Page 13 of The Cornish Widow

Chapter Seven

Harriet unfastened the cloak and shrugged out of the soggy garment. The good thing about wool was that when it got wet, it stayed warm, and despite the wind and the rain now rattling against the door and windows, she wasn’t too chilled. However, the hem of her gown was not just wet, but soaked and spattered with mud as well. What a good thing she’d worn her boots and not the dainty slippers she usually wore about the house.

“Miss Harriet.” Bertha, after an initial shock that had held her unmoving for a few seconds, lumbered up from the table and hurried to take the cloak. “Whatever were you doin’ out in weather like this? We was all worried about you.”

Lydia and Theo nodded in chorus. “Where’ve you been?” Lydia asked, her gaze flicking to Jack’s even wetter figure right beside her. Theo’s eyes had widened in something akin to outright fear at the sight of a man in their kitchen.

Captain Trevelyan shook himself like a dog, water flying from his hair. He must be soaked through with no cloak on, although his woolen topcoat would have kept him warm as her cloak had. He rather filled the kitchen, large though it was, the top of his head in danger of brushing the now cobweb-free rafters. As tall as Locky Massen, but with only half the width.

Bertha took charge. “Come and stand by the range, the pair o’ you.” She caught Harriet’s hand and, with the other, ushered Captain Trevelyan to go before them as though she were herding hens. A small smile played on the captain’s lips as he allowed himself to be hustled over to stand by the heat, one hand going up to swipe the hair out of his eyes. If Harriet hadn’t been so nervous, she might have better appreciated how extraordinarily handsome he was…

She remembered herself, just in time. She really mustn’t dwell on her escort’s good looks and remember her status as a recent widow, and why she had vowed never to have anything to do with a man again. However, she couldn’t deny that with looks like that he was most distracting. She could allow herself, perhaps, to look, despite her vow never to be tricked into love again. “Captain Trevelyan, may I introduce my children, Lydia and Theodore. And this redoubtable lady is their nurse, who is our only servant, Bertha.”

Bertha pulled two of the chairs away from the table and set them close to the range, clearly prepared to treat their imposing male visitor just as she would Theo if he’d been out in the rain and come home soaked. “Just you sit down there, and I’ll make you some nice, hot tea.”

The captain’s brows rose, but he took the offered seat, sweeping his wet coat tails out of the way as he sat down.

Perhaps he was expecting some other kind of refreshment now he’d got himself soaked through on her account? That was what men always wanted, wasn’t it? “Bertha, the brandy for the captain, if you please.”

Bertha’s brow lowered in disapproval.

His lips twitched. “Pray don’t put yourself out, Bertha. Hot tea will do nicely and warm me better. I find it an excellent pick-me-up in situations like this. Far better than brandy in all ways.” He flashed Bertha a charming smile, and Bertha’s cheeks, already rosy from the heat, became even rosier, as no doubt she chalked up his refusal of alcohol as being in his favor.

Heavens. Harriet had never seen Bertha react to a man like this. What was the world coming to? Even an elderly servant could be swayed by good looks, it seemed, and, of course, the refusal of the brandy. Not that Bertha had ever appreciated Ben’s good looks.

Bertha added fresh boiling water to the teapot on the range and gave the contents a stir, a definite benign expression on her homely face as she peeped sideways at their guest. Was she, for goodness sake, susceptible to the flattery of a man? Bertha, who’d barely tolerated Ben on his infrequent visits home from the army, and always with an air of resentment at his intrusion into their comfortable domestic setup. Even though she’d not known the half of it. This was something quite new.

About the captain hung a slight hint of resignation, as though he’d decided he had to put up with staying here to warm up a bit, out of politeness, perhaps. But he kept his tawny eyes fixed on the object of his attention—Bertha’s stout form.

Why on earth was he fixating on her servant? Harriet frowned. What was going on here? Not that she wanted his attentions herself, but really, this was very odd.

Theo leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Are you an army captain or a ship’s captain?”

“Manners, Theo.” Lydia, who also happened to be staring at the captain in fascination, could never resist the opportunity to correct her brother.

Theo shot her a scowl and tried again. “Are you an army captain or a ship’s captain, sir?”

“Ship’s captain,” Trevelyan said, taking the cup of tea Bertha handed him with yet another charming, and this time suitably grateful, smile and bringing a fresh blush to Bertha’s ruddy cheeks. There was no denying that he’d made an immediate conquest of her servant.

Harriet scolded herself for her thoughts and amended them, because, after all, she didn’t want the captain smiling at her like that. Did she?

Theo’s face had lit up at the mention of a ship. “And do you have a ship of your own? Sir? I love ships. I want to be a sailor when I grow up, if Mama will allow it. A captain like you. With my own ship. In His Majesty’s Navy. Like Admiral Nelson.”

Harriet’s brow furrowed. Did the captain have a ship, or was he on leave, perhaps, from the navy? There were a few different types of captain he could be, although, looking at him, he didn’t have the air of a naval man. Too roguish. She knew enough about men serving in both the army and the navy to suspect the man before her had never been in either. He seemed so very different to Ben and the few friends he’d ever brought to their house.

“I do indeed have a ship of my own,” the captain replied, that strong mouth of his twitching again as though he might be finding this conversation with so small a boy amusing.

Theo sucked his lips in and threw a sideways glance at Harriet. “Could I see your ship, do you think? Sir? Please?”

High time to intervene before Theo forged a link between them that would be hard to break. “Captain Trevelyan must be a very busy man, Theo. Too busy to take curious small boys to see his ship, I’m certain. You must stop pestering him.” Just because Mrs. Trevelyan had seen fit to bestow her kindness on them didn’t mean her son would feel inclined the same way towards Theo. Most men, and this had included her own husband, saw small boys as a nuisance to be avoided. Both children had been very much “seen but not heard” while their father had been in residence, but especially Theo.

To her surprise, Captain Trevelyan shook his head. “Not at all, Mrs. Penhallow. I should be delighted to show Theodore my ship when it’s convenient. She’s round at Penzance now—in harbor I would hope in this weather—but when I rejoin her, I’d be happy to show your son around.” He bestowed a smile on Theo. “I can even take you out to sea if you like. I’m assuming with your surname, you’re Cornish born?”

Theo bounced up and down on his chair with glee. “You will? Thank you, sir. Thank you.” He beamed back, full of boyish excitement. “I am Cornish, only I wasn’t born here. Mama and Papa both were, though. In Truro. And please call me Theo—Mama only uses Theodore when she thinks I’ve been doing things I shouldn’t.”

“Which is all the time,” Lydia put in, a trifle waspishly.

Captain Trevelyan laughed, the sound somehow too loud and masculine in a kitchen that had shrunk in on itself with him sitting in it.