But if he hadn’t meant it, why had he said it?
And why had he said all that about someone telling him that she would not countenance such a proposal? If he’d really approached Father, she could imagine him claiming that a betrothal was out of the question because she was too young. And counselling the young Robert Walmer, as he’d been then, to return, if he was truly in earnest, in a year or so at which time he might, possibly, consider granting him permission to pay his addresses. Or, if he hadn’t approved of the match under any circumstances, simply telling him in no uncertain terms to take himself off.
What she couldn’t believe was that Father would have claimed she’d asked him to turn the proposal down on her behalf.
Yet Rawcliffe’s demeanour had changed since he’d told her that was what had happened. As if, having admitted he’d been…well, smitten with her, back then, he’d been able to lower part of the defensive barrier behind which he habitually hid himself.
But all her jumbled thoughts came skidding to a halt as they crested the last of the jagged boulders. It was as if the land ended, not ten yards farther on. From that point onward, it was just the sea, extending as far as the horizon.
‘My goodness, but the sea is big,’ she said, reaching up one hand to hold on to her bonnet, which was making a bid to escape. Rawcliffe’s hat, which did not have the additional security of being held in place by ribbons, leapt from his head as though flicked off by some invisible, mischievous sprite and went dancing gaily off into the blue.
‘I believe,’ he said sardonically, watching his hat make one sally up into the air, before tumbling end over end over the edge of the cliff, ‘that this is what is described in the guide books as a bracing sea breeze.’
She giggled.
‘There appears to be a sort of hollow over there,’ he said, indicating a natural grassy amphitheatre with his ebony cane, ‘that might be sheltered from the wind. Where we could sit and admire the view. If you like,’ he added as though it was an afterthought. Although he knew full well that she wanted to admire the view. Was it really so hard for him to just admit he was trying to make her day as pleasant as it could be?
‘What…’ She faltered to a halt. She had no wish, really, to shatter his current affable mood and revert to their more normal habit of squabbling by asking him any one of the many questions she had teeming in her brain. ‘What a lot of ships,’ she finished, inanely, gesturing out to sea, at the dozens of craft of all varieties, their sails sprinkling the grey backdrop with white, mirroring the tiny white clouds scudding across the sky above.
‘I believe that just offshore, there is what is known as a road. Ships sailing from places such as Portsmouth, heading out to the Atlantic Ocean, will of necessity pass by this section of the coastline.’
‘And all the little boats, bobbing about nearer the shore?’
‘Local fishermen, at a guess. Checking their lobster pots and so forth. I do hope they are successful, since Pierre has promised me buttered lobster for dinner.’
‘No wonder you turned your nose up at my offer of rabbit stew.’
One corner of his mouth twitched up in the semblance of a smile. It was a jerky movement, as though the muscles he used for the purpose had gone rusty.
‘I suppose,’ she said, heartened by the way he appeared to be relaxing in her company, ‘that we ought now to turn our attention to the harbour, since that is the view the landlord of the Three Tuns recommended.’
They both turned slightly to their left. She could, indeed, see the way Peacombe curved round the bay, at one end of which the locals had constructed a harbour wall. Farther away she could also see a waterfall tumbling down a cliff and, beyond that, another curve of steeply shelving pebbled beach.
‘The harbour is definitely more agreeable from this distance,’ he observed drily.
She breathed in deeply. ‘The air up here smells like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. There is a tang to it, but it’s not unpleasant. Though it still reminds me a bit of what we could smell down in the harbour.’
‘It is the smell of the sea, I would guess. Or perhaps seaweed.’