Chapter 3

They were to mingle for a short while before the luncheon, so Tamsin chatted with Minerva and her companion, Miss Ellis Dangerfield. The oldest of them, at twenty-five, Ellis had come to live with Min's family when she was nine. Somewhat reserved, with intelligent eyes and pretty blonde hair, she'd been orphaned, having lost both parents to illness. Her family had, at some point, been close to the Dukes of Henlow, and the current duke had taken Ellis in. She'd been Min's companion ever since.

"Mrs. Ogilvie isn't attending?" Tamsin referred to the ancient woman who acted as Min's chaperone outside London when Min's mother wasn't present. She was Min's mother's great-aunt's cousin or some other far-flung relation.

Ellis shook her head in response. "This is when she takes her first nap. She reasoned that Min didn't need a chaperone since the duke and duchess are here."

Tamsin found it passing strange that Ellis never seemed to be included in the chaperonage, but she was not on the Marriage Mart. Still, as companion to Min, she comported herself with the utmost integrity and propriety. Tamsin wondered what Ellis would do when Min wed.

"Look at Droxford standing by himself, aloof as always," Min said. "I have gathered he does not care for social gatherings."

Tamsin noted the frown lines crossing his forehead beneath the brim of his hat, though he wasn't exactly frowning. "Do you know why?"

"Not specifically," Min replied. "He is fairly serious and very committed to his work—running his estate and sitting in the Lords. Sheff has said that because Droxford never expected to be the baron, he sees his responsibility as a privilege and does his best to preserve the legacy he's inherited."

"Perhaps he's just uncomfortable in social situations," Tamsin said. "I'll try to put him at ease." Smiling, she made her way toward the baron.

He was tall with broad shoulders, his clothing as dark as his expression. Thick brows crested his tumultuous gray eyes. They somehow managed to be simultaneously cool and smoldering.

His gaze met hers. The frown lines did not disperse.

"Good afternoon, Lord Droxford," Tamsin said.

In fact, the lines now deepened. "Are you here to prod me to smile?"

"No, but would that be bad?" When he did not respond except to slightly narrow his eyes at her, she continued, "I understand you don't care for social occasions."

"Typically, I do not. I was thinking of going into the house. I've correspondence that requires my attention." He shifted his focus toward the door, and Tamsin moved to block his view.

"Please don't. Min has worked very hard to prepare this luncheon, and she'll be cross if there's an empty seat at the table." Tamsin lowered her voice. "It will also give Sheff something to tease her about."

The baron's gray eyes widened slightly. "I hadn't considered that." He exhaled. "I've no wish to cause disharmony. I suppose I must stay."

Tamsin smiled. "That's the spirit. What is it about social occasions that you dislike?"

"The social part."

His answer was both dour and wry. Tamsin felt the urge to giggle. "I think you possess a sense of humor, my lord. How disarming."

He narrowed one eye at her, his expression becoming skeptical. "Are you flirting with me, Miss Penrose? You should know that I do not flirt."

"I'd heard you were not a rogue like your friends, but to answer your question, I was not flirting. I simply enjoy people who know how to laugh."

"That is not me," he said darkly. "Perhaps you haven't heard that I don't laugh. Ever."

"Never ever?"

He shook his head.

"Then you can't possibly be a rogue. They tend to laugh as well as flirt."

"That is your definition of a rogue? A man who laughs and flirts? Forgive me if I disagree. A rogue is far more dangerous than that."

Dangerous? Tamsin supposed that was true. She was just surprised to hear that from a man whose friends' behavior was, arguably, the definition of roguery. "A rogue is also someone who flouts convention and Society's rules, who perhaps gambles too much or pursues the companionship of women to the detriment of his reputation, who oversteps when it comes to young ladies and appropriate behavior. Moreover, someone who lacks integrity and decency. Your friend Bane is a prime example of a rogue."

Droxford looked away from her, the muscles of his throat working. "I'm not sure Bane is still my friend. You are correct that he is a rogue. Some might even say a blackguard. What he did to Miss Barclay was unforgiveable."

Tamsin was surprised at the vehemence in Droxford's tone. He'd also disagreed with the notion that rogues were simply men who flirted and laughed. He clearly had an opinion on the matter. "You feel quite strongly."

"I was raised with a very distinct sense of right and wrong. Bane's behavior was decidedly wrong."

