Page 50 of Hold Me Fast
“You were right to do so,” Tamsyn told the man. “The Earl of Coombe was my manager but is no longer. He certainly has no right to my money, and if you had given it to him, you may be certain that I would not have seen a penny of it.”
Jowan took her and Patricia out to lunch to celebrate the successful claiming of the account. “At least we know why Coombe was in Plymouth,” he said. “He probably thought you were in Plymouth on the same errand and left before we had him arrested for attempted theft.”
“Quite possibly,” Tamsyn said. “It is certainly a large enough sum to tempt him. I cannot believe Mother never touched a penny. With the interest, the amount is… If I never work another day in my life, I will be able to live quite comfortably.”
It was not what London people would call a fortune and thank goodness for that. When he asked her to marry him, Jowan didn’t want her to think it was for her fortune. Nor, for that matter, did he want her to agree to marry him because of his.
The investments his father had made had multiplied in the years since he and his agent died. Most proceeds had been tucked into a bank account where they accrued a tidy amount of interest. One of the groups who had invested in a cargo, unable to find the missing solicitor and give him the profits owed to Jowan’s father, had reinvested on the unknown investor’s behalf, and they had been lucky. That particular investment had more than doubled in four years.
Jowan and Bran decided to leave it in the group, but from now on they would track the earnings.
*
Lady Trentwood andPatricia smiled on Jowan’s courtship, even if he was not yet certain Tamsyn did. They made excuses to leave the pair of them together—suggesting a walk in the garden or suddenly remembering an errand on the other side of the house that would require them both.
He and Tamsyn were not left alone for long, and never with a shut door between them and the household, but it was a sign of favor to his intentions. “They think you are courting me,” Tamsyn said, a few days after their return from Plymouth. Lady Trentwood and Patricia had just declared an urgent need to visit the kitchens for a recipe supposedly promised to his cook.
What was Jowan supposed to say in answer to Tamsyn’s comment? “I hope you think so, too,” he offered. “I am not trying hard enough if you haven’t noticed.”
Tamsyn blushed. “I was not certain,” she said. “I have never been courted before.”
The artless comment had him flabbergasted. Certainly, what she’d said during her delirium had left him in no doubt that she had had many lovers.
“I have had stage-door followers, of course,” she admitted. “But it is all pretend with them. For a start, they woo an illusion, not a real human being. Also, most of it is showing off for other men rather than aimed at the female they claim to wish to impress.” Her blush deepened, and she looked away. He could barely hear what she said next, in a voice that would not have reached across the room. “You know I have had lovers. Or not-lovers. Seduction, I think, has little to do with love, and it is certainly not courtship.”
If it had been left to Jowan, he could have lived the rest of his life, preferably with Tamsyn, without thinking about or mentioning her previous experience. But if she needed to talk about it, then he would have to find a way to do that, too. His mouth was dry, and his heart was pounding too fast, but he kept his voice calm and quiet.
“I have had lovers, too. And I agree that the wordloveris misleading. Something was always missing, even when it was a coming together to meet mutual needs.”
He had moved closer, and their bodies were almost touching when she looked up into his eyes, her own telegraphing a mixture of anxiety and hope. “You do not mind that I have been with other men?”
He minded fiercely, but that was the wrong answer. An incomplete answer, for what he minded was not that she had been with other men, but that she had been with men who did not respect her.
Something—perhaps it was divine inspiration—guided him to say, “I mind that you have been hurt, dearest Tamsyn.” That was all the truth. The choices she had made in the past, the mistakes she had made, if any—those did not matter to him. But her pain mattered; would always matter.
She smiled, then, and the ease of it caused his chest to unclench and warmth to flow through him. “I am healing, Jowan. I shall always be grateful to you for that.”
“You owe me no gratitude,” he growled, offended at the very idea. “I did what was right for the friend of my childhood. And if I have fallen in love all over again with the woman you have become? The fault for that, if it is a fault, is all mine. You owe me nothing, Tamsyn. But I hope one day you will be willing to give me everything, not in repayment for a debt, but because you want to.”
They were interrupted then, by the sound of loud talking as Patricia and Lady Trentwood made certain the courting couple knew they were about to have company. Jowan was satisfied enough. They had broken some new ground in their conversation, and he had declared his hand. The next move was over to Tamsyn.
*
By the timeApple Cottage was ready for her and Patricia to move in, Tamsyn had finished going through her mother’s belongings. Many of them now graced the cottage, and she had had some of the old furniture refurbished. She had also spent some of her jewelry money on new furniture and furnishings and had taken money from her newly found bank account to pay for a square piano, which fitted more comfortably in the space than the massive piano Jowan insisted had been purchased for her.
Every day was still a challenge. Keeping busy with one project after another meant that the cravings did not dominate her days, but they were still present in the background.
She had a list of tasks to complete for Evangeline, to make certain the steward’s cottage was ready for the newlyweds when they returned, but after that, she would need to make sure her mind was occupied.
What she needed was a purpose. Some work to do that gave her joy and kept her busy. She had her music, of course. She practiced every day. She continued to compose. Perhaps she could publish her work, in time, but Coombe had undoubtedly been right that it would be harder for a woman.
In any case, it would not consume her days and keep her mind from her cravings.
“Do you have any work I might be able to do?” she asked Jowan on one of their outings. They were at the site of the new mine, where work on the initial shaft was complete, the mine head was in place, and the smelting works were being constructed.
“Do you have time?” Jowan asked. “Whenever we talk, you’ve been busy.”
“I need to keep busy,” she told him. After a moment’s hesitation, she explained. He claimed to be courting her, after all. If anything, talking to him about her lovers had made him more attentive rather than turning him away. But he had a right to know how damaged she was.
