Virtue's Reward (2 page)

They all sat down. As a servant entered with a tray Catherine studied the stranger.

He moved with an easy athletic strength—not unusual perhaps in a soldier—but also with the absolute self-assurance of a man used to deference and command. His hair, swept back carelessly from a tanned forehead, was bleached a more silver-blond than her sister’s, even though his eyes were very dark. There was a determined, controlled look to the fine straight nose and flared nostrils above the fine lips and strong chin.

Yet his gaze held the same haunted anticipation as a man she had once seen being carried away to Exeter to his hanging. Eyes that had looked death in the face without flinching, yet had lost their way back.

For no reason she could name, Catherine’s heart went out to him in something akin to pity.

“Where do you go in Cornwall, Captain Acton?” Amelia asked once the ladies had each been provided with a glass of Madeira, and the servant had left the room. “It’s a long way, isn’t it, to the very end?”

“A place called Trethaerin, ma’am. And to be honest, I have no idea exactly where it lies.”

“Trethaerin? Good heavens! You’re on the wrong coast, sir,” Catherine said. “A Helena Trethaerin was at school with us in Exeter. We met girls from all over Devon and Cornwall there. She comes from Trethaerin House and it’s somewhere near Penzance. Could it be the same place? It’s a very unusual name.”

“Indeed, Miss Hunter.” He smiled. “I have no doubt it’s the very same. Helena is the name of the lady I seek.”

Catherine suddenly doubted her earlier assessment. As his smile carved deep creases into both cheeks he seemed only extraordinarily attractive—warm, generous, beyond good-looking. Had she imagined the shadow she thought she had glimpsed earlier?

“You’re going to visit Helena Trethaerin?” Amelia asked. “She was older than me, of course, so I didn’t know her very well, but she and Catherine made friends. Didn’t she write to you, Cathy, that she is in some kind of dire straits?”

Catherine gave her sister a quenching look. “Miss Trethaerin’s affairs can interest no one else, Amy.”

Yet Captain Acton leaned forward, his eyes showing nothing but concern. “Miss Hunter, of course I should not want you to betray a friend’s trust, but I would grateful if you could shed any light on her situation for me. I have never met Miss Trethaerin. I go only because it was her cousin Sir Edward Blake’s dying wish that I should. If she is truly in dire straits, I might be in a position to aid her. You can see, I’m sure, that it would be immeasurably helpful to me to be forewarned of what I might find.”

She hesitated for only a moment. There was something in his manner that assured her that Helena’s confidences would be in safe hands. Indeed, the more he knew the better. For Helena would undoubtedly be too proud to admit to any of it, and she would send this interesting gentleman away empty-handed.

“Miss Trethaerin wrote me that she has been effectively disinherited, sir. Her father was a widower and a rather formidable character, I understand. Anyway, when he died last spring, he left his entire estate to the Sir Edward Blake you’ve already named.”

“Good God! And did Edward know of this?”

“I’ve no idea. But when the news arrived later of Edward’s death, both the Blake property and Trethaerin House then passed to some other relative, by the name of Garthwood. He did not arrive to take possession until last month, but now Helena is reduced to being a dependent poor relation in her own house. It’s especially dreadful, I think, because she’s kind and lovely and a real lady, and deserves so much better.”

Captain Acton had steepled his fingers together and was looking down between them at the floor. It was impossible to know what he was thinking.

“Why would her father leave his estates to Sir Edward Blake and not to his own daughter?” he asked at last.

Catherine plunged on. In for a penny, in for a pound!

“Since they were small children, I understand, he had planned that they should make a match. Helena and Sir Edward Blake were to marry.”

Captain Acton closed his eyes. “I feared as much,” he said quietly.

She instantly wanted to justify Simon Trethaerin’s action. “Helena’s father was leaving his estates, as he saw it, to his daughter’s fiancé. Even though Helena is very capable, he probably didn’t believe in ladies handling their own affairs and so wanted to put everything in a gentleman’s hands.”

“Then he got what he wanted,” Amy announced. “For now this Garthwood has everything, and Helena Trethaerin has lost not only her betrothed, but her dignity and security at the same time. She has nothing in the world. It is quite dreadful.”