"It's settled, then," Tamsin declared. "You are most definitely not a rogue." She looked into his eyes and gave him a brilliant smile.

For the barest moment, something flashed across his face. It wasn't quite surprise, but something with a grim edge. Horror or revulsion? "I daresay you do not know me well enough to make that assessment."

His tone was cold, and his features shuttered. Yes, that was an apt description, for looking at the baron made her feel as though she regarded someone who held himself apart—and not just physically as he'd done by standing away from everyone. Did he think himself a rogue?

She had a keen and sudden desire to pull him forward into the light. Would he come?

"You can't be a rogue because my friends and I do not associate with rogues. Well, the other gentlemen notwithstanding," she said with a grimace as she glanced toward her cousin in particular. "I'm afraid we must associate with them because they are related to us. It doesn't mean we approve of their behavior. In fact, we do our best to avoid it. We even wrote down rules to keep us from being drawn in by a rogue as Pandora was by Bane." Tamsin cocked her head to the side. "Can you imagine if she'd actually married Bane? I hate that she was ruined, but she and I have agreed she's likely better off. Could there be any fate worse than marrying a rogue?"

Droxford stared at her a long moment. "No, I suppose not."

"I saw that we are seated next to one another," she said, deciding it best to direct their conversation to brighter territory rather than the topic of roguery. "I'm looking forward to deepening our acquaintance." She meant it. While she'd wanted to put him at ease, she now found she wished to go a step further and bring him cheer.

He studied her a moment. "Now I remember you from last year. And the year before. You are always irrationally cheerful."

Tamsin laughed. "Irrationally? Goodness. No one has said that to me before. I'd like to think I've a reason to be cheerful."

"And what is that?" Droxford asked, seeming genuinely curious. "Is it just that I've managed to be around you on your happiest days, or are you always like this?"

"I'm always like this, I'm afraid." She sighed. "Since I was a child. My grandfather persistently encouraged me to find joy in every single day, because each one is a gift."

"You must have had a lovely childhood," he said flatly.

"It wasn't perfect," she said, of course not mentioning her mother's abandonment. "Which was why it was important for me to generate happiness from within."

He stared at her as if she'd grown a second nose. Tamsin lifted her hand to her face. "Have I sprouted a wart?" she asked.

Before he could answer, Min announced that it was time to take their seats.

Droxford offered Tamsin his arm. "May I escort you?"

"Thank you." She placed her hand on his sleeve and felt an instant jolt of energy. It was as if a bright warmth had leapt from him to her, which seemed ridiculous since he was the opposite of bright. Nevertheless, the sensation made her want to lean into him.

The baron held her chair while she sat then took the place next to her where he was assigned. Min, who was at one end of the table, was on Droxford's other side, and Tamsin's cousin Somerton was across from him.

Footmen poured wine and brought the first course. Min looked between Droxford and Somerton. "I hear my brother is planning an excursion to Steep Holm."

"The island in the channel?" Tamsin asked.

Somerton nodded. "Yes. We're to go the day after tomorrow."

"I want to come along," Min said. "However, Sheff will likely say ladies aren't invited. I don't suppose the two of you would convince him to include us?" She smiled prettily at both gentlemen.

Tamsin noted the furrows in the baron's brow. Leaning toward him, she whispered, "Do you not want to ask Sheff?" Perhaps he was annoyed that Min wanted to go. Did he prefer to ensure it was a gentlemen-only trip?

"I have no problem speaking with him, though I can't imagine why any of you would want to go. Sheff intends to explore caves."

He hadn't kept his voice low, and Min reacted with exuberance. "Exploring caves sounds exciting!"

Droxford shrugged. "Perhaps because I grew up near caves in Dunster, I am less enthusiastic."

"I can understand that." Tamsin wondered if it was more, however. Instead of seeming uninterested, he appeared slightly agitated. Or perhaps she was making assumptions. She found herself studying him rather intently. Something about him was most alluring. Perhaps it was the fact that he didn't smile and didn't care for social gatherings. Or that he had opinions on what it meant to be a rogue. She found him fascinating.

A few minutes later, the plates were exchanged for the primary course, succulent partridge with several vegetables including parsnips and peas. Tamsin looked over at Droxford. "Since you grew up in Dunster, you must enjoy the sea."

"I do."

"I do as well," she said. "I am from St. Austell."

"I thought your accent was Cornish," he said.

"I suppose Somerton doesn't mention me." She flicked a glance toward her cousin, who met her gaze.

