Page 72 of Counting on a Countess
Kit felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh God, I didn’t think...”
She shook her head. “It’s all right. Being on the water doesn’t upset me anymore.”
“We can do something else,” he offered, feeling like an ass. “Hire horses for a ride.”
“No,” she answered with a smile. “It’s good to be under sail again. And I miss being on the water. I’d go with sundry folk from Newcombe. Fishermen, sailors, and such.”
Had any of those fishermen or sailors or such been her sweetheart? If he’d been one of their weathered number, he surely would have tried to steal a kiss from her as they’d glided over the waves. He could picture it now—the wind loosening locks of her fiery hair, her skin turning golden from the sun, and all around the gray blue of the water. She’d be irresistible.
Tamsyn had never mentioned a beau. Perhaps she’d had to bid him a tearful farewell in order to secure the hand of a wealthy gentleman in London.
His chest constricted and he realized with shock that what he felt was jealousy. It was an unknown emotion to him where people were concerned, and he wasn’t certain he liked it. In fact, he knew he didn’t.
“That’s rare,” he finally said with effort, “to have that kind of closeness with your neighbors.”
“We look out for each other,” she agreed.
“I grew up in London,” he explained, “and spent childhood summers at the family estate, but relations between the lord of the manor’s family and the villagers were never very congenial.”
“Hopefully you weren’t too lonely during those summers.” Her eyes shone with concern, and his chest ached in response to her sentiment.
“I found ways to get into mischief.”
She smiled. “That I don’t doubt.”
“I imagine there isn’t a lot of mischief afoot in a small Cornish village,” he mused.
Her smile faded and she seemed suddenly fascinated by the various ropes attached to the sails. “I suppose not,” she murmured quietly.
It distressed him to see her mood shift, but before he could speculate on what caused it, Mr. Singh was untying the vessel from the dock. He used an oar to row them out, and then they were underway. Once the captain raised the sails, the boat skimmed away and Mrs. Singh grew smaller and smaller as she waved her goodbyes.
Wind filled the fluttering sails and it was as though they flew over the surface of the water. It wasn’t long before they’d put Brentford behind them. Houses of different sizes perched close to the riverbank, peaceably coexisting beside the water. A child and her dog ran to keep up with the boat but soon were outpaced. Washing on lines snapped like medieval pennants. A fresh scent rose up from the river, far different here than the thick mire it was in the city.
Mr. Singh hailed the other vessels they passed as he deftly steered. He was in constant motion, either adjusting the lines or else working the tiller. True to Tamsyn’s word, periodically they had to move from one side of the boat to the other.
Kit’s gaze seldom left Tamsyn’s face. Her smile returned while she chatted with their skipper about his seafaring experience. It seemed that Mr. Singh had seen much of the world in service to the East India Company, and he had many thrilling and harrowing tales of life as a sailor.
Kit tried to keep up with the conversation, but it was a morass of mystifying nautical terms and he contented himself with her endless enthusiasm, her interest in other people’s lives. She had been hurt by life, but it hadn’t beaten her down. Her resilience awed him.
“Hard not to miss this,” she said to him, her eyes roving the passing scenery. “Being on the water, it gives one such freedom.”
“There’s possibility in it,” he agreed. “You could go anywhere.”
She nodded. “You master nature, but you give yourself over to it, as well.”
“Would you care to take the tiller, my lady?” Mr. Singh asked.
Her expression was one of pure elation. “Might I?”
“I welcome it.”
Balancing carefully, she made her way over and, at Mr. Singh’s signal, she took over steering the boat. Her expression became focused and serious while she piloted their vessel, her hand holding firm to the tiller. With Tamsyn and Mr. Singh at the back of the boat, it wasn’t necessary for Kit to change sides when they occasionally zigzagged. Despite the traffic on the water, she kept them moving in a steady course.
She’d called herself a wild creature unsuited to life in a ballroom. He saw now that she was so much more than that. She fearlessly tackled life’s challenges, yet she wasn’t jaded or cold. The warmth of her smile could thaw the deepest freeze, and he realized at that moment how his thoughts of the War seemed to retreat when he was near her. He hadn’t scanned the horizon for enemy threats once today.
What a lucky sod he was, to have become her husband.
“Very good, my lady!” Mr. Singh exclaimed.
