Page 33 of Miss Determined
“But you are worried?”
Down on the green, Mr. Dabney got into a discussion with Tansy Pevinger at the pilgrim’s cross. Tansy busied herself lifting the spent daffodils from a pot, gathering them into her apron. Dabney lent a hand, digging bulbs out of the second pot.
“Something in Crosspatch Corners is amiss,” Trevor said. “The DeWitts are desperately hoping to make a socially advantageous match for their eldest daughter, because without a son or father on hand, their money is kept from their reach. If Miss DeWitt can marry up, that situation is likely to improve. The ladies should not have to scheme to ensure access to their own pin money. The vicar claims to have dunned me ceaselessly for a new roof, but I’ve never received a single letter from him. Phillip Heyward is the next thing to a recluse, though his knowledge of agriculture is exhaustive.”
“All very interesting,” Sycamore said around a yawn, “but I thought every self-respecting English village had a requisite number of eccentrics. Drunks who can foretell the future, white witches, ponies that do math, that sort of thing. A recluse and a dissembling vicar aren’t so far from the norm, are they?”
“Smithers and Purvis handle the DeWitts’ business, and Heyward was my maternal grandmother’s maiden name.”
Sycamore opened his eyes, and Trevor was struck again by that peculiar amethyst hue unique to the Dornings. Amaryllis’s grandmother had known about those eyes. What else had she noticed about Mr. Trevor Dorning, and when she would mention her suspicions to Amaryllis?
“You took anom de guerre,” Sycamore said, “and now you are seeing false monikers everywhere. Heyward is a fine old English name, the origins having something to do with a protected enclosure. What of it?”
How would Sycamore know that? But then, his handsome head was stuffed with obscure information and strange facts, just as his knives were secreted about his person in unlikely locations.
“Heyward has a portrait of my mother in his parlor,” Trevor said. “I about fell on my arse when I saw it. The likeness is wonderful. She’s young, pretty, and happy in that likeness. The painting might well be something Heyward retrieved from the attics—my family has owned the house for centuries—but Heyward also stood in the woods watching me for a good hour yesterday. When he and I were properly introduced this morning, he made no mention of it.”
Dorning sat up. “Hewatched youfor an hour?”
“Stood so still I thought the birds would perch on his shoulders. I tossed pebbles into the Twid and waited for him to show himself. He never did, though at that point, we hadn’t been introduced. He was there, hidden in shadows, and then he wasn’t. Why do that?”
“I used to sit in trees and spy on my brothers,” Sycamore said, rising and rubbing his backside with both hands. “They never did anything that merited a solid hour of my attention, though they got up to some fascinating mischief. I learned a lot, sitting in trees, and not about how to toss pebbles into streams. This Heyward person bothers you.”
Amaryllis DeWitt bothered Trevor more. “And I apparently unsettle him, though we conversed with astonishing amiability for nearly an hour over tea. Miss DeWitt says he reads voraciously but never leaves the Crosspatch Corners neighborhood.”
“Until recently, most of Britain’s villagers never strayed far from the home patch, unless they joined the military. What else does Miss DeWitt say?”
Trevor was not about to stroll into that ambush. “Darkness is falling. The inn has a worthy kitchen, and all this country air has me famished. Shall we eat in the common, or ask for the private dining room?”
“Wherever we eat,” Sycamore said, resuming his seat and pulling on his boots, “you will tell me about your Miss DeWitt. Unless I’m much mistaken, TrevorDorninghas turned her head, and from what I’ve heard—assuming this is Miss Amaryllis DeWitt—she does not suffer fools, and I doubt she’s very keen on liars either.”
A surmountable problem. The situation wanted a bit of strategy and timing, was all. “How soon will you be returning to London?”
Dorning smiled the smile that Jeanette, for reasons Trevor would never understand, found so charming.
“I have all the time in the world to enjoy the—what did you call it?—fresh country air, and I would not think of returning to London without you.”
I was afraid of that.“You must suit yourself, of course, though I’m sure Jeanette will miss you. London’s loss is Berkshire’s gain. Please recall that for as long as you bide here, I am a distant cousin. Very distant. We are cordial. Perhaps you are on your way down to the family seat in Dorset?”
“I’m here to discuss investing in your beer venture. Have you done any budgets yet?”
Trevor had, as a matter of fact, while rambling out to Lark’s Nest and trying to push the image of Amaryllis DeWitt, tall, laughing, and lovely, into the farthest corner of his mind.
With no success whatsoever.
“We can discuss budgets over supper.” Trevor donned his jacket and ran a comb through his hair. “If you were a young man surrounded by female family, adulthood breathing down your neck, no real interest in your father’s legacy, and even less interest in stepping into his shoes, where would you hide?”
Sycamore was for once not smiling. “I’m told one can hide on the Continent for years at a time and for very little coin.”
Trevor did not punch him, did not even smack him, though the temptation was nigh overwhelming.
Phillip waved the red handkerchief Lissa had brought for the purpose once, twice, and on the third wave, he dropped it.
“Go, you ruddy bugger!” Sycamore Dorning shouted as Trevor, whom Lissa privately distinguished from his London cousin asmyMr. Dorning, gave Roland his head.
Horse and rider made a dashing sight, racing along the Twid as wisps of mist rose from the water and morning sun slanted along the hard-packed path. Songbirds fell silent as Roland thundered closer, and some small creature bolted away into the bracken.
Roland was moving so quickly that his individual hoofbeats blurred into a sort of vibration on the ground, and less than a minute later, he was streaking past Lissa and Phillip, Trevor crouched close to his neck.
