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“Well, let us be done with the past,” his sister added. “And make a new beginning.”
“I should like that,” replied Kenver. Here, at least, he had no doubts.
Sarah took Tamara upstairs to get her settled in one of the spare bedchambers. Kenver went outside to walk. He strode down the overgrown lane to the road and then along it. This little-traveled thoroughfare ran through rough countryside, snaking along the bottom of the cliff, crossed by tendrils of encroaching ivy. The landscape reminded Kenver how much he missed the lush Poldene gardens, Fingal’s steady companionship, and the sea. He belonged there.
Andhe belonged with Sarah, who had been miserable in his home. He needed a solution to that dilemma. More than merely running away. An inner voice suggested that his sister had done the same. But as she had…accused, he had responsibilities to Poldene that she did not.
Feeling frustrated, Kenver turned back.
At Tresigan, he found Merlin standing at the front of the house, mouth open as if dumbstruck. This was unlike him. The man was staring through the parlor window where Sarah and Tamara again sat. He turned when Kenver came up, even more wild-eyed than usual. “Who is that woman?” he demanded.
Kenver wondered how his sister would receive their resident oddity. From what he had seen of her so far, he imagined she would be amused.
“That’s Tamara Pendrennon,” Merlin said accusingly.
His impassioned tone was as surprising as the recognition.
“Or Tamara something else,” he added glumly. “She’s married.”
“A widow now. But how do you know…”
“Widow?” The word cracked out like a whiplash.
Kenver blinked at the flare of emotion in Merlin’s eyes.
“May I borrow your razor?” the man asked.
“What?” He was somewhat accustomed to Merlin’s manner, but this was quite a non sequitur.
“A razor, man. I need a razor. I threw mine in the river.”
He had what? “I’m not lending you my razor,” Kenver replied.
Merlin grasped his bushy beard and tugged on it as if he would pull it off. “I can’t use a knife. I’d sharpen the razor for you after.”
“After what?”
“Can I have some scissors at least?”
“What is the matter with you?” Kenver asked. He did not add, beyond the usual profound eccentricity.
Merlin grimaced, turned, and rushed away. Kenver watched him go, wondering if the man had gone even madder.
Sarah told herself that they’d coped with an unexpected visitor well enough as they sat down to dinner that evening. Elys had produced a creditable meal, and Jowan served with cheerful…informality. Or insouciance? He was more resident jester than footman. Sarah wondered what Tamara thought of their makeshift arrangements. Kenver seemed more critical of them now that they had a guest. He frowned at Jowan’s antics more than once.
He and his sister began discussing mutual acquaintances in the neighborhood. Kenver described their current situations, then Tamara provided acerbic commentary on their history. Some of these made Kenver’s jaw drop. Several drew a giggle from Sarah. Mostly, though, she just enjoyed watching them establish a connection.
All was going smoothly until, near the end of the meal, the door to the kitchen banged open and a man erupted into the dining room.
The stranger was somewhat above medium height and very thin, his face craggy and narrow under cropped black hair. He had on a worn cutaway coat, a knotted kerchief rather than a neckcloth, riding breeches, and scuffed top boots. “Tamara,” he declared, his green eyes blazing.
It was Merlin, Sarah realized with astonishment, recognizing his voice. His long, tangled black hair had been roughly cut, and the bushy beard was gone. Even his beetling eyebrows had been trimmed. He looked younger than Sarah had estimated without all the hair, perhaps no more than midthirties.
“Yes?” said Kenver’s sister. She frowned at the newcomer as if wondering who he might be.
“Have you forgotten me?” Merlin’s voice trembled with some strong emotion.
“I’m sorry but I don’t…”
