“Thank you, Mister Seymour, it will more than suffice.”
The day had gone better than he’d hoped, Niclas thought, turning his attention away from Miss Linley’s lovely countenance and back to the road ahead. Both Lady Eunice and Miss Linley had greeted him with smiles this morn, despite the early hour that he’d set for their departure, and thus far there’d been no sign of Cadmaran or his minions. Perhaps a brief stop wouldn’t be amiss. They’d made excellent progress on the road, and even with a delay they should reach Coventry in good time.
Still, he’d not rest easy until he had Miss Linley safe at the inn where their arrangements for the evening had been made. The Tarian was heavy in his pocket—a constant reminder that Cadmaran might potentially appear along the road at any time. He had carefully placed the necklace in a velvet pouch that hung about his neck beneath his shirt, but the dratted thing kept showing up in his outer coat pocket, regardless of the number of times he replaced it in the pouch. It was Malachi’s meddling, as usual, and Niclas was sure his cousin had a good, if ridiculous, reason for it. But having the Tarian in so vulnerable a hiding place only served to stretch Niclas’s nerves on end. If it should fall out or be dislodged by the movement of his . . . hand His throat tightened at the thought.
Aye, he’d be far easier once they reached Coventry, and easier still when they’d crossed over into Wales. The roads wouldn’t be quite so amenable to fast traveling once they passed the northern border, especially when they reached the hills, but there were protections in Wales that Niclas preferred to easy travel. He was nothing compared to Earl Graymar in the way of power, but all Seymours found welcome in the land that had been adopted by their ancestors so long ago.
“Ioan.”
The footman stopped chatting with Abercraf, whom he was riding beside, and gave Niclas his attention.
“Aye, sir?”
“There’s a village not much farther along, with but one small inn. The Hound and Hare, I believe it’s called. Ride ahead and make arrangements with the keeper for a private room and light refreshments for Miss Linley and her maid. We’ll stop for half an hour, but I don’t wish to waste time waiting for any preparations.”
“Shall I go as well, sir?” Abercraf asked. “I should be happy to make sure of the arrangements.”
Niclas gave a nod of assent. Abercraf would have things well in hand at the inn by the time they arrived. If the keeper didn’t hurry with his requests, the manservant would simply take charge of the kitchen himself.
“Yes, go with Ioan. We’ll be enough here with Gwillem and Evar.” He glanced up at the coachman and stableboy riding atop the coach. “And Frank and Huw.”
Malachi had put the proper fear of Cadmaran into him the previous day, Niclas thought as the two men rode off, with the result that he’d brought two more footmen than they needed for mere comfort.
But despite the shadow of not knowing where Cadmaran might be, and the difficulties of the task ahead, it was good to be out of London. The day, as Miss Linley had said, was indeed fine, and all their company in good spirits. Even Abercraf was smiling and laughing—a thoroughly unusual occurrence. And Miss Linley’s smiles had been so charming and pleasant that they threatened to make Niclas’s heart turn over in his chest each time he looked at her.
Her pleasant mood was understandable, of course. He’d be smiling like that if he were leaving an overbearing relative like Lady Eunice for a few days.
Adding to the journey’s pleasure was Enoch. The noble beast was a wonder, scarcely requiring any guidance, for he seemed to know what his rider desired without signal.
Abercraf had everything ready by the time they reached the Hound and Hare, and was waiting at the inn’s door as the coach pulled up to help the ladies alight. Ioan held Enoch’s head while Niclas dismounted, and then led the proud beast away.
“I hope this humble inn will please you, Miss Linley,” Niclas said, holding out a hand once she’d achieved the ground to escort her indoors. “It’s a simple place but quite hospitable, if memory serves. I believe that you and your maid will be comfortable during our brief visit.”
She gave him another of those dazzling smiles, and his heart emitted the now expected loud thump in response.
“It appears to be perfect, sir. I’m so thankful that you’ve agreed to stop. I confess I’m terribly thirsty.”
