Invitation To A Cornish Christmas. Marguerite Kaye

the church, and in doing so deprived the parish of an excellent man in the form of Reverend Maddern.’

      Emily raised her brows sceptically. ‘I can’t imagine that you would allow yourself to be pushed into anything by anyone.’

      ‘It’s been attempted, but none so far have succeeded.’

      ‘Though now,’ she ventured, ‘you must be torn?’

      ‘What do people here want to happen?’

      ‘You’ve not been away so long as to imagine that anyone in Porth Karrek would share their thoughts with an incomer, surely?’

      ‘No, I suppose not.’

      They had come to the end of the beach, where the cliffs of the next headland protruded out to sea, preventing them from continuing. The wavelets washed over their toes, drenching the hems of her cloak and skirt. Emily frowned. ‘There has been a good deal of speculation about you, I know that much.’

      ‘I couldn’t have come here any earlier—until last week I was at sea. I didn’t even hear of Austol’s death until a month after he was drowned. People will be wanting to know where they stand, and that’s natural enough.’ Treeve picked up a flat stone and skimmed it expertly into the surf. ‘As far as I’m concerned, provided I can satisfy myself that Jago Bligh has been doing his job, they stand exactly where they do now. My leave of absence expires at the end of the year. I have no plans to extend it, and certainly no intention of making it permanent. Don’t people get on with Bligh? Is that what you’re hinting at?’

      ‘I’m not hinting at anything. Mr Bligh, though not exactly loved by all, is certainly held in respect—and in some awe, since he wields quite a lot of power. But that’s only an impression. You must make up your own mind.’

      ‘Oh, I intend to, but it’s always useful to have an independent view from someone with no vested interest.’

      ‘Well, I can certainly provide that.’

      Treeve sighed, digging his toes into the sand, in precisely the same way as she did. ‘It’s a damned mess, all the same. Karrek House shouldn’t be left to lie empty. My brother’s widow has moved back to Penzance to stay with her parents. I called on her yesterday, on my way here. It is a great shame that their union wasn’t blessed with a son. She’s a Hammett of Penzance, whose father would have been happy to look after the estate on behalf of his grandson.’

      ‘And now it will fall to you, to marry and provide an heir.’ Emily spoke lightly, but avoided his eyes all the same, for fear that he’d see the pain her words induced. All men wanted a son, didn’t they!

      But Treeve looked quite aghast. ‘That is something I have not considered, nor intend to. I am at sea more often than I’m ashore. I would make a very poor husband and father.’

      ‘Loyalty, a strong sense of duty, honour, and respect for those you command—the attributes which make you an excellent naval captain would surely also serve you very well as a husband.’

      ‘Are you funning?’

      ‘Only a little.’

      ‘You don’t think that love is the starting point? Surely if one loves, then the rest follow—save that I don’t think a husband should command a wife.’

      ‘That is very enlightened of you.’

      ‘I know little of such matters, to be honest.’

      ‘Ah, yes, the sea is your mistress, as you said.’

      ‘Well, not precisely my only mistress, but the one I have always returned to.’ Treeve cursed under his breath. ‘That makes me sound like the archetypal sailor with a woman in every port. It’s not what I meant at all.’

      ‘You don’t have to explain…’

      ‘I meant only that I’m thirty-six years old. Of course there have been women. But I’ve never been a man to make any sort of false promises, Emily. That’s what I meant. And now it sounds as if I’m propositioning you, which I’m not. I’m simply—I want us to be honest with each other, that’s all.’

      A very refreshing change indeed, if he meant it. All her instincts told her that he did, but her instincts had been catastrophically wrong before. Yet she did feel she could trust him. Was it then dishonest of her to keep her past to herself? No, she decided. All Treeve wanted was her honest opinions, and those she could give freely.

      ‘I honestly think we should turn back,’ Emily said teasingly. ‘Before we’re trapped by the rising tide.’

      ‘I’ve said too much again, haven’t I?’ Treeve said, making no move, pushing his hair, damp from the salt spray, back from his brow.

      ‘We’ve only just met. You are only here until the end of the year.’ She considered this. ‘Though I suppose that is an argument for us to skip the conventional niceties.’

      ‘I think we’ve already done that,’ he replied, indicating their bare feet.

      ‘Very true.’

      They set off back through the lapping waves. The next time their hands brushed, their eyes met, and their fingers clasped. His hand was warm against her icy skin. The sun was bright now, making the sea glitter. Emily’s blood tingled and fizzed in her veins. Any other day she would put it down to the exhilaration of walking on an unspoilt beach in fine weather. Today, it was a whole combination of things: this particular beach; this particular sun; this particular man.

      ‘I’m a silversmith,’ she said, wanting to surprise him, to give him the gift of an unsought confidence, wanting to trust him with it.

      Treeve looked suitably startled. ‘A silversmith?’

      ‘That’s how I earn my living.’

      ‘How extraordinary. You don’t look like a silversmith.’

      ‘What do you imagine a silversmith looks like?’

      ‘A wizened old man wearing spectacles, hunched over a workbench. How on earth did you learn such a trade? Doesn’t it require some sort of apprenticeship?’

      ‘My father was a silversmith of some repute. I lost him six years ago.’

      ‘By the sounds of it, you were very close.’

      ‘Very.’ Emily blinked furiously. ‘I worked with him from an early age, and through a friend of his, also learned the basics of jewellery making—the two are very distinct trades, usually. I combine them. My father made much bigger pieces on a grander scale than I could produce here. My work is not so profitable, but luckily for me, I’ve discovered that I’m most adept at cutting my cloth to suit my purse.’

      ‘By moving to a tiny cottage at the ends of the earth,’ Treeve said. ‘Though you only arrived here in April.’

      He wanted honesty. How to explain that honestly? Emily wondered. ‘London is expensive and I also desperately wanted—needed a change. My resources have been dwindling.’ Which was most certainly true. ‘Though I am quite self-sufficient,’ she added. ‘You must not feel sorry for me.’

      ‘I don’t,’ Treeve said, clearly confused by the challenge in her voice.

      ‘Good. I won’t be pitied, you know.’

      ‘I can’t imagine why you think I would do such a thing. If anything, I envy you your independence.’

      She bit her lip. ‘It has been hard earned, believe me.’

      He eyed her for a moment, struggling, she thought, with whether or not to pursue the subject, whether to ask her the obvious question. ‘All the best things are hard earned,’ he said eventually, a platitude for which she was grateful.

      ‘True. I like to be busy, though the short days at this time of year are problematic. My work requires daylight.’

      ‘Is that a hint