Chapter 6

As Droxford carried her across the sand, Tamsin clasped her hands around his neck. She'd been too focused on him instead of the ocean. But here he was rescuing her. Like a hero in a fairy tale. Tamsin had never felt so safe, so protected.

When he stopped, she was aware of his hands clasped around her waist. Their chests nearly touched. She could feel the brush of his hair against her fingertips where they touched his nape, just above his collar. Staring into his eyes, Tamsin imagined this was what it felt like just before a kiss.

Would he kiss her?

She knew in that moment that she wanted him to.

But then his hands were gone from her waist, and he took a step backward. "My apologies for overstepping, Miss Penrose. It seemed necessary with the wave rushing in." He glanced down at her skirt. "I deeply regret that you may have ruined another gown in my presence."

Tamsin looked at the hem of her skirt and waved her hand. "This won't be ruined, and neither was my yellow gown. Mrs. Bilson had no trouble removing the stain. She is my grandmother's housekeeper and cook."

"Still, I think my prediction that I may bring you luck was woefully inaccurate. I seem to deliver the opposite."

"That's absurd," she said, shaking some of the water from her skirt. "Neither the pea incident nor the wave was your fault. On the contrary, you saved me from the wave as I may have been drenched. You are, in fact, a hero."

He snorted. "Your characterization of me as a hero is amusing. Let us consider that you saved me from the boat trip and now I've saved you from an errant wave. We are friends who look out for one another."

"I like that." She looked down at the water droplets on his boots. "It's not fair that men can dress in a way in which a small wave doesn't dampen their clothing. Your boots are wet and nothing more. I, on the other hand, need to wring out my stockings."

"Did the water make it over the top of your half boots?" he asked with concern. "You should go back to the blanket and dry them out. I won't accompany you for propriety's sake."

Because seeing her bare feet would be scandalous. The idea made Tamsin want to giggle again. What on earth could be so imprudent about seeing a lady's bare feet? They weren't even a particularly attractive body part, at least in her estimation.

"That is for the best, I suppose. Will you continue the hunt for the cockleshell?" she asked.

"It is my primary objective," he said crisply. "Shall I accompany you to the path?"

"No, it isn't far. You needn't stay away too long." She turned but not entirely, pausing to say, "Thank you for plucking me out of the water."

"Thank you for preventing me from being on it in a boat."

Tamsin turned and hurried toward the path. The charged moment on the beach repeated in her mind. What a fool she'd been to think he would kiss her. Why would he? And why would she want him to? She was practically betrothed.

Or could be, anyway.

She now knew she wanted that—a husband. Whether it was the mystery man her father had written about or someone else. Droxford? Was he even looking for a bride? He had to be—he was a baron with a duty to provide an heir.

When she reached the blanket, she immediately flopped down and lifted the hem of her skirt to remove her boots.

"What happened?" Persephone asked.

"A wave caught us by surprise. I just want to wring out my stockings. They are wet and becoming cold."

"You should go home before you catch a chill," Ellis said with a slight frown.

Tamsin paused in removing her first boot. "Do you think so? It's a warm day."

Persephone shook her head. "You'll be fine. Just air them out for a bit. Where is Lord Droxford?"

"He's looking for my cockleshell." Tamsin set one boot aside and lifted her skirt high enough to unfasten her garter. She then rolled her stocking down and waved it around. It wasn't really wet enough to require wringing.

"I hope he's going to stay away while you practically disrobe." Ellis laughed softly. "You're lucky Mrs. Lawler isn't around to see this. She'd likely say you are ruined since the baron is within shouting distance." She rolled her eyes.

Mrs. Lawler was the busybody who'd seen Pandora and Bane kissing and then told every person she knew, as well as plenty she didn't.

"She absolutely would," Persephone said darkly. "Let's not speak of her. I do hope we won't see her at the soiree tomorrow night. I've nearly convinced Pandora to come, at least for a quarter hour. If we encounter that harpy, Pandora will want to leave immediately."

