Pamela Sherwood Read Online Free

the idea.”
    Sympathy warmed her eyes and voice. “My Grandmother Tresilian became like that toward the end of her life. She turned inward and hardly seemed to know any of us anymore. All we could do was see that she had all she needed and make her as comfortable as possible.”
    “That’s what I am trying to do. It’s at times like this I wish we were closer, though—I did not meet my great-uncle until I was sixteen, and we’ve met only sporadically since then.”
    “You did not grow up in Cornwall then, Mr. Pendarvis?”
    “I did not have that pleasure, Miss Tresilian. My father was a captain in the army—we followed wherever the regiment took him. I never set foot in Cornwall until after his death, but he’d told me all about spending his childhood summers here. When I saw it for myself, I could not believe how green everything was, and how mild the climate. My father’s last posting was in India—sadly, he died there, of fever—so you could scarce imagine two places more different.” The only similarity was how alien he’d felt in both. Aloud, he said, “I beg your pardon, Miss Tresilian. This conversation has turned far more serious than I intended it to.”
    “No need to apologize, Mr. Pendarvis,” she assured him. “I’m sorry about your father—I’ve heard that living conditions are very rigorous in India.”
    “You’ve heard rightly. It’s a country that holds much beauty but much danger as well, especially for unwary foreigners,” he added, remembering some close calls during his boyhood; a poisonous snake had figured prominently in at least one of them. “It took me some time to accustom myself to how much calmer England seemed, by comparison.”
    Sophie’s brows arched. “Calm but not boring, I hope?”
    Robin looked down into her piquant young face. “No, not boring at all. Especially now.”
    Her eyes widened as she absorbed the compliment, and a faint flush rose in her cheeks, but he thought she did not look at all displeased. Encouraged, he executed a successful twirl, and they danced on.
    ***
    The break for supper came, and he escorted her into the dining room, which in size and shape reminded him of a lord’s medieval great hall. A long table decked in snowy linen dominated the room, and the food had been laid out on huge serving platters for diners to help themselves.
    As Lady Tresilian had promised, supper was lavish, as befitted the season: roast joints of beef and mutton, ham, goose, lobster, and salmon. Savory and sweet pies of all description—Robin had heard the joke that the devil himself avoided Cornwall for fear of being baked in a pie—along with hothouse fruits, puddings, jellies, and pitchers filled to the brim with rich Cornish cream. Cider, champagne, and wine were also available in abundance; Sir Harry prided himself on his cellar, Sophie informed him.
    Once they were seated, Robin served them both from the various laden platters. Sophie ate lightly, but with the eager appetite of seventeen, whetted no doubt by her performances in the music room and on the dance floor. He liked that she did not peck or nibble at her food, as too many fashionable young ladies did.
    “Would you like anything more?” he asked, as she polished off the last delectable bite, then eyed her empty plate a touch wistfully.
    She shook her head. “I mustn’t gorge myself, not when there’s more dancing to follow. But I will take a little more champagne, if you please.”
    He reached for the bottle and poured out half a glass of the pale sparkling wine for her.
    Sophie sipped it delicately. “Wonderful,” she said on a sigh. “They don’t usually let me drink anything stronger than tea, or occasionally cider, unless it’s a very special occasion.”
    Robin glanced involuntarily toward the end of the table, where Sir Harry was sitting; fortunately, his host was not looking in their direction. “Oh, dear. Will your brother be displeased by my plying you with strong drink?”
    She