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growing up in Cornwall.”
“Well, that wasn’t anything you could control. Wasn’t your father a younger son?”
“A son of a younger son, and destined for the army, like his father,” he clarified. “But they were both born in Cornwall, and I swear, it must have got into their bones.”
“Cornwall has a way of doing that—getting into your bones and your blood.”
“So I understand. However far they traveled or wherever they served, my father and grandfather thought of Cornwall, and even Pendarvis Hall, as home.” He glanced wistfully toward the tumbling sea. “I hope someday I can say the same.”
Sophie restrained the impulse to touch his hand, so close to hers on the rock—a friendly touch, but still something of a liberty to take with a gentleman she was just beginning to know. “Give it time, Mr. Pendarvis. I am certain you’ll come to feel at home here.”
“I hope you’re right. I would very much like to feel at home somewhere .” Still gazing out to sea, he hitched a hip onto the rock he’d been leaning against. “I must have lived in nearly half a dozen places by the time I was twelve.”
“So many?” she asked, amazed.
“Everywhere from Ireland to India,” he confirmed. “And my mother, God rest her, did her best to make a home for us in every place we lived. And not to let my father see her weep when his postings changed and we had to leave it all behind.”
Sophie winced. Imagine putting down roots, only to have them torn up and having to start all over again somewhere else—and half a dozen times! She was not sure she could have endured such a life. “Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman, and so resilient.”
“She was. It takes courage to live as she lived, to adapt to all kinds of conditions.” His face grew pensive. “In the end, the only condition she couldn’t seem to survive was living without my father. They met at a ball in London when he was on leave. According to them both, it was love at first sight. She outlived him by only two years.”
“I am so sorry,” Sophie said at once. “My parents were devoted to each other as well. Papa died when I was eleven—a sudden illness. We still miss him, but we have so many good memories. I don’t know what any of us would have done if we’d lost Mama as well. Was that when you first came to Cornwall—after your mother’s death?”
“Actually, I’d visited the previous summer. Mother thought I should get to know my father’s family. I spent a few summers here, but Great-Uncle Simon wasn’t used to young boys. My mother’s relations were the ones who took me in after she died.”
“Were they a military family?”
“No, actually. My maternal grandfather was an industrialist—a very successful one—from Yorkshire. My mother was raised as a considerable heiress, a much more sheltered existence than the one she led after marrying my father.” Mr. Pendarvis shook his head reminiscently. “After life following the regiment, it was like landing in the lap of luxury: a large house, an army of servants, a private tutor, and my own bedchamber. I couldn’t quite get accustomed to it, even though my uncle and his family did their best to make me feel at home.”
“But you didn’t wish to follow in your father’s footsteps and join the army yourself?”
He shook his head again. “My younger brother Will was the army-mad one, but he died at ten years old. He was never very hardy. Nor did I wish to become an industrialist like my uncle and grandfather. I have the greatest respect for their efforts and I’m grateful for what business acumen they’ve worked to instill in me, but I had no particular genius in that sphere.”
“So, what did you want to do instead?” Because he would have done something, of that she was certain; he’d far too much drive and intensity to live complacently on his expectations. Which was, she admitted with an inner sigh, one of the reasons she found him so
“Well, that wasn’t anything you could control. Wasn’t your father a younger son?”
“A son of a younger son, and destined for the army, like his father,” he clarified. “But they were both born in Cornwall, and I swear, it must have got into their bones.”
“Cornwall has a way of doing that—getting into your bones and your blood.”
“So I understand. However far they traveled or wherever they served, my father and grandfather thought of Cornwall, and even Pendarvis Hall, as home.” He glanced wistfully toward the tumbling sea. “I hope someday I can say the same.”
Sophie restrained the impulse to touch his hand, so close to hers on the rock—a friendly touch, but still something of a liberty to take with a gentleman she was just beginning to know. “Give it time, Mr. Pendarvis. I am certain you’ll come to feel at home here.”
“I hope you’re right. I would very much like to feel at home somewhere .” Still gazing out to sea, he hitched a hip onto the rock he’d been leaning against. “I must have lived in nearly half a dozen places by the time I was twelve.”
“So many?” she asked, amazed.
“Everywhere from Ireland to India,” he confirmed. “And my mother, God rest her, did her best to make a home for us in every place we lived. And not to let my father see her weep when his postings changed and we had to leave it all behind.”
Sophie winced. Imagine putting down roots, only to have them torn up and having to start all over again somewhere else—and half a dozen times! She was not sure she could have endured such a life. “Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman, and so resilient.”
“She was. It takes courage to live as she lived, to adapt to all kinds of conditions.” His face grew pensive. “In the end, the only condition she couldn’t seem to survive was living without my father. They met at a ball in London when he was on leave. According to them both, it was love at first sight. She outlived him by only two years.”
“I am so sorry,” Sophie said at once. “My parents were devoted to each other as well. Papa died when I was eleven—a sudden illness. We still miss him, but we have so many good memories. I don’t know what any of us would have done if we’d lost Mama as well. Was that when you first came to Cornwall—after your mother’s death?”
“Actually, I’d visited the previous summer. Mother thought I should get to know my father’s family. I spent a few summers here, but Great-Uncle Simon wasn’t used to young boys. My mother’s relations were the ones who took me in after she died.”
“Were they a military family?”
“No, actually. My maternal grandfather was an industrialist—a very successful one—from Yorkshire. My mother was raised as a considerable heiress, a much more sheltered existence than the one she led after marrying my father.” Mr. Pendarvis shook his head reminiscently. “After life following the regiment, it was like landing in the lap of luxury: a large house, an army of servants, a private tutor, and my own bedchamber. I couldn’t quite get accustomed to it, even though my uncle and his family did their best to make me feel at home.”
“But you didn’t wish to follow in your father’s footsteps and join the army yourself?”
He shook his head again. “My younger brother Will was the army-mad one, but he died at ten years old. He was never very hardy. Nor did I wish to become an industrialist like my uncle and grandfather. I have the greatest respect for their efforts and I’m grateful for what business acumen they’ve worked to instill in me, but I had no particular genius in that sphere.”
“So, what did you want to do instead?” Because he would have done something, of that she was certain; he’d far too much drive and intensity to live complacently on his expectations. Which was, she admitted with an inner sigh, one of the reasons she found him so
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