"Pandora should give her the cut direct," Tamsin said as she removed her second stocking. She laid the two of them out on the blanket and hoped the sun would sufficiently dry them before Droxford returned. How would he know it was safe to approach? They hadn't discussed that. Ah well, Mrs. Lawler wasn't here to cause problems, and anyway, nothing about this was at all improper.

Ellis picked up her lemonade. "We all should."

"I plan to steer clear of her," Persephone said. "Tamsin should too if something is stirring between her and the baron."

"Is it?" Ellis asked. Both she and Persephone looked at Tamsin with interest.

"Why would you think that?" Tamsin reached down to shake the hems of her garments in the hope they would dry faster.

Persephone arched a dark blonde brow. "Because you took a promenade through the garden at the Grove yesterday, and now he's off finding a shell that you covet."

Tamsin didn't meet their gazes. If they knew that she'd imagined him kissing her just a short while ago, they'd…what would they do? Would they encourage her growing interest in the baron? "We are friends. Nothing more. As you know, I'm to consider marriage to someone else."

Checking her stockings, Tamsin found them to be only slightly damp. She pulled them back on in case Droxford returned soon.

Persephone gave her a pointed look. "Well, if you were romantically interested in Droxford, I would advise you not to let your father's plans for a suitor deter you. He can't force you to wed anyone, though my parents did try to negotiate a marriage contract without my consent. I'm sure you know that story from Pandora."

Indeed, Pandora had shared that outrageous tale when she'd stayed with Tamsin. "Did you not feel even a slight duty to at least consider your parents' choice?"

Persephone laughed. "Not at all. For one, I'd already met my cousin Harold, and I knew I would never be interested in marrying him. Furthermore, they'd already tried to persuade me to marry Acton. My mother had set up a meeting where they fully expected we would agree to wed."

Ellis sipped her lemonade and set her cup securely on the blanket-covered ground. She looked to Tamsin. "I will hope that your father supports your decision, whatever it is."

Persephone cocked her head to the side. "On second thought, I can't imagine Tamsin with Droxford. She's far too cheerful for a man such as him. I'm afraid it would be a mismatch."

"Apparently, he can smile and even laugh," Ellis noted. "Shefford says he's seen it, that the baron was quite different when they met at Oxford."

Tamsin was now incredibly curious. If she asked him about that period, would he tell her?

"I do think it's time for some sustenance," Persephone said, leaning toward the picnic basket.

Tamsin finished putting her boots back on, and though they and the stockings were drier, they were still damp. And her feet would become damp again in no time.

Perhaps she ought to return to her grandmother's. Except then she wouldn't know if Droxford had found a cockleshell.

In the end, she opted to stay. Unfortunately, he returned empty-handed and in a decidedly aloof mood.

Yes, they would likely be a mismatch. While he seemed to lose some of his broodiness when in her presence, they were still quite different in temperament. It was for the best that Tamsin thought of him as just a friend. She ought to be thinking of the man her father wanted her to marry. A man who could very well be the fairy-tale hero she now knew she wanted.

* * *

Following a morning ride the next day with Shefford and Price, Isaac had broken his fast and bathed. Now, as he made his way downstairs, he reflected on how this year's trip to Weston had become extraordinary. He'd all but decided to leave tomorrow after attending tonight's soiree at the hotel, but after his walk on the beach with Miss Penrose yesterday, he nearly reconsidered that decision.

For a fleeting moment after he'd swept her into his arms to remove her from the water, he'd lost himself completely. Desire had crashed into him as surely as that wave, and he'd nearly kissed her. When was the last time he'd kissed a woman? More than a decade ago, for that was not one of the activities he paid for at the Rogue's Den, and his companion there knew not to engage him in it.

Thankfully, he'd regained his senses and moved away from Miss Penrose before he'd surrendered to behavior that would only lead to trouble. He would not be ruled by his roguish tendencies. That way led to ruin.

