Chapter 7

"Your gown is simply glorious," Grandmama said as they stepped out of the coach at the Weston Hotel that evening. She'd insisted on Tamsin having a new gown for the soiree. Tamsin hadn't argued since her wardrobe was rather wanting, not that it mattered. She had almost no occasion to wear evening clothes at home in St. Austell.

Looking down at the luminous blue-green silk, Tamsin felt grander than she ever had. She also wore an aquamarine pendant that belonged to her grandmother, along with matching combs in her hair. "I feel like a princess," she said softly.

"You look like one." Grandmama beamed as she took Tamsin's gloved hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm sure Lord Droxford will think so too. I very much enjoyed his visit this afternoon, and I am pleased he will take you for a promenade. It's not a dance, but it is promising." She gave Tamsin an enthusiastic grin.

Tamsin nearly tripped. Was her grandmother hoping they might make a match? They were still awaiting a response from Tamsin's father about her potential suitor. "Grandmama, I don't think a promenade with the baron promises anything. Besides, what about my father's mystery bridegroom?"

Grandmama waved her hand as if she were batting away an annoying insect. "Bah. Never mind that nonsense. And you never know what could happen. Perhaps Droxford will take one look at you tonight and decide he must have you as his wife."

Tamsin could not deny that she liked the baron or that she was attracted to him. But marriage? She thought of what her friends had said about him, that his disposition was so different from hers.

There was no reason for her to consider a future with Droxford. They weren't even courting. However, there was a gentleman out there who was interested in marrying her, and he would arrive in Weston at some point. Tamsin needed to put her energy toward that, not the baron.

They walked into the hotel and made their way to the parlor, the largest room on the ground floor. Much of the furniture had been moved out, but there were chairs along the walls.

"Do you want to sit, Grandmama?"

"Not yet. I'd like to speak with a few people. Oh, there is Mrs. Price. I enjoyed meeting her last year." She referred to Gwen's mother, a tall, dark-haired woman with a simple but elegant sense of style. She wore a burgundy gown that complemented her almost olive complexion.

They went to greet Mrs. Price. Gwen was standing with her and smiled upon seeing Tamsin. "Your gown is splendid. That's a beautiful color on you. It matches your eyes nearly perfectly."

"That is why my grandmother chose it," Tamsin said. "Are the others here yet?"

"Min and Ellis are." Gwen, who wore a dark golden-yellow gown and a matching feather in her hair, inclined her head toward the other side of the room where they stood speaking with a local couple.

Tamsin noted the arrival of Lord Droxford. He walked over the threshold into the parlor, and the room contracted. He looked very handsome in a black coat and breeches. His waistcoat was gray but shot with silver thread, and his cravat was simple but pristinely arranged. She imagined he didn't like a fussy neckcloth, nor would that suit him.

His gaze traveled around the room until it met hers. He didn't move, but his eyes held hers, seeming to promise…something.

Tamsin experienced a wave of heat and a flutter of anticipation in her belly. She wished they could dance. Perhaps she could change his mind.

"What are you looking at?" Gwen's gaze moved to the doorway. "Droxford?" She pivoted toward Tamsin. "He looks most pleasing this evening."

"He does indeed," Tamsin murmured. He still hadn't looked away from her.

Another gentleman stepped behind the baron. Tall, with brown hair that had gone gray at the temples, he said something to Droxford. The baron moved out of the way so the other man could move into the parlor.

As the older man stepped into the light from the chandelier overhead, Tamsin recognized him. He was a friend of her father's, a scholar from Gloucester. What was he doing here?

As Droxford had done, the man, Mr. Octavius Brimble, looked about the room until his focus settled on Tamsin. He walked directly toward her. "Good evening, Miss Penrose. I am pleased to find you here."

Tamsin dipped a brief curtsey to the man she'd known most of her life. He visited once each year and stayed a week, or sometimes a fortnight, during which he and her father shut themselves in the study to discuss…whatever interested them. Though her father was even more unreachable during that week, Tamsin had always been glad her father had a friend.

