“Of course, he can. Jem is a working man.”
“I don’t want my picture painted!” Jem exclaimed. “I only want to finish pruning this da—wretched tree before dark.”
“Carry on, Jem,” Serena said hastily. “Though I’m glad you’re here because Lord Tamar is helping us with the barrel problem.”
“How fares the barrel problem?” Tamar inquired.
Serena quickly told him what had transpired with Mr. Winslow and Major Doverton. While she talked, the girls admired his painting and then ran off, playing tag among the trees. It was good to see Maria forgetting the adult dignity she had begun to assume and play like a child once more. Serena had given up childhood too easily.
After a few moments observing them, she moved to take their place beside Tamar, watching him work.
His brush flew over the page, painting in the background with sure, swift strokes. While real life Jem returned to his work, it was the Jem of the painting who kept drawing her gaze. Tamar had somehow caught both his irritation and his basic good nature. More than that, there was something noble in his poise, the way he was twisted round to look out of the picture, something idyllic about the whole scene.
“You’re very good, aren’t you?” she marveled. “Where did you study?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Tamar Abbey, largely. My father had left a huge collection of art materials there. I’ve no idea where they came from. I expect he won them from some poor devil in a card game. I just painted to amuse myself till a few people convinced me I was quite good. I got a few pointers from other artists who knew what they were doing, sold a couple of paintings to my neighbors and then had the idea of coming here to see if I could make any kind of living out of it.”
“Can you?”
He shrugged. “I can feed myself, send a little home, but it’s not enough to rebuild the estate, give my sister a dowry, or my brothers any kind of stable income.”
“What do they do?” she asked curiously. “Your brothers?”
“Get into trouble, largely.”
“Are you close?”
“God, no. We can’t stand each other.”
Serena blinked at this casual assertion. “And your sisters?”
“The twins aren’t so bad. Christianne is still sweet enough to have caught a husband with prospects who doesn’t give a fig for her poverty or her awful family. I like your family. Is your brother as good-natured?”
“Mostly.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though he can be quite unbending, which is how I come to be here in disgrace. I didn’t do the right thing.”
“Do you mean failing to marry the dull man who didn’t make you happy? Isn’t that the right thing?”
She blinked. “Put like that, I suppose it is. I wanted everyone to be proud of me, as they were of Frances. And Frances is happy. I assumed I would be, too. I didn’t think. I just obeyed, did what was expected. It didn’t seem much of a burden at first. And then—” She broke off to tell the girls not to crash into Jem’s ladder unless they wanted him to break a leg, and they ran further away from the apple tree.
“And then what?” Tamar prompted.
She sighed. “I suppose I’d grown discontented ever since Gillie married Wickenden. Gillie’s an old friend, the daughter of one of the officers stationed here. She was not a great match for him by the world’ standards. Conversely, he was considered a brilliant match for her. But none of that mattered to either of them, because they married for love. I saw it shining in her eyes and I knew beyond doubt that whatever duty, respect, or even liking I might feel for Sir Arthur, I would never have the kind of happiness Gillie had discovered.”
He glanced up at her. “Is that what you were looking for with Dax?”
She shook her head impatiently. “I wasn’t looking for anything with Dax. He just encouraged my natural liveliness, which had been so desperate to break out. I’m afraid I’ve always been too lively.”
“No, you’re not. It’s part of your charm. Don’t lose yourself to please anyone. It would be such a shame.”
She brought her gaze from the picture, which she’d been staring at rather blindly for several moments, to his face. “You don’t lose yourself, do you? You just do as you wish, whatever anyone’s expectations of a peer.”
“Well, to be fair, no one has any expectations of this peer, except that he will go to the devil faster than his father—having less money to prop him up.”
She frowned. “But you’re not going to the devil, are you? You’re earning, looking after your family—to say nothing of me and mine!—and keeping your head above water. If you don’t count the bailiff,” she acknowledged.
