“It is a relief to meet someone who understands the appeal of storms,” she admitted. The sharp-tongued lady almost smiled at him. Almost.
Sep let out a breath. The lightness in her tone eased something in him too. “Why were you wandering the heath in the dark?”
“I wished for a glimpse of the sea.” She still did wish for that view. He could see the yearning in her gaze.
“You should see the cove in the morning when the early light glints off the waves.” Good grief, he sounded like Keats or Shelley, one of the Romantic scribblers his godmother favored.
“I’d like that.”
“As much as we hoped you two would get on,” Cornelia said from her chair near the fire, “we didn’t expect you to spend the evening ignoring us and whispering in the corner.”
“Forgive me, Aunt Cornelia.” Lady Winifred’s blush deepened and she returned to the seat near her other aunt without another glance at Sep. “You must think me terribly rude.”
“Not at all, my dear. I think you extraordinarily talented. You’ve managed to entice Septimus into conversation for longer than I’ve seen him speak in ages.”
“That’s unfair.” Sep drew in one more breath of lavender-scented air and moved to stand near his godmother. “I converse with you every single day.”
“Oh yes, you have much to say if I wish to hear about galvanism and electricity and the likelihood of a storm blowing in off the seafront.” She cast a grin at her sister and tried to catch Lady Winifred’s gaze. “I hope he didn’t bore you with scientific prattle, my dear.”
“Prattle?” Sep clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
Cornelia and her sister laughed, and Sep smiled back.
Lady Winifred didn’t join in, but she watched him. Assessing him.
“I’m afraid I don’t know enough about science to judge whether such talk would be interesting or onerous.” The earnestness of Lady Winifred’s declaration rang out above her aunts’ waning giggles.
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Cornelia assured her. “Septimus studied medicine for a time, then moved on to all manner of natural philosophy, and now devotes himself to discovering the mysteries of electricity.”
Sep shot his godmother a quelling glance. She listed his accomplishments as if she were offering him up for auction at Tattersall’s.
“Winifred is an accomplished young lady too,” Miss Renshawe put in. “She speaks three languages, manages my letters and menus, and her handwriting…”
“Aunt Elinor, please.” Lady Winifred’s plea was softly spoken but tinged with an edge of desperation. The young lady, it seemed, didn’t enjoy hearing her accomplishments touted either.
“Do not stop me, my dear. I may speak as fondly of you as I please.” Miss Renshawe reached out to pat Lady Winifred’s clasped hands. “She writes in the neatest italic script you’ve ever seen. And as for study, I will only say that Winifred is rarely without a book in hand.”
Sep pressed his lips together to stifle a grin. Lady Winifred’s gaze shot to his, as if daring him to repeat the accusations about her reading habits, which had so incensed her on the heath. He downed a swig of mulled wine and cleared his throat. He couldn’t resist. “What is your taste in reading, Lady Winifred?” he asked innocently. “Plato, Aristotle?”
Her silvery gaze sharpened, spearing him from across the room. “Novels, my lord. Heaps of them. More than you can imagine.”
“Oh yes?” He spoke directly to her. Her aunt, his godmother, every corner of the room seemed to fade. “I do enjoy Mr. Fielding’s work, don’t you?”
Lady Winifred pulled herself up an inch straighter and arched one arrow-straight blonde brow. “I prefer Mrs. Radcliffe.”
Sep chuckled and lifted his glass to her. Lady Winifred’s mouth twitched and her eyes sparkled, but she did an admirable job of avoiding any obvious outward signs of mirth.
Cornelia and Miss Renshawe gazed at her, then him, then at each other, their expressions increasingly confused.
For a man who loathed distractions, Sep was looking forward to Lady Winifred’s presence at Penwithyn. The lady disturbed and intrigued him in equal measure.
She was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
Chapter 3
Win swept a finger through the glistening frost on her windowsill, then scrubbed a damp cloth over her face. She’d already washed, dressed, and arranged her hair in a simple chignon. Though Aunt Elinor had assembled a competent staff in their London town house, Win preferred dressing on her own. She’d got used to fending for herself back at Gissing Park, since her father dismissed or frightened off every servant her mother ever hired.