He found himself smiling, too, into her upturned face. “You’ll be glad for a cup of tea, then,” he said, thinking once more how odd it was to have to discern her emotions from her facial expressions.
But that was dangerous, to assume that her expression told the truth of what her feelings might be. If he knew anything for a fact, it was that human beings constantly concealed their true emotions with smiles, scowls, or completely blank faces. They were masters of deception, and Niclas didn’t blame his fellow beings a moment for it; he employed the same devices on a regular basis.
“My lord?” Abercraf called.
Both Niclas and Julia turned to find the manservant supporting Jane, whose current expression revealed precisely her emotions. Niclas felt her pain almost as keenly as she did, and hurried back to take her other arm.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said without thinking. “If I’d known just how painful your condition . . . was I should have felt it sooner, but Miss Linley was in the way, and I can’t—”
He felt Abercraf’s alarm before the manservant said, “Sir!”
Niclas ignored him and turned his attention to Julia, hovering nearby.
“You should have said something,” he remonstrated. “We could have stopped much sooner.”
“But you didn’t seem inclined to stop,” she said defensively. “We rushed so quickly through the horse changes and our brief meal that I assumed—”
“I do apologize,” Niclas said abruptly, aware that she was perfectly in the right but distracted by both Jane’s and Abercraf’s strong emotions. It was difficult to manage so much silent shouting all at once. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he said to Jane, “I’m not in the least angry, I give you my word.” To Abercraf he added, “And you needn’t worry so much. I only want to—”
“Sir!” Abercraf said again, much more loudly, gaining Niclas’s full attention at last. “Miss Jane needs a slow walk to relieve her distress. Perhaps it would be best if you’d allow me to accompany her through the inn’s garden, while you take Miss Linley indoors. We’ll return shortly, well in time for Miss Jane to enjoy a cup of tea.”
“Oh, no, I do think I should come with Jane,” Julia said quickly.
“I’m fine, miss,” Jane assured her, her face bright with embarrassment. “Please go with Mister Seymour and have your tea. Mister Abercraf will see me back safe, I’m sure. I only need a little walk.”
Niclas reluctantly released the maid, knowing how distressed she was by his touch. The emotion almost overpowered the pain she felt.
“Perhaps that would be best, Miss Linley,” he said, the sting of guilt making his voice tight. Regaining his composure, he offered her his arm. “Abercraf has matters well in hand, and the innkeeper is growing anxious.” He nodded toward the inn’s open door, where a tall, thin man stood rubbing his hands on a white apron. “We’d best go and relieve his mind.”
The inn, Julia found to her delight, was both clean and well ordered. The innkeeper bowed them inside and she found herself in a large, cheerful room where several men sat near a fire, drinking and conversing. Some of them turned to look at Julia as she entered, their expressions changing from one of curiosity to interest. A few even smiled, and she heard Niclas Seymour draw in a sharp breath. The arm upon which she rested her hand swung suddenly and protectively about her waist, and he muttered something indistinguishable but clearly irate.
“This way, please,” the innkeeper said, gesturing toward a set of open doors revealing an inviting private parlor where a hearty tea had been laid out for their pleasure.
Julia took a step toward the doors, but stopped when she sensed t
hat Niclas Seymour wasn’t behind her. Turning, she saw that he stood where he was, his gaze fixed toward the inn’s far corner. Following the direction of his gaze, she saw what, or rather, who, he was looking at: a fair-headed young man sitting at a table alone, his head bowed, a tankard of ale at his elbow.
“What’s the matter?” she murmured, turning back. His brows were knit together, as if the sight of the young man worried him. “Do you know him?”
“No,” he said, his gaze yet fixed upon the lad. “No. I hope he’. . . ll” He shut his eyes tightly and seemed to struggle, but the next moment was himself again. “Forgive me. My mind was wandering. Perhaps I needed this stop more than Jane did. Shall we go in?”
He accompanied her to the open doors this time, but she saw him glance back at the young man in the corner before they entered the parlor.
