Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The morning dawned misty and damp, the light thin and hazy, beautiful in its own way. The sound of the waves carried in through the open front windows, the scent of the air tinged with salt.
Minerva finished washing two plates and cups, then wiped them dry with a clean cloth. That done, she settled in the sitting room and began a letter to Mr. Granger, apprising him of their arrival and thanking him for the arrangements he had made.
“There’s a coach stopped out front,” Kitty called from elsewhere in the house. “It’s black and shiny. There’s no crest. The driver’s wearing dark green livery.”
“We aren’t expecting anyone,” Minerva said, looking up from the letter.
“The Tregians and Mr. Penrose said they would call…”
“In a few days, once we are settled. Surely not the morning after our arrival, and so early.” But even as she said the words, she thought of the way Mr. Penrose had looked at her. She had known he would call when he wished and that her request for time to settle in would sway his intent not at all.
There was a tentative knock at the door, so faint as to be missed if Kitty had not seen a coach arrive.
Minerva called back over her shoulder as she walked toward the front of the house, “Not the Tregians or Mr. Penrose. I imagine they would knock with more certainty.” She opened the door to find a woman—little more than a girl, really—wringing her hands and staring at the ground.
Her light brown hair was tied in a knot at her nape.
Her clothes were clean but well-mended, her cuffs frayed.
“May I help you?”
The girl lifted her head, and Minerva was hard pressed not to wince at the state of her right eye, bruised purple and yellow and green. Old bruises. The girl rested her hand on her cheek, partially hiding her swollen eye. She offered a strange dip that Minerva imagined was meant as a curtsey.
“Beg your pardon, Miss. I’m Nessa Teague. Thom said you wanted to see me. I’m sorry if I didn’t ready the cottage as you’d like. I can try to fix anything I missed—”
“Nessa,” Minerva said. “Thank you for coming. I’m pleased with the cottage and all you did to prepare for our arrival.” Her gaze flicked to the coach beyond the walled garden. There had been no one beside the coach when she had opened the door, but there was now.
Mr. Penrose stood before the gleaming black door, motionless, his face turned toward the sea. His attention appeared fixed on something in the distance, though Minerva saw nothing other than gray water and drifting mist.
The sight of him made her body tense in an unfamiliar way, like a thread pulled taut.
Nessa glanced over her shoulder, following Minerva’s gaze.
“That’d be Mr. Penrose,” the girl said. “His coach passed me as I walked and he had his driver stop and take me up beside him.” She paused.
“I would have been happy to walk,” she added quickly, almost defensively, “but Mr. Penrose will have his way.” She pressed her lips together. “He is not a man to be gainsaid.”
Minerva said nothing.
The girl rushed on, filling the silence with high, nervous words.
“He bought boots for Will and Sam yesterday. They were running errands for him. He said they were too slow, that he needed them to be able to run fast when he sets them to a task…” Her voice trailed away as she finished, as though she realized she had said more than the circumstance warranted.
“Not even their stubborn Da would dare refuse him,” Nessa finished faintly. “No one does, once he’s set his eye on them.”
Minerva said nothing, thinking of Will and Sam, the two boys she had seen on the quay with no shoes on their feet, of the elaborate reason she had been constructing to justify buying boots for them without wounding their father’s pride. She had not yet found a reason good enough.
Apparently, Mr. Penrose had found one with no difficulty at all. He needed them to run fast. Entirely practical. She turned that over and could not decide whether it was kindness dressed as efficiency or simply efficiency.
She had no answer. She was accumulating quite a collection of unanswered questions where he was concerned.
“Please come in, Nessa,” she said at last and stepped to the side to allow the girl entry. Minerva cast one last glance at the coach—and Mr. Penrose, who had not moved—and then shut the door.
She led Nessa to the kitchen and introduced her to Kitty. Then she stood for a long moment, thoughts spinning, and in the end decided she could not let things lie.
“Please excuse me a moment.” Ignoring Kitty’s baffled look, she returned to the front door and, upon opening it, found Mr. Penrose still standing where she had left him, as though he had not so much as shifted his weight.
She stepped out and closed the door behind her, the click of the latch sounding too loud.
