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Her eye smarted from the lack of blinking as the sea gushed against him, then retreated, the line of water dipp–
“There you are!”
Isabelle shrieked, dropped her spyglass and held a palm to her pounding chest. “Mrs Pugh!”
“Taking in the sea life, are you now?” With a wicked cackle, the housekeeper plonked herself to the bench and peered to the cove below. “Hmm, of late, His Grace swims here a fair amount as it’s private like.”
“Why didn’t you warn me, Mrs Pugh?”
“Cheered you up, I expect, after the scare yesterday? Fine muscles that young man, although not as well built as my Mr Pugh, of course. He’s master stableman, you know, always riding and exercising the horses. Thighs like tree trunks, my Mr Pugh has.” And she smacked her lips with relish.
With a roll of eyes, Isabelle folded her arms. “Nevertheless, I could have been innocently and trustingly strolling on the beach when His Grace was…uncovered, Mrs Pugh.”
“Call me Blodeuwedd.”
Er…
“I’m not sure I can pronounce it,” she replied quite honestly. “But it’s a beautiful name.”
“Comes from a legend, it does, of a woman created from flowers who plotted with her lover to murder her husband.”
Oh.
Mrs Pugh, or Murderflower, stood to ogle over the ledge. “I think he’s put his breeches back on. Shame. Though I remember tanning his hide for eating all the fruitcake when he was a whelp, so ’tisn’t the same for me. Anyhow, I had an hour free before luncheon so thought to get some air. Cook’s making bread so it’s snowing flour in the kitchen.”
“Well, it’s most pleasant to have the company. Are you–”
“There you are!”
Isabelle peered up to now discover Lady Gwen navigating the ledge, a modest picnic basket under her arm.
This secluded spot was busier than Piccadilly. Should she sell tickets?
“Lady Gwen,” said Isabelle, rising to her feet and–
“Don’t stand for me,” she called, wafting a hand. “I’m the one intruding, but I needed the fresh air, so hope you don’t mind if I join…” She shaded her eyes with a palm. “Oh, is that Rhys? He and Tristan used to swim down there all the time as children.”
Mrs Pugh sniggered. “Wouldn’t let you join them, would they? Swam in their birthday suits, they did.”
“Yes. But I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about in those days. In that summer before he was lost to us though, Tristan used to swim down there and then lie naked on the sand till sunset.”
Isabelle stared.
Mrs Pugh gawked.
“Er… Anyhow…” Lady Gwen’s eyelids fluttered closed. “I’ve bought some oatcakes and cockles.”
Isabelle snatched up her spyglass again and swung it back to the beach. Why shouldn’t she look? It appeared everyone else had.
The duke was now garbed in black breeches and hauling a shirt over his head, sleeves fluttering in the breeze like sails. With a pensive expression, he stared out at the sea for a few moments before he twisted and strode from view.
Isabelle sighed. “Did you know we were here, Lady Gwen?”
“Not exactly. But Morgan watched you heading in this direction from the upper floor. I think he wanted to ensure you were safe.”
A snort escaped Isabelle. “He dislikes me.”
Lady Gwen chewed on an oatcake, expression thoughtful. “I don’t believe so.”
