Page 88 of Counting on a Countess
Chapter 21
Rolling moors evolved into rugged coastline, and the landscape became more recognizable with each passing mile.
The carriage had already gone through the village of Newcombe, where villagers had come out of their homes to watch the elegant, crested vehicle go by. She’d waved at a few people, though she’d felt shy at returning with her new title of countess. Nessa had gotten out of the carriage to return to her own home, as well as distribute the profits from the sale to Mr. Jayne. As Tamsyn had driven away, she saw Nessa swarmed with villagers all eager to hear stories about London and receive their portion of the earnings.
Newcombe was a collection of neat, whitewashed buildings that clung to a slope descending to the water. The village fronted a beach with a pier where the familiar sight of fishing ships bobbing on the water made Tamsyn smile with fondness. To reach Chei Owr, one had to take a steep road that climbed a line of cliffs. The manor house itself was situated at the top of a bluff, with views of the ocean from the west-facing windows. A cove belonging to the estate lay at the bottom of the cliff.
As the carriage wound its way up the steep cliff, a longing for home rose up like a wave. She’d missed this place so much—the open wildness and the crashing, foaming surf.
She’d journeyed for five days, stopping at inns overnight to rest the horses, and weariness pulsed in her bones despite nearing her destination. It hadn’t helped that between lumpy mattresses and her own tormenting thoughts she hadn’t been able to cobble together a decent sleep. Memories of Kit tormented her.
Five days ago, he had stood outside their home on Bruton Street, his hands stuffed into his pockets, watching with a carefully blank expression as her trunks had been lashed to the roof of the carriage.
“When will you be back?” he had asked impassively.
“I can’t say,” she had answered. “But I made sure to leave you extra funds during my absence.”
She had hoped that he might press her for more details, or try to argue her out of going, but all he had done was nod wearily. He’d helped her into the carriage, yet he hadn’t waved goodbye as she drove away. His lone watching figure had lingered on the curb until the carriage turned a corner, and he’d disappeared.
Was there any part of him that truly cared about her—as she had developed feelings for him? Her chest ached at the thought. Yet everything was a hopeless tangle.
Time and distance were required before she could move forward. She needed to return to Cornwall to purchase Chei Owr, but her own need for breathing space from Kit made the journey that much more necessary.
She didn’t know what she would expect upon her return. Chei Owr had once been her home, but for the past ten years, it was her uncle’s possession. Still, for all the unhappiness she’d experienced here, as the carriage wound up the lane that led to Chei Owr, some of the layers of her sorrow peeled away. London’s soot-stained melancholy couldn’t compete with Cornwall’s rugged grace. Here, she no longer had to pretend to be anything—all she had to be was herself.
The carriage came to a stop outside the front door. No surprise that neither Gwen nor Jory stood to meet her, even though an approaching carriage could be seen from the house’s main south-facing rooms, and the sound of wooden wheels on the rocky drive easily disturbed the silence.
Maybe it was better this way.
But the moment her feet touched on the gravel, Gwen and Jory emerged from the house.
They appeared the same since she had been in London. Jory’s snowy hair was still worn in an old-fashioned queue, and white stubble sprouted on his lean cheeks. He shared her father’s angled jaw, and his eyes were also deeply set. Jory’s resemblance to Tamsyn’s father never failed to provoke a sense of loss and disappointment.
Gwen had retained her youthful looks well into middle age, which was a continual source of pride for her. She kept most of her blond hair tucked into a cap, and her fichu ensured that her décolletage never saw the light of day.
“Got your note that you were coming back,” Jory said without interest.
“Thought once you’d gotten yourself a husband,” Gwen added, “you’d stay in London.” Her normally bored expression shifted into one of jealousy. Her aunt always spoke of the city as though it was a paradise she’d been denied.
“I have business to attend to here,” Tamsyn answered. She turned to Jory. “You received my letter. Have you sold the house?”
“Some bloke who made a fortune from copper mining is interested.” His lip curled, revealing his disgust with the notion of earning money from actual work.
“I want to buy Chei Owr,” Tamsyn announced. “Whatever the copper mine gentleman offered, I can meet his price and more.”
Jory narrowed his gaze while Gwen gaped at Tamsyn. “With what money?”
“With mine,” she replied coolly. She gestured to the carriage behind her. “As you see, I can afford it.”
Jory eyed her warily. They had never been close—this conversation was likely the longest they had ever shared.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally answered.
Frustration prickled her like burrs. “Why not settle the decision now?”
“Because I said I’d think about it,” he snapped, and wheeled into the house.
Gwen gave Tamsyn a sour look before following her husband inside.