Somerton had heard what she said and cocked his head slightly. "We do not discuss ladies to whom we are related."

"I don't discuss ladies at all," Droxford said with a faint glower directed at Somerton, who grinned in response.

"Drox is more reserved than the rest of us," Somerton said.

"To his credit." Min lifted her wineglass in Droxford's direction.

The baron picked up his own glass, and at that precise moment, a pea hit him in the eye. He flinched, and his wine splashed across Tamsin's sleeve and onto her bodice. She gasped as some of the liquid landed on her bare flesh above the top of her gown.

"What the devil," Droxford said loudly as he rubbed at his eye.

"My apologies!" Shefford called from the other end of the table. "You were not my intended target. I really should have practiced more," he added in a lower but still discernible tone.

Min scowled at him down the length of the table. "I'm sure you meant to hit me."

"It was just a pea," Shefford said defensively.

"You hit Droxford in the eye!" Min cried.

"And caused me to spill my wine on Miss Penrose," Droxford added with clear irritation.

Tamsin mopped at her gown with her napkin. Surprisingly, the baron reached over and began to apply his own napkin, not to her sleeve, but to the skin above her bodice.

She snapped her gaze to his as another odd sensation rippled through her. His gray eyes were as storm filled as they'd been earlier, and the heat was still there. At the moment, there was nothing cold about him at all. She felt suddenly breathless as he dabbed the cloth on her bare flesh. Not just any flesh, but an area that was scandalously close to her bosom. Did he not realize?

Perhaps horrifyingly, Tamsin did not find herself jerking away.

"What are you doing, Drox?" Somerton demanded.

The baron pulled his hand away. "Forgive me. I didn't think."

Tamsin continued to dab at her gown, and a footman brought her fresh linen while taking the soiled napkin away. "It's quite all right. You were just trying to help." She smiled at him, not wanting him to feel badly.

"This is Sheff's fault," Min declared. "What a juvenile thing to do. And you've ruined Tamsin's dress."

Shefford's features pressed into a brief grimace as he regarded Tamsin. "My apologies, Miss Penrose."

"You should send one back at him," Droxford murmured to her. "Or I can."

Tamsin shot him a look of surprise, then suppressed a giggle. He did have a sense of humor and wasn't at all as gloomy as he seemed. "I'm afraid I wouldn't hit my target either. I'm woefully unpracticed in pea flinging," she said softly.

Droxford's lips twitched. It wasn't a smile, but it was definite amusement. Suddenly, Tamsin's chest felt incredibly light.

"Do you want to change into one of my gowns?" Min offered to Tamsin.

"I think I'll be all right. It's not that wet." She'd finished dabbing at her bodice and had moved on to her sleeve.

"Ow!" Shefford exclaimed.

Tamsin swung her head about to see the earl rubbing his forehead. He glowered toward the baron, but only briefly before inclining his head.

"Well aimed, Droxford," Shefford said, lowering his hand to pick up his wineglass. He offered a toast. "To the baron who brandishes a spoon with terrifying dexterity."

Everyone lifted their glasses and toasted Droxford.

"But was a parsnip necessary?" Shefford asked in exasperation. "I only used a pea."

"I simply grabbed what was most convenient," Droxford said with a shrug.

Tamsin slid a sly smile toward the man beside her. From what she could discern, he was not as somber as he appeared. She looked forward to proving that theory.

* * *

While pelting Shefford with a parsnip had been most satisfying, Isaac spent the remainder of the meal wishing he could go back in time and not accost Miss Penrose with his napkin. He knew better than to touch a lady inappropriately. He'd never touched a woman without her consent.

Miss Penrose had likely changed her mind about him and decided he was, in fact, a rogue. Good. It was better that she knew who he was at his core and stayed away from him. She was far too sweet to want to be in his company.

Lady Minerva stood as the meal concluded and announced there would be bowling. The guests began rising from the table and moving toward the lawn, where footmen had set up the game.

Isaac moved to hold Miss Penrose's chair. Standing, she faced him and offered her thanks.

"Droxford, I do hope you're going to take Tamsin for a short promenade so you can apologize," Somerton said as he stood. Was he teasing? Or was he angry with Isaac for inadvertently groping his cousin?

Somerton would have every right to be upset with him.

