Cornwall Brides

Book Two

REBECCA CONNOLLY

Also by

Rebecca Connolly

The Arrangements:

An Arrangement of Sorts

Married to the Marquess

Secrets of a Spinster

The London League:

The Lady and the Gent

A Rogue About Town

By Hook or by Rook

The Spinster Chronicles:

The Merry Lives of Spinsters

The Spinster and I

Spinster and Spice

Agents of the Convent:

Fortune Favors the Sparrow

The Ears Have It

Cornwall Brides:

Something Old

Text copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Connolly

Cover art copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Connolly

Cover art by Tugboat Design

All rights reserved. Published by Phase Publishing, LLC. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

Phase Publishing, LLC first paperback edition

November 2021

ISBN 978-1-952103-38-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021921152

Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

Acknowledgements

For Poldark, whose stirring cinematography and honoring of Cornwall’s culture and beauties captivated me from the first and started me on my love affair with that part of the world. Still and always a favorite.

And for Jess, Kasey, Ashley, and Amy, who doubted I’d do this, for helping me plot dancing in the fog. Which is the new thing. Officially.

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Chapter One

Chapter One

Harrison, Lord Basset, was engaged to be married.

The announcement would have shocked any who knew him, and likely over half the members of polite Society, but there could be no doubt that it was true. The papers had been signed and the parties informed.

He was getting married, and soon. In four weeks, to be exact, barring any particular obstructions to the occasion. He did not foresee any, given the eager manner with which his intended’s father had agreed to the terms Harrison had set out in the contract. Not to mention his own worth, being a man of great fortune who had descended from an ancient and distinguished line, and who was in possession of a grand estate in Cornwall.

And as the young lady was of a fine lineage and breeding, her refinement renowned, her reputation impeccable, there could be no objections from any other quarter.

Now he only had to meet her.

Given Harrison had no sentimental notions of affection, romance, or even companionship when it came to marriage, the entire idea of courtship hadn’t seemed necessary in the endeavor. Reputation and family connections would give him a fair enough idea of the lady’s nature and quality, and he knew enough people in Society to be warned off of the harridans and fortune hunters. He didn’t mind spinsters, bluestockings, or those who came from reduced circumstances so long as they met his required family criteria, were fair enough in appearance, and were considered accomplished.

It was those who were greedy enough to grasp at any man with money whom he wished to avoid. It was those who would embarrass him and tarnish the family reputation whom he needed to stay away from. It was those who wouldn’t live up to the expectations and requirements of Lady Basset he could not marry.

He wouldn’t claim to be completely indifferent to certain aspects of his choice of prospective bride. He would prefer a beauty, if for no other reason than it would benefit the title and family name. A plain woman might be respected, but she would have to work harder to have an equal influence.

But if the woman were too much of a beauty and did not have a certain amount of humility or graciousness in her nature, she might distract from the position of honor and respect she would gain by marrying him. This would make her the topic of gossip and conversation, and not in a way that he would like to encourage.

He had spent the last several months analyzing every detail of what he saw as his perfect candidate, isolating everything that was a requirement and anything that was only a preference. He’d procured a list of potential ladies meeting his requirements and began discreetly making inquiries as to their reputation and standing in Society. Anything that could be given to him, he got.

For several weeks, he had pored over the information, and now he had finalized every detail, giving his solicitors even more work than they anticipated in preparing the marriage contracts. Everything was perfectly tidy, and both parties were getting precisely what they wanted from the arrangement.

Well, her father was, at any rate.

The lady could surely only wish for a good match with property, fortune, and influence.And a husband that wouldn’t cause a scandal.

Harrison might not have been able to promise a great deal as far as husbands went, but he could promise that much.

On paper, his prospective bride was absolute perfection. By reputation, his prospective bride was ideal. According to everyone he had spoken with, his prospective bride could not have been surpassed.

Yet Harrison was not convinced. Utter perfection did not exist.

It was too late now, he supposed, given he had signed all of the necessary papers. He would be marrying this woman in four weeks, barring some disaster or objection that should arise. None of his trusted advisors in business or Society had tried to dissuade him from her, and her father had been eager to accept the proposal between their families.

Three meetings between the men had been all that was necessary to settle things.