Shefford and Price were already in the billiards room when Isaac arrived. Shefford was drinking ale, and Price was throwing darts.

Isaac helped himself to an ale and sat down near Shefford.

"Either of you going to the soiree tonight?" Price asked. "My mother is insisting I attend." He made a disgruntled face as he launched a dart at the board.

Shefford sniggered. "You'd go anyway. I've never known you to miss a chance to dance with and charm the ladies. I'm going."

Price took aim with another dart. "While that is true, Weston is not London or even Bath."

"I've decided to attend," Isaac said, bracing himself for the inevitable surprise that would come.

Shefford turned toward him. "You missed the boat trip yesterday, and now you're going to the soiree?" He narrowed his eyes. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. I'm here. There's a soiree. I decided to attend." Isaac shrugged.

"No, no, it's not that simple." Shefford speared him with an inquisitive stare. "Is it because of Miss Penrose?"

Isaac nearly choked on his ale. After swallowing, he managed, "No. Why would you think that?"

Price responded. "Because you stayed behind yesterday after she changed her mind about going. Seemed to me you wanted to spend time with her."

That wasn't it at all, but Isaac didn't want to reveal the truth of the matter. In the back of his mind, a voice said he hadn't remained with the ladies just to avoid the boat. While that had been his primary motivation, the chance to hunt seashells with Miss Penrose had been a wonderful benefit. He said nothing to the others.

"She appeared to practically invite you to stay behind—all that nonsense with the basket carrying and the coach," Shefford said with a chuckle. "When I thought about it later, I deduced the two of you had arranged it, particularly when you said you hadn't concocted the scheme in order to return to the Grove."

"We did not arrange anything." Isaac drank more ale and contemplated going somewhere else.

"You walked off together at the luncheon the other day." Shefford studied Isaac. "And now you're going to a soiree without me dragging you. It seems plausible that something might be sparking between the two of you."

Isaac tried not to scowl. "Nothing is ‘sparking.'" If he were honest, it was flaring into a steady heat. At least for him. He'd no idea what Miss Penrose was thinking or feeling, nor did he want to find out. It didn't signify as he was not looking for courtship, and certainly not marriage.

Price turned from the board with a teasing smile. "When the duchess and Miss Dangerfield also opted to remain yesterday, did that ruin your plans?" This was what they did—provoke each other over nonsensical, unimportant, often far-fetched things. They did not typically taunt Isaac about women, but Price, with whom Isaac had spent little time before this week, didn't know that.

Tone dripping with sarcasm, Isaac responded, "Fine, you've caught me. Miss Penrose and I did hatch an elaborate scheme where we would be left alone while the rest of you took a boat to Steep Holm. That sounds exactly like something I would do."

Shefford exhaled. "It does not. Particularly after what Bane did last year, and your clear disapproval of his actions." He held up a hand. "Before you launch into another diatribe about his improper behavior, let me assure you that I agree. He behaved poorly."

"So, there's nothing between you and Miss Penrose?" Price asked.

"No," Isaac said firmly.

"I suppose I will owe Somerton five pounds," Shefford said with a sigh.

Isaac stared at him. "You made a wager with her cousin that we were becoming attached?" He should not have been surprised.

Shefford lifted a hand with a shrug. "We've wagered on worse."

"Somerton told you it was a bad bet," Price said with a laugh. "He said Droxford may never wed and certainly not soon."

"Somerton is correct," Isaac said. But if he were to marry, would he be romantically interested in Miss Penrose? Her behavior yesterday at the dock, seeing his agitation and doing whatever she could to keep it from worsening, made her a singular woman. And he was most definitely attracted to her. Indeed, his fixation on her was a distraction he couldn't afford and didn't want.

But the truth was that he didn't wish to wed. At least not now and, as Somerton had said, perhaps not ever.

