Chapter 11

The sapphire ring on Tamsin's left hand felt foreign beneath her glove as they rode from the church to Penrose House in a barouche. Her husband sat beside her, looking impeccably handsome in a dark blue suit of clothing and gleaming black Hessians.

The ceremony had been lovely, particularly with all their friends present. Tamsin's grandmother had cried happy tears and said she hoped to visit them at Wood End soon.

Before the ceremony, her father had asked if she was certain about marrying Isaac, saying it wasn't too late to change her mind.

Tamsin had tried to put their conversation yesterday behind her so she could be happy on her wedding day, but his continued pressure about not marrying Isaac had reignited her frustration with him. It had also made her glad that she was getting married to a man who cared about her.

"Was your father pleased to hear that we're staying for a few days?" Isaac asked as the barouche moved through St. Austell. There were some people about, waving to them as they passed. Tamsin smiled and waved back.

"Actually, I didn't speak to him about that." She sent Isaac a sideways look as she waved at someone. "I'd prefer to leave after the breakfast, as we originally planned. If you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all. I just thought you wanted to stay awhile before leaving the only home you've ever known. I understand you're going to miss everyone, and it's been difficult for you to contemplate leaving."

Tamsin angled herself toward him as they left the town behind. While she was going to miss everyone, she wouldn't have characterized her upcoming departure as "difficult." "Why do you think that?"

He lifted a shoulder. "Your father told me yesterday. He wants to ensure your happiness. He cares that you are content. As do I, which is why I am more than amenable to your desire to return for Yuletide and Epiphany as well as next summer."

When Isaac had suggested yesterday that she come home for the holidays, she'd worried it was because he'd preferred to be apart, but that was not the case. He really did just care about her and what she might want. She felt incredibly lucky to have that after realizing how little her father thought of her. "It is not my desire to return for those periods," she said. "I did wonder why you mentioned that yesterday. Did my father tell you that too?"

"He did."

Her father didn't want her to marry, and he wanted her home for months at a time. Pursing her lips, Tamsin felt another rare burst of anger, again toward her father. Why was he aggravating her this way? He'd told Isaac she was having trouble leaving and that she wanted to return for the holidays. Neither of those things were true. "I don't know what my father was about telling you any of that, but I expected to spend Yuletide and Epiphany in my new home." She paused, looking over at him with trepidation. "Isn't that what your wife should do?"

"Yes, but I want you to be happy and choose where you'd like to be."

Tamsin's anger at her father mellowed in the face of Isaac's concern. She was so glad to have his support. Any doubts she had about their marriage were drifting away. "My choice is to be with you," she said eagerly. "I made it when I agreed we should wed, and I confirmed it a short while ago in the church."

"Then that is settled." His throat was working, his jaw clenched. He didn't appear "settled."

"Is there something else?" Tamsin asked.

He took a moment to respond. "I would prefer a marriage in name only. At least for a while, as we grow used to one another," he added.

"I see." Tamsin wasn't surprised, though hearing him say it stung. She was just glad he wasn't talking about a permanent situation.

"We should have discussed this yesterday," he said, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes hooded. "I'm sorry."

Because it was too late now. They were wed. Which meant there was no use being upset about it. Tamsin summoned a smile. "I am patient. Of course, we must get to know one another."

"I'm glad you agree." He appeared relieved. "At Wood End, we will share an apartment but have separate bedchambers. I have also ensured that we have separate bedchambers on the way to Wood End."

While this made sense, she didn't like the way they were now. Wouldn't it be better if they were at least friends? "I should like to return to our earlier friendship."

He looked at her, his eyes clearer than she'd seen them since he arrived. "I would like the same thing. I enjoyed our conversations."

Ironically, they fell silent as they drove out of St. Austell toward Penrose House. It was perhaps easier said than done to return to how they'd been before.

At last, he looked over at her. "Why did your father tell me you wanted to spend so much time here if that wasn't true?"