Ideally Harrison would only need three meetings with his prospective bride before the wedding to be able to take the vows without doubts. If he were to feel even slightly whimsical about the whole thing, which he rarely did, he would have enjoyed finding some kind of warm friendliness between them that would have him wishing to be in her company more often. But the only thing he expected was for her to be relieved that he was planning on a polite marriage, rather like any other found in London.

Surely that ought to be comfortable enough for her. For both of them.

Neat and tidy, that was how he wanted things.

And what he wanted most was for the woman he married to be as much part of the elite in Society as possible without ascribing to their overly pious ideals of themselves. Because the thing he needed most in his wife, beyond anything else, was for her to accept his sister.

Half-sister, strictly speaking.

Illegitimate half-sister, if he were being completely honest.

Poor, common, ill-mannered, illegitimate half-sister, if an outsider were giving their opinion.

He never listened to the opinions of outsiders, but he wasn’t ignorant of them, either. He couldn’t be. Were she not his sister, he might have paused at hearing her situation as well.

Paused, but still proceeded.

Emblyn Moyle had been a fiery addition to his life, and he was convinced his life had shortened by at least fifteen years since bringing her into things. She was the daughter of a former maid of the household, and while it had never been a secret that his father had been a profligate and scoundrel, it had been kept quiet that he had actually fathered a child. Until Harrison had inherited the title, he had not known the name of his illegitimate sibling, and the first thing he had done upon learning her identity had been to seek her out.

In his self-absorbed, arrogant, blind manner, he had presumed she would be grateful to have family of high rank willing to claim her as one of their own and raise her up from the lowly station to which she had been relegated.

He could not have been more wrong.

Emblyn was not the sort to wish her fortune, or her station, to be any more than what it was. She was content with her life and had no qualms in striving day in, day out to eke out a living for herself in Cornwall. Her mother had taught her to work hard and never accept charity that was undeserved, and Emblyn had held to that.

Not only had she laughed at Harrison’s offer to bring her into his household, but she flatly refused to be acknowledged as his sister. Her father had given her nothing but her existence, so why should she think herself in any way connected to the Basset family? She was no fine lady and had no desire to become one. She had been a maid at Tehidy, and that was as close to any Basset as she cared to be.

Considering Lord de Dunstaville of Tehidy was a distant cousin, and certainly the most renowned member of the vast Basset family, Harrison found that to be ironic.

It had taken some time and persuasion, but Emblyn had softened her position just enough to allow Harrison to be her brother and to occasionally attend quiet dinners he hosted at Trevadden Park. She would not sit as mistress of the house, nor would she come to any balls he or his friends would host, but she was not resisting being called his sister and being part of his life.

More than that, she would not budge on.

He had been exhausting himself in the attempt ever since her concessions, but Emblyn was a particularly stubborn Cornwall lass. It would take a miracle from heaven to move her, and even then, the Almighty would have to convince her, which would take even His most considerable efforts.

Maddening as it was, Harrison was delighted to have Emblyn about. She had finally begun coming to Trevadden unannounced and actually behaving like a member of the family, rather than staying belowstairs with the servants. She would never ask any of the servants to do anything for her, nor would she accept being addressed as anything other than Miss Moyle by any in his employ. Unless they would call her Emblyn, but the servants would not dare tread so far, and she knew it well.

Harrison still hoped to convince her to leave her cottage and move into Trevadden, but she insisted that the cottage had been her mother’s home and her home, and she was not about to leave it for some grand estate to which she did not belong.

Some battles, Harrison was learning, were best left unfought. When all was said and done, he had a sister, and she was not doing anything for which he was ashamed or embarrassed, which was more than he could have said for his brother.

Emblyn might wish herself far away from anything remotely involving any Basset if she knew the truth about Richard. She knew he existed and that he was in London, but that was all. It was safer that way.

If one looked at his siblings on paper or by reputation, they would have been black marks against the family. Harrison, by comparison, was pristine. Firstborn, titled, wealthy, and free of tarnish or speculation. A perfect candidate for even the most conniving of matchmaking mamas.

Unless, of course, she was looking for more than one connection.

But surely every family had a black sheep. Surely most families had their secrets. It was not as likely, he feared, that they had both.