"Mr. Brimble, I'm surprised to see you in Weston."

"Are you? I thought your father had written to inform you that I would be arriving here to convey you to St. Austell."

A horrible sinking feeling pulled on Tamsin's insides. "Why is that?"

Mr. Brimble's brow furrowed in a vexed expression. "I am keen to arrive in St. Austell with due haste as I need to be at Oxford by the start of October for a conference. We will need time for the banns to be read."

Tamsin was glad Gwen was near, for she instinctively gripped her friend's arm. Gwen, bless her, put her hand over Tamsin's and held her tightly.

"I was, ah, not aware that you were the gentleman coming to Weston," Tamsin said, her dreams of a fairy-tale hero turning to ash. "Or that a betrothal had been finalized," she added faintly.

Mr. Brimble's thin lips pursed into a near pout. "Your father wrote to me that this would be acceptable. Indeed, he seemed quite eager for us to wed."

Tamsin couldn't believe this man was her father's choice, his friend whom she'd known since she was a child. She could not, under any circumstance, consider him as a husband.

However, she said nothing as she couldn't seem to put words together. Her thoughts somersaulted over themselves trying to make some sense of what was happening. Had her father really thought they would make a good match?

The hotel's owner announced that the dancing would begin. Mr. Brimble held out his hand to Tamsin. "Shall we dance?"

It would be rude to decline, and Tamsin hadn't ever been rude. Not once. She released Gwen, who seemed reluctant to let go, and hesitantly placed her hand in his, grateful they were both wearing gloves.

He led her to the middle of the floor, where they joined the line that was forming. Soon, the music started, and Tamsin was able to focus on the dance instead of the disaster brewing before her. She did not want to cause a scene. Hopefully, she could keep Mr. Brimble at bay and inform him tomorrow that she would not be going with him to St. Austell, nor would she be marrying him.

Tamsin took a deep breath. This was not a calamity. It was a misunderstanding. Her father, for some reason, had thought Mr. Brimble would be a satisfactory husband to her. She just needed to smile and endure this dance. Then she would explain to Mr. Brimble that she was not aware he was her potential suitor. And then she would let him down easily, for she could not marry him. He was her father's friend, and she knew him entirely in that capacity.

She saw that her grandmother was frowning slightly, her forehead puckered into delicate pleats. Then Tamsin's gaze fell on Droxford. He stood near the doorway to the terrace. Scowling didn't adequately describe the dark expression thundering about his features. It was as if he were…seething. But it was more than that. He was looking at Mr. Brimble as if he wanted to do some sort of violence.

Was he…jealous? No. That couldn't be. Still, her heart tripped at the notion of the baron having those kinds of feelings for her. Of anyone feeling that way about her.

The dance seemed to last longer than usual, and Tamsin was relieved when it finally concluded. Her grandmother stood at the edge of the dancing area, her gaze and posture expectant.

Grandmama's gaze fixed on Mr. Brimble in an assessing and almost suspicious manner. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Miss Penrose's grandmother."

Mr. Brimble bowed. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. Forgive me for not meeting you earlier. Miss Penrose did not mention you were here."

Tamsin took her hand from the man's arm and stopped herself from pursing her lips at him. How dare he insinuate that she was to blame for not introducing him to her grandmother? The music had started, and he'd immediately steered her onto the dance floor.

Grandmama's eyes narrowed toward Mr. Brimble. "I should think you would have sought out my granddaughter's chaperone as soon as you arrived." Her tone dripped frost.

Tamsin moved to stand beside her. "Grandmama, this is Papa's friend—the one he wrote to me about, Mr. Octavius Brimble."

Grandmama's eyes rounded briefly. "We did not know when you would arrive or who you were, actually. My son-in-law's letter lacked certain pertinent information."