"I'm not sure what he was doing." Tamsin planned to speak with him before they left. His behavior just didn't make sense. She was also vexed with him and didn't want to leave things like that between them. "I suspect he is the one who wants me to return. And rather than me having difficulty leaving, he is struggling. We've only been apart for a month at a time, when I spend August with my grandmother. He's going to miss me terribly." Again, she wondered if it was because her mother had left him, and now Tamsin was going.

"I gather your father spends a great deal of time in his study," Isaac said. "I was surprised when he left the dining room last night before the final course in order to return to his work. Is that typical?"

She nodded. "Sometimes he doesn't even take dinner in the dining room."

Isaac frowned slightly. "You dine alone?"

"Occasionally, but if Papa is working, I usually eat in the kitchen."

One of his dark brows arched. "I must ask why your father would miss you if he chooses to spend most of his time closeted in his study."

Tamsin couldn't fault Isaac's logic. Nor could she deny that she made excuses for her father and did her best to explain away why he ignored her. "I suppose we have a unique relationship."

The barouche hit a bump, and Tamsin lurched forward off the seat. Isaac's arms came around her, and he hauled her backward.

She turned in his arms and looked up into his smoldering gray eyes. Everything around them seemed to fall away so that it was just the two of them locked in this moment.

After some time, she said, "This reminds me of the day on the beach."

His gaze seemed to focus on her mouth. Would he kiss her finally?

Then he settled her on the seat beside him. Of course, he wouldn't kiss her. He desired a marriage in name only. At least for now.

"We have arrived," he announced.

Tamsin whipped her head about to confirm what he said. She hadn't even noticed they were close to Penrose House. She'd been too engrossed in his embrace.

When the barouche came to a stop, Isaac climbed down. Offering his hand, he helped her to the ground. "We will leave after breakfast. I will dispatch a note to the inn for my valet to pack my things."

She let go of his hand reluctantly. His touch, even with their gloves, sparked a pleasing warmth. The attraction she'd felt for him in Weston hadn't dissipated. In fact, it suddenly felt stronger. Was that because he'd all but told her he didn't feel the same and now she wanted even more eagerly what she couldn't have?

Or was she looking for things that weren't there? For so long, she'd imagined her father cared for her, that he truly had her best interests at heart. When, in fact, he'd been utterly detached from her.

She needed to be careful she didn't make the same mistakes with Isaac. She could be optimistic, but it might behoove her to be a trifle guarded.

* * *

The wedding breakfast was merry and busy, with many people from the surrounding area stopping in to offer their congratulations. Isaac wasn't remotely surprised to see the number of people who wanted to wish Tamsin well.

She greeted everyone with her usual cheer, and her laughter filled every area she occupied. Isaac was glad to see her enjoying herself. Still, he detected a faint line between her brows. Just one. A lingering reaction from their conversation in the barouche, when he'd told her he preferred a marriage in name only, at least for now.

He'd realized that he needed to explicitly communicate that he didn't want intimacy, and he couldn't feel badly that he'd been honest about that, at least. He wasn't a good man. He was a rogue who'd already ruined one woman.

Even worse, he couldn't stop thinking of Tamsin in his arms, and then she'd fallen into them in the barouche. Now he was right back where he'd been with her in Weston, obsessing about when he would see her next. Whether he could kiss her…

But wanting to kiss his wife did not mean he would follow through with it. He hadn't kissed anyone in more than a decade. The thought of it filled him with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. He couldn't avoid it forever. Unless she decided she didn't want a real marriage either.

Except that wasn't his impression. She'd seemed disappointed by what he'd said, then said she could be patient, which meant she expected this was a temporary arrangement. What if it wasn't? What if Isaac was never ready to open himself up again?

Mrs. Dewhurst approached him, and Isaac relaxed a little. He genuinely liked his new grandmother-in-law.

