She felt guilty, even though it was ridiculous. Dinner had been arranged the day Hugh had gifted her that fine white net, but since then…
Both the night-time and the moths felt as though they belonged to her and Jack alone. She put a hand to her scars, remembered his words.
But he would leave for London when his mission – and surely that was what she was – had ended. Return to his scoundrel ways and she would only hear of him via the gossip columns once more.
The glumps threatened to descend, yet she no longer let a vicious Frenchman cloud her days so the thought of losing Jack shouldn’t either.
She recalled his words regarding Vincent, able to find joy no matter the circumstance.
And today appeared beautiful. Not a cloud in sight, despite Mrs Mildern’s grave portent.
“And Winterbourne?” Papa enquired with a sly smile before more bacon vanished with nary a chomp.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you are asking, Father.”
“Hmm. He’s a good lad, even though he doesn’t seem to realise it. I met his father on occasion, years ago.”
“Oh, you never said. How did he seem to you?”
“Persuasive and handsome, no doubt, but I oft heard ill talked of him and he’d an unpleasant reputation.”
Tamsyn chewed her lip. Not one unpleasant bone existed in the current marquess.
“But it must have been difficult,” continued her father, “to be raised by such a man. Winterbourne, I feel, needs to settle down, find a wife.”
Tamsyn harrumphed. Some London duchess-type no doubt.
“Papa, I meant to say…I’m sorry,” she ventured, staring into her tea. “I’m sorry I couldn’t speak about the incident all those years ago and especially to you. I-I was a coward.”
She heard his chair scrape on the floorboards, then footsteps, sensed him kneel by her side, still taller than herself. He smoothed a strand of hair against her shoulder which defiantly sprang back up.
“I knew your lack of voice was not of your choosing, Tam. It seems to me that the control of our will is a complicated matter. Yours did what it thought best for your well-being at that time. Rendered you silent.”
“I fought to speak. So hard.” She grasped his fingers, fidgeted with his Cornish gold signet ring. “But I would open my mouth and…nothing. Solely pain and tightness. I could have written it down, I know, but I’d hear his voice, telling me he would kill you all. Slit your throats in your sleep and worse.”
A huge paw enveloped her cheek.
“Daughter, your voice was not obstructed on some trivial whim, but to protect. You bore those memories alone for so long.” He bussed her cheek and made a futile attempt to smooth her curls. “I’m proud of you.”
Biting her lip to prevent it wobbling, she hugged her father tight. “And what are your plans today?”
“I am for Helston…on business.”
“Give my regards to Mrs Castleton.”
Father’s tender face fell to a glower. “She’s a friend, ’tis all.”
“Papa! What a whisker. Mrs Mildern saw you both.”
“In that damn mirror of hers?”
“No, at the bakers. You were buying her a nattlin’ pie.”
∞∞∞
The white painted door to The Angel’s post room creaked, and six bored faces spun Jack’s way.
Damn.