Someone knocked on her door, and Win pinched her cheeks in a useless attempt to infuse them with a bit of color. She swept a hand down the skirt of her simple muslin day dress before answering. It wouldn’t be her aunt at this early hour. Perhaps a servant?
Win opened the bedchamber door and her breath tangled in her throat.
“Good morning, Lady Winifred.” Definitely not a servant. Rather, an irritatingly handsome earl. The morning light heightened that fact, brightening his green eyes and emphasizing his angular features.
“And to you, Lord Carwarren.” As a guest, she owed him politeness. Yet it didn’t stop her from blaming the man for a night of fitful sleep. When she wasn’t worrying over the strange apparition she’d seen lingering at his back near the stone observatory, she was haunted by his smile. His deep, resonant laughter had warmed her from the inside out. She told herself it was nonsense. Sounds didn’t produce heat. Smiles didn’t either, but his had. And she’d worn the proof across her neck and chest and cheeks.
“Would you like to come and view the sea by morning light?” He braced an arm against her doorframe, causing his shirt and waistcoat to pull snug against his broad chest and thick arms.
“From the cliff’s edge?” She longed to see the water but loathed the prospect of encountering the blueish specter again. Something about that apparition disturbed her as no ghost ever had.
“I’d planned to go down to the beach and was hoping you’d accompany me.” His voice lowered and he shifted his gaze. In any other man, Win might think the gesture was a sign of shyness. Yet Lord Carwarren oozed confidence, whether speaking of his observatory or the value of telling the truth.
“Will my aunts accompany us?”
“No. Just us.” He swallowed as if he’d tied his cravat too tightly. “Cornelia says she and Miss Renshawe will be occupied in the kitchen all morning.”
“Aunt Elinor doesn’t cook.” Win’s aunt appreciated a good meal, but she was useless when it came to the details of cookery.
“Cornelia does, and far better than our housekeeper.” He waved a hand, as if he had as much interest in the fine points of food preparation as Aunt Elinor. “She has plans for a stew and puddings and a parboiled something or other that should keep them busy all day.“
“And they are aware we’re to venture out together?”
“They are.” His dark brows crashed together. “But you’re reluctant, I see. Are you still cross with me?”
“No.” Not exactly. Irritated, perhaps, but that had little to do with the previous day’s encounter and more with how, even when he frowned at her, the memory of his smile burned in her mind’s eye. “Give me a moment to don my pelisse and I’ll join you, my lord.”
Win closed the door on him and planted herself against it. Her heart thrashed so loud in her ears, she doubted she’d be able to hear the sea if she was standing close enough to get her boots wet.
With a hand to her chest, she willed her pulse to steady, even as her imagination galloped ahead. Would he smile at her again? Reach out and take her hand to keep her from tripping over the craggy ground? What if she twisted her ankle and he was forced to carry her back to the cottage? Through the rain?
Fanciful nonsense. Glancing out the window, Win let out a long breath. The day was cloudless and clear, with no sign of rain.
Being carried uphill by an earl wasn’t in the forecast either. Stop being such a goose.
She was going on this outing to revel in the beauty of the sea. Nothing more. Lord Carwarren was kind to her because she was his godmother’s niece. Nothing more. They would end this week’s visit as acquaintances. Nothing more.
Her disastrous Season had taught her the folly of putting any faith in handsome gentlemen.
Win slipped her arms into her pelisse and began working the ribbons of the lovely garment her aunt had ordered made for her. The vibrant Mazarin blue was the shade of Win’s mother’s eyes, and her siblings too. Of all the Gissings, only she had been cursed with eyes leeched of color.
“I’m ready,” Win announced a moment later as she opened her bedchamber door, only to find the hallway empty. Making her way downstairs, she detected the delicious scents of herbs brewing and something yeasty and sweet baking. She had half a mind to seek out her Aunt Elinor and ensure she truly did approve of this unchaperoned outing, but Lord Carwarren awaited her at the front door.
