Page 38 of Counting on a Countess
He waved off this compliment. “By agreeing to marry me, you’ve ensured my future happiness. In thanks, there’s nothing I won’t give you. Within reason,” he added belatedly. His grin was sheepish. “I’m not particularly adept at curtailing my spending. The curse of the third son—to have his munificence constrained by circumstance.”
“It’s the curse of the poor country gentry that we can never scale the pecuniary heights of our city cousins,” Tamsyn replied. “I can assure you that my financial demands will be minimal.” Perhaps now was not an ideal moment to mention buying Chei Owr. “I’ve had to learn frugality the hard way. I hold on to my pennies, like this.” She lifted her clenched hand.
He covered her hand with his, and the gesture felt both comfortable and thrilling. “Youshouldgive yourself every luxury,” he advised.
“Is that your express command?” she teased.
He affected a stern look. “Do not gainsay me in this, Lady Blakemere.” Then he ruined the effect of his severe expression by grinning, looking very much like a boy who’d been given a barrow full of sweets. “Come, let’s find ourselves some luncheon. I find the prospect of inheriting a fortune increases my appetite.”
Kit released her hands and strode from the parlor. She followed at a more sedate pace, and her gaze alighted on Dennis, standing at his post in the hallway. He gave her a wink, and she sternly put her finger to her lips. Chastened, he snapped his gaze to attention, staring into the middle distance the way a footman was supposed to.
Storing smuggled goods right under the nose of her new husband? She must be certifiably mad. But what choice did she have?
A knot formed in her belly. Kit might be a reckless libertine, but she couldn’t deny how very gentle he was with her. She hadn’t missed the sag in his shoulders when he agreed to let them have separate bedchambers, either.
Her own disappointment had been something of a revelation. No matter what she’d told herself, it hurt to let go of her hope for romance and affection. It wouldn’t be very challenging to grow attached to Kit, to care for him.
But it was better this way. Keeping herself guarded meant that her deception would be easier.
“I could absolutelyobliteratea pork pie right now,” Kit said cheerfully from the foyer. “Oh, and a tankard of ale. Doesn’t that sound blissful? Let’s buy the whole chophouse a round.”
Damn and damn. How would she keep from growing closer to him? Every moment in his company proved more dangerous to her heart.
Chapter 10
Kit was largely unfamiliar with the industrious side of London, including those men and women who kept society functioning. It was something of a shock to see anyone doing anything at five besides riding on Rotten Row. Yet the offices of Flowers and Corran were still bustling by the time Kit and Tamsyn arrived that afternoon.
He opted not to voice this to Tamsyn as they followed a clerk through the maze of rooms stuffed with papers tended by ink-stained young men. Though he’d secured her hand and needn’t fear her changing her mind, it was probably better that she didn’t think himentirelyindolent and shiftless.
Anxiety prickled along the back of his neck and down his spine, though he kept himself strolling with an easy gait. Why should he be anxious? He’d fulfilled the terms of Lord Somerby’s will, and now there was nothing left to do but transfer the money to him.
He had already earmarked a portion of it for the pleasure garden. Once the fortune was in his possession, he’d get to work on making it a reality.
“It’s like a rabbit’s warren in here,” Tamsyn murmured to him. “I’d get lost if I ran for the door.”
“Thinking about bolting?” he asked quietly. “There’s no cause for it.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
She returned it, though the corners of her mouth seemed tight with apprehension. He supposed she was just as concerned as he was.
“When everything is settled,” he said, “I’ll buy you a fine little curricle and a pair of matched white horses so you can jaunt about London as much as you please. It’s not a far ride to Hampstead Heath. Plenty of green and open space there. You’ll like it.”
The tension eased from her smile. “Never driven a curricle, just a wobbly dog cart.”
“A countess has no need for a wobbly dog cart,” he proclaimed.
Mr. Flowers came forward to meet them, all attentiveness as he held out his hands in greeting. “Is this Lady Blakemere?”
“It is,” Kit said, noting how much less reticent the solicitor was today as opposed to the last time they had met. “Tamsyn Ellingsworth, née Pearce, of Cornwall.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Flowers,” Tamsyn said, and the solicitor bowed over her hand.
“I see that Lord Blakemere is indeed a fortunate man,” Mr. Flowers said cordially. “And might I add that Mrs. Flowers and I once spent a fortnight in and around Penzance, and found Cornwall most enchanting.”
“You must return someday and visit my village of Newcombe,” Tamsyn replied. “The country’s a bit wild in my part of Cornwall.”
“The most rugged cliffs yield the most beautiful blossoms,” the solicitor answered, and a delighted smile wreathed Tamsyn’s face.
Kit’s already-quick pulse accelerated at the sight.
