Caught in a Cornish Scandal Eleanor Webster (new books to read .TXT) 📖

glow of the fire. She stepped to it, crouching down and leaning into its warmth. It was extravagant to light a fire. Her mother must have ordered it. She found that touching.

Millie and her mother had frequently disagreed. Mrs Lansdowne had spent little time in Cornwall during Millie’s childhood, always preferring London. When they’d lost their money, her parents no longer kept the London house, moving permanently to Cornwall.

Mrs Lansdowne had not approved of Millie’s friendships with the villagers, her fishing or long walks. In turn, Millie had not fully understood the extent of her mother’s loss: the lifestyle, friends and social status. Indeed, these losses, followed by her husband and son’s death, had crushed her.

Millie leaned against the chair, staring into the amber flames and watching the sparks flicker up into the chimney. After Tom’s accident, her mother had retired to bed, leaving Millie to comfort her sister, work with the solicitor and resolve a myriad of other details that had kept a roof over their heads. Millie had been patient. She had been understanding...at least until Harwood’s visit.

Somehow that had unleashed an anger and frustration that had been building since Tom’s death. It was fear for Lil. It was anger that her mother had been in bed day after day but had struggled up for a man with a title. It was bewildered fury that such a marriage should even be considered. It was despair that Millie had just gained headway in the family’s financial affairs only to be struck down.

They had fought. Millie closed her eyes as though this might help block out the memories and sharp unkind words on both sides.

‘We are your daughters, not your sacrificial lambs. I will marry Mr Edmunds, but Lillian cannot marry Lord Harwood. I do not care what Tom owned him. I do not care if he has money or a title. There must be another way and if you cannot find it, I will.’

Except she hadn’t. She had merely almost killed herself, which would have made Lil even more vulnerable to Harwood.

For a moment, as she listened to the crackle of the fire and felt its warmth, she could almost convince herself that she was back in the tiny cottage where past and future hadn’t mattered. There was a freedom in living only for the present.

And then she thought of Sam. Even now, it seemed as though she could feel where his fingers had touched. As if, even through the cloth, her skin was still imbued with that peculiar, shivery, tingly, needy warmth.

From the corridor, Flora’s footsteps could be heard trudging up the stairs. The door opened with whistle of cooler air as the maid stepped into the room, lugging a huge kettle of water, and placed it down with a heavy thud. Tendrils of steam rose upwards. Flora poured the hot water into the tub by the fire, then added cold water from the urn under the mirror—or rather, where the mirror had once hung. Now all that remained was the faded shape, like an imprint of a former life.

‘There you are,’ Flora said. ‘Let’s get you undressed.’

Millie stood compliantly, much as she had as a child, while Flora removed her shirt.

Lil came in with a second kettle of water, which she added to the bath. The curlers had been removed and her hair now hung about her in loose waves. Her face had flushed from the steam, or perhaps it was the excitement or the exercise of walking up the stairs.

‘Millie,’ she said in a hurried rush. ‘Tell me what happened? We searched for your boat. Flora’s family helped. We looked everywhere. Poor Mother has been frantic.’

‘Now, miss,’ Flora intervened firmly, ‘like I told your mother, enough time for that later. You can catch up with your sister tomorrow.’

‘But...’

‘In the morning,’ Flora repeated, half pushing Lil from the bedchamber.

Turning, Flora walked back to Millie. ‘Right, miss,’ she said in brisk tones. ‘We’ll get off those trousers and camisole and get you cleaned and tucked into bed. You’ll be feeling as right as rain soon and that you may tie to.’

Millie was only too thankful to take direction and absolve herself from thought. Willingly, she let Flora remove her soiled clothes and lead her to the tub. Her feet stung, but the heat comforted and, with a grateful sigh, she sank into the warm water.

It smelled of lavender. Flora washed her gently, asking no questions. She wiped away the grime, making soft tutting sounds when she noted a bruise or abrasion. Flora always comforted first. When they were children, Tom and Millie would get into a scrape and Flora would feed, bandage and console before demanding explanation or restitution.

When she was little, she had admired Tom. It had seemed as though his impulsivity brought with it adventure and excitement. She had followed him like a shadow. They had been mischievous imps. Once they’d even brought goats into the main house. Millie couldn’t remember why. Of course, the poor animals had run amok, butting the cook and eating several nice pillowcases hanging on the line. Tom had disappeared while Millie had chased the goats for the better part of an hour. Sal had helped—

Sally! Millie bolted upright so abruptly that water splashed from the tub.

Did she know? Did she know about Jem?

‘Sal—Jem—Does she know?’

The image of Jem’s face flickered before her mind’s eye, bringing with it a wave of nausea.

‘Yes. His body was found. I imagine we need to be thankful you were not also on that beach?’

Flora’s tone was brisk, her sentence ending with a disapproving ‘tsk’, but Millie saw the worry etched on the older woman’s face.

‘You knew?’

‘Aye. And it was a heavy burden not being able to tell anyone my suspicions.’

‘Thank you.’

‘What made you do it, miss? I thought I’d hammered more sense into you.’

‘I am a work in progress, I suppose.’ Millie hugged her knees, one hand trailing in the sudsy water as she spoke reluctantly. ‘Mother told me that Tom owed Lord Harwood money...