Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

Harwood will forgive the loan if Lil will marry him. Mother wanted that.’

She was angry also that, after all her sensible scrimping, saving, and strategizing, her mother had not even turned to her, asking for help, ideas, suggestions.

Something to save Lil.

‘Harwood.’ Flora exhaled, pressing her lips together. ‘Well, that explains a lot.’

Millie glanced at the older woman, her worn face as familiar as her own. ‘Does nothing shock you?’

‘I find shock an unhelpful emotion not conducive to sound reason. You should have told me. I might have come up with something a mite more sensible than smuggling.’

‘Does anyone else...know? About the smuggling? I mean, about me doing it?’

‘I told my family that you’d gone out fishing and were caught in the storm. And I told Sally not to breathe a word. I’ll get word down to her that you’re safe.’

‘I never meant to go on board the ship. I was only supposed to go to the vessel and be given the merchandise. Then I was to head straight back to shore and hide it.’

‘Do not say something went wrong with your foolproof plan,’ Flora said, wringing out the flannel, as though holding personal animosity against it.

‘I found a man drowning and pulled him out.’

‘You what now? One of the smugglers?’ Flora asked.

‘I thought so, but it was actually Mr Garrett.’

‘Never heard of the man.’

‘Mrs Ludlow’s brother.’

Flora sat back on her heels, as she took in this new information. ‘And now Jason Ludlow’s gone missing. That cannot be a coincidence. There’s speculation about Mr Ludlow. Some says as he’s up to his eyes in nefarious doings. Likely this drowning victim might know summat about it.’

‘No, Sam wouldn’t,’ Millie said with more heat than she had intended.

Flora raised an eyebrow, giving the flannel another twist. ‘Sam, is it? And this Sam convinced you to run off with smugglers?’

‘No, and I did not run off with them. They made us come on board. They pointed a pistol at us and then all manner of other awful things happened and... Anyway, I did not run off with them. I did not have a choice.’

The strength of this last statement was marred by the tremble in her voice.

‘Hmm. A choice would have been to stay on dry land,’ Flora said. ‘But we can talk about that later. And mind you do not be telling your mother and sister about smugglers or this Sam character. Your mother would likely require smelling salts and your sister would find it romantic and tell all and sundry.’

‘Lil does like stories involving pirates and princesses,’ Millie said, which reminded her of her conversation with Sam. To her irritated mortification, she started to cry. Almost angrily, she wiped her eyes with the flannel, which was soapy, and only served to make her eyes sting further.

‘There, there,’ Flora said, providing her with a fresh cloth. ‘You’re alive, that’s the main thing. Who knows? Like as not, this may have knocked some sense into you. Life is not all adventure and romance.’

Millie said nothing. Certainly, the last two days had not been romantic. They were too hungry and smelly and cold for romance. And her feet had hurt too much. Blisters were not romantic. But it had been something. Those moments with Sam had made her feel as though her whole body was more alive. She had felt as though she had briefly glimpsed something unknown and unchartered.

She knew she had to marry Mr Edmunds, now more than ever. And she would. Nothing in the last few days had changed that. But her reluctance to do so felt stronger. She did not want to marry Mr Edmunds with his sausage fingers, his rotund figure and quest for land.

She closed her eyes. For a moment, she could picture Sam’s strong, regular features and firm chin. She remembered his smile, the crease in his cheek and occasional humour in his eyes.

‘Anyway, one way or another, we won’t let your sister marry Lord Harwood. Your mother likely doesn’t know his reputation. And I dare say once things are all sorted with Mr Edmunds, he’ll have a suggestion or two. He is a decent man, hard-working and kind. You could do worse.’

‘Yes,’ Millie said. ‘It’s just he is not...’

Her words trailed into silence and she felt a sting under her eyelids. Flora took Millie’s hand. The touch, her palms slightly roughened by hard work, was familiar.

‘He is not...?’ Flora prompted gently.

Millie remembered again the touch of Sam’s lips and the way her body had felt about him.

‘Mr Edmunds is not...’ she paused ‘...young.’

‘Oh, miss,’ Flora said, her voice soft with sorrow, reading between the lines as she always had. ‘I am that sorry. But you cannot be running off with some ne’er-do-well you’ve met on your adventures.’

‘No, indeed not.’ Millie spoke briskly. ‘Besides, I am not acquainted with any ne’er-do-wells desirous of running off with me. I have learned my lesson. I will be sensible. I won’t let Lil or Mother down.’

The butler opened the door of Manton Hall. Sam remembered him from when he had arrived in Cornwall...whenever that was. Time was a foreign concept. The servant was too well trained to betray any shock at Sam’s appearance, merely swinging the door open and stepping aside.

‘Mr Garrett,’ he said in neutral tones, as though well used to guests arriving in rags.

Sam stepped in. ‘Is my sister at home?’

‘She is currently out, my lord.’

‘Out? Where?’

‘I do not know if I should—’

The butler’s words were drowned by a sudden screech and the hurried patter of feet descending the stairs. A middle-aged woman rushed down so quickly that he almost feared she would tumble over her own flying feet. He recognised her as Marta Shingle, his sister’s long-time maid, although she seemed much changed from the prim and proper woman he recalled.

‘Mr Garrett,’ Marta said, before Sam had even greeted her. ‘Thank goodness you are here! I am that relieved. The magistrate has taken her off. As though the poor lamb would hurt a fly. I did not