His gaze dropped from hers to the painting. “Never discount the bailiff.”
But she’d already glimpsed something in his face that caught at her breath, something that wasn’t quite sadness or desperation or secrecy and yet, was made up of all three. She moved to see him better.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said.
“Many, many things. My life is not a book written for well-bred young ladies.”
“No, there’s more,” she said with certainty. “You give no details about your family, you turn the subject when I speak of them—”
“So would you if you had my family.” Selecting a different paint brush, he began to add detail to the fallen leaves in his picture.
“And the bailiff cannot touch you,” she blurted. “You’re a peer of the realm. Why do you keep up such a fiction?”
“To make myself seem interesting. Actually, I’m not really Tamar at all. I just pretend so I’ll be invited to parties.”
“Are you?”
“Sometimes. Blackhaven seems to like me.”
She scowled at him. “I meant, as you very well know, are you really the Marquis of Tamar?”
“If I wasn’t, I’d sweep you off your feet and marry you out of hand.” At last, his gaze came back to her, warm and deliberately distracting. She knew that, and yet it didn’t stop the butterflies soaring in her stomach or the memory of his passionate kisses.
“Why?” she managed. “Why is it worse to be a marquis? To be this marquis? What have you done?”
If there was any thought behind her questions, it was to taunt him, goad him into telling her the truth. She wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotion, of absolute fury and misery that spilled from his eyes, before his thick, black lashes swept down, hiding them.
He threw down his brush, began packing his palette and brushes and rags into his satchel. “The light is fading. Jem has finished his work, and you must take your sisters back to the house.”
“You’re dismissing me!” she said, in outraged frustration.
He laughed, swinging the satchel over his shoulder. “Oh, my dear, it’s the best I can possibly do for you.”
“Lord Tamar, play tag with us!” Helen panted, running up to them, Alice and Maria at her heels.
“Next time,” he said, covering the painting. “I have to go, and so do you.”
“But you will paint us?” Alice pursued.
“Of course, I will. One day.” Easel and picture under his arm, he cast them a comical bow. “Farewell, young ladies. Lady Serena, your servant.” At last, a quick, faint smile lit his eyes. “I am that, at least.” And then he was striding off toward the upper door, calling to Jem as he went.
Serena felt as if she’d been pushed over and trampled. Worse, she had the awful feeling that she’d driven him away, that she’d never see him again.
Chapter Eight
Since the next day was Saturday, when the girls did not have formal lessons, Serena agreed they should walk into Blackhaven and enjoy an ice at the parlor which had sprung up at the bottom end of the high street.
“Would you like to come with us, Miss Grey?” she asked the governess. “Or would you rather enjoy the time alone?”
The governess appeared to hesitate.
“Either is fine,” Serena assured her. “Your company is alwa
ys welcome, but you are more than entitled to a day away from us.”
She’d never said such a thing to a governess before, let alone meant it. But she genuinely liked Miss Grey and so did the girls. They were lucky to have her.
“To be honest, what I would really like is a long walk in the country,” Miss Grey confessed. “It’s such a beautiful autumn day.”
“By all means,” Serena said. “I’ll have Cook pack you up some luncheon if you wish. Only please don’t get lost! And be sure to return before dark as we’ve all been warned.”
Last night had been quiet, with no sounds of intrusion or pursuit, and when Paton had checked the cellar that morning, there was no change in the number of foreign barrels stored there. Which was a bit of an anti-climax, although the danger was hardly over.
“Of course,” Miss Grey assured her.
Serena smiled and walked away, but as if plucking up her courage, the governess detained her. “Lady Serena?”
“Yes?” She turned back, expectantly in time to see Miss Grey taking a hesitant step toward her.
“My lady, I know it is not my place to speak, and I really do trust your judgment, only—”
Serena frowned. “Only what?”
