behind them, discussing their plans to find a mattress or cot for Miss Hollow to bring into Poppy’s room, and the situation again hit him with full force. Miss Hollow really was going to be living with them, and he could only begin to imagine all that would entail for him, his family, and his men.

Before long, they rounded the ridge blocking their view of the sea, and the water came into full view. The green countryside was accentuated with tufts of burnt orange bracken and tall, yellow grass, set up nicely against the backdrop of the clear, blue skies and the creamy turquoise of the sea.