But none of that mattered anymore, he reminded himself. He had a prospective bride, contracted to him and agreed upon by her father, with a wedding date set. His character and situation were enough to convince the father of Harrison’s quality and suitability for his daughter.

He was ready to take the next step in his journey as Lord Basset, and that meant marriage. However little interest he had in it.

He had never considered himself the marrying type, when he thought about it. Considering the sort of marriage he witnessed between his parents in his youth, there was little attraction about that state of relationship. It was a business transaction, and even that was not a fair comparison. In business, both parties receive something they want. In marriage, both parties agree to something.

What is received, however, may not be what the other had in mind.

Harrison’s mother did not agree to be mortified and shamed by her husband’s behavior and manner. She did not agree to being so completely powerless that she was akin to a prisoner in her own home. She did not agree to having no say in how her children were raised, what kind of education they would receive, or where they would be sent.

She had been stripped of any identity in her marriage, though her dowry had certainly been put to excellent use on the estate. Her person had simply been the means for producing heirs, and nothing more. She had been the mistress of Trevadden, it was true, but without any power to act as such. The greatest attention she received only came when her husband was hosting an event at Trevadden. She would be gifted a new gown and have the family jewels hung about her neck, trussed up to appear the perfect baroness for their guests.

While she received no particular affection from her husband on those occasions, she was at least acknowledged as his wife and honored by the guests as such.

There were many things that Harrison knew his mother had not told him about how her life had been and to this day would still not mention, but he knew enough to ascertain that she had suffered.

Harrison’s wife would not suffer. That much he knew. He would never disrespect his wife, cut her out of the lives of her children, or strip her powerless. He was a better man than his father, a better baron, a better human being.

And he would damn well be a better husband.

He might not be able to promise his wife love or affection or happiness, but he sure as hell could promise her a lack of suffering. He could promise her respect and honor. He could promise her freedom, strange as it may seem.

But so long as his wife did not create a scandal and lived with respect for the title and position, Harrison was perfectly pleased to let her do as she liked.

Within reason, of course. He’d prefer that she not take up affairs, obviously, but he was willing to negotiate matters if certain situations arose.

“You seem rather pensive, Lord Basset. You’re not having second thoughts?” The man beside him laughed jovially, as though the very idea were ludicrous.

Strange comment from his prospective father-in-law, but until the marriage was official, Harrison supposed he would endure oddities such as this.

He shook his head firmly, forcing a smile. “Of course not, my lord. I am quite set on my course.”

Lord Tunbridge patted Harrison’s arm awkwardly as the carriage rocked side to side on the turn in the road. “I am certain of that, Basset. Quite certain. Only joking.”

“Has Miss Dyer been apprised of the situation?” Harrison asked the man, eager to move past the topic of his thoughts.

“Situation?” Tunbridge repeated, finding something amusing in the choice of word. “Your engagement, you mean?”

That particular choice of word made Harrison more uncomfortable than the carriage ride itself could ever have been. Arrangement would have suited better, or contract would have sufficed.

Engagement sounded far too personal for what this was and how it came about.

Surely he needed to meet his intended before any of this could be considered an engagement. But he couldn’t tell his prospective father-in-law that he was making Harrison’s upcoming marriage with his daughter too personal. It might cloud his approval of the match.

Harrison nodded once. “Yes, is she aware of it?”

“She is,” Tunbridge assured him. “Her mother and I informed her after we finalized the details yesterday. She knows that we are signing contracts today. I imagine she will be expecting us.”

That was not encouraging in the least. He had heard a great deal about Adelaide Dyer, but he could not say if he had seen her at any of the events he had attended in London. Quite simply, he hadn’t been paying attention, nor had the events or the ladies in attendance held any interest for him. He could have passed her on the street and never known it.

Now he was going to marry her.

Was it better to marry a stranger, or marry a longtime acquaintance?

His friend Thomas Granger had married a woman he loved, yet it had taken the man five years to inform her of his feelings. Were those five years of anguish worth the resolution thereafter?

Surely an open, honest discussion of expectations and preferences between like-minded parties was the simplest way to conduct a marriage. Removing feelings from the scenario would also remove the risk of either person growing disappointed in the other, or with the marriage itself. But there was no telling how a woman would feel before the marriage, or what she might expect from him as her new husband. Or how outspoken she would be.