As if conjured by their conversation, the viscount strolled into the billiards room. "I've arrived! What did I miss?"

Isaac glanced toward Shefford before smirking at Somerton. "Shefford owes you five pounds. There is nothing between your cousin and me beyond friendship."

"Told you," Somerton said to Shefford, also smirking. "Tamsin is my cousin, and while I spend most of my time here, I do see her and my grandmother. I would surely know if she had any romantic inclinations."

Shifting in his chair, Isaac felt a pang of disappointment. Why should that bother him? Did he want her to have romantic feelings for him? That would be pointless since he had no interest in forming any kind of lasting attachment with her.

"Go on and gloat." Shefford dug five pounds from his pocket and thrust the notes toward Somerton.

"Thank you very much," Somerton said as if they'd just concluded a successful business arrangement. Which it had been for Somerton, anyway. After tucking the notes into his coat, he turned toward Isaac. "If you were to become romantically interested in Tamsin, I would caution you. She is about as opposite to your sensibilities as one could be. I can only foresee her eternal cheer and positivity driving you mad."

For some reason, that made Isaac even grumpier. He set his ale down and stood. "I'm going for a walk. Alone."

"We wouldn't want to interrupt your brooding time," Shefford called after him.

Isaac didn't turn, but waved his hand as he left the room. Fetching his hat and gloves, he walked outside, where it was a bit overcast with a gentle breeze.

His mood had taken an absolute turn toward surly. Between his friends teasing him about Miss Penrose and learning from Somerton that she was not at all interested in him, Isaac wondered if he should depart for Wood End today.

But no, he couldn't. He had found the shell Miss Penrose had been looking for, despite telling her he hadn't, but hadn't wanted to give it to her in front of the duchess and Miss Dangerfield. He'd planned to give it to her at the soiree tonight. That would be the end of their association. Then he would leave tomorrow and return to his normal life.

Yes, normal. Where he managed his estate and did baron things, both of which he'd never anticipated.

Miss Penrose had made him forget what normal even was. She was exemplary in every way, and if he didn't find a way to stop thinking about her, he would be in serious trouble.

Already, he'd nearly fumbled by almost kissing her. Thankfully, he still had a rein on himself and was able to keep his inner rogue at bay.

Tomorrow, this would be a moot issue. He'd be on his way to Wood End, and Miss Penrose would be nothing more than a pleasant memory. Why did that trigger a sense of loss?

Blast, he was being incredibly maudlin, even for him. Kicking a rock on the path before him, Isaac looked about. He'd been walking without much thought for direction or destination.

Perhaps a quarter mile ahead, he glimpsed a roof. It appeared to be a cottage on a rise. He could make out smoke curling from a chimney.

He would walk as far as that, without going close enough to be intrusive, then return to the Grove. The narrow track led toward a lane, but there was also a less-traveled path veering to the left. Opting for the less-used direction, he strode through low grass and soon saw the rear of the cottage. It was larger than he'd anticipated and a substantial, ordered, very pretty garden was laid out along the back.

The flowers were simply stupendous, and Isaac wished he had something similar, but larger, at Wood End. The bees would love it. He had an urge to take a closer look so he could note the flowers in use.

Stealing closer, he saw many bees buzzing about. They seemed to be quite plentiful. And now he wondered if the cottage owner kept any bees. It would be a perfect opportunity to do so.

"Who's there?" a feminine voice called.

Blast, he'd moved too close. He waved. "The Baron Droxford. I was just admiring your garden," he called.

"Come have a look, then," she responded.

He hadn't realized she was older, in her sixties at least. Her voice hadn't betrayed her age. Indeed, her age was a bit of a mystery, for while her hair was gray and her skin slack, she possessed an exuberant air he typically saw in someone far younger.

Hoping she would be able to tell him about her garden, Isaac strode toward her. She stood next to a rosebush with a pair of pruning shears in her hand.

"Pardon my intrusion," Isaac said.

