"Rosalynd!" he shouted hoarsely. "It's Rosalynd I can't bear to leave." He stood in agony, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I can't help it! God help me, Cecilia, I can't help it."
She held him while the storm passed, saying nothing but rocking him slowly.
When it was over he stood away from her, his fists bunching helplessly as he fought to regain his composure. "I—I'm sorry, Cec," he gulped. "We—we men are a lubberly crew when it comes t' this sort o' thing."
"Dear sweet brother, please don't say you're sorry. This is all because you're such a good man—you see?" She sighed and looked at him lovingly. "You've answered your own question and, to be frank, it's not altogether a surprise to me."
Kydd swallowed.
"Yes—do you mind if I say something very cruel to you, Thomas?"
"If y' must, Cec."
"I do believe that you've been infatuated not with Persephone Lockwood but with what she is, the world she comes from, all that pomp and finery. And the pity of it is that, of a certainty, she loves you."
There was nothing he could find to say.
She went on gently: "This is why you must tell her yourself, Thomas—she's a fine woman and at the least deserves this."
"I will," he agreed.
"So, now we must consider the future." She got up and began to pace up and down the room. "I gather you have not spoken to her father yet?"
"No," he said huskily.
"Have you an understanding with Persephone?"
"I was t' ask for her hand when she returned from Bath."
"Very well. Then there is no question of a breach of engagement but the world will believe there is an understanding—your attachment was much talked about."
She stopped. "Do you intend to marry your Rosalynd?"
Kydd gave a shy smile. "If she will have me, Cec." The idea broke on him like thunder and he felt nothing but a soaring exhilaration.
His elation seemed to vex Cecilia. "I don't believe you can conceive what an upset this will cause, Thomas," she said, with the utmost seriousness. "It will be gossip in the salons for ages to come. Can you not see? The daughter of a family of the first quality and known at court, an acknowledged beauty, and turned down by a penniless commander for a simple country girl?"
Kydd still stood in an attitude of the greatest happiness, while Cecilia continued grimly, "Her family will be mortified—they will seek to destroy you in society. They will have you damned at every polite gathering in the land. No one will dare invite you for fear of offending—you'll be an outcast just as you're about to enter at the highest level. And your sea career—you cause mortal offence to your admiral and he will take his revenge, I'd believe."
It stopped Kydd, but only for a moment. "He can't turn me out of my ship, sis. I've now got someone t' care about, and I'm going to do m' copper-bottomed best t' see she's proud o' me—and be damned to any who'll stand athwart m' hawse. An' in the meanwhile, Cec, I'll be with my Rosalynd, an' raising our family."
The hoofbeats of his horse thundered in Kydd's ears as he tried to grapple with the enormity of what he had just done.
Immediately on her return from Bath he had requested an interview alone with Persephone. Shocked by the reversal of what she had expected, she had nevertheless remained calm and controlled, standing nobly to hear what Kydd had to say.
He had spoken woodenly, forcing himself to look at her while he delivered his words, and then had been nearly undone by her calm reply: as she had before answered his own challenge truthfully, she now simply wished to know if another had secured his affections.
His face was streaked with tears at the memory of her parting words, to the effect that she understood and was grateful for his frankness, for she could never have given her heart to one who could not promise his own.
He had fled.
It was now a completed act. With dread and joy he was riding across the hills to Polperro—to Rosalynd. Out of one world and into another. He had propped a note to Renzi on the mantelpiece and had left the storm to break without him.
A straight stretch of road opened ahead and instinctively Kydd whipped his mount into a frenzied gallop, needing the wild motion to work on his emotions. Whatever else in the world happened, he was now riding to lay his heart before Rosalynd Morthwen and seek her hand in marriage.
In a flood of feeling he brought the exhausted horse to a crashing stop before the manor, and slid to the ground. At the old windows faces began to appear but Kydd would not have been stopped by the devil himself and strode forward.
"Mr Kydd?" The squire himself answered the door and eyed Kydd's dusty, wild appearance apprehensively. A manservant and stable-hand hovered protectively behind him.
Kydd made a short bow. "Sir, my business is brief. I beg th' favour of some small time with y'r daughter—alone."
As the import of his request penetrated, a disbelieving smile appeared. Then, by degrees, it spread until the squire's face grew red with heartfelt pleasure. "By all means, m' boy!" he chortled. "Do wait a moment, if y' please."
Inside, excited shouts were urgently shushed and there were sounds of running feet. Then the squire appeared again at the door. "Do come in, sir."
Kydd entered and stopped; she was standing rigid in the centre of the little drawing room, her eyes never leaving his.
"Miss Rosalynd," he said, in a voice charged with emotion, "I come to speak with y'r father on a matter of the highest importance. Y' see, I've come to see that, um m' feelings for you are, er . . ." He was reddening and the words he had prepared fled at the reality of the impossibly lovely creature before him. There was nothing for it. He flung himself on to one knee and choked out, "Rosalynd—will ye wed me?"
"It's an ox-roast! I'll stand for nothing less!" The squire's roar cut across the excited babble. With Rosalynd sitting shyly beside him, his hand securely over hers, Kydd's heart was full to bursting. Tears only a whisker away he endured the friendly jests of her brothers and dared to steal another look at her. It was beyond mortal belief that this sweet creature and he would go forward as one for the rest of their lives.
Rosalynd suggested they take a walk together. However, it seemed that the proprieties were still to be observed and Titus was called to accompany them. In the event, the embarrassed lad went on ahead until he was all but out of sight. They walked slowly together in silence, Kydd anxious that the magic spell might be broken and Rosalynd by his side, with a soft, dreaming look.
"I—I believe we must make some plans," he said finally, in a low voice.
"Yes, my—my dearest," she whispered. "If it does not inconvenience you, I would wish to be married as soon we may. Banns will be called for three Sundays at the parish church and it—it would make me very happy if we could be wed on the fourth."
She bestowed on him a look of such love that it quite unmanned him. He crushed her to him. "We shall," he croaked.
In a daze of happiness he walked on, the world in a blur, reality at his side. Their steps had taken them down to the village—to Polperro, which to Kydd now was more dear than anywhere on earth.
"Why, Miss Rosalynd!" Mrs Puckey's dour face was now wreathed in smiles. "I never did! We'm all been wonderin' who ye'd end with!" She looked with keen interest at Kydd.
"This is my intended, Mrs Puckey. He's Mr Kydd," she said proudly. News must have spread in the village at breakneck speed.
Others arrived to share in the moment. "Bejabers, Mr Kydd, but ye be one of us now, then."
"Mr Bunt, please! He only asked me this morning!" laughed Rosalynd. "And I did so accept him," she said softly, with a sideways glance at Kydd.
They moved on, noting the makings of a huge driftwood fire even now enthusiastically under way on the foreshore of the harbour before the Three Pilchards, and continued through the streets.
A small shop caught Kydd's attention: it offered the services of a shade-maker. "My dearest, if you would indulge me, I have a yen . . ." he said.