He grinned as she approached. “That color becomes you, Lady Winifred.”
Flattery already? If he kept it up, she’d spend the whole morning blushing, as she had last night. ‘Thank you, my lord, but I don’t require compliments.” Before coming to live with Aunt Elinor, she’d had few enough to keep count. They only made her uncomfortable, as if every light in a room had been turned her way.
“Fair enough. But what if I have more praise to offer?” He pulled each cuff of his gloves tight before tipping her a sly look.
“You can keep them to yourself.” Win tied the ribbon of her bonnet under her chin. “Much as you did with your connection to Aunt Cornelia last evening.” She returned his grin before sweeping past him and out the front door.
Mercy, he liked Lady Winifred’s spirit. Almost as much as he enjoyed the momentary battle that played out on her face while she weighed whether to say something polite or precisely what popped into her head.
He hoped she’d continue choosing the latter.
As they ascended the rise toward the sea, he sensed her eagerness. Hands clenched, she stretched to peek over the edge of the cliff. She didn’t seem to mind that, despite the tight fit of her bonnet, the breeze had loosened wisps of her hair. Tendrils lashed her face before dancing about her shoulders, and Lady Winifred made no effort to corral them.
“Will we be stopping at your observatory, my lord?” She cast a quick glance back at him. When he shook his head, she picked up her pace until they were well past the structure.
Sep’s work called to him, but he would not tarry. He was in the habit of going up each day to take the readings on his barometer and other measuring devices that aided him in predicting when the next lightning strike would come. But he wouldn’t delay this outing with Lady Winifred or the errand he planned to attend to near the beach. Considering the quickness of her gait, he doubted she’d have the patience to wait.
Catching up to her, he asked, “May I petition a favor of you?”
“Possibly.” Her wary tone vied with the look of interest in her eyes. “What is it?”
“Might we dispense with honorifics and formality? Call me Septimus. And allow me to address you as Winifred?”
“No.”
Sep sighed and waited for a recitation of reasons. Impropriety. Too much familiarity.
“Not Winifred. Call me Win.”
“Win.” He tested the word on a long exhale. “Win,” he said again, enjoying the sound as much as the privilege of calling her by the nickname. He preferred shorter names. Why waste time with a list of names and honorifics when one could spend the time studying?
“How will we get down to the— Oh my.” She stopped in her tracks and rose onto her toes. “It’s wonderful. Absolutely exquisite.”
Sep planted himself at her side and took in the view. Here, at the cliff’s edge, the land tipped down. The beach and coastline appeared to rush up, close enough to touch. No land was visible on the horizon. The view gave one a sense of standing at the edge of the world.
He saw its power again, as he hadn’t in years. Saw the beauty and magic of the place anew. Fresh. Through Win’s eyes.
“Exquisite.” He echoed her word, but he wasn’t staring at the water and sand and the glories of nature. He was watching Win. The lady who’d spoken of secrets last evening now wore an expression of unfettered joy. Watching her, feelings kindled in him that he thought irreparably broken. Feelings that sounded a warning bell in his head.
Allowing Cornelia to find him a suitable match was meant to keep him from ridiculous tangle of choosing a lady based on sentiment.
Passion. Love. Emotion. They were distractions he didn’t need.
“I wish…” Win started, then allowed the word to fade on the breeze and said no more.
“What do you wish?” He far preferred hearing about her desires than examining his own.
She glanced at him, swiping a long blonde ribbon of hair from her face. “You’ll think me silly.”
“Everyone should be allowed one silly thought each day.” Bloody hell. Where had that come from? He sounded like Cornelia, trying to coax him into being less serious.
“I was thinking of how much I wished I had wings.” She pointed toward the sky. “Imagine the ability to fly away from your troubles, to circle above and take in views like this whenever you like.”
“Yes.” Though Sep knew birds of prey circled an area to hunt rather than observe an appealing view, he took Win’s point about freedom and flight. Though her other sentiment intrigued him most. “What troubles would you wish to fly away from?”