She chuckled. "You forget that we've met, my boy. I'm Somerton's grandmother."

Isaac had met her on a previous visit to Weston. He just hadn't recognized her, nor had he realized this was her cottage. He'd made her acquaintance at the hotel, if he recalled correctly.

"Of course, it's a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Dewhurst." At least he remembered her name.

He suddenly realized that if this was her cottage, then this was where Miss Penrose would be. Unless she wasn't at home. How had he managed to find himself here of all places?

"My garden attracted you?" she asked. "Are you a bee, Lord Droxford?" she asked with a chuckle.

"No, but I do keep them at my estate. I'm quite fascinated by them, in fact. Your garden is abundant with bees. I should very much like to know what flowers you keep."

"I'd be delighted to give you a tour." She set her shears on a low stool sitting nearby then guided him through the network of paths laid out among her extensive flower beds.

Isaac tried to catalog everything in his brain, but wasn't sure he'd recall it all. "Would it be too much trouble to ask you to write a list of your flowers?"

"Not at all. Why don't you come inside for tea? You can see my granddaughter. I know you've met."

Had Miss Penrose talked about him to her? "That would be lovely, thank you."

He followed her onto a small patio and then into the house, entering through a rear door that led to what appeared to be the drawing room. It was furnished with two distinct seating areas but still felt cozy with a floral-patterned wall covering and a thick, yellow and green carpet.

"Tamsin, we've a guest," Mrs. Dewhurst stated.

Was Miss Penrose here?

A head popped up from a chaise on the other side of the room. She'd been blocked from their view by other furniture. Standing, she held a book which she closed. Dressed in an ivory gown with sprigged flowers, her hair plaited atop her head in a simple but charming style, she was even prettier than she had been in his mind. And she'd occupied a great deal of it lately.

"Lord Droxford!" she exclaimed, coming forward. "What brings you to Beachside?"

"Is that the name of your cottage?" he asked Mrs. Dewhurst.

"Yes," Miss Penrose's grandmother responded before looking to her granddaughter. "The baron saw my garden and was compelled to speak with me about it."

"I was fortunate you were outside," he said.

"You like gardens?" Miss Penrose asked.

"Bees, actually. Your grandmother's garden supports a great many. I should like to duplicate that at Wood End. We keep bees there, and I'd like to attract more of them."

"I'm just going to write a list of the flowers I keep," Mrs. Dewhurst said. "I'll have tea sent in before I go to my writing desk. You'll both excuse me for a bit?" she asked, then bustled off without waiting for an answer.

"You have won an admirer for life," Miss Penrose said with a smile. "Anyone who shows interest in my grandmother's garden is exceptionally well regarded by her."

"Lucky me," he said. "She took me on a tour, and I was amazed to learn that she designed the garden herself. Her knowledge is astonishing. Perhaps I should just invite her to Wood End and ask her to lay out a new garden."

Miss Penrose laughed lightly. "She would probably do so with glee. Where is your estate?"

"Hampshire. I have just over eight hundred acres."

"That's quite large."

He shrugged. "Not as large as some. Somerton's estate has over a thousand."

"Does it?" She blinked. "I confess I've never paid attention to such things. My father's property in St. Austell is not large, but it is sufficient."

Isaac hoped he didn't sound pompous. "Actually, eight hundred acres is large, particularly when one is raised at a rectory in a small seaside village."

"I imagine that was an adjustment for you. Somerton has told me that you hadn't expected to inherit the title. I understand that means others in your family passed away, and I'm sorry for that."

"It was a surprising—and grievous—series of events, to be sure. I'd just become a barrister when I had to completely change my plans. It was jarring, but I found the challenge invigorating."

"You like being the baron, then?"

"I do. I very much like working on and managing the estate. Not that I do everything. I employ a very accomplished and reliable steward."

"And you keep bees," she noted. Suddenly, the book fell from her hand, landing on the carpet.

