The Bride Sale by Candice Hern

coerced into staying at Pendurgan indefinitely.
    She appeared to be as torn as he was. She chewed absently on the nail of one finger. Two deep furrows marked her brow.
    â€œWell?” Gonetta prompted. “’Ee be stayin’, then?”
    Verity threw up her hands in a gesture of resignation. Her eyes had the look of those of a soldier packing up his kit in forced retreat. “All right,” she said. “I will agree to stay. But only until Davey has recovered and I’ve taught you and your mother a few basic herbals. If,” she added emphatically, looking directly at James, “his lordship has no objections?”
    â€œYou know you are welcome to stay, cousin,” James said, his voice surprisingly even, considering the state of his nerves. “As I have told you.”
    Verity sniffed disdainfully, then turned toward one of the plants. “Let us take some hyssop with us,” she said to Gonetta. “Your brother will need more of it very soon.”
    James produced a pocket knife that Verity used to cut several stalks of the hyssop plant. With a now purposeful stride she led them all back to the kitchen. James leaned against the wall next to the hearth, hisarms crossed over his chest, as he watched Verity instruct Gonetta in caring for the herbs.
    James had no reason to stay and watch. He had much to do about the estate and ought to check on the new pump at Wheal Devoran. In fact, he knew he should get away from Verity Osborne as quickly as possible, and stay away. But something about her piqued his interest. Something more than her physical appeal, though, God knew, there was that. His lip curled into a sneer as he considered how predictably base it was for the biggest scoundrel in Cornwall to lust after the first new woman to cross his path in over six years.
    He ought not be interested in her at all. It could only lead to trouble. And yet she intrigued him.
    He had always been drawn to the soft, fragile, feminine sort of female for whom he could feel protective. Rowena had been such a woman: fair and delicate as a May blossom. But there was nothing particularly delicate about Verity. Though their strange association gave him every right to feel protective of her, she did not encourage it. Beneath the uncertainty and fear she showed remarkable self-possession in the way she stood up to him, in the way she faced the inevitable decision to stay. Or perhaps it was not true courage, but merely pride.
    He wondered what it would take to make her crack.
    Just then, Agnes swept into the kitchen like a storm cloud, gathering her black skirts about her as though afraid to touch anything. James groaned. He had never before known her to venture into the kitchen. Why now, of all times?
    â€œWhat is going on?” she said, her brows drawn together like thunderbolts into a deep scowl. “I demand to know where Cook is. I have been waiting this past hour to review the day’s menu. And now I am forced to come”—she looked around the room, her mouth puckered in distaste—“down here. James, what are you doing here? I demand to know what is going on.”
    â€œI am sorry no one thought to alert you, Agnes,” James said. “But Cook’s youngest son, Davey, has taken very ill.”
    â€œWell,” she said, dismissing such a trifle with a pettish shrug, “does that mean the entire household must come to a halt? Where is Mrs. Tregelly?”
    â€œShe is with Cook and Davey,” James said, holding on to his temper with difficulty. “Shall I send her up to you to discuss the menus?”
    â€œYes, do that.” Agnes turned toward Verity, who was looking at her as though she beheld an apparition. “What is she doing here?” Agnes asked, her voice rigid with icy disdain.
    There was no easy way out of this. Agnes had to meet Verity sooner or later.
    He moved toward Agnes, took her firmly by the arm, and steered her toward the shelves where