“About a sennight.”
Goodness, it took her longer to choose a grey dress.
∞∞∞
“The coquelicot waistcoat, I think, Miggens. It’s seen me through many a trying time.”
Making no comment, but rendering his thoughts known through a mournful visage and flopping shoulders, his valet held the splendid item out for inspection.
A nod and Jack shrugged it on, selecting a ruby cravat pin to match.
The day had been most pleasant, visiting the local gentry, although for some reason many of the households had been devoid of ladies – a weekly embroidery club perhaps?
Gentlemen, old and young, had been full of admiration for Miss Penrose, both as mistress of the manor and her fortitude at overcoming her ordeal. A few had mentioned the incident and the tragic death of her young beau, Master Jonathan Tregellis. But they presumed it an isolated affair, French ruffians who had retreated to foreign shores. The end.
On his return from Helston, he’d also made a diversion to where it had all begun.
Carlsbrook had documented that two paths led to Lowarn cove, and Jack had first scrabbled down the more unkempt pebbly trail that led to the secluded caves at one end. Seaweed and detritus had littered this small haven of sand and shingle, and he’d explored the hewn caverns, tried not to imagine Sir Jago’s horror at finding his daughter and Master Tregellis here.
With tide low, he’d then picked his way over a lofty outcrop of rock to the larger beach. Spacious and sandy, it resembled heaven on earth if you enjoyed solitude and crabs – which he didn’t.
A second broader path led back to the headland from there – enough for a narrow wagon of smuggled brandy, he surmised – and he’d ambled up, only to happen upon the professor’s surly assistant, Mr Rufus Sewell.
Althoughhappen uponwasn’t quite right, as he had a feeling the chap had been watching him from the headland.
Normally, Jack had no problem urging tongues to babble but the professor’s assistant was as tight as Brummel’s pantaloons, lips buttoned.
Fastening his cufflinks, he wondered if below-stairs gossip might enlighten. “Miggens, what have you heard about Sewell from the servants?”
His valet glanced up from brushing Jack’s burgundy jacket. “A quiet and undemanding man. I like him.”
“Lud, I find him odd.”
“A toad is a diamond in a duck’s eye.”
“You’ve been talking to young Benjamin Roskilly, but I advise dodging the butler’s grandmother. Today my prediction comprised a scaly nose.”
“Your advice is belated, my lord,” admitted Miggens, plucking at Jack’s cuffs until they perfectly aligned. “She stared into that suspicious black mirror of hers and told me…”
“Hmm?”
Miggens straightened, a flush highlighting his cheekbones. “She told me my gentleman’s equipage would fester and drop off if I kissed a woman with blond hair and a name beginning with L.”
“How concise. And have they?”
A repressed glare bore through Jack in reply. Gads, he was merely trying to help.
“Never mind. Now how do I look?” He peered into the mirror for his own prediction of fairness. “I need every advantage tonight before that hairy hero Lynch’s picnic tomorrow. He’s endeavouring to woo Miss Penrose with itchy blankets and French tarts.”
Indeed, Jack only had this evening to dazzle them all with a Winterbourne’s flair – wit, wonder, wordplay, and if all else failed, his Roger the dog tale.
“You appear impeccable, my lord.”
Jack picked at his elegant attire. “I’m beginning to think that might not be the best approach where the daughter of the house is concerned. Can’t you rumple me a tad?”
With a pained sigh, Miggens tugged one cuff longer than the other.
That would have to do.