“Is there anything you could really do to help her, sir?” Catherine asked.

Captain Richard Acton dropped his hands and looked up at her and smiled.

A shaft of sunlight from the window blazed like fire on his fair hair.

“I can marry her,” he said.

Helena walked rapidly up through the home wood, the now empty basket she carried swinging against her black skirts. As she turned the last corner and caught sight of Trethaerin House, it was inevitable that she should stop for a moment to catch her breath. The basket slipped from her hand to thump onto the path.

A tangle of roses, phlox, and wallflowers scented the afternoon air. Three stories above the flower garden, dormer windows framed by curlicues of carved stone capped an otherwise simple façade of gray granite. The small, old-fashioned mullioned windows reflected a multitude of twinkles of blue from the sky. By listening hard above the lazy hum of honeybees and the occasional trill of a bird from the woods, she could hear the sea, pounding and pounding on the rocks of Trethaerin Cove below.

Damnation! It was no use at all to get weepy about a house. She picked up her basket and stepped out onto the driveway. A lone horseman was trotting toward her on a big bay. As he drew level, he halted his horse and touched his hat.

“Miss Helena Trethaerin?”

“I am she, sir.”

The rider swung from his horse and bowed. He was very tall. Hair like sun-touched silk caressed his collar. A man of lithe strength and lovely bones—

“Captain Richard Acton, at your service, ma’am.”

Helena unwittingly took a step backward and put a hand to her heart. Instantly she stopped and forced herself to curtsy instead.

“I am sorry, Captain Acton, you startled me. I didn’t anticipate . . . Oh, goodness! You must come to the house for some refreshment.”

“You weren’t expecting me, surely?” His brows came together, causing a deep vertical line to appear between them. His gaze was very dark.

“Oh, no! Of course not! But I do know who you are. Edward mentioned you in letters. Though he didn’t exactly write often and his letters took anywhere from one to six months to arrive here. You were friends, weren’t you? I’m so sorry.”

The midnight eyes opened in astonishment. “Sorry?”

“About Edward’s death. It must have been a blow to lose a comrade.”

“But it is I who came to offer my condolences to you, ma’am.”

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you. Now, please, won’t you come up to the house? You must have ridden a long way.”

Richard fell into step beside her, leading his charger by the bridle. This encounter was not going at all as he had imagined. Firstly, Miss Helena Trethaerin looked nothing like Edward. Why he had expected that she should, he had no idea. Edward Blake had been a dark thickset Cornishman with black eyes and a shock of inky hair. The tendrils escaping beneath Miss Trethaerin’s bonnet were as blond as his own, and her skin was very white against the black fabric of her dress. It made her gray eyes look enormous.

And then she had offered
her
sympathy to him!

“Poor fellow,” Helena said suddenly.

Richard stopped short. “What?”

“Your horse.” She smiled and ran her hand down the animal’s neck. “He was your
cheval de bataille
, wasn’t he?”

Richard swallowed his astonishment and forced himself to reply casually. “Though that expression translates literally as ‘war-horse,’ it is generally used to mean anything one primarily relies on. Yes, I suppose he was, on both counts.”

“And he has faithfully served you through it all. How can a creature like him possibly understand the dreadful things he is asked to witness? Cavalry chargers do their duty all the same, yet they must spend much of their life in a state of terror.”

Without thinking, he replied, “And so do their masters, Miss Trethaerin.”

He had never admitted it before. Not to his fellow officers, not to himself. But it was true, of course. Bravery in battle did not mean lack of fear; it meant carrying on even when the fear was overwhelming. How could this frail-looking woman know that?

A groom ran forward from the house and took the horse. Miss Helena Trethaerin led Richard inside, and they handed their hats and gloves to a footman. Her hair shone almost silver in the dim light.

“Now,” she said once they were comfortably seated in the withdrawing room. “Won’t you tell me why you have really come?”

“Edward asked it,” Richard replied simply. “I don’t really know why, except that he was thinking of you when he died.”

“Oh, Lord! You were there?”

“We were cutting around a field together to direct a new flank attack and he was shot. He died almost instantly.”

“It’s a horrible waste, isn’t it?”

