Perhaps the marquess genuinely was here on business – after all, there must be quite a demand for porcelain figurines of himself; he could sell them to sighing admirers or gift them as farewell tokens to past loves.
“Tamsyn? Are you well?”
Whirling, she tamed her scowl to a smile. “I happened across the Marquess of Winterbourne on my ride.”
“Eeeeks,” Lowdy squealed. And sheneversquealed.
“Not you as well. Are you all agog to meet him then?”
“I saw him at a London ball once, dancing a quadrille.” Lowdy sighed, tripping on the Axminster rug as she drifted over.
What was it about this irksome fribble that sent everyone into a tizzy?
The local newspaper had once devoted an entire column to his effect on London ladies – fainting, dropping of handkerchiefs and stumbling were commonplace mishaps when the marquess sauntered by.
“I expect,” Tamsyn muttered, spryly marching across the entrance hall, “that he was perfect at it.”
“Yes! How did you know? So agile and commanding and his smile…” Lowdy heaved another sigh. “He never noticed me, of course.”
Pulling up the hem of her riding habit so as not to dirty the staircase, Tamsyn made for her bedchamber, with Lowdy extolling the many delights of Lord Winterbourne. Apparently, he also ate with great delicacy, played the piano with brilliant skill and regaled with many an entertaining story.
Did the man do everything with such expertise?
“Does he deign to bathe himself, do you think, or is it the valet’s job to mop him down?”
“Tamsyn Penrose!” Lowdy held a hand to her mouth. “Never tell me you didn’t like him?”
“I didn’t like him.”
“Why not?” Lowdy appeared as though Christmas had been cancelled.
Tamsyn paused outside her bedchamber.
Why not indeed?
Perhaps because he had made her feel like a tangled urchin as he’d scrutinised her hair with a frown? Maybe it had been his immaculate attire whilst she herself had been grubby from tip to toe?
But none of those reasons would reflect well upon her.
“Perfect looks can deceive,” she finally answered.
Her companion merely pursed her lips. “Do you think he’ll attend the assembly ball with us tonight? He is early by one day.”
“I doubt it,” she said, ambling through the door and unbuttoning her riding habit. “He is used to more sophisticated events than our monthly dance in Helston.”
Lowdy helped peel off the bodice, but Tamsyn’s eyes skittered from the sight of herself in the tall mirror.
And in that moment of reflection came a horrid realisation. She was…resentful.
Resentful of Lord Winterbourne’s perfection. Of his flawless skin, faultless form and sheer lustre.
Her breath shallowed and Lowdy bent to lift Tamsyn’s chin with gentle fingers. “Tam?”
“I…” A rising tautness gripped her throat, clutched her voice, snatching it away. Her chest tightened, breath so shallow it pained – no words, no sound, nothing.
“Slow, Tam. Inhale slowly. As I showed you.”
She complied, breathed softly, thought of the sea, limpid and serene, until the tension receded.
