Page 29 of The Captain of Betrayal
He caught her eye, smirking a little to have found her staring, and lifted a hand in greeting. Polly ushered Emily over toward him, only spotting the Duke and Duchess of Everleigh as she neared.
"Your Grace," Polly said as she reached them. The Duke was her employer, and whilst she called Olive by her given name, at the Duchess' insistence, she would never dream of being so familiar with the formidable Duke.
"Polly," Ruan Everleigh gave his pirate like smile as he greeted her. "And Emily--you are missed, my dear, at Pemberton."
"We must visit soon," Emily replied solemnly. She spoke to the Duke in the same manner that she addressed everyone with; his rank was a thing she never seemed to think of, and for that, the Duke was extremely fond of her.
"I'm rather excited for my first Jarvey celebration," Olive said, glancing around at the villagers, who were mostly dressed in blue and white, with sashes and masks covering many of their faces. There was an air of great excitement, with a few of the villagers already playing tunes on the fiddles and tin-whistles that they carried. Polly was inclined to agree with Olive, though the Duke merely rolled his eyes and said that one found it less exciting when it was the twentieth one had attended.
The small group fell silent, as Mr Wilpole, the Vicar, began to say a few prayers over the large, model ship which stood in front of the church doors. The ship was decorated with local flowers; Michaelmas daisies, coneflowers and sneeze weed, and once the prayers were finished, it was hoisted up atop the shoulders of half a dozen men, and the parade began.
Polly allowed herself to be caught up in the merriment, asen masse, the villagers wove their way down Shop Street, dancing and singing to the music. She even caught the Duke, who had professed to find the whole affair dull, smiling a broad smile as he twirled his wife with abandon.
A hand reached out for hers, strong and warm, and Polly turned to find James smiling down at her.
"Would my lady care for a dance?" he asked, but did not wait for her answer before he began to twirl her gently, only dropping her hand so that he could spin Emily too.
By the time the villagers had reached the small pier, everyone was out of breath and flushed, but filled with high spirits. The crowd fell silent as Mr Wilpole again offered a prayer to St Jarvis, asking him to safeguard the fishermen in the coming months, but when the ship was launched into the sea, a huge cheer went up and the celebrations began properly.
A makeshift dance-floor had been set up by the pier and a group of men sat down on the chairs by its edge, to begin playing music. Polly adored all the Cornish songs, which were fast paced and often accompanied by lyrics that one would not hear in any ballroom in London.
"I was expecting a cotillion, or a waltz," James murmured in her ear, as the set dance that they had joined in with came to an end.
"A waltz?" Polly gave a hoot of laughter and poked him gently in the chest, "You're not hob-nobbing with the ton now, Captain."
"Indeed, I am not," James observed, as the makeshift band finished their bawdy sea-shanty about smugglers. The tone of the late afternoon changed, as Martha Beverly, Jack's wife, stood up to sing. The song, which had a haunting melody, was a ballad about a sailor lost at sea, and the dancefloor emptied until it was only couples, swaying gently together left.
Jack placed a proprietary hand on Polly's waist and drew her close to him. She could feel the heat of his body and his hand seemed to burn her skin through the material of her dress.
"It's a lovely song," James murmured, "I used to imagine you singing it about me when I was away at sea."
"How could I have sang a song about my lost sailor, when I didn't know you had taken to the sea?" Polly asked pragmatically, causing James to roll his eyes at her lack of romanticism.
"Well, at least you know that I was thinking of you, for all those years," he grumbled lightly. "Every night before I went to sleep, I thought of you Poll."
A flippant reply was on her lips, but for once, Polly thought before she spoke and allowed it to die there. Just enjoy this moment, a voice urged her, and so she allowed herself to revel at the feeling of being held in a strong pair of arms. A light sigh escaped her as the song came to a close and more people took to the floor for a lively reel. James took her hand and led her away from the crowd, nodding at acquaintances, but not allowing her to stop or speak with anyone.
"Mr Lawless will think I've given him the cut," Polly protested, as they finally stopped by the low pier wall. The wind had picked up, and the storm that had been threatening seemed ready to make land. As if to outplay it, the band picked up the pace of the music, adding a rather surreal urgency to the moment.
"Let him think what he likes," James said in reply. He looked a little fierce as he stood against the grey clouds of the sky, with the wind whipping his hair into his eyes.
Her hand moved of its own volition to brush a lock aside, and as she went to lower it again he reached out and lifted it to his lips.
"Marry me Polly Jenkins," he whispered softly, her hand still safe in his strong grip.
"I—" Polly stuttered in reply, a little thrown by the new way that he looked at her. Gone was the patient Captain Black, of impeccable manners and patient smiles. Before her stood a man, whose eyes were burning with desire and hope, a man no longer willing to wait for her to ponder if she could trust him or not.
Every doubt she had raced across her mind; he had hurt her, he had disappeared, he had changed from the boy she had known and loved. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for James gave a laugh, so bitter that it shook her.
"You still don't understand how much I love you," he said harshly, despair written on every handsome feature.
"No, I do," Polly protested, "It's just that I—"
Whatever she had been going to say was cut short as a shrill cry shattered the moment. The voice that had cried out was so familiar, that it could almost have been Polly's own.
"Emily!" Polly whipped her head toward where the shout had come from, and saw her sister's bonnet floating in the choppy waters of the harbour; she must have somehow fallen in!
Polly lifted her skirts to run to where Emily must have entered the water, but there was a figure ahead of her, already mounting the low wall of the pier and preparing to dive into the troubled sea.