"Of course," Isaac said with a solemn nod. He'd been hoping to avoid Miss Penrose for she provoked something odd within him. Something he preferred to ignore. But he did owe her an apology. He turned to her and asked, "Will you promenade with me?"

"That would be lovely." She put her hand on his sleeve once more, and as earlier when he'd escorted her to the table, his body reacted with a flash of heat. That something he wanted to ignore was attraction. He hadn't experienced it in over a decade.

They walked from the patio to a path that wound through the formal garden. Isaac immediately launched into his apology. "I deeply regret my actions earlier," he said. "I don't know what possessed me to touch you in such an inappropriate manner. I hope you are not too angry with me."

"I'm not angry at all. It takes a great deal more than that to pique my temper." She tipped her head and looked over at him. "I am not even sure I have a temper. At least not a bad one."

He had no difficulty imagining that. "I am still horrified by my behavior. I do hope you will forgive me."

Miss Penrose put her other hand on his sleeve so that she was clasping him with both. It was somehow more intimate. And distracting. "There is nothing to forgive," she said. "You were merely trying to help, and in the moment, that seemed more important to you than propriety, which I applaud."

"Thank you." He tried not to think of how she was now closer to him with both hands on his person. "I suspected Shefford would do something to sabotage his sister's luncheon, but I didn't think he'd stoop to a food fight."

Miss Penrose paused and turned toward him. This brought them even closer together, and Isaac's breath stuttered, then came faster. "How is your eye anyway? I should have been tending to you. An injury is far worse than a sullied gown." She stood on her toes and looked into his left eye. "Does it pain you?"

He faced her, and she released one of her hands from his sleeve, much to his dismay. "No. It stung for a moment, but then I was more concerned with your ruined gown." His gaze flicked toward her bodice, which had dried. Though the wine had been pale, there was still a faint discoloration on the pretty golden-yellow silk. He wondered if he should plant Shefford a facer for ruining her gown.

Too late, he realized he'd been staring at her chest for far too long. And not because he'd been observing her breasts. Though, now that he looked at them, he had to admit they were enchantingly high and round. Blast, he was becoming worse than a rogue.

He jerked his gaze up to her face, then pivoted to propel them forward along the path once more. "I hope your gown isn't permanently stained."

"I'm sure it will be fine. It's seen several seasons and has survived a great many mishaps."

Isaac had little knowledge of fashion, so he couldn't have said if the gown was à la mode. "Has it?"

"Actually, I do not have occasion to wear it often. I spend most of my time at home or visiting neighbors and people in town. In St. Austell, I mean. This gown is for more formal gatherings, and I rarely attend any."

He found that interesting since he perceived her to be someone who enjoyed being social, unlike himself. Perhaps they were at odds—she wished to be more social and wasn't and he preferred to do less. Unfortunately, his position in the House of Lords required him to attend events that he otherwise wouldn't.

And yet here he was in Weston, as he was every year, with friends. It seemed he didn't dislike being with others as much as he thought. Rather, it was this specific group of people and the fact that it was a small gathering.

Miss Penrose also didn't hurt matters. Indeed, she improved them.

"Why is it you don't attend more formal events?" he asked.

She lifted a shoulder. "St. Austell is small. There isn't much of a society there. Mostly, I take care of my father's household. It's just him and me—and our retainers, of course. But we don't have a great many of those. Penrose House isn't large. I do love to spend time on the beach where I collect shells. That is a solitary endeavor, however."

"Why? Is there no one who will accompany you? I would." Had he offered to spend time with someone he'd just met? Isaac didn't quite understand what was happening here.

"How heartening to learn," she said, her eyes sparkling. Isaac was absolutely enchanted by her. He could stare at her all day. "What of the excursion to Steep Holm? By your own admission, you weren't enthused. Would you rather the ladies didn't come?"

"Not at all." He exhaled. "Honestly, I'd rather not go."

They'd almost completed their garden circuit. Isaac would prefer to go around again than bowl.

"Because you aren't interested in seeing the caves?" she asked.

"Actually, I don't care for boats." Had he actually admitted that out loud? What sort of spell had she cast upon him to coax forth his secrets as well as provoke him to desire her company?

"Is there a particular reason?" Her expression was so sympathetic, so caring, that for some reason he couldn't identify, he was going to reveal one of his secrets, which he'd never done.

"When I was a boy, I assisted a fisherman in Dunster where I grew up. I didn't really like being on the boat—it made me queasy—but my father insisted I work to build my character."

