Chapter Twenty-two
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
A weary butler stood winding the longcase clock as Jack paused at the lantern light glowing from the library and noticed Sewell busy scribbling away. Did the man never rest; ’twas past midnight. “Working late?”
“I don’t sleep well, my lord,” he replied and accordingly, without his thick glasses, Jack could observe great wells of ash beneath his eyes.
“In my youth, I too struggled with sleep, Mr Sewell, but I found riding the estate at night eased a worried mind.”
An unexpected smile crossed the man’s face, causing him to appear younger. “Maybe when my work here is done,” he murmured, and he plopped his glasses back on to peer at his legends.
Strange chap.
Jack meandered up the stairs, thoughts on Tamsyn and her fierce eyes at Carn Brea Castle today. Her defiant words.
Sublime, fearless but…
The last hour had been spent ensconced in the study with Sir Jago, detailing their next move and arranging discreet searches. Sir Jago would visit Helston tomorrow for any word on newcomers – French ones specifically – but he’d also mentioned how adept Tamsyn had become at hiding her emotions when fear struck, and as Jack ambled the corridor, he noticed a faint light shining beneath Tamsyn’s door.
Perhaps he should…ensure her welfare.
Pausing, he hopped foot to foot.
In no more than a wink, he could assuage his mind, and surely a rogue who excelled at shinning down rose trellises could sneak into a maiden’s room for one short moment without discovery.
Stepping forward he–
“Winterbourne?” And a door creaked open.
Twisting in haste, he faffed with the window on the opposite wall. “Just ensuring all is secure, Mrs Pencally. Nothing for you to worry about.” He thumped it for good effect.
“Hmm.” The door closed.
Good grief, did no one sleep in this house? ’Twas worse than Covent Garden at three in the morn.
He really ought to retire abed.
He turned the door handle to Tamsyn’s bedchamber.
No lock barred his entry.
Candlelight cast her in an autumn glow as she sat reading in bed, a cup of something steaming held to her lips.
“Jack? Are you well?” Wearied blue eyes surveyed him over the rim, surprise evident.
“Yes. Quite well.”
She raised a brow, grey robe rustling as she closed the book and placed it upon the bed.
All of her glorious hair was tightly bound in a long plait, glinting with strands of walnut and slight auburn in the lantern’s light. It emphasised her graceful cheekbones and caused her eyes to appear as bluebells. He should say something romantic and polished to that effect.
“I…erm, needed to know how you were faring. I saw the light and thought…didn’t know…”
Lud, what was it about this woman that turned his silver tongue to tin? Rogues were suave and…roughish. They did not “erm”.
“I must admit that I cannot seem to settle, my mind awhirl, but I am well. Did you find anything more today?”
“We searched Carn Brea but found no trace. The bloody man is like a–”