Richard looked at her in shock. Didn’t she care? You might say as much about a tree that fell in a storm. The idea that he would be obliged to make up a heroic tale for her fell into instant ruins.

“Yes, it is,” he said. And suddenly it was his own feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. A wave of anger at the sheer wastefulness of war—all those young lives!

He leaped to his feet and crossed to the window.

“I’ll make this as short and simple as possible, Miss Trethaerin. Edward died of a major wound to the chest. He couldn’t say much, but he wanted you to be safe. He also wanted, I think, that you should have his brandy flask.”

He strode back to her and held out the battered leather-clad bottle.

She took it and turned it over. “I can’t imagine why,” she said slowly.

“You were to be married, weren’t you? He had nothing else to send you.”

“Oh, dear! Please, Captain Acton, forgive me! It’s more than kind of you to come. But, please, take it back! I think that you should keep it.”

She thrust the flask toward him.

Richard could not do other than put it back in his own pocket. She was heartless. He knew suddenly quite clearly what he had expected to find: a woman as dark and passionate as Edward suffering an inconsolable grief, a woman who would have treasured with tremulous emotion any memento of her beloved.

Instead, this cool blonde was gazing at him perfectly calmly.

“Listen,” she said. “Perhaps we should go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Was she mad, perhaps?

“Yes, do you mind? It’s still a lovely afternoon, after all.”

“As you say, ma’am.”

“Then humor me, please.”

She rose gracefully to her feet and they went back into the hallway to collect their hats. Fifteen minutes later, Helena Trethaerin was leading him up through the woods behind the house, until the trees thinned and they came out onto a gorse-covered headland. Salt-laden wind buffeted at her dark skirts.

They walked quickly up a narrow path through the golden shrubs, until they stood overlooking the black sand of a small beach. There was a sudden screeching of wheeling sea gulls.

“Trethaerin Cove,” she said. “Edward and I played there together as children. We used to act out the Battle of Trafalgar, though he would always insist on being Admiral Lord Nelson. It wasn’t fair at all.” She laughed and clutched at her black bonnet as the wind threatened to carry it away. “Come on!”

Richard followed her as she crossed the headland on the cliff path. She had lost her betrothed barely six months before, but could still laugh?

Suddenly they were looking down into fertile fields. A gracious whitewashed house nestled against a thick stand of oak and birch at the far side of a broad valley. Through the center ran a small stream, which eventually cut its channel across a long stretch of sand. The beach must have been a mile wide.

“That’s Friarswell, Edward’s home.”

“I see smoke from the chimneys. Who lives there now?”

“His heir, Mr. Garthwood.”

Of course, the cousin who had inherited from Edward and thus also from Helena’s father. Richard silently blessed Catherine Hunter for her information.

Helena went on quickly. “Friarswell has all the good productive valley land. My father coveted it for years. I’m afraid that Trethaerin has nothing but the cove, some moorland, and the tin that used to lie under it. When the mines began to fail, it was hard for my father to make ends meet, though we were comfortable enough. Papa refused to countenance smuggling, the mainstay of many a Cornish family. Of course, Friarswell and Trethaerin march together. Papa thought it was the perfect answer to everything that I should marry Edward and unite the two places.”

“And what did you think about it?”

“Well, I hardly knew, to be honest.”

“And you are always honest?”

She gave him a perfectly open look. “Of course. What on earth would be the use of pretending anything?”

Richard felt his hands clench. Her name had been on Edward’s dying breath!

“For God’s sake, didn’t you care for Blake at all?”

“Dear Captain Acton, I do apologize if I have upset you. But I hadn’t seen my cousin for more than a few hours in seven years. I was a child when we were last together. Each of us was sent away to school, then Edward went to the war. As adults we hardly knew each other. Of course I honor his memory, but if you think I should pretend to be going into a decline over him, then I cannot oblige you. Please don’t allow yourself to imagine any pitiful tragic romance.”

“I could not imagine anything of the kind, madam,” he snapped. “You have explained admirably. Shall we go back?”

They walked rapidly down to Trethaerin House in silence. As they entered the hallway once again, a gentleman stepped from the drawing room.