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

Frances turned her head towards the window, the oblique mention of the wrecking pulling her back to the sea and its horrors. Even now, she seemed to teeter on a knife’s edge between the sane and the insane.

‘I wonder what he looked like?’ she said, still turned towards the window while her fingers worked nervously at the cloth of her gown.

‘Who?’

‘Sally’s husband and the other men from the village. And how many there were?’

The memory of Jem’s huge, lifeless body flickered before him. He remembered how his face was so oddly unmarked even while his bloodied brains spilled on to the rock. He thought about the old man with his toothless grimace and the rock pools red with blood.

‘Frances, why do not you go to London tomorrow?’ The need to move her away from this place grew heavy.

She turned back, shrugging. ‘I do not know.’ Her forehead puckered. Her fingers still twisted at the cloth. ‘I feel scared and tired. What will I say to Aunt Tilly?’

‘You’ll hardly have to say a word; Aunt Tilly will do all the talking. You can take Marta. She can pack up enough for a few days. The journey will be long, but you can sleep. I will write to Aunt Tilly. Lillian can keep you company and I will talk to Millie.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘There is no reason why she couldn’t go up to London with you, even if she is engaged.’

‘And Aunt Tilly would let us stay? She always amuses me.’

‘She would love it and her house is large enough.’

‘It feels such a huge undertaking.’

‘It feels that way because you are still exhausted, but I will arrange everything.’ He leaned forward, catching her hand. ‘Fran, you will feel stronger away from here. I am sure of it.’

She gave a quick smile, almost reminiscent of the sister he once knew. ‘Thank you.’

She rose, stepping to the door. ‘I will check on Noah.’

‘Fran?’

She turned.

‘You saved me once. You helped me to stop drinking and racing Rotten Row. You said that you had lost a father and a mother and that you couldn’t lose a brother.’

She nodded. ‘I remember.’

‘Please know, you aren’t alone.’

Sam walked his sister to the stairs and watched as she ascended to the second floor, a thin, almost gaunt, figure. He turned away as she entered one of the doors on the upper landing and found himself face to face with Flora, omnipresent in the Lansdowne household.

‘Would you know when Miss Lansdowne and Miss Lillian might return?’ he asked. ‘I wanted to pay my respects, if possible.’

‘Respects? Is that what it’s called? Hmmph. You have unsettled her, that’s what.’

‘The last few days have been somewhat unsettling all around,’ he said.

‘She should be back soon. You can wait in the parlour, if you must. But do not make noise, I just got Mrs Lansdowne settled. That upset she was.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

He went back into the parlour and sat somewhat stiffly on the armchair. He wished there was something to occupy his mind and looked around for any reading material within the room, but found nothing.

Of course, he should not care if Miss Lansdowne was marrying Mr Edmunds or anyone else for that matter. Indeed, he did not care. During his time in society, he had seen any number of convenient marriages and most of them worked out admirably. Love was fickle. If he’d had his way, he’d be married to Annie Whistler. Indeed, he’d been quite certain that he was deeply in love with her. Now he found her vapid in the extreme. In time, he’d realised that he’d merely been attracted to blonde curls, blue eyes and a figure that was bounteous and buxom. Plus everyone was in love with her. She was the incomparable among the ton.

He knew now that his feelings for Miss Whistler had never been love. He hadn’t even known her. His father had died almost as soon as he’d left school and the grief he’d felt was not just for the austere man he’d wanted to love but also for the relationship that hadn’t been.

The social rituals of his class had lacked meaning and he’d found his life empty. Miss Whistler had been a panacea. He’d immersed himself in loving her. It gave meaning to his life. When she’d broken the engagement, he’d been lost, drowning his troubles in too much drink.

But his life had a different meaning now. He belonged to the Philanthropic Society and was working to develop schools and apprenticeships, which sounded boring, but he found it exciting. There was opera and friendships and horse riding. With Millie, it would not be about forgetting. Millie made him more. He felt more and laughed more.

‘You wanted to speak with me?’

He jumped as Millicent Lansdowne herself entered the room. Her step was brisk and her cheeks still flushed from the outside air. She’d pulled her hair into a bun, but it was already messy, falling down in tangles about her face.

Just above her collar, he saw the cut from the night previous, a tiny pinprick of a scratch. It was small, a flesh wound, yet it reminded him of what could have been. The memory took the words from him, squeezing at his vitals.

‘Is it healing?’ he asked.

She touched the cut. ‘It is the merest scratch.’

‘And you? Not too many aches and pains?’ She sat beside the fire, waving a hand to invite him to sit in the chair opposite.

‘I am fine,’ he said, sitting. ‘You were able to see your friend Mrs Strand? That must have been a hard conversation.’

She lifted her gaze to him, huge limpid eyes big with sorrow. ‘Yes, but I am glad I was able to tell her myself.’

‘I will make sure she gets some money and more books. It must be hard for her with two children. There isn’t a school?’

Millie shook her head. ‘The vicar tries.’

‘I have an interest in schooling.’

‘You do?’ She looked surprised.

‘Yes, I work with a society in London, although their focus