Page 15 of The Cornish Mermaid

Of course. He had some pressing appointment with his uncle that night. Might it be to do with smuggling? Oh, God, might it be the night he was destined to die? Guilt washed over Morvoren at not having paid enough attention in the museum.

“I’m sorry, but I have no one,” she said. Best not to mention Josh again. Best not to mention boyfriends at all, as it seemed an anachronistic word. “I was alone. I don’t know anyone here, I’m afraid.”

Which was not a lie. If this really was 1811, then she knew no one in the entire world.

Kit frowned again. “Then you should eat and put some color back into your cheeks, for you’ve gone quite pale again, and I fear it’s my fault for not having insisted you ate something while you were at Jago’s farm. It’s now well after noon and high time for sustenance.”

He unloaded the plates from the tray. “And perhaps we can decide how to contact your family and find you some help.” He glanced around, a frown on his brow. “I don’t think you can stay here though—it wouldn’t be at all respectable for a lady to do so without a maid.”

No one could keep this pretense up so well. The fact that he thought she needed a maid to make her acceptable was the nail in the coffin to Morvoren’s ruminations. From now on, she had to assume she really was in 1811, mad as that sounded, and act accordingly, or everyone she met was going to think her very strange. She began by tucking her feet out of the way under the skirts of her dress. She couldn’t go running around Regency England in a pair of trainers.

In fact, she couldn’t go running around Regency England at all, unless she managed to get her hands on some money. And where, for instance, was she going to sleep tonight, dolled up like a dog’s dinner as she was but without a penny to her name. A sobering thought.

But for now, she was famished, and the spread before her looked most appetizing. Breakfast in her old world had been a long time ago, further than she’d ever imagined it could get. She’d think about what she was going to do next, later.

“Thank you,” she said meekly.

The food might have been plain, but it was very good. Slices of crusty bread, thick yellow butter, a large pie she recognized as a Cornish Pasty and some crumbly cheese.

The landlord had brought a tall jug of cider from which Kit filled two small pewter mugs. Thirsty, and forgetting her new resolution to meet the expectations of ladylike behavior suitable to 1811, Morvoren downed her first in several long gulps, making Kit’s dark eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. However, he followed suit, then refilled the mugs. Perhaps he liked ladies who knocked back their alcohol in one, or, worse, perhaps he doubted she was a lady. Better be more circumspect.

“Daveth serves fine local cider,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Which I see you appreciate.”

Conscious of needing to behave more appropriately, Morvoren nodded and took a small nibble of her pie. Not that she was going to be able to squeeze a lot of food in while wearing stays. Did women in the past suffer from malnutrition, or did they eat in secret in their rooms without their stays on? That was definitely what she’d have to do, or she’d starve.

Kit didn’t seem to have noticed her discomfort. “Now,” he said. “You say you are from Reading. I happen to know that town a little. It lies on the coach road from London to Cornwall, on the bank of the River Thames. But unfortunately, without finding your accommodation, we can’t reunite you with your baggage, and a lady travelling without baggage is considered worse than a lady without an abigail.”

“An abigail?”

He nodded. “You must have a maid with you to travel on the mail coach back to Reading. We’ll have to find you one. And I hope you’ll allow me to presume to pay for your ticket and traveling expenses along the way. It’s the least I can do as you’ve lost all your belongings and your accommodation.”

Morvoren swallowed, her appetite vanishing. No one in Reading was going to be waiting to greet her, that was for sure, and she’d be in the same pickle she was here.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anywhere to go,” she gabbled, before her courage left her and she let him magic her an abigail from somewhere and put her, and this as yet unidentified female, on a coach to a town that would be as unrecognizable as Penzance. Then she’d be truly lost, and besides which, didn’t she want a chance to save her rescuer from being killed? One good deed deserved another.

Kit set down his cider and leaned back in his seat, yet another frown darkening his brow. “Well,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully as though weighing his words. “I suppose I could take you to my mother and sister at Ormonde. They’d likely know what to do about your predicament.” He paused before continuing with more confidence in his voice. “Yes, that sounds the best idea. That would solve this problem at least for a while.”

It would solve hers too, because if he wasn’t down here taking part in the smuggling, he couldn’t be killed on the beach in Smuggler’s Cove—Nanpean Cove as it would be now.

Morvoren studied Kit’s face. “Are you sure? You’re not responsible for me, you know, even though you saved me from the sea.” But inside, she was cheering.

He nodded with an air of having made a firm decision. “Of course I am. I pulled you out of the sea and, on that instant, you became my responsibility. I couldn’t possibly just leave you here in Penzance with no friends or family, no maid, and no money.” He looked her up and down. “And only the clothes you’re standing up in, which do rather stand out. What sort of a gentleman would do that?”

Tears threatened to fall. Morvoren bit her lip to prevent them. “That—that would be amazing.” The sheer relief of being offered sanctuary and shelter, not to mention satisfaction that she’d be taking him away from danger and in some way paying him back for his kindness, washed over her, bringing a lump to her throat. Was there no limit to the generosity of strangers, even if this one, although undeniably handsome, was a tad severe in his appearance? Not only had he saved her life and escorted her to where he thought she’d come from, but now he was offering the hospitality of his own family. She wasn’t such a fool as to turn him down. Instead, she bestowed a radiant smile on him. “Thank you so much.”

A flicker of amusement showed in his eyes for a moment. “My sister will be overjoyed if I bring someone like you to visit her. She complains all the time about how dull it is now Meliora is married and lives in Bath and has sprained her ankle and can’t travel.”

Morvoren’s turn to be puzzled. “Sprained her ankle? Surely she’ll recover quickly if she rests her foot?”

To her surprise, color rose up Kit’s neck to his face. “Er, it’s not really her ankle. She’s in a… er… delicate situation. In that condition. You know. Increasing.”

She couldn’t hold in the chuckle at his discomfort. “You mean she’s pregnant?”

His eyes widened as though she’d said something very vulgar.

She chuckled again. “Well, why ever not just say?”

Kit’s shocked face twitched as though he were restraining himself from smiling. “I have to admit my sisters are always very evasive about that… condition,” he said. “And so is every other society lady I’ve ever met. Not that many of them even talk about it at all, that is. I just assumed we weren’t allowed to refer to it directly. But you may be right. So much easier to say she’s in foal or something similar. No one would get the wrong end of the stick then.”