Page 28 of The Captain of Betrayal
"Like brothers," Keyford gave a watery smile as he placed an awkward hand on James' own, to give it a conciliatory pat. "And as I said, any son of Horace's is always welcome in my home."
The pair finished their drinks in silence, with James wondering what type of man his father had been. He had abandoned his mother, and yet, in Keyford he had inspired a lifelong loyalty that still lingered years after his death. The Earl of Ludlow was a conundrum, and one which James thought he might never solve.
Though learning more about his parentage was not why he was in St Jarvis; he was there for Polly, and only Polly. Mr Lawless then spoke, as though he had been listening to James' very thoughts.
"How goes it with Miss Jenkins, then?" the barman asked, with not a little vested interest James thought wryly.
"It does not go anywhere," he sighed, accepting yet another pint from the old man. If he was not careful, he would soon be in his cups, and spilling his secrets to the whole bar.
"She has mighty high standards, our Polly," Lawless said appreciatively; no matter that he and James had quite the repertoire, James knew that the old man would always think he had some sort of claim over Polly.
"Yes, and a league of ladies she can call on whenever I invite her anywhere alone," James muttered darkly. Oh, he liked the ladies who lodged in the boarding house well enough, but he did not like them joining in on his every walk, ride or cup of tea with Polly. He wondered what the poor Hamilton twins had thought of their afternoon ride, which had ended so disastrously. He did not think them gossips, but knew that news that he was a bastard would soon spread. He did not give a fig for what others thought of him, but he wondered if word would reach his estranged brother and Uncle that the unwanted offspring of Horace Livingstone had resurfaced. News like that spread like wildfire through the ton, aided by tabbies who would pounce on such a scandalous titbit of gossip.
"You'll have plenty of opportunity to sneak a minute with her during the Jarvey," Jack said, with a wide smile.
"What on earth is the Jarvey?"
"The festival of St Jarvis," Keyford explained kindly, "Though it has been an annual tradition since long before Christianity reached the cliffs of Cornwall. At the end of summer, every year, there is a parade through the village in which the locals carry a symbolic boat made of flowers. The boat is launched into the sea at the pier and a prayer is said to St Jarvis, to watch over the fishermen during the winter ahead."
"Yes," Lawless interrupted Keyford excitedly, "But before, during pagan times, the boat was supposed to symbolise fertility in the hope that the villagers would do some procreating during the winter months. Now isn't that more suited to your intentions?"
Lawless gave James a rather saucy wink at this bit of information, and despite the fact that he had spent many years aboard ships with sailors—who were notoriously lewd--James found himself blushing. Both Keyford and Lawless guffawed happily at James' obvious discomfort; though thankfully they did not know the real reason why James was so flustered.
"Wonderful," he cleared his throat unnecessarily, "But how will I have a minute alone with Polly, if the whole village is present?"
"Why, at the dance afterwards," Lawless replied. "The whole village can't join in on a waltz."
This was true, though James had no doubt that Polly might make them try. Or refuse the waltz and make him dance a cotillion, or another similar group dance. Still, the thought of music and dancing cheered him, and he bidadieuto his two companions in far lighter spirits.
Life had thrown up many distractions of late, yet the desire he felt for Polly still consumed him and he would let nothing stand in his path. He would have Polly Jenkins as his bride, he thought with determination, or die trying.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Jarvey, the Jarvey, the Jarvey.
All that Polly had heard all week from her sister was endless speculation about the silly festival. Emily's questions and chatter had left Polly feeling a little irritable, though she supposed that it might also be the weather.
The sun had been relentless all week, and at night time the temperatures were so high that Polly had to sleep with the window open. Not that sleep came; she spent half the night tossing from the warmth, and the other half turning from thoughts of James.
He had been a little distant since their ride to Smuggler's Cove, oh he still called daily, but he no longer attempted to entice her into taking walks alone with him, or doing anything at all alone with him, for that matter.
That's what you wanted, is it not?
Polly tried to ignore the little voice within that goaded her, for it was right. She had not wanted to be alone with James, during all the times he attempted to instigate a tête-à-tête with her; she had needed her sister, or the twins, or anyone available to act as a buffer between herself and the dashing Captain. But it had only been because she did not trust herself around him; she had wanted to listen to the reservations of her heart before allowing the demands of her body respond to him.
Now, he had taken any temptation away, and she was feeling rather cantankerous as a result. Mostly, she thought irritably, because it was her own fault.
Still, she had the much discussed Jarvey to look forward to, and who knew what opportunities that might present?
"Oh, Emily, your ribbon has come untied," she chided, as she and her sister made their way across the green to the church. She reached out and tied the ribbon of Emily's bonnet firmly under her chin. The sun was still strong and she did not want her sister to have a red-nose at the end of the day. Though, despite the pressing heat, in the distance Polly could see a bank of dark, ominous clouds approaching.
"Storm's on the way," Jack Beverly observed as he fell into step beside the Jenkins sisters. "Looks like it could be a howler."
"Perhaps it will hold off," Polly demurred, with an anxious glance at Emily, who detested storms.
"It'll be good to get a break in the weather," Jack grinned, "And as long as it stays away until after we have our procession, then what harm?"
What harm indeed, Polly thought, for she was longing for an end to the suffocating heat. At that moment, she caught sight of James, standing a little away from the villagers who were crowded outside the church. Her breath caught slightly, as she looked at him, for she had never seen him look more handsome. He was dressed as well as any London gent might be; he wore a dark navy coat, over a pristine white shirt and fawn breeches, whilst his feet were clad in a pair of polished Hessians, which clung to his muscular calves. At his neck he wore a white cravat, the colour of fresh snow, which served to highlight his handsome, dark features.
