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“Does Eddie know any of this?” Tynan asked, and I shook my head.
“No one knows. Only my friend Magda in Vienna. And now you.”
“Then I see no reason why anyone else needs to learn of it,” he said. “When he returns I am sure you will think of a way, if you must, to break off your engagement that will allow Eddie to save face.” Taking my arm and leaning heavily on his stick, he led me back across the lawn toward the house. “Or you may choose to stay here anyway and allow me to deal with this Sandor Karol. I am not without power, you know.” His words demonstrated how little he had understood of my plight. I did not believe anyone could “deal with” Sandor.
“Eddie doesn’t love me, you know.” I was anxious for him to hear the whole story now.
He smiled. “I do know. At least, I know that he does not love you in the way a man should love the woman he chooses to be his wife,” he told me, amusement tingeing his cultured tones. “I may be an invalid, but I still know about the goings-on in my own family. I can see that Eddie depends on you, and that his life is richer for your presence. That is not sufficient reason for marriage, as I am sure you are astute enough to understand. I am well aware, however, that, among my children, it is not Eddie who would be hurt most by your departure.”
We paused just in front of the house and I gazed up at the beautiful facade. Athal House was a testimony to Tynan’s love of beauty, demonstrating to the world that this man had the soul of a poet and the eye of an artist. The inevitability of my forthcoming departure stung. I had never allowed myself to grow close to anyone until I met Eddie. Now, without warning, I had grown to love his family. I should have trusted my instincts and remained alone, because now I did not want to leave this place.
“It cannot have escaped your notice that Cad has a reputation for wildness, Miss Varga.” The words came out of the blue.
“It has not, but what Cad does is not my business, my lord.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “It is true that he has taken great delight in sowing his wild oats.”
It was not an expression I knew, and I felt the frown that wrinkled my brow. “Are you trying to tell me that he is to become a farmer?”
Tynan laughed and shook his head. “I am making a mess of what I am trying to say, so I will keep quiet on the matter. Will you do one thing for me, Miss Varga?”
“Anything,” I replied promptly, and the twinkle lit his eyes once more.
“Will you postpone any decisions about leaving until the new year? I would like Lucy to have the family Christmas she craves, and I know she would be saddened if you left us before then. She has grown fond of you.”
“If Sandor should come…” I began.
“If he has the temerity to come here you will leave him to me,” he said decisively. I hesitated a moment longer and then nodded my agreement. Together, we walked back into the welcoming warmth of Athal House.
* * *
The pretty church of St Petroc dated back to medieval times, although, Tynan informed me as we strolled arm in arm down to the village, the saint himself was of even older lineage. Lucy and Cad had walked on ahead of us and Eleanor remained at home, having pleaded a headache. The village below us nestled in the protective embrace of the cliffs, like a land of slumbering dreams. Viscous sunlight penetrated the bruised clouds, and the smoke from a dozen chimneys rose straight and proud, undisturbed by breezes.
The Jago family were not noted for their religious observation, Tynan informed me. Lucy, however, insisted that her family should attend the Sunday service every week so that the locals could not question their devotion. “There were quite enough rumours of ungodliness abounding during my uncle’s time,” Tynan informed me as we stepped through the arched door of the church and into the marble-chilled gloom beyond. There was something about the way the family spoke of Uther Jago that fascinated and, at the same time, repelled me.
The service was long and uninspiring, and I offered up an apology during my prayers for the fact that my attention was distracted by Cad’s long thigh pressed against mine in the tiny pew we occupied. When we rose to sing a hymn, we shared a book. He held it between us, and I was grateful for his upper arm against my shoulder. It was the only source of warmth in the place. He surprised me by knowing the words to each hymn and singing them in a rich, slightly off-key baritone.