"I would ask why you're standing over here by yourself," she said. "However, I gathered you do not care for social events, even when the purpose is to celebrate your own marriage."

"Guilty, I'm afraid. I am glad to see Tamsin having a good time."

"She always does," Mrs. Dewhurst said, her attention moving to Tamsin, who stood speaking with her cousin—who Isaac now realized was also his cousin by marriage—and the Prices.

"Does she take after her mother?" Isaac asked, thinking she definitely hadn't inherited her good humor from her father. Penrose had been skulking in the corner of the drawing room like a trapped animal for more than a quarter of an hour.

Mrs. Dewhurst visibly stiffened, and her jaw worked. Too late, Isaac realized he'd brought up the woman's daughter, who'd abandoned her daughter and husband. It was possible, if not likely, that Mrs. Dewhurst had a great many feelings about that, and he'd dredged all of them to the surface.

"No, Tamsin does not resemble her mother in any way, save some physical attributes," Mrs. Dewhurst said brusquely. "My daughter was a selfish person. Tamsin gets her optimism and pleasant nature from me and her grandfather. If I'm honest, it's primarily her grandfather. He was the kindest, biggest-hearted person I ever knew. Except for Tamsin." Her features softened as she looked toward her granddaughter once more.

"My apologies," Isaac said. "I didn't mean to bring up a disturbing subject."

Mrs. Dewhurst gave him a feeble smile. "My daughter's defection will probably always break my heart. I rarely think of her. It's easier that way."

Isaac understood that more than the woman could know. His gaze moved to Tamsin's father, still lurking in the corner of the drawing room. His eyes were wide and darted about the room as if he were searching for an escape. He seemed ill-equipped for social occasions. On that, at least, Isaac could commiserate with the man.

However, he was not interested in commiseration. He wanted to know why he'd lied about Tamsin. It had troubled her, with good reason, and Isaac didn't want her to be upset.

Having finished his glass of wine, Isaac set the empty glass on a table. "Please excuse me, Grandmama." She'd bade him call her that after the ceremony.

"Of course," she replied with a warm smile.

He made his way to his father-in-law. "Penrose, I'd like a word. Might we remove to your study?"

A profound look of relief passed over the older man's features. "Certainly." He led Isaac back to the corner of the house to his study. Once inside, his body relaxed, his shoulders dipping, and his brow flattening.

Isaac closed the door.

Penrose arched a brow at him. "Is that necessary?"

"I understood you prefer the door closed."

"I do, actually, but this is your interview, not mine," Penrose said. "What is it you wish to speak with me about?"

"Your daughter. I do not understand your machinations regarding her departing Penrose House and returning for the holidays and the summer." Isaac hadn't even told her about that part. "You made it sound as if she wanted to spend nearly half the year here, but that isn't true. You also indicated she was having trouble leaving, but that is not the case either. Furthermore, it's evident to me that when she is here, you pay little to no attention to her. Why then, do you care if she leaves or whether she visits?"

Though Isaac suspected he knew the answer already, he wanted to hear the man say it.

Penrose's jaw worked, and his hands flexed. "I pay attention to Tamsin, it's just that…my work is very important to me. It's all I have." His gaze met Isaac's, and there was a hint of desperation. "Surely a man who works as hard as you do understands that."

Isaac was definitely not going to commiserate with him about that. "Your work is not all you have—you have Tamsin. Why do you spend so much of your time ignoring her?" It reminded Isaac too much of his father, though he would have taken neglect over harsh expectations and unreasonable demands. His father had expected Isaac to be an automaton at a young age, and when he wasn't, the man could be quite cruel.

"I don't ignore her," he snapped. "She just…reminds me of her mother. I would never turn my back on Tamsin the way her mother did to us." Penrose scrubbed his hand over his face. "You are right—I have more than my work. I have—I had—Tamsin."