“How lovely,” she said as she surveyed the pleasant room. Setting her gloves on the table beside her hat, she motioned to the delights set before them. “I realize that you would most likely prefer something else—gentlemen aren’t usually given to drinking tea—but will you let me pour you a cup, Mister Seymour?”
He began to remove his own gloves. “Thank you, Miss Linley. That would be welcome.”
The words were polite and expected, but he sounded as if he’d far rather go back to the inn’s main room and join his servants, who by now were most likely enjoying a tankard of ale. But he’d not leave her alone in a strange place until Jane arrived, Julia knew, and as there was far too much food laid out for two mere women to consume, it only made sense for him to enjoy a part. Besides, she thought as he took his seat opposite her and received the cup she’d poured for him, tea would refresh him far better than ale. Not that she would have minded him drinking anything he liked, but he looked so weary and distracted that anything much stronger than tea might do him in altogether.
“Everything looks so delicious,” she said appreciatively as she took up a plate to fill for him. “Abercraf is quite a wonder, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” he replied quietly. “A miracle, at times.”
“There’s a nice meat pie here—I imagine it’s a specialty of the house for the keeper to have it on hand so readily—and a variety of cheeses. Cold chicken, bread, some lovely mince tarts . . .. it’s enough for another full meal. What can I give you? Would you like a little of all?”
He assented with a nod and Julia gave him enough for two men. He began to eat with gusto, which didn’t surprise her; he’d scarcely taken two bites when they’d stopped to eat earlier in the day. Niclas Seymour, she thought, seemed to be a man in need of a little managing. Abercraf clearly had his hands full.
“Were you born in Wales, Mister Seymour?” she asked conversationally, filling her own plate far more delicately. “Most of your family harks from there, do they not?”
“Yes, I was born in Pembrokeshire,” he replied, taking a long swallow of tea and holding out the cup for her to refill. It looked impossibly tiny in his large hand. “At Glain Tarran, the ancestral estate of my family. Many Seymours are born there.”
“Indeed?” she asked. “That’s a fine, old custom to keep, I think. Linleys are the same, though Linley Manor in Devonshire is nothing to compare to so fine an estate as Glain Tarran. I understand it’s beautiful in every aspect.”
His expression softened slightly. “It is. I’m prejudiced, of course, but I do think Glain Tarran the most beautiful spot on earth. I long to see it again.”
“Has it been a great while since you’ve done so, then?” she asked.
He was silent for a moment, not looking at her, before replying, simply, “Yes.”
“I should like to see Glain Tarran,” she said, as lightly as possible. “I’ve heard so much about it. Some people even say that spirits and magical beings live there”—she smiled—“but that’s foolish.”
He smiled weakly in return. “Yes, quite foolish.”
“Do you have a home in Wales, Mister Seymour? Your own home, I mean?”
“I do,” he said with sudden and open affection in his tone. He sat back a bit farther in his chair, and his handsome features relaxed. “Tawel Lle. It was my boyhood home, and as dear to me, perhaps dearer, than Glain Tarran, though Glain Tarran holds a central place in the hearts of all Seymours.”
“I can well imagine,” she murmured, and felt a stab of the old infatuation in her heart. When he smiled he looked so much like his former self, so handsome and gentlemanly. “I know a little Welsh from the time I’ve spent at Glen Aur, my aunt Alice’s estate, but I fear I don’t know what ‘Tawel Lle’ means.”
“Roughly, it means ‘a quiet place,’ ” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “I inherited the estate when I wasn’t yet out of university. It’s not a large property, but the house is good—beautiful—and very comfortable. When I’m in London, I dream of being there, and when I’m there, I think of the day when I’ll never again have to leave.”
“Is it in Pembrokeshire?”
“No, in Brecknockshire, near the Brecons. It’s not too far from Trecastle.”
“The Brecons?” she asked. “How lovely it must be. Will you have more tea, Mister Seymour? These are such small cups that I fear you’re hardly having a swallow with each filling.”
“No, thank you.” He pushed the empty cup aside. “Tawel Lle is in a valley, and, yes, it is quite lovely. A river runs nearby, excellent for fishing. And swimming, as well, when weather permits. There are many slow, deep areas.”
