About the Authors
Note to Readers
The Captain’s Christmas Proposal
Unwrapping His Festive Temptation
The Captains Christmas Proposal
Marguerite Kaye
November 1822—Porth Karrek, Cornwall
It was still dark when Emily Faulkner left her rented cottage on the estates of Karrek House, which sat on a bluff headland above the small fishing port after which it was named, the high cliffs and narrow entrance providing a safe harbour from the rough Cornish seas. Last night’s sky had offered the prospect of a brief respite from the winter storms which had been raging interminably, and she was eager to take advantage of any break in the weather. She hated these bleak winter days which kept her indoors and restricted her ability to work, since the intricate nature of the tasks involved in producing her only source of income required natural light.
The permanently lowering skies which had so far defined November were one of the many aspects of life in Cornwall she hadn’t anticipated when she’d fled here, back in April. Yet Porth Karrek was an ideal bolthole. Snuggled into a small inlet on the rugged south Cornwall coast, about four miles from the larger port of Penzance and a day’s travel from Truro, the regional capital, it was a world away from London. The perfect place to disappear from view, which was what she had craved.
Her cottage stood on the periphery of the estate, in an exposed position, the low drystone wall which formed the boundary of her tiny garden providing little protection from the elements. The briny prevailing wind which blew in from the English Channel made gardening a challenge, just as Jago Bligh, the surly estate manager, had predicted. The cottage itself was almost impossible to keep warm, as the wind howled through every nook and cranny of the floorboards and window frames—something else Mr Bligh had pointed out when she had first viewed it. Emily had thought it odd at the time that he seemed so intent on discouraging her from taking up residence when it was obvious that the place had been lying empty for some time, but she reckoned now that her crime had simply been her lack of Cornish heritage. Like the proud Highlanders of her mother’s native Lewis, the Cornish considered themselves a nation apart, isolated from the rest of Britain, with their own traditions and way of life—which, needless to say, they considered vastly superior to any other.
Emily, Mr Bligh had made clear, would be a grudgingly tolerated outsider, and once again he’d been proved right, but this too had suited her. Back in April, with her life in tatters, she had been happy to close the door of her cottage, turn her back on the world and lick her
