Page 89 of Counting on a Countess
Once they were gone, Tamsyn shook her head wearily. Jory had always been a man of perverse temperament—he let the house fall apart around him yet spent large sums to finance trips to stylish places such as Cheltenham—which had to account for his refusal to discuss the sale of Chei Owr.
A disdainfully bored footman appeared at the door. None of the servants ever lasted long due to Jory’s slowness in paying wages. “What do you want?”
“See that my luggage is taken up to my chamber,” she informed him coldly. “And you shall refer to me asmy lady.”
“Yes, my lady.” The footman grudgingly approached the carriage.
She said to the coachman, “You’ll find the path that leads to the stables off to the left. Hopefully, they’ll have what you need to see to the horses. If they don’t, go on to the village and ask for Tom Nance. He owns the feed shop and saddlery.”
“Of course, my lady,” the driver answered.
Squaring her shoulders, Tamsyn walked into the house. The front door opened into a narrow, dark-paneled vestibule with a staircase leading up to the next floor. She peered through a doorway into the Great Hall, where dusty sunlight struggled to break through high diamond-paned windows. Some of the panes gaped where their glass used to be.
She went back into the vestibule, and then climbed the creaking stairs. Once at the top, she walked down the corridor, turned right, right again, and then there it was, the door to the room where she’d lived almost her whole life.
Tamsyn pushed open the door, then stood in shock as she beheld an empty room. Everything had been cleared out—the bed, the clothespress, the washstand and mirror. Only a chair draped in holland covers remained, hovering like a ghost near the cold fireplace.
Steps sounded in the hallway, growing nearer. She turned to face Jory as he stood in the doorway.
“You wrote and said you’d wed,” he said without hint of apology. “Didn’t think you were coming back, so we sold the lot.”
“As you can see, I’m right here.”
“Where’s your husband?” Jory demanded.
She made sure to keep her face unreadable as she replied, “In London.”
“Saw that crest on your carriage,” he continued. “You’re truly a countess now.” His mouth turned down when he seemed to realize that she vastly outranked him.
“I am,” she answered. “And your time in this house will come to an end. Soon.”
She shouldered past him, then hurried down the stairs and out of the house, moving quickly to the stables. Aside from the coachman seeing to the carriage horses, the stalls were mostly empty, since Jory and Gwen had sold the majority of their cattle. But one old dun gelding greeted her as she passed, nickering in recognition.
“Hello, Jupiter.” Tamsyn stroked the velvet between his nostrils. “Be a good lad and take me to the village. I have to buy some furniture.” It would have been possible to take furniture from other bedchambers, yet Tamsyn wanted something of her own, something untouched by memories.
Without waiting for the lone groom to appear, Tamsyn prepared Jupiter for riding. Once he was ready, she led him to the steps and mounted.
She nudged Jupiter into an easy walk out of the stables. She passed out of the yard, and then guided her horse to the bridle path that led to Newcombe.
She passed beneath the branches of ancient elm trees that stood sentry on either side of the path. Tall grasses waved in the afternoon breeze, which carried the salty tang of the ocean. It was all so powerfully familiar, so laden with memories—she’d ridden this bridle path with her father on many Saturdays when their destination had been Josiah Williams’s all things shop. There, her father would buy her a boiled sweet and they would sit on the pier as they sucked on their candy. Even now, she could still taste the sugary, lemony flavor of the sweets mixing with the briny sea air.
This place brought her so much joy but also devastated her. Happiness and misery lived side by side—Kit had given her joy but also filled her with despair.
The bridle path joined up with the main road leading into Newcombe. She came alongside a mule-drawn cart jouncing down the lane, and the driver glanced in her direction, then looked again. A smile wreathed his weathered face.
“Miss Tamsyn,” he said warmly. “Or is itmy ladynow?”
“Miss Tamsyn will do, Ben,” she answered, her heart lifting at the sight of the old farmer.
“When did you get back?”
“Only this afternoon. The baron and baroness gave me their usual welcome.”
“Which is no welcome at all.” Ben shook his head and made a tutting sound. “No mistake, Jory and Gwen Pearce might be your blood, but they’re no part of Newcombe.”
She exhaled. “I suspect that their hate for the village is reciprocated.”
Ben pulled on the reins, and Tamsyn brought Jupiter to a stop. He leaned forward and said in a hushed, confiding tone, “It’s good fortune that brought you back today. Captain Landry sent word that he’ll have a new shipment for us. Brandy and lace.”