“You can swim?” she asked, much impressed.
He nodded. “All Seymours swim. It’s necessary for us . . . to” He stopped, looked away briefly, then continued in a more measured tone. “The mountains surrounding Tawel Lle are ideal for walking. I spent much of my childhood exploring them. I’ve often wondered at people saying there’s not much to admire in the region, that the mountains are grand but plain. I’ve seen a good part of Europe in past travels, from the Alps to the Black Forest, but I’ve never yet seen anything to compare to the mountains surrounding Tawel Lle.”
“You love Wales so much, then?”
“Far more than London, certainly,” he replied, looking fully into her face for perhaps the first time since they’d entered the private room. “Oh, well, they’re very different, aren’t they? London is for society and family business. Tawel Lle is for pleasure, and for living.”
Julia knew exactly what he meant. She hated living in London, too, but unfortunately had no private sanctuary to escape to.
“But the family name,” she went on. “Seymour—it’s not of Welsh origin, is it?”
He wasn’t looking at her any longer. In fact, he was staring at the wall, a pensive expression in his blue eyes. “That foolish lad,” he murmured. “His head is going to burst if he doesn’t calm himself.”
“Pardon me?” Julia asked, bewildered. She turned to look at the wall, too, and could only see a rather unskilled landscape painting hanging at a crooked angle. “Do you mean the young man who was sitting in the corner earlier? In the main room?”
“He’s upset,” Niclas Seymour said, his gaze narrowing with concentration. “He’s filled with a terrible grief. The kind that drives all common sense away.”
Julia slowly turned back to look at him. She couldn’t decide whether to be amused or alarmed. Was he jesting? He appeared to be perfectly serious, but some people had odd senses of humor. Or perhaps he was far wearier than she’d imagined. . . . Or well, he certainly wasn’t mad. He might have grown rather odd in the past few years since leaving society, but surely he hadn’t become so altered that he imagined things.
She hoped.
“Mister Seymour?” He made no response. She spoke a little louder. “Mister Seymour?”
Startled out of his absorption, he turned back to her, staring as if he didn’t know who she was or where they were. When realization struck, it was accompanied by dismay.
“By the rood, I am sorry, Miss Linley. Please forgive me. How thoughtless. Careless.�
� He appeared not to know how to explain himself. “I’m not fit for society any longer, I vow.”
“Please, sir, don’t be troubled,” she pleaded. “It’s of no consequence. The young man did appear to be unhappy, from what I observed of him, and you were always a kind gentleman. I’m ashamed that I’ve not spared the poor fellow a second thought, when you’ve clearly had him in mind.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “He’s . . . definitely in my thoughts. I’m sorry—what were we speaking of?”
“Your family name,” she said. “I wondered if it was of Welsh origin.”
“No,” he said shortly, glancing once more at the wall before returning his attention to the plate he held. “The Seymours are of foreign descent. Wales has long been our adopted country, however, and so many generations have been born there that our distant origins have been nearly forgotten.”
Julia’s interest was piqued. “My aunt told me that yours is among the oldest families in England. If you are able to recall your lineage from before that, I confess it is something to be admired. From what country, then,” she asked, refilling her cup, “do the Seymours originally hail? France? Or Normandy? Did one of your ancient fathers arrive with William so long ago?”
“I only wish they had.” He set his plate aside and took up a napkin to wipe his lips. “My ancestors were exiles and wanderers, and cursed. There was no welcome for them . . . until” He sat up suddenly and turned to look at the closed doors. “Damn that lad,” he said angrily, pushing to his feet. “He can’t mean to be so foolish.”
“Mister Seymour?”
“Please excuse me.” He scarcely looked back as he headed for the door. “There’s something I must tend to at once. Forgive me.”
He opened one of the doors only to find Abercraf and Jane standing there, ready to enter.
“Oh, here you are,” he said with relief. “Excellent. Be so good as to bear Miss Linley company while I—”
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