“It’s about Lord Tamar,” Miss Grey said in a rush. She came closer, meeting Serena’s surprised gaze. “Have you considered that he might be part of this gunpowder plot of ours?”
Serena blinked. “No,” she said baldly.
“Well, as a I say, I trust your judgment. It’s just that…it came to me last night when I was trying to go back to sleep. You were chased by a man with a knife and ran into Lord Tamar. You waited in the cellar for the smugglers to appear—and Lord Tamar did.”
Something nasty clawed at Serena’s stomach. Her instinct was simply to dismiss Miss Grey’s suspicions out of hand, for she knew Tamar had nothing to do with those incidents, except in so far as he’d helped her. And yet Miss Grey’s words were perfectly true. And Miss Grey was both clever and perceptive.
“No,” Serena said at last. “If he’d been involved, why would he have shown me the barrels contained gunpowder? Why would he have bothered to be kind to me if he’d just tried to kill me?”
“I don’t know,” Miss Grey said miserably. “I know he is a likeable man, and I can see no motive for his kindness if he is our villain. Only…only, he is a poor man, and might well be induced to act against his conscience for money. People do.”
Serena thought, frowning. To some extent, the governess’s suspicions made sense. Just not when she considered the man she was coming to know.
“No,” she said firmly. “You’re wrong. But I appreciate your looking out for us.”
*
Despite an initial tendency of Alice and Helen to quarrel during their walk, Serena had coaxed everyone into good humor well before they reached the town.
“We could call on Lord Tamar,” Helen suggested.
Serena, who, despite Miss Grey’s warnings, had every desire to see both the artist and his studio, murmured that that would not be quite proper. She had a horror of imposing, of reading too much into the bold flirtation of an unconventional man. She did not want to see annoyance in his eyes if she disturbed him in his lair. And after their last encounter, she was very much afraid she would.
“But after we’ve had an ice, we should probably call at the vicarage,” she said brightly.
The vicarage was clearly considered to be a poor substitute for the artist’s studio, but since ices were the first order of the day, no one complained. Yet.
Their little group caused quite a stir in Blackhaven. Most of the long-time residents knew who they were and greeted them in friendly spirit, usually bowing. The visitors, who seemed to grow in number every time Serena came home, regarded them with curiosity and whispers, although one or two whom Serena recognized from London, did come and speak a few courteous words.
Serena joined her sisters in a dish of delicious ices. “This is as good as anything at Gunthers, don’t you think?” she enthused.
The girls agreed readily, comparing favorite flavors with the palates of connoisseurs. They were so engaged when a gentleman came in and bowed to them.
“Why, Monsieur de Valère,” Serena greeted him in surprise. “I did not imagine you to be much of an ice man.”
“I’m not,” he confessed. “I merely saw you through the window and came in to pay my respects.”
“How civil of you. Allow me to present my sisters, Lady Maria, Alice, and Helen. Girls, M. le Comte de Valère, who is a friend of the Winslows.”
“And of yours, I trust,” Valère protested.
The comte only stayed to exchange a few words and then politely took his leave.
“Is he another admirer of yours?” Maria asked.
“Why, no, though he may be of Catherine Winslow.” She frowned. “What do you mean, another admirer?”
“As well as Lord Tamar. And it seems to me the comte admires you, too.”
“You’re being silly,” Serena said, for some reason uncomfortable about both gentlemen.
“No, she isn’t.” Alice argued. “But I like Lord Tamar better.”
“Because he’s English?” Serena teased.
“No, because—”
“In any case, you’re talking nonsense,” Serena interrupted. “Come, let’s look in the shops, then see if Mrs. Grant is at home. We can walk home by way of the harbor and the beach, if the tide is far enough out.”
After spending some time in the book shop and buying some new ribbon for Maria’s hair, they walked round to the vicarage. Kate appeared delighted to see them, and Mr. Grant even emerged from his study—where he claimed to have been writing tomorrow’s sermon—to join them for tea and cake.