Mr. Brimble blinked, appearing nonplussed. "Well, I am here, and I am Miss Penrose's intended. We will depart for St. Austell tomorrow."

Before Tamsin could speak and inform him they were not actually engaged, Grandmama gave him a tight smile. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. She's not due to return to Cornwall for many days yet." She turned toward Tamsin, and now her gaze softened, but her chin was firm. "You promised Lord Droxford a promenade, dear." Glancing briefly over her shoulder toward Mr. Brimble, she murmured, "Please excuse us." Then she took Tamsin's arm and guided her to the doorway where Droxford had been standing during the dance.

Where did he go?

"Outside," Grandmama said, as if she'd heard Tamsin's thought. "I saw the baron leave this way when the dance ended. Goodness, Tamsin, I am so sorry you were swept up by Mr. Brimble. How dare he show up here at the soiree without calling on you first. And he thinks you're already betrothed? This is beyond the pale. Not to mention his age. He is far too old for you."

"He's a friend of Papa's. I've known him my entire life."

Grandmama blanched. "Well, this is not a matter to be discussed or settled here. I'm afraid it will have to wait until morning."

Tamsin wished she could glower as well as Droxford. "He was surprised I was not aware of our betrothal. He informed me that he wishes to wed quickly because he's due in Oxford by October." Tamsin clutched at her grandmother's arm. "I can't marry him." It wasn't just that Brimble wasn't what she'd hoped. He wasn't someone she would consider at all.

"Don't fret, my dear," her grandmother said soothingly. "You will not have to marry Mr. Brimble. Now, put him from your mind and go promenade with Lord Droxford. He looked nearly murderous while you were dancing with that nincompoop. You must explain who the man is, and why the baron mustn't be jealous."

There was that word again.

"He wasn't jealous, Grandmama." Tamsin couldn't believe it.

"I have seen jealous men, and if Lord Droxford wasn't ready to pummel that man for daring to dance with you, I will strip all the flowers out of my garden."

That was a very strong statement. Still, Tamsin was not inclined to agree.

Patting her grandmother's hand briefly, Tamsin turned and walked toward where Droxford stood slightly away from the hotel. The gardens were well lit, with numerous lanterns at intervals, and there were a few other people outside with them. Tamsin paused and looked back at her grandmother who remained outside the door. She nodded toward Tamsin and made a hand motion for Tamsin to keep going.

Droxford stood in shadow, and Tamsin had to move quite close to see his face. While he'd been glaring at Mr. Brimble before, his features were now impassive.

Tamsin felt nervous in a way she hadn't in his presence. It was as if her stomach were made of jelly. "Good evening, Lord Droxford. Are you enjoying the soiree?"

"No."

The single word was frigid and did not encourage further conversation. It was also quite honest, for he didn't look as if he were having a remotely good time.

"I can't say I am either," Tamsin confessed. "I was surprised by the arrival of my father's friend, Mr. Octavius Brimble. I believe you saw us dancing?"

"That man is your father's friend?"

"They are academic colleagues. I think their shared interest is military history."

"I didn't realize." He seemed relieved. His features lost their rigidity, and his shoulders relaxed.

"He is also, regrettably, the man my father hopes I will marry." Tamsin couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through her.

Droxford's gaze hardened once more. "Your father wishes to betroth you to that man?"

"He sent a letter the other day saying a potential suitor would be arriving in Weston. However, he didn't say when, nor did he identify the man. Mr. Brimble solved the mystery with his arrival tonight and his pronouncement that he is my ‘intended' and will take me to St. Austell, where we will wed with haste." Again, a tremor of dismay wobbled her frame.

"Are you cold?" Droxford asked.

"No." The evening was quite warm. She just didn't care to think about traveling with Mr. Brimble.

"Are you considering marriage to him?" The question was cool, his expression again unreadable, but there was an underlying heat. Some volatile emotion…

Jealousy?

