“I…the women, Millie. I’m a rogue and–”
“You’re a hot-blooded young man waiting to meet the right woman, ’tis all. If I’d known you thought that, I’d have boxed yer wattles years ago. Beef-witted rattleplate.”
Millie always told it as it was.
Many assumed“hislittle opera dancer”was Jack’s bit of fluff and he’d never felt the need to correct. Millie thought it a grand jape, and at the same time, he could forewarn her which nobles the theatre girls should stay away from.
All in all, she was a part of his disparate family.
“Honestly.” She huffed, chewing a nail. “You’re not debauched like yer forefathers. Or violent or callous. In fact, I always thought you took after yer mother from the little you told me.” Her hand touched his cheek. “You always want everyone to be so happy, Jack, and that don’t speak of heartlessness but deep emotion. Truthfully, yer the most kind and loving man I know.”
“But…”
“Who bandaged my leg when I fell? You did, a boy of twelve. Who got the doctor out when yer found me in that whorehouse? You did. Who punched nine bells out of the cockbawd who ran the place? You did.”
“I…”
“Jack, your heart is so full, it positively bleeds with emotion.”
His throat constricted.
“Now tell me all about this lady.”
He did. The full story. They made tea, nibbled biscuits, discussed the latest plays and events, and he almost persuaded her into a town house “just for the nights”.
Whilst they sat chatting, it also occurred to him that Tamsyn might enjoy much about London.
Jack had fretted over the crowded streets and gossipy balls, but she’d enjoy strolls in Hyde Park, a dinner with the Duke and Duchess of Rakecombe, a ballet at the theatre, ices at Gunter’s and outings to the new museums that seemed to spring up every week. She could visit Hatchards and discover some obscure book on moths of the unexplored Amazon.
“So,” Millie began, “you attended yer first picnic, fought a French menace in a deadly storm and saved yer true love from drowning. Truly, ’tis like one of them novels, Jack, and the hero always has to get the girl, so what are you going to do about it?”
He had no idea and kept mute. After all, another fly in the greasepaint was the fact that Tamsyn had never actually said she…cared for him.
His shoulders sagged and lips plummeted as doubts assailed. Had she perhaps used the rogue for one purpose only?
A hand clutched his, experienced eyes seeing all. “Jack, you have the kindness and gentleness of yer mother and nothing more than the looks of yer father. This Tamsyn girl won’t be able to help but love you. Now, how’s young Oliver?”
“In a worse state than me.”
“Gawd,” grumbled Millie, “must be something in the water down there in Cornwall.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Am I what I am?
“Mrs Mildern? Have you foreseen much in your scrying mirror recently?”
A wrinkled face peered up from eating porridge, one gold tooth glinting in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.
Although gloved and hatted for the journey, Tamsyn had thought to briefly pop her head around the door and ask…just in case.
With spoon aloft, Mrs Mildern’s brow scrunched. “Concerning anyone in particular, dearie?”
“Noooo.”
Both Father and Lowdy awaited her in the carriage bound for London, the roof loaded with trunks, leek and tetty pie, hevva cake, ginger fairings, and all necessary supplies for a trip up-country and yet the dithers had set in. Would Jack welcome her? Was it prudent, her idea? Prudent to pursue a rogue?
“Anything about London, perhaps? The weather for instance?” she enquired, twisting fingers in the brocade of her pelisse. Really, the old lady could tell you which fish the men would bring home one day but then act coy as a kipper the next.
