Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (best books for 20 year olds TXT) 📕

was settled, as he knew Mrs Ludlow must find company a welcome break from worry about her son. Indeed, he felt a sympathy for her. She must always be straining to hear the knock which might bring news, her emotions perilously balanced between hope and fear.

Therefore, it was quite late by the time he and Marta arrived with the remainder of Frances’s belongings. Flora answered the door and stated that Mrs Frances Ludlow, Mrs Lansdowne and Miss Lillian had retired to bed. However, Miss Lansdowne was still up if he wished to speak to her. Her tone did not sound as though she encouraged this option.

Despite the maid’s sour looks, he’d accepted. He needed to thank Millie for her hospitality and the thought of seeing her held appeal. He trusted Millie. At times, he doubted his own mind, his sister’s sanity and whether Mrs Ludlow was friend or foe, but his trust in Millie remained constant. She was a source of sanity in a world gone mad.

He stood close to the fire, warming his hands. The mantel was made of sturdy wood, its centre darkened by the smoke accumulated over the centuries. The wallpaper was yellowed, except for a square where a portrait had likely once hung.

Perhaps it had been of Millie’s father. Mr Lansdowne had been a pleasant enough fellow. Sam had met him several times with Tom during that wild year when he’d thought his heart shattered following his broken engagement with Miss Whistler.

Mr Lansdowne and Tom had similar personalities. Both had been individuals of impulsivity and extreme moods. Often Mr Lansdowne had been wildly elated about an investment, only to be cast into deep despair following the scheme’s failure.

‘Sam? Sorry I took so long. You wanted to see me?’

Millie’s soft tone startled him and he turned quickly. She stood in the doorway.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ he said.

‘I am glad I could help.’

‘I did not know where else to turn. She doesn’t seem to know anyone locally.’

‘She seldom left her house,’ Millie explained, stepping further into the room.

He sighed. ‘She used to be quite outgoing. She has changed. Very much. Anyway, thank you.’

‘Umm—did you want to stay here?’ She looked up, flushing, as if uncharacteristically unsure. ‘I mean to talk. I mean...if you need...to talk?’

‘Thank you.’ He was in no hurry to return to Manton.

She nodded, sitting on the chair and inviting him to sit opposite with a wave of her hand.

‘We seem to spend a lot of time sitting around fire,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘At least we are no longer walking. I do not think my feet will ever recover. Besides it is somewhat warmer here than in that cabin.’

Her words made him remember the intimacy of the cottage, their shared confidences and kiss. Maybe she thought of it, too. She glanced down, her lashes forming fans against her cheeks. The fire crackled. There was no other sound, not even the ticking of a clock.

‘You still do not remember what happened that night? I—I mean, the night of your accident?’ she asked jerkily, the colour in her cheeks deepening.

‘No. I’d hoped being at Manton Hall would help, but...nothing.’ He rubbed his temples. He must ask Banks if he’d found out anything to do with his fabricated dawn ride.

‘He must have encountered an accident. I am certain that Frances would not have done anything to her husband on purpose. I have only met her briefly but I find that quite impossible.’

‘Thank you.’ Her words comforted. It was wonderful to hear someone else, an unbiased source, affirm his sister’s goodness. His conversations with Mrs Ludlow had shaken him more than he cared admit. ‘Mrs Ludlow feels she has become unstable. She even suggested that Fran might hurt the baby.’ He pushed out the last words with effort.

‘She wouldn’t,’ Millie said.

Again, her firm, confident words reassured. There was no wavering, no ‘buts’ or hesitation, just a firm statement of fact.

‘That is the most comforting thing I have heard all day.’

She reached forward, clasping his hand. There was strength to her grip and reassurance. ‘I know Frances would not hurt anyone and certainly not her child.’

‘I know it, too.’ He pushed his hand through his hair, rubbing his temples. ‘It is just—she is so much changed and Mrs Ludlow was describing her behaviour and, even to me, she sounded...erratic.’

The word did not seem entirely sufficient to describe a woman pacing a deserted beach in Cornwall in January.

‘I think your sister is vulnerable and not entirely well, but I do not believe she would have the capacity to hurt anyone and certainly not Noah. Why do not you tell the authorities about the smugglers and our experience? Surely it would deflect suspicion from Frances.’

‘I’d sooner confess myself. I will not ruin your reputation or put you at physical risk.’

‘I do not need your protection.’ She stood, as if to emphasise her point.

He stood also so that they were facing each other. He saw the stubborn lift of her chin. It reminded him of those moments in the cabin. Indeed, everything in this moment—the soft flickering firelight, the rain outside, the solitude—reminded him of those moments. Her hair was now almost entirely undone. Her lips were parted, softly pink and with a glean of moisture. The neckline of her gown was demure, but even so he could see the swell of her breasts. The lace trimming made a tiny, delicate, intricate shadow against her pale skin. A loose curl had fallen forward.

‘You do not have to look after everyone,’ he said.

A lock of hair had fallen forward into her face. He stepped forward, gently reaching to tuck it behind her ear. His finger grazed the soft skin of her cheek. He felt her start at his touch. He heard her gasp and saw her eyes widen.

He should leave.

Slowly, and with deliberation, he stepped even closer to her, so that there were mere inches between them. He ran his fingers along her jawline. He touched her chin, tipping it upwards. He bent forward