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

won’t see Lord Harwood in London as he is not received in polite society.’

‘You seem to have chatted considerably with our guest.’

‘Yes, I like her. She did not tell me much about what happened last night though, so you need not worry. Although she said you were brave.’

“She was the brave one.” Millie stood and paced to the window.

‘Mils, please, will you think about London?’

‘What good will London do me? To marry somebody who I know even less than Mr Edmunds? At least this way I can stay in Cornwall.’

‘Then do not go to London,’ Lil snapped. ‘Stay here. But do not marry Edmunds. You have kept this family going through Father’s death and Tom’s death and while Mother was ill. You have worked with solicitors. You have sold things. You have kept creditors at bay. I cannot believe that it is not possible for you to find another choice.’

Millie looked at her sister, her cheeks now red with emotion. ‘I’ll talk to Frances about you going. But I will marry Mr Edmunds. I want Mother to have a home.’

Lil pulled a face. ‘Well, you cannot talk to Frances now. Marta shooed me away and is quite determined that she rest.’

Mr Edmunds was ushered in by Flora. As usual, he wore knee breeches of an antiquated style. It was also apparent that his girth had increased since the manufacture of his waistcoat as this garment was quite stretched, the buttons pulling over his midriff. Unfortunately, he had not yet abandoned his love for the moustache.

‘How lovely to see you, dear Mr Edmunds,’ Mrs Lansdowne said.

‘Thank you, Mrs Lansdowne. I hope this is convenient. Miss Lansdowne. Miss Lillian.’ He bowed in greeting to both young women. ‘I am so grateful that you have recovered, Miss Lansdowne. Although I note some injuries. Did you have an accident?’

‘I barely escaped with my life.’

‘An altercation with a bramble. Nothing more,’ her mother said.

‘Pesky things, brambles,’ Millie agreed.

‘I have a particularly robust blackberry bush. Do you like blackberries, Miss Lansdowne? You may well enjoy picking them.’

‘I look forward to such agrarian delights.’

That was the thing about Mr Edmunds, he was affable, quite nice really, if one were looking for an uncle or an occasional dinner companion. His children were pleasant and his house nice. He was not overly fond of spending money, but likely this was better than many alternatives.

Flora brought tea and Mrs Lansdowne busied herself pouring and serving. Millie took a cup, adding more sugar than was typical and stirring. She sipped the tea, hoping that the heat and sweetness would create a sense of reality.

Surely after last night, she should be given a day before making any life-altering decisions? Of course, the fact that she’d failed to confide in either her mother or sister rather undermined this argument. She hoped tea and the subsequent proposal would conclude quickly. She wanted to talk to Sally. Was it usual to hope for one’s engagement to be expeditious, much as you might wish for the quick conclusion of a dull sermon? She hoped her mother would not become aware of any rumours about last night’s events. Or, if this occurred, that Millie was either many miles away or able to block her ears.

Meanwhile, she continued to perform the correct rituals: smiling, talking, nodding, drinking and a myriad of other normal functions, even as her mind circled miles away from this room.

Marriage to Mr Edmunds had initially sounded sensible. But how could she now marry anyone when her mind was so filled with thoughts of Sam? His touch, his smile, lying close to him, talking to him...

‘...there are actually several varieties, each of which has a different texture. Which is your favourite, Miss Lansdowne?’

‘Pardon?’ Good Lord, how could she marry the man when she couldn’t even focus on him for two seconds together?

‘Type of potato. There are more varieties than people realise.’

‘Um...yes... I really hadn’t thought.’ Would she spend a lifetime learning about potatoes?

The tea dragged. If she had to accept Mr Edmunds’s proposal, she wished the deed done. The conversation had moved from the potatoes but, unfortunately, was no more exciting. They were now discussing sheep breeds.

‘I quite like the Cornwall Longwool myself. The wool is sturdy. Of course, the Suffolk sheep is excellent and, if I have sufficient funds, I might consider adding some to my flock,’ Mr Edmunds explained.

Millie pictured the breakfast table each morning with Mr Edmunds in a too-tight waistcoat discussing potatoes and sheep while straining tea through is strands of his robust moustache.

At last, Mr Edmunds stood, his waistcoat straining with the movement. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lansdowne, for a delicious tea,’ he said, with another bow.

‘We loved having you. So delightful. We live so very quietly, being in mourning for dear Tom and my late husband,’ Mrs Lansdowne said.

‘Of course, I am glad you let me join you. I wondered if Miss Lansdowne would care for a short stroll with me, seeing as the air is quite pleasant today.’

‘Yes, absolutely. I am sure it. A lovely idea, isn’t it, dear?’ her mother said with palpable eagerness.

‘Yes,’ Millie replied. She felt like an actor in a bad play.

‘Flora, could you get Miss Millicent’s wrap?’ her mother directed.

The wrap was procured. Millie pulled it about her shoulders, noting abstractedly that Flora had grabbed Lil’s wrap by mistake.

Not that it mattered. She was now a bad actor, in a bad play, wearing someone else’s costume.

While the weather was much improved in comparison to the heavy rains earlier in the week, it could not be described as warm. With a shiver, Millie pulled the wrap more tightly about her.

‘Please do show me around the gardens,’ Mr Edmunds said. ‘I am so enjoying the air and the many delights of your enviable green thumb.’

Millie raised a brow as she surveyed the straggly grass, cracked sundial and flower beds, bare save for a few intrepid snow drops. ‘The many delights are somewhat limited at this time of year. It was kept better when Father