Her open, lovely face shuttered. Jaw tightening, she drew her shoulders up until they were picture frame square. “Troubles come when we least expect them. One never knows what the future holds.”
“Indeed.” Regret rushed over him in a sickening wave. He should have taken more care. Had he bumbled into a topic that caused her pain? The death of her parents? Cornelia implied their death had been sudden and unexpected. Just as the loss of his own father had been. In the course of a single tragic moment, everything had changed forever.
Win moved away from him. She’d spotted the well-worn trail leading down to the beach and headed toward the spot where travelers had tread a path in the grass. “Shall we go down?”
“By all means, but take care.” Sep considered offering her his hand, but suspected she’d refuse his aid. “The path is rocky and slopes sharply as we descend.”
“I’ll manage.” The bite had returned to her voice.
Sep told himself it was for the best. He’d known Win for less than a day and was already far too concerned with her every expression. Still, he watched each step she took, ready to reach out and steady her if she stumbled.
But Win didn’t need his assistance. She kept up a careful, surefooted pace and was well ahead of him by the time they reached the sand. She rushed up to the water’s edge. After a moment’s hesitation, she removed her bonnet and let the strings dangle from her fingertips. The wind was strong, whipping the waves of her hair as she leaned into the breeze. One more step and the water lapped at the toes of her half boots. She didn’t seem to mind.
“You look as if you wish to wade in.”
“I do.”
“I can’t allow you to do that.”
Win shot him a rebellious glance. Clearly, she didn’t take kindly to a gentleman curbing her impulses. “You’d freeze, and Cornelia and Miss Renshawe would never forgive me.”
“True. Though I’d probably drown first. I never learned to swim.”
“I could teach you,” he offered too quickly. He was grateful when she offered no reply.
Win wouldn’t be here in the summer. Once the Banfield nuptials had been sworn, he’d likely never see the young lady again.
That thought vexed him.
“Would you mind if we stop and watch for a while?” she asked. “I want to remember all the sounds and scents of the sea when I
return to London.”
And while she was thinking of the see, he’d think of her.
No. He’d wasted enough time on sentimental nonsense in the past year. He needed no further distractions from his work. “Would you mind if I attend to an errand while we’re here?”
“Not at all.” She eyed a stand of rocks further up the beach. “I’ll find a spot over there to sit and wait for you.”
Sep pointed to a rectangular structure on a rise atop a crooked stone staircase a mile or so up the beach. “I’ll be up there and will return as quickly as I can.”
“What is it?”
“Wheal Lannock. A mine once owned by Cornelia’s late husband, Captain Shaw.”
Win squinted to get a better look at the dilapidated engine house. “What does the mine produce?”
“Very little these days. The veins of copper and silver dried up before Captain Shaw’s death, though Cornelia commissioned a new shaft a few years ago and we found zinc. There are few remnants left. I scavenge what I can and use the metal in my experiments.” When she said nothing more, Sep started across the beach. A breeze kicked up, swirling around him, and he turned back. “Will you be warm enough?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured with a smile.
Sep wasn’t prepared. The sweetness of her expression slipped past his defenses. Warmth flooded his chest. What had he told himself a moment before about keeping his distance? He couldn’t remember. He only knew that when he returned from the mine, he would endeavor to make her smile again.
Win felt an odd mix of relief and regret as she watched Septimus depart. His presence was both pleasurable and disarming. He watched her more intently than anyone ever had in her life. As if he cared to know her thoughts and feelings.
Perhaps it was his studious, scientific mind which made him so attentive.
Rather than sit, she wandered the beach, enjoying the views of the sea. All the sounds she’d heard above on the cliffs were louder here, a constant symphony—the song of the gulls, the roll of the sea, and low waves lapping the rocky sand. After a while, she cast her gaze toward the mine. Why wait for him to return to her? She was curious about the mine and wished to explore for herself.
Enchanted at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 2) Page 3