“Petrok is a tough old bird,” she murmured as the peacock stalked off with a victory shriek, content to have defended manor and gardens from vagrant valets. The unfortunate Mr Miggens straightened his creased jacket, dusted off his breeches and tentatively took the reins of a docile mare.
“Talking of which, I encountered your butler’s grandmother in the herb garden and she announced my future would be one of purges and tooth loss if I didn’t sew up my…fribblesome breeches.”
Tamsyn winced. “You overheard me,” she said miserably. “At the Helston assembly ball.”
A wink conveyed his lack of animosity and she couldn’t help but return a rueful smile.
“I have good hearing,” he explained. “As boys, my brother and I used to see how low we could whisper down the hallways and still be heard.”
Gracious, she hadn’t known there was another Winterbourne. How did London ladies cope? “Very useful for rogues, I expect.”
“Only one rogue now. My elder brother died of the lung disease at fourteen years. He’d cough that graveyard cough till he had no breath, so we’d speak in whispers, thus he didn’t feel left out.”
Oh.
The man constantly upended her. Why couldn’t he be the perfect dandy she’d read about?
Surreptitiously eyeing him, she recognised it was the first time she’d seen anything but affability upon his features. He appeared…grief-stricken, even after so many years.
“I am so sorry, my lord. I understand the pain of losing someone dear. You were close?”
Those endless eyes of onyx burned, and he hesitated, lips parted.
She waited for the droll quip as was usual.
“I was away at Eton when it happened.” His black pupils briefly vanished behind tight lids. “The day had been sunny, yet during that hour of Latin, the clouds rolled in, the light dimmed, and I knew… We were friends, not just siblings.” The leather saddle creaked as he shifted to gaze away. “Vincent was always so damn happy, despite his ill-health, and I seek to emulate, to find joy in life no matter the circumstance.”
A clatter within the courtyard stole their attention and Lord Winterbourne’s mount skittered.
Lowdy stood untwisting her skirts, having tripped over the mounting block, mouth agape at the sight of Mr Miggens on a horse.
Tamsyn blinked to clear the moisture in her eyes and shook her head to dispel the sadness.
The marquess now chuckled as Jowlik nibbled Benjamin’s messy hair – as if but a moment before, he’d not dwelled on such anguish.
What an unusual rogue.
At a slow trot, they departed the stables and Tamsyn inhaled with pleasure. The morning still held a freshness, with sky a translucent sapphire – vast and without a single cloud to mar its perfection.
They ambled over the headland, enjoying the distant sea views of rippling white horses, lustrous in the bright sunshine, and then east towards Treloor Village, the scent of crushed heather and purple betony rising beneath stout hooves.
Lord Winterbourne cast her a lazy smile and she squinted over her shoulder, noticed Lowdy and Mr Miggens engrossed in conversation with reins slack.
Had the ladies been divided…and conquered?
The path that led into Treloor village narrowed, descending gently and presenting a view of thatched roofs, bored weather cocks and twisting lanes.
Bridleway turned to cobble, stones worn smooth by hoof and wagon. Whitewashed cottages lined the way, dazzling in their summer-painted coats, leading them on down to the bustling harbour and shingle beach.
Tamsyn pointed out the Treloor Inn although she wasn’t sure if a London marquess would enter the den of rough-handed fishermen, the scent of cider and tobacco reeling within.
Seine boats lay forlorn upon the shingle in the becalmed weather, but fishermen busied themselves with patching holes and folding nets whilst children played tag amongst the winching sheds and empty pilchard barrels.
“It’s all so idyllic,” said the marquess with a slight scrunch to his brow and Tamsyn smiled – only a man from Town would describe it thus.
“Fishing is a perilous occupation and you should be here on a stormy night. The bay tenders some protection, but the wind can deafen and without that harbour wall, we’d all be washed away.”
Lord Winterbourne squinted at the sparkling sea, no doubt unable to imagine that today’s gentle ripples could cloak such danger.