Isaac bent to retrieve it, and she did the same. They met as they crouched together, their hands colliding as they both reached for the book.

He did not pull his hand away, nor did she. Nor did they rush to straighten. Instead, time seemed to lengthen and still as they looked at one another, their hands touching. Again, Isaac contemplated kissing her, which was shocking since he hadn't kissed anyone in over a decade. What about Miss Penrose had captivated him completely? For he was truly enthralled by her.

She blinked, and he withdrew his hand. Picking up the book, she rose. Isaac did the same, sorry the moment between them was over.

"Forgive me, shall we sit?" She led him to a small round table at the edge of the seating area where she'd been reading, as if they hadn't just shared a charged encounter. Or perhaps it had only felt that way to him. That would be unsurprising given his nature. Of course, he would think like a rogue and want to kiss her. It was precisely why he should be staying away from her, and yet here he was in her presence again.

Settling into one of the three chairs at the table, she added, "Mrs. Bilson, Grandmama's housekeeper and cook, will bring tea in a moment. I hope you like almond cakes, for she makes the very best."

Isaac took the chair to her right. "I do like almond cakes. Is she the one responsible for saving your gown from the wine disaster? I do hope your garments were not damaged by the wave yesterday."

"Yes, Mrs. Bilson can remove any stain from anything. And there was absolutely no harm done to my clothing, though the interior of my boots did not appreciate the saltwater dousing. They are still drying in the kitchen."

The housekeeper entered carrying a tray, which she set on the table. After exchanging pleasantries, she offered to pour.

"I understand you make the best almond cakes in England," Isaac said to Mrs. Bilson.

She blushed faintly as she finished preparing two cups. "Tamsin thinks so. I hope she hasn't set you up for disappointment."

"I'm sure she has not."

Mrs. Bilson looked to Miss Penrose. "You'll make your grandmother's cup when she returns?"

"I will, thank you."

Inclining her head and giving them a smile, the housekeeper departed.

Miss Penrose took a cake and placed it on the plate before her before looking at him. "Did you come to Beachside on purpose to see my grandmother's garden?"

"No. I went for a walk and happened upon it. I didn't even realize who the cottage and garden belonged to until your grandmother told me. I'm afraid I didn't recognize her," he said with regret as he helped himself to an almond cake. Taking a bite, he could confirm it was, in fact, among the best he'd tasted. He would not tell Mrs. Corwin, the cook at Wood End.

"I thought perhaps Somerton had told you about it—the garden, I mean. Well, what a happy coincidence that you are here."

A happy coincidence. But she would likely say that about everyone who happened by. She was, by her very nature, positive and charming and it had nothing to do with him specifically.

She sipped from her teacup. "Do you dance? I hoped I might look forward to you asking me tonight at the soiree."

Grimacing, he admitted, "I don't care for dancing. Nor am I good at it." But in that moment, he wished he did and was. It seemed unlikely he could improve his lackluster skill enough before that evening. "We could promenade in the garden, if you like?" Then he could give her the shell and tell her he'd enjoyed making her acquaintance.

"I would like that, thank you."

"Here we are," Mrs. Dewhurst announced as she sailed into the drawing room with a piece of parchment. "A list of flowers for you, my lord." She set the paper on the table, then took the remaining chair.

Miss Penrose moved to pour her grandmother's tea. "Droxford and I have decided you should go to his estate and design his new garden."

Mrs. Dewhurst's lively blue eyes lit with interest. "Have you? I can't say I wouldn't enjoy that." She plucked up her teacup and smiled broadly at Isaac. "Just tell me when, and I'll be there."

It seemed tonight might not be the last he'd see of Miss Penrose. Assuming she accompanied her grandmother to Wood End to design his new bee garden. And why would she? It was his understanding that Miss Penrose only visited Weston for the month of August. The rest of the year, she resided in distant Cornwall. Far enough away to be untouchable.

Isaac didn't know whether to be greatly relieved or massively disappointed.