"And did it?" she asked with a sincerity that surprised him.

"I'm not certain, but I suppose everything we do in our youth supports that."

"Is it that the boat will make you queasy, then?" She looked at him with such care that he blurted the truth, which he'd never shared with anyone.

"The water was especially rough one day, and we capsized. I was afraid I would drown." Thinking of it now, he felt as though he couldn't draw a full breath.

Her grip on his arm tightened but not painfully. "I'm so sorry. You needn't go to Steep Holm."

"That may be, but I don't spend a great deal of time in Weston, not even the full week the other gentlemen typically stay, and Shefford is campaigning most strongly that I go."

"If he is a good friend, he'll respect your desire not to accompany them."

"I'll consider it." He couldn't help but feel encouraged by her support. Shefford was a good friend, but Isaac suspected he'd made another friend today in Miss Penrose. "Will you go if the ladies are invited?"

"It does sound exciting, I admit." She cast him an eager smile. "I haven't been out on the sea, if you can believe that. I do wonder if I would be queasy too."

"You should go," he said, despite thinking it would have been nice to go shell collecting on the beach with her instead. "Everyone should experience being on the sea at least once."

"I'll consider it," she echoed with a teasing smile. "If we're even invited, though I won't discount Min's abilities of persuasion, even with her brother. They have an odd relationship. I know they love each other very much, but they also tease each other ruthlessly. I suppose I don't understand because I don't have siblings. Do you?"

"No, I do not have siblings either. But if I did, I would not behave the way Sheff and Lady Minerva do."

"It's easy for us to say as spectators," she said with a light laugh. She sent him a sidelong glance. "I have a question for you. If the pea hadn't hit you in the eye, would you have found Sheff's prank amusing?"

"Doubtful. I haven't ever cared for such antics."

"But your return volley was most excellent. I would have guessed you had experience with flinging food." Her eyes were alight with mischief, and Isaac was falling deeper into her entrancement.

Again, he revealed a secret, or a long-buried truth. "I may have participated in a food fight or two at Christ Church—the college I attended at Oxford where I met Sheff."

"Aha! I knew it," she crowed. "Perhaps someday you can teach me how to launch a parsnip."

He felt the urge to smile, which rarely happened. "Why? Do you plan to begin a career of pelting people with vegetables?"

She giggled. "No. I suppose I don't really need to learn." She sighed in mock disappointment as they reached the patio. "It's a shame you don't stay very long at the Grove. You are most diverting. Can I convince you stay longer? At least until the other gentlemen leave?"

She wanted him to stay? He was used to Sheff and Somerton trying to convince him to remain, and they were never successful. Miss Penrose, however, might be able to persuade him. He found he was very much looking forward to seeing her again.

But no. He couldn't want that. What would be the point? He had no interest in courtship or marriage. He was busy with Wood End and in the House of Lords. There was no time or space for a woman.

"I'll consider?—"

She cut him off. "Don't say it." Then she laughed. "You really are the most sober gentleman. I shall take it as a personal challenge to coax a smile from you before you depart. I'll have to work quickly in case you leave after the soiree at the Weston Hotel."

Isaac wasn't aware of a soiree. He nearly groaned. More people. More socializing. And probably dancing, which he loathed. "When is that?"

"The day after the trip to Steep Holm."

Lady Minerva called out to them, "Tamsin, aren't you going to come and bowl?"

"Yes!" She pivoted toward Isaac once more. "Let's join them."

"You go. I've correspondence to complete."

"Do you really, or have you simply reached your limit for socializing?"

The truth was that he could have stayed and talked with Miss Penrose all day. That was not an option, however, as they would need to go join the others or else raise eyebrows for their behavior. Indeed, he was likely to sustain a great deal of teasing from his friends about this lengthy promenade. Isaac didn't do such things.

Why on earth was he doing it now, then?

"Both, I'm afraid," he said in response to her clever question. She saw him in a way others did not. It was both wonderful and terrifying.

She took her hand from his arm. "Don't be afraid," she said softly, her eyes dazzling him with a bright heat. "Be joyful. If you want to go work, go work and be glad for it. If you choose solitude to quiet your mind, or whatever the reason, do so because it makes you happy."

Giving him a brilliant smile, she turned and skipped away toward the lawn.

It took Isaac a moment to recall what he was doing or even where he was. The spell Miss Penrose had cast lingered, and he suspected it would for some time.