Page 92 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
Alas.
I dove into the still, warm waters of the jade-tiled bathing pool. Water slicking over my body as I swam the length before flipping, kicking off the wall, and going for another lap without surfacing. My lungs were fit to burst but I felt gloriously alive for the first time since leaving Lothlel Green. I surfaced and gasped for air, slicking my short hair back from my brow.
“Morning, lass.”
Mr. Owen wore a garish lilac dressing gown and sat at thewater’s edge beneath a large parasol, balancing a yellow china cup on his knee. He was looking well. Better than well. Perhaps having a small adventure did him good too.
I swam over to where he sat, rested my chin on the smooth decking, and blinked up at him. It was dreadfully sunny. But then again, give it fifteen minutes and it’d probably be raining again. That was the way of it this week. “How long have you been watching me?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t drown yourself. Heinrich said I was to keep an eye on you for at least a month. Make sure you weren’t up to any of your usual antics.”
I snorted. I doubted I’d be up to myusualtricks anytime in the near future. My body hadn’t quite forgiven me for our most recent adventure.
The edge of his mouth twitched. “Though he said you should exercise. So I shall allow your daily exertions in the death pit. If I must.”
I kicked my legs, treading water ever so slowly. “I’d never be foolish enough to drown. I’ll have you know, I am an excellent swimmer.”
A flicker of something crossed his expression, and I had the rapidly growing sense that Mr. Owen was afraid of water. Curious. He cleared his throat and reached over, grabbing a towel. “Come dry yourself off. Mrs. Penrose said she would bring coffee, we could break our fast out here before the clouds come in. I’ve received a letter from your Mr. Kivell.”
“He’s notmyMr. Kivell,” I grumbled as I pulled myself out with a heave and wrapped the thick cloth around myself before taking the wicker chair beside him. But I couldn’t say I wasn’t curious about the contents. “What did he say?”
Mr. Owen held an unopened envelope, which I took from his outstretched hand. The writing was sparse. Simple. Likethe man who’d penned it. I flicked my thumb beneath the seal and ripped it open.
Ruby, I’ve just returned from Portsmouth. Benedict finally took the ship. He debated for a couple of days but in the end realized there was nothing left for him here. I admit I shall miss his company. But considering all, it’s for the best. Ever yours, R.
Ever yours.A normal closing, and yet there was something in those words that bothered me. What did he mean? Probably nothing. But with Ruan, one could never tell. I folded it back up and set it on the table.
“Anything interesting?”
I shook my head. “No. Nothing at all.” I closed my eyes and settled back into the sun. I’d worry about Ruan Kivell another day.
It was good to be home, though I’d never say such a thing to him. Sentiment had no place between us—despite his uncharacteristic display of paternal affection when I first returned from Lothlel Green.
Mrs. Penrose appeared, silent as a cat, setting a loaded tray down on the round table between us.
“You are far too thin, maid.” She straightened herself and placed a hand on my brow. “And your color is terrible. Just terrible. But we’ll fix that, won’t we, sir?” She cast a conspiratorial grin to Mr. Owen.
Blast and hell, what had I gotten myself into?
It was bad enough to have Mr. Owen worrying I might drown in my own backyard, but now I had added an overprotective housekeeper to the mix? I hadn’t fully expected Mrs. Penrose to jump at my offer of employment when I casually extended it before leaving the estate—but I suspected thatdiscovering that one’s lifelong friend was a murderess tended to make one rethink one’s outlook on life. I couldn’t blame her for that. Nor could Tamsyn, as it were. She too had decided to take a holiday, just she and Jori, to the Continent. Perhaps my running from the past was contagious. Or maybe she just needed a change.
Mrs. Penrose’s bags were packed and she was on the train to Exeter within two days of my departure. Fiachna had never been happier than when he saw her arrive at the back entrance with her trunks. My sole condition for her employment here was that there were to be no more attempts at charmwork. While Ruan might have been amused by her misguided attempt to protect me, I found myself far warier and unwilling to dabble in the inexplicable.
“I’ve been thinking…” Mr. Owen flicked the newspaper, making it stand fully upright in his hands.
“I do always despise when you start sentences that way.” I picked up a ginger biscuit from the breakfast tray and plopped it into my mouth. One thing was certain, with Mrs. Penrose here I would not go hungry.
Mr. Owen had the temerity to look affronted. “I’ll have you know, there are very few pleasures available to a man of my years, and thinking is one of my favorites.”
“Last time you started a sentence that way you assured me I would not get arrested.”
“And you weren’t.”
“No, instead you nearly got me killed,” I laughed, finishing off the cookie. God bless Mrs. Penrose. No wonder Fiachna scarcely left the kitchen. “You cannot try to tell me that’s better.”
“Nearly isn’t completely. If they’d killed you, then you could kick up a fuss. Besides, did it do you any good?”
“Three times, Mr. Owen! I nearly died three times.”