The image of his sister came to mind, her expression one of fury, her arms tightly folded as she stood her ground in one of their more recent fights.

He shuddered. Much as he was growing to adore Emblyn, he could not marry a woman like that. Not if he wished to maintain any sanity.

“Still pensive, my lord,” Tunbridge broke in. “If it would relieve your mind to discuss what is on it, please consider me a listening ear. If, of course, you prefer reserve, please be as pensive as you like.”

Was Tunbridge entirely serious? Harrison had known him for a matter of weeks. Just because Harrison was marrying the man’s daughter, he expected Harrison to confide in him about his thoughts and impressions? He rarely confided in the friends he’d had for years, why in the world would he do so with a stranger?

They had been arranging a connection between their families, not a friendship. Harrison would be taking their daughter back to Cornwall from the wedding breakfast and only return to London when he had to. There was no notion of two families becoming one, of sharing Christmases or birthdays, of hosting each other for fortnights at a time during the summer. Tunbridge had made it clear that they were a family of polite distance, and being separated from their daughter by several counties would not be a wrench. They were a typical family of British Society in London, not some aberration of country folk who clung to each other.

That was what Harrison had thought he was binding himself to, and such feelings suited his own.

Now the man wanted Harrison to consider him a confidante? Not bloody likely.

“Only thinking of my own family,” Harrison told him evasively.

“Ah, will they join us for the wedding?” Tunbridge asked with interest. “You have a brother, yes?”

Harrison nodded, not bothering to hide what was already known and not seeing a need to offer what was not expected. “I do, but unfortunately, he will not be able to join us.”

“Must be a very busy fellow, I daresay.” He released a sigh that sounded more amused than disgruntled. “Well, with my girl, Basset, there is no hope of having this wedding be a small affair. She will have her way—she and her mother.”

That was not encouraging.

“I’ve no interest in the wedding itself,” Harrison assured him, fighting the instinct to wince at the idea of fuss and finery. “Whatever will suit them will suffice.”

“Very good of you, Basset. Very good.” Tunbridge glanced out of the window, nodding. “Ah, here we are, here we are.”

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Harrison exhaled a sudden wash of nerves in his chest. It was all well and good to discuss marriage, to arrange the details, and sign the contracts, but now he would be meeting the woman to whom he would be bound before God and man. The woman who would bear his children and stand by his side for the rest of his life.

Devil take it, what had he done? What was he doing?

This could have been the worst decision of his life, and he could regret it every day from the marriage onward. He could back out. He could tell Tunbridge that he wasn’t interested, and the contract was null and void. He wouldn’t have to go through with this.

Until the marriage was officially performed and consummated, he could change his mind.

His rational side came to the rescue as he disembarked and made his way to the house beside Tunbridge. He needed to marry, needed an heir, needed to have a woman stand as Lady Basset beside him. That was not an optional requirement for him in his life. He had examined the details of this family to which he would bind himself, had learned all he could about the woman he had chosen, and had deemed the situation satisfactory enough to proceed.

He didn’t have to love the woman. He just needed to find her acceptable. That was all.

They were let into the house swiftly, the butler practically ignoring Harrison in favor of seeing to his master’s needs.

“Never mind, Taylor,” Tunbridge blustered, waving the butler away. “Lord Basset and I only need to see Lady Tunbridge and Miss Adelaide.”

“They are in the Blue Room, sir,” Taylor recited with a pristine tone of formality. “Along with your niece, Miss Lumley-Jones.”

Tunbridge tutted softly, some sound with unidentifiable emotion behind it, and nodded, continuing up the stairs of the fine London house.

No explanation was given to Harrison, nor any warnings. Also not encouraging.

They reached the first-floor landing and turned to the right, passing one door and then another before stopping.

Harrison watched as Tunbridge exhaled a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.

What in the world was this?

Tunbridge said nothing and opened the door to the room, striding in. Harrison had no choice but to follow.

An older woman in fine silks sat primly on a couch alone, pouring herself some tea, a small smile on her lips. Lady Tunbridge, he would presume.

His eyes moved to the two young ladies opposite her on another couch, and his stomach clenched.

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