That word again! Tamsin pushed it from her mind, for it was her own imagination. He wasn't interested in her in that way. They were friends.

"I am not," she said plainly. Though she refused to believe he could be jealous, he was perhaps something. "Were you concerned for me?"

"As your friend, of course. I am sorry your father has sought to plan your marriage without consulting you."

Tamsin wondered what she was going to do about that. Her father would likely be disappointed she didn't want to marry Mr. Brimble. But would he be difficult about it? Would he try to insist? The better question was why he'd thought his friend would be a good match for his daughter. It was unconscionable to Tamsin.

She didn't want to think about any of that right now. She wanted to try to enjoy this soiree to which she'd been so looking forward.

"I do appreciate your concern," she said. "May we take our promenade now? I would like to do something that will help me regain my cheer."

"Certainly, but I should warn you that relying on me to provide anything cheerful is probably a mistake." His tone was so wry, his delivery so sardonic, that Tamsin couldn't help but laugh.

"You've already done it. You are nowhere near as sullen as you think."

"I'm not sure I would describe myself as sullen. However, I'm sure others have."

Again, he spoke drily, and Tamsin's mood continued to improve. He offered his arm, and she placed her hand on his sleeve. He was warm and solid and familiar. He made her feel safe, she realized.

They walked a few steps along the path before he said, "I wanted to speak with you. I will be returning home to Wood End tomorrow." His gaze was directed straight ahead.

Tamsin stared at his profile, feeling unaccountably sad that she wouldn't be seeing it tomorrow. Or the day after. She said the first thing that came to her mind. "You can't leave. I haven't seen you smile yet. And that smirk doesn't count."

He flicked a glance in her direction. "While that is a marginally compelling argument, I'm afraid it will not convince me to stay. I'm ready to return home."

"I won't pretend I'm not disappointed," she said. "I have very much enjoyed your company the past few days."

"I have too." He looked over at her. "Your company, I mean. My company gets rather dull. And yet, I continue to choose it above all others." The corner of his mouth lifted, and it was slightly more than a smirk.

"That's it! A half smile," she crowed. "I shall claim that as victory. Particularly since you showed me another one yesterday. Two halves do make a whole." She could paste them together—in her mind anyway—like the parts of a shell.

"Then I can leave without feeling as though I've disappointed you. Except you say you are disappointed." He paused, stopping with her near a fragrant rosebush. "Does that half smile improve things even a little?"

"It does," she said softly.

They were near the center of the garden, but between lanterns so that they were in one of the more shadowed areas. Still, she could make out his features, and the intense set of his jaw and the dark cast of his gaze.

She hated that their time together was at an end. Until next year. Although, by next year, she expected she might be wed, even if it wasn't to Mr. Brimble.

"I have something for you," he said, his voice low and rough as he pulled something from his coat. It was small and wrapped in paper.

Tamsin took her hand from his arm and accepted the item. "A gift?"

"Something you've been searching for," he said.

Holding her breath, Tamsin carefully unfolded the paper and revealed a perfect cockleshell nearly the size of her palm. It was magnificent.

And it was the first shell in her collection that she hadn't collected since the ones she'd found in her mother's room. Her father had never accompanied her. He'd always been too busy. That made this shell very special.

She raised her gaze to his. "Thank you. Wherever did you find it?"

"Ironically, not far from where I lifted you out of the water yesterday. I saw it after you returned to the picnic."

"But you said you didn't find anything."

His gaze was again a cool smolder. "I didn't want to give it you in front of the others. I preferred for us to be alone."

Alone. The rogue rule "Never be alone with a rogue" floated through her mind. But she ignored it.

"I love it." Clasping the shell in her hand, she stared into his eyes. Something was happening. Something electric and entirely between them.

The magnet returned, drawing her to move closer so they nearly touched. Now he would kiss her. She could feel it in her bones. Her lashes fluttered, and her lips parted. She pressed her hand gently to the front of his coat. His hand brushed her waist, and her body quickened with a heady sensation with which she had little experience—desire. His head dipped, and she closed her eyes.

