“All of which would seem to prove,” Lord Aidan said, “that they are quite capable of conducting their own grand romance if they so choose. Just as Eve and I did.”
“But with a little help from Wulfric, you must confess, Aidan,” his wife added.
“Wulfric as matchmaker,” Gervase said. “Good Lord! The mind boggles.”
His grace did not seem amused at having his name dragged into such a conversation. He raised one eloquent eyebrow as he set down his coffee cup.
“It would seem to me,” he said, “that my steward and one of my guests ought to be allowed to walk out on a warm summer evening and attend church in company with each other—even aWelshchurch—without arousing such fevered speculation in the bosoms of my family that my very digestion has been threatened. Christine, has word been sent to the nursery that the children are to be brought down in ten minutes’ time?”
“It has indeed, Wulfric,” she said, smiling warmly at him along the length of the breakfast table. Her eyes twinkled. “And those children are to include David Jewell so that his mama and Mr. Butler may walk to and from the Welsh chapelalonetogether.”
His grace touched the handle of his quizzing glass, but his fingers did not quite curl about it. Indeed, an observant spectator might even have sworn that his lips twitched as he gazed back at his wife.
Precisely fifteen minutes later the last of the cavalcade of carriages moved away from the front doors of Glandwr, taking the Bedwyn family and all their children and guests—including David Jewell—to the morning service at the English church in the village.
Anne Jewell watched them leave from the window of her bedchamber, happy in the belief that her absence had gone quite unnoticed by everyone except Joshua and David.
Sydnam stood at the window of the sitting room in his cottage, watching the driveway. A number of carriages had passed down some time earlier—the service at the church was an hour earlier than the one at the Welsh chapel—but he had not seen Miss Jewell in any of them. She must intend to keep her appointment with him, then. For some reason he had half expected her to send an excuse—perhaps because he had looked forward to this so much.
It had looked earlier on as if it were going to rain, and the sky was still cloudy. But he thought the fine weather would hold after all.
He was tired. He was accustomed to the old nightmares, but they were never easy to bear, and pulling himself out of them after he had awoken was always akin to a nightmare in itself. The servants, including his valet, knew not to disturb him on such nights even if they heard him cry out or scream, as he sometimes did. In latter years he had been very thankful to be away from his family, whose concern and insistence upon bearing him company on such occasions was not so easily deterred. During the day after one of his nightmares he was always tired and listless, and usually depressed too. But the old, familiar enemy did not have quite the power it used to have. He had pulled himself determinedly free of it this morning.
He just wished last night had not been one of the nights. He wanted to be fully alert this morning. It might be the last opportunity he would have to be alone with her.
He wondered if she realized how close he had come to kissing her up on the hill a few nights ago. It was a night he would long remember. Her beauty and his attraction to her had proved almost irresistible. Thank heaven hehadresisted.
They were not a couple who could fall into any easy flirtation or romance.
When he saw her coming down the driveway, tall and graceful and lovely in a cream-colored muslin dress with a straw bonnet tied with brown ribbons, he felt his spirits rise after all. It was such a rare thing to have female companionship, and he genuinely enjoyed hers. He donned his hat, let himself out of the cottage, and went to meet her beyond the cottage gate.
“I hope,” he said, looking up at the sky after greeting her, “we are not going to be rained upon. But the clouds do not look as threatening as they did earlier.”
She looked up too.
“I did not even bring an umbrella,” she said. “I am determined to be optimistic even if I ruin a bonnet in the process.”
And indeed she looked happy, as if she really were glad she had agreed to accompany him to the chapel. How foolish they had been to miss longer than a week of an acquaintance that seemed to give them both pleasure. He had thought of her a great deal during that week, he realized—and she was to be here for only a month in total.
Now that he was outdoors he felt less tired.
“The others all drove to church,” he said. “I saw the carriages pass. What excuse did you give for not going with them?”
“None,” she said. “I spoke privately with Joshua to ask if David could go to church with him. I told him why I would not be going myself, but I daresay he will not tell the others. Why would anyone else be interested to know where I am anyway?”
Ralf had brought her into the conversation while a few of them had been out riding last week—and had asked Sydnam’s opinion of her looks in such a contrived, offhand manner that it could only have been deliberate. Then the other night Sydnam had caught Alleyne’s eye as he stepped back into the drawing room with her, and there had been amused speculation there. And then he had intercepted Morgan’s glance, and she had smiled fondly at him. The Bedwyns might be very much more interested than Miss Jewell realized—but he would not alarm her by saying so. Bedwyns be damned—the women he chose to be friendly with were none of their business.
“The duchess has arranged for us all to go for a drive this afternoon,” she said. “I must not be too late back.”
“And I am planning to go over to Ty Gwyn later on if it does not rain,” he told her.
“Tea what?” she asked.
“Ty Gwyn,” he repeated. “Two Welsh words meaningwhite house,though in fact it is not white at all, but a sizable gray stone manor set in its own park. I believe the old house was indeed white, but it was pulled down and rebuilt a century or more ago. It belongs to the Duke of Bewcastle at present, but I have hopes of purchasing it from him and making it my own.”
He had finally broached the subject with Bewcastle two days ago. The duke had not said yes. Neither had he said no. He had merely stared at Sydnam, his silver eyes slightly narrowed, his fingers seeking out the handle of his quizzing glass.
“Doubtless,” he had said at last, “you have marshaled all sorts of irrefutable reasons why I should comply with this request, Sydnam. I will hear them all before I leave Glandwr, but not today. Today the duchess awaits my presence in the drawing room for tea.”