Penrose sank into a wooden chair next to his desk. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he stared ahead, his gaze unfocused. "I was a terrible husband. My work has always been the most important thing to me, and my wife knew that. She gave up on me. But Tamsin never did." He looked up at Isaac, unshed tears in his eyes. "She should have gone to live with her grandmother. It would have been better for her. But I couldn't let her go, not after losing her mother."

"Even though she was a constant reminder of what you'd lost?" Isaac could see her father's complicated emotions and pitied him for them. To feel such things could break a man, which was why Isaac preferred to eschew them. He began to comprehend why Penrose submersed himself in his work, especially if he had a penchant for doing so anyway. Isaac saw far too much of himself, and he didn't like it. He buried the notion.

"Yes," Penrose replied. "Though Tamsin reminded me every day of her mother, who chose to abandon us, I couldn't let Tamsin go too, even if that may have been what was best for her." He took a deep breath and wiped his hand over his eyes. "I won't do that now. I want her to be happy, and she thinks she can have that with you. She deserves that."

Isaac's gut twisted. Of course she would think they could be happy. She was a naturally optimistic person. And he'd immediately told her he wanted a marriage in name only.

Penrose stood and fixed Isaac with a beseeching stare. "Do your best to be a good husband to her. And, when the time comes, a loving father to your children. I want that so badly for her."

How could Isaac promise any of those things when he'd just told Tamsin their marriage would be something completely different? "I will do my best to ensure she's happy." That was not a lie, for he would do that. It was the least—and right now, best—he could offer her.

"Thank you. Please know you are both welcome here any time. I will even endeavor to spend more time in your company when you visit." He grimaced. "That will be easier for me—just the two of you. Last night and today are too many people for me to manage."

"I completely understand," Isaac said. "I too dislike large social events unless I have a clear goal, such as speaking to someone about business. I do not care to socialize for the sake of socializing."

Penrose's eyes lit with appreciation. "We are of a like mind, then." He smiled, and Isaac realized it was the first time he'd seen the man do so, even during the wedding ceremony earlier. But then, Isaac hadn't smiled either.

For the first time, he was angry at himself for not smiling, for not trying to smile. Tamsin deserved a husband who at least smiled at her on her wedding day, especially now that Isaac knew the kind of father she'd grown up with. While Penrose was a far sight better than Isaac's own father, he was still lacking in many ways.

At least he was trying to make up for it now. Isaac's father had never done that.

"Apparently, we are." Isaac straightened. "Tamsin and I will be leaving after the breakfast as we originally planned."

Penrose nodded, but there was a sadness lurking in his expression. "You go with my blessing."

"Thank you." Isaac glanced back at the door. "I suppose we should return to the infernal gathering."

Another smile lifted Penrose's lips. "Allow me a moment to collect myself. I'll be along directly."

Isaac turned. Before he opened the door, he looked back at Penrose. "Give yourself some grace. You've raised an extraordinary young woman. You may not have been as present as you should have been, but you did not abandon her. She seems to feel loved and secure, and that is the best we can hope for our children, isn't it?" Isaac had never felt those things. His father had made him feel like a burden and that he would never be good enough. Because, though he was his father's sole remaining family member, he couldn't ever compensate for the loss of his mother and brother. His presence hadn't been enough for his father to love him. Furthermore, Isaac had abandoned his own child. He didn't deserve a second chance with another.

Emotion began to overwhelm him. This was why Isaac hated feeling things and tried not to. When he'd revealed himself with Mary, it had all gone to hell. So, he didn't think about loving anyone. Or having children.

Having a family.

The thing he'd always craved, but had walked away from.

"That is indeed all we can hope for," Penrose said. "Thank you, Droxford. I'm pleased to welcome you to the family."

Opening the door, Isaac left the study. He purposely didn't close the door behind him. He didn't want Penrose to think he could hide or sulk. But perhaps he wouldn't want to. Perhaps he had realized that he needed to spend the last bit of time that he could with his daughter before she left to start her new life.