“So what is next?” he asked. “More wicked dissipation in Blackhaven? Or the long walk home?”
“We thought we’d walk along the beach and up the cliff paths,” Serena said.
“Though we’d quite like to call on Lord Tamar first,” Helen said defiantly. “We’d like to see his paintings, but Serena says it wouldn’t be proper to call.”
“It probably would, if we came with you,” Kate said unexpectedly, and in spite of her best intentions, Serena’s heart began to beat with hope.
“Or just you,” Mr. Grant said to his wife, “for I have to call in on Lampton. But you could take Tamar a message from me…”
“How do they know Tamar?” Kate asked with deceptive casualness as they walked together round to the harbor. “Did he call on you at the castle?”
“Not exactly,” Serena said cautiously. “It seems he’s in the habit of trespassing there to paint.”
“And we’re having an adventure with him,” Helen said happily. Maria glared at her. “What?”
“Indeed?” Kate said pleasantly. “What kind of adventure?”
“One involving gunpowder,” Serena said, giving in to the inevitable. The whole story then came out in hushed tones.
“Goodness,” Kate said faintly. “For such a small town, there is rarely a dull moment in Blackhaven.”
Arriving at the harbor, they turned left along the shore road where a row of fishermen’s cottages stood. A man in an ill-made coat sat on the steps of one, one leg stretched out in front of him as he contemplated the sea. Neither gentleman nor fisherman, by his dress, he looked quite out of place in this neighborhood.
“Goodness,” Kate said in startled tones. “He does have a bailiff.”
“This is Lord Tamar’s studio?” Serena wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected.
“It is.” Without any more warning, Kate stopped at the front step, regarding the bailiff, who looked back with insolent curiosity. She had suddenly assumed a manner much more reminiscent of the superior, intimidating Kate Serena remembered.
“My good man,” she drawled. “You must be aware you have no business with a peer of the realm. Be off with you before I call the watch.”
The bailiff jumped to his feet, looking as if he
wished to say something rude or defiant. And then he simply effaced himself.
“Good,” Kate said with satisfaction and sailed up to the front door. She rapped it with the handle of her umbrella. Receiving no response, she called, “Tamar, I know you’re in there. I have a message from the vicar!”
Even from the step, Serena heard Tamar’s muffled snort of laughter. An instant later, the key turned in the lock and the door was thrown open to reveal Lord Tamar in his shirt sleeves, with his hair even more tousled than usual. He wore no necktie and his shirt front hung half-open to reveal the strong column of his throat and a tantalizing glimpse of manly chest and shoulder.
Serena felt a blush begin somewhere near her toes and rise upward with alarming speed, but it seemed Tamar was even more stunned by the deputation at his door.
“Good God,” he uttered.
“Alas, not even the vicar,” Kate said flippantly. “The young ladies would very much like to see your paintings. Lady Serena and I are here to chaperone them.”
Tamar’s gaze skimmed past Serena, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her, and her heart sank. She should never have pushed him yesterday. Whatever his secrets, he didn’t want them prodded, certainly not by her. She wished she hadn’t come.
Tamar, peering beyond the step, said, “What have you done with my bailiff?”
“Kate sent him about his business,” Serena said lightly.
“Clearly, I should have sent for you weeks ago.”
“You’re more than capable of getting rid of him yourself, if you wish to,” Kate retorted. “Particularly since he can’t legally arrest you.”
“Ah, but he is useful to me,” Tamar said, apparently not in the least put-out. “He fends off other vermin.”
“Oh goodness,” Helen said, looking around in awe.
“You mean the mess or the pictures?” he asked carelessly. “You have my permission to kick aside anything that is not a painting. It’s what I do. I can’t offer you refreshment ladies, unless your tastes run to brandy?”
“No, I thank you,” Kate said. “You should have someone to clean for you.”
“Are you offering?” Tamar asked outrageously.
Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8) Page 9