"Miss Penrose?" Tamsin turned her head toward the sound of Mr. Brimble's voice. She saw him just outside the hotel, his gaze scanning the garden until it landed on her.

"Blast," she muttered.

"I'll take you back inside," Droxford offered. "I won't leave you to him."

"Thank you," she said, relieved.

Thoroughly frustrated that Mr. Brimble had interrupted them, Tamsin clasped the baron's arm. He escorted her toward the hotel, but Mr. Brimble was coming toward them. He was nowhere near as tall as the baron, and his frame was much lighter, despite the slight paunch he sported.

"Pardon me," Mr. Brimble said a trifle too loudly, perhaps to catch their attention. As if they could miss him since he was walking directly into their path. "I should like to walk with my betrothed."

Tamsin didn't bother hiding her vexation. "I am not your betrothed. I am going into the hotel. Please excuse us."

Droxford propelled them forward. Mr. Brimble stepped aside at the last moment, but he grabbed Tamsin's elbow, halting their progress.

"You will be my betrothed, and I must insist you remain here with me."

Gasping, Tamsin pulled her arm from his grip. "Don't touch me without permission. You may not insist anything."

As he rounded on Mr. Brimble, Droxford's countenance looked darker and more forbidding than Tamsin had ever seen it. His lip curled as he addressed her father's friend. "Touch her again, and you will be flat on your back with a swelling eye. Or jaw. I haven't decided which."

"See here, you can't threaten me. Nor can you make demands about my intended."

Droxford snarled. Like a beast. And to Tamsin, he was magnificent. "I am certain I heard her say she is not your intended."

Mr. Brimble sniffed. "This is simply a misunderstanding. If Miss Penrose would allow me a few moments of her time, we can sort this out." He reached for Tamsin, his hand grazing her arm.

Only grazing because he was very quickly knocked backward by Droxford's fist, which he'd sent into the man's midsection. Tamsin, who'd let go of the baron as he'd moved, gasped again and slapped her hand to her mouth.

Beside her, Droxford was stiff and unyielding, his face a mask of fury. She moved closer to him and put her hands on his arm. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'm all right now. We should go inside."

He turned his head toward her, his features softening slightly as he found her gaze.

"What have I just witnessed?" a shrill voice demanded.

Tamsin pivoted to see the busybody Mrs. Lawler approaching, her mouth open and her face pale. As bad as the altercation with Mr. Brimble had been, this was surely going to be worse.

Mrs. Lawler looked toward Tamsin and Droxford. "I saw everything that happened—your intimate tête-à-tête and Lord Droxford punching this man. I can only surmise that the two of you are on the verge of some important announcement." She blinked, her expression expectant.

It was so much worse. It was as bad as what had happened between Pandora and Bane. No, not that bad, because he'd used her cruelly and cast her aside. But Mrs. Lawler's presence here would be just as damaging. She'd seen Tamsin and Droxford talking in the garden—almost kissing. Her choice of words indicated she'd seen precisely what was happening, and even if she was wrong, that was the story she would tell.

And now there were other witnesses as people filtered out of the hotel, likely because they'd heard the commotion of the baron and Mr. Brimble arguing. Had they seen Droxford hit him? Conclusions would be drawn, and right or wrong, the verdict would be that she and Droxford were somehow attached.

Though Tamsin tried to find the bright side in this moment, she utterly failed. This was verging on disaster.

"Indeed we are," Droxford said, his baritone filling the garden. "Miss Penrose has just agreed to become my wife."

Tamsin swung her head to gape at him. His wife? Surely, she'd heard him wrong.

Mrs. Lawler appeared surprised too, but she quickly rearranged her features. "Then congratulations are in order." She looked to Tamsin, smiling, "You must be thrilled to become the wife of a baron."

In that moment, Tamsin didn't know what she was.