The wind swirled around him, yet he remained still, as immovable as the stones of the cliff beyond. He did not turn to her at once. When he did, it was slowly, his gaze leaving the horizon to light on her with precision, as though he had known she would come to him.
Minerva stood pinned by the intensity of his regard. Awareness slid through her, tight and sharp. She had the unsettling sense that she had been measured, though his expression gave no hint as to whether she had been found wanting or sufficient.
He strode toward her, sweeping his hat from his head, longish strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. With those high cheekbones and square jaw, he was, she thought with a sliver of irritation, even more beautiful than she had allowed herself to remember.
He studied her face, assessing his welcome. What he found there, she could not say. His expression did not change, and his gaze did not waver. Then his attention dipped to the hollow of her throat where the pendant lay against her skin. It lingered there a long moment.
She did not move, did not even draw breath. She was not certain she could.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes once more, the light turning them molten copper. His pupils dilated, leaving his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. For an instant, interest flickered there, unfettered and strangely seductive. She felt that look reach inside her and tighten in her chest.
“Miss Ashworth,” he said, his voice low and even.
“Mr. Penrose,” she returned the greeting. “I am surprised to see you here this morning.”
“I was passing this way. Does your new home suit?” he asked. The question was perfectly pleasant and appropriate. She trusted the man asking it not at all.
“Are you hoping I will say no and decide to entertain an offer for the house?”
His smile bared teeth that were uncommonly white. Wolf white.
“I think not,” he said. “For if I did make an offer and you did accept, you would then return to London. And that would be…disappointing.”
His words made her pause. He spoke as though London was the lesser outcome. As though he preferred her here.
The thought nestled inside her, warm and entirely unwelcome.
He had said her leaving would be disappointing. He had not said he no longer wished to purchase the cottage, or that he knew it could not be purchased. She imagined Mr. Granger would not have shared that information.
Behind her, the door opened. “Min?” Kitty called, then gasped when she saw Mr. Penrose.
“Miss Dorsey.” He inclined his head. “I was just asking Miss Ashworth how she finds her new home.”
“And what was her reply?” Kitty asked, setting her hand on her hip.
“I hadn’t made one yet,” Minerva said.
Kitty grinned. “Well, then make one now. What do you think?”
“I like it,” Minerva said. “I like the view of the ocean from my window. I like the crash of the waves. I like turning a full circle and seeing only sky and sea and grass and trees. No houses. No city filth and crowding. I’ve never imagined a place such as this. It’s…bucolic.”
“And what do you think, Miss Dorsey?” asked Mr. Penrose.
“I don’t like turning a full circle and not seeing anyone but ourselves. I’m used to London. The people. The houses. The shops. The noise.”
“Too isolated?” He did not smile when he said it. And he did not soften the words that followed. “Worried there’s no one to hear you call out should you need assistance?”
A chill slid up Minerva’s spine, one not summoned by the wind. Kitty’s grin faded and her expression turned wary. “That’s an odd thing to ask,” she said.
“Do you mean to frighten her?” Minerva asked. To frighten me, she did not say.
“Not at all.” His tone was mild, his look intent. He gestured toward the cliff’s edge. “Do not stray too close. That is where your cousin fell. I would rather not watch you learn the cost of carelessness.”
“My cousin was not careless. She was elderly and in her dotage,” Minerva said, angry now. “I am not. And I have no intention of falling off the edge of a cliff.”
The corners of his mouth turned in a tight smile. “Intention rarely has anything to do with such occurrences,” he said, and she felt an undercurrent beneath the words, cynical and dark.
“How gallant of you to point that out,” Minerva said. Mr. Penrose’s personality did not match his handsome face and form. She wished it did—
No. She was glad it did not.
“Is there a particular reason you stopped at my door? If not, you’ll excuse me as I get back to my day. Miss Dorsey and I have much to do to finish getting settled in.”
“Miss Ashworth,” he said, voice soft. “I am not accustomed to being refused.”
His words left her with the impression that very few people dared test that claim. The wind settled, the air growing still. She tensed, feeling momentarily unbalanced, poised the instant before a fall. Defiance straightened her spine.
“Then the experience may prove educational for you,” she said. “I summon my best manners in wishing you good day, sir.”
Turning, she ushered Kitty back inside the house and closed the door firmly behind them.
“You like him,” Kitty whispered, eyes wide.