The Foundling Bride. Helen Dickson
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Название: The Foundling Bride
Автор: Helen Dickson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
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‘She’s a plump little thing. You are right. She’s not been neglected,’ Izzy remarked, reaching out and fingering the pretty smock the child was wearing. ‘Her clothes are quality, so she obviously belongs to someone well-to-do. And see,’ she said, fingering the elaborately embroidered initial on the blanket she was wrapped in. ‘The letter B. Well, that could be significant, and a start as to discovering her identity. But in the meantime what are you to do with her?’
Folding her arms across her large bosom, Izzy looked at him hard, knowing perfectly well what the young master was about to ask her.
Marcus removed his attention from the child and, placing a cajoling arm about Izzy’s waist, smiled infectiously, disarmingly, as though to ask forgiveness for what he would say next—for there really was nothing else he could do. And because Izzy was so fond of him he knew she would not refuse.
‘You’ll look after her for me, won’t you, Izzy? You have a brood of your own—one more won’t make any difference.’
‘Will it not?’ she said, glancing at Hester and Kenza, their chattering voices filling the kitchen once more. ‘With three mouths and my husband to feed how will I manage?’
‘Babies don’t eat much, Izzy, and I’m sure Mother will help.’
Izzy hesitated, looking at him hard again. Master Marcus had discovered how to manipulate those who cared for him from an early age. Whereas his brother, Master Edward, was rebellious, given to fits of temper and nastiness when he could not get his own way. He was proud and haughty where Master Marcus was generous and tender-hearted and full of irresistible charm, and all those around him—from the cook down to the scullery maid—could not help but respond to him—especially Izzy and her girls, who adored the very ground upon which he walked.
Izzy sighed, unable to refuse his request. ‘With that clever brain of yours, that pleading look in your eyes, Master Marcus, and the way you have of getting the better of others—especially me, even with my strong powers of reasoning—you know I can’t refuse you anything. But when people ask where she came from what am I to say?’
‘The truth, of course,’ Marcus replied, satisfied that he’d got his way and gently chucking Lowena under her softly dimpled chin.
‘I’ll look after her for the time being, Master Marcus,’ Izzy said, cradling the child in her arms and thinking what a lovely little thing she was. ‘You know I’ll take good care of her. But I want you to promise me that if anything should happen in the future—what I mean is if we fail to find her family and should anything happen to me—you will take care of her, see that comes to no harm.’
Noting the gravity of Izzy’s words, Marcus nodded, and his answer was spoken quietly, equally as grave. ‘I will, Izzy. I promise.’
‘That’s all I ask. Now, then, let’s get her settled and I’ll see about feeding her. I don’t suppose Annie will mind sharing...’
Before Marcus left the cottage Izzy was already unbuttoning her dress and settling down beside the hearth to feed the new and what she believed to be the temporary addition to her family.
* * *
As the years passed Lowena flourished within the warmth of Izzy’s family. She was a happy child, adored by all who met her.
Izzy never made any secret of the fact that she was a foundling. Enquiries had been made, but no one could throw any light on where she had come from, and as time went by it ceased to matter...
1780
The crowd melted away, making a pathway before Captain Marcus Carberry as he walked from Fowey Harbour with long, purposeful strides. Some turned to look again at the well-built figure of the tanned military man in his late twenties. His face was disciplined, strong, striking—and exceptionally handsome. He was conspicuous in his tight fitting-red jacket with its cross-belt of white which emphasised his powerful chest, and tapering white trousers above knee-length black boots emphasised long legs and muscular thighs.
Having left the ship outside Fowey’s deep harbour, on its way to Portsmouth, and rowed to shore, he was eager to get home. Looking around the familiar bustling streets he felt his heart swell. For him, the war in America was over. Having served the ten years he had signed up for with the army, he had been on the point of extending his post, but the death of his father had brought him back to Tregarrick.
Cornwall was in his heart, and he had always known he would come back. Everything he had ever cared about was here. Breathing deep of the salt sea air, he thought even the cloying stench of fish that hung over the harbour smelled sweet after five years of war.
And then there was the family mine—Wheal Rozen, named after his grandmother. From the moment his father had taken him there as a boy he’d set about learning all there was to know about mining and everything connected with it, from anyone who was prepared to talk to him. The memory of the times he had spent at Wheal Rozen as a boy and then as a youth, listening to the noise and action of the great pump engine demonstrating its power, made his body tingle.
Now, on his father’s demise, Marcus’s elder half-brother Edward had inherited the estate—which was the way of things—but his father had left Marcus one hundred per cent ownership of the mine, so all the decision-making would be up to him, and the freedom to explore for further mineral deposits was his priority.
As soon as he had eaten at a hostelry he hired a horse and headed out of Fowey. The horse would be returned in due course. It was already dark. He knew it was dangerous to travel at night but, believing his uniform would protect him against anyone who might be tempted to waylay him, and eager to get home, he set out for Tregarrick.
Thoughts of his brother brought a hardening to Marcus’s jaw and an ache to his heart, and as he covered the miles he was unable to stave off his anxiety as to how his homecoming would be received by Edward.
Marcus knew better than to expect him to welcome him home with warm words. Spoiled and fawned over by an adoring mother, Edward was one of the most unprincipled men he knew. He and Marcus had led separate lives, meeting only when one or the other had come home from school, and later when Marcus came home from the military academy. After a lifetime of resentment Edward was unlikely to have had a change of heart towards Marcus. But if he had, Marcus would welcome that and hold out his hand.
As brothers they should be able to forgive each other anything—shouldn’t they?
Almost at the end of his journey, and seeing a flash of light out at sea, he dismounted and walked to the cliff’s edge. His eyes were drawn down to the beach, where dark figures moved and horses waited. From his vantage point Marcus knew he was witnessing the centuries-old Cornish tradition of smuggling.
It was something he had grown up with, and he knew that to those involved in the trade it was a way of life. For the families with many mouths to feed times were hard, and smuggling was their way of trying to make ends meet—the ring-leaders often became rich on the strength of it. But those who got involved in this illegal trade did so at a high cost, for the penalty for smuggling would be found at the end of a rope...
* * *
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