Brown eyes the colour of morning coffee gazed up. “He… He was always so nice to me, Tamsyn. Kind and… He’d sneak me jam cakes when the old countess forbade me. Or help me wind the wool she’d left all over the floor for the cats to tangle.”
Tamsyn inwardly cursed. From what she could gather, the Earl of Fowlmere and his mother had treated Lowdy abominably. Left with no option, she had been obliged to accept her distant cousin’s aid after her father had gambled his inheritance away and then conveniently died, leaving her homeless – a gentlewoman with neither prospects nor dowry.
She belonged to the society stratum of nowhere – neither working servant nor marriageable lady.
“Does he have feelings for you? Do you him?”
“I… When the earl told me that he was to marry and I must find a position elsewhere, Oli– I mean Mr Miggens, he held me. Kissed my forehead. Told me all would be well. But I don’t deserve someone that caring, Tamsyn, and I-I left without a word.”
“Don’t deser… Why ever not?”
Yet it appeared that was all she would reveal as her eyes shuttered, brow creasing. “And he is only a valet.”
“A kind, thoughtful and brawny valet,” Tamsyn supplied.
Lowdy’s button nose scrunched. “Brawny is that brawny does.”
∞∞∞
Damn.
Jack plucked a familiar book from the study shelf and tightened his lips.
China Clay – The Geology, Geography and Industry.
It looked well-thumbed and he could only hope said thumb did not belong to the daughter of the house.
A dedication caught his eye.
Dearest Tamsyn,
my sincere gratitude for all the assistance and expertise you contributed to this work,
Dr Tuffle
FGS, FRGS, AWCF
Damn.
Replacing the cursed tome, his gaze caught on a miniature of a young Miss Penrose posing defiantly, blue eyes ablaze.
“You should’ve seen my daughter at sixteen,” a male boomed. “Wild as the sea in November and with a laugh that could knock a man back in awe.” Sir Jago came to stand at his side and drew a finger along the frame. “I thought when she began to regain her voice, some of that spirit might return, but it’s been almost a year now and she… She lives life half-heartedly, seeks to blend in. I see her old self struggle through but…”
Jack accepted the proffered miniature for closer inspection and smiled at her bold gaze. “Your daughter’s reticence did not extend to myself at the assembly ball,” he offered with a chuckle.
“No, indeed, displayed her mother’s pluck. A trait I’ve not seen for quite some time.” A gleam entered those acorn-brown eyes. “And you were the cause. Brandy?”
Smidgeon early but when a man doth to Rome come, he must do as there is done. Or something similar.
Replacing the frame carefully upon the shelf, he wondered at the closeness betwixt father and daughter. “I believe your wife died some years ago, Sir Jago.”
He nodded, handing over a generous dram, sorrow evident. “Yes. She’d relatives in Ireland. A storm struck and the boat foundered. No survivors.”
Jack closed his eyes.
Drowning. Always there were reminders…
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
