The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace 3)

‘But—’ Tamsyn began.

‘But neither Rosie nor I enjoy cities,’ Izzy continued. ‘You could go, though, dear. You have never been to London, after all.’

‘I couldn’t leave, not now, with all this going on. And surely Lady Pirton knows about my marriage and Jory. She wouldn’t want me visiting, surely?’

‘Yes, she knows and she was very sympathetic and understanding at the time. And it is not as though the season is under way,’ Rosie said. ‘You could see the sights and keep her company for a week or so, do a little shopping. We will be quite safe here with our two sturdy bodyguards. And Mr Defoe says in his letter something about the dealer he took the pictures to.’ She searched painfully through the scattered sheets in her lap until her arthritic fingers found the page she was looking for.

‘Yes, here it is. He says that the dealer has put the pictures into his own strong room until we decide what to do about them. I really think it would be best to go and talk to this Mr Masterson and get all the details, don’t you? He may have advice about looking after them.’

But… No, she couldn’t just sit there mouthing the same word over and over. Tamsyn made herself look at the issue objectively. The aunts had their large and capable bodyguards and she was certain that if she asked him, Dr Tregarth would call in daily. She had strengthened the security on the farm and the livestock. It would be sensible to talk to the dealer about the paintings now that they knew what a responsibility they were. She might even find out more about Franklin and whatever mess he had got himself into. Which left the real reason she did not want to go to London—Cris was there.

Coward. ‘Yes, I will go,’ she found herself saying before she could think about it any more. ‘I will go to London.’

Chapter Eighteen

‘Excellent,’ Aunt Rosie said. ‘You deserve a holiday, my dear, and you will enjoy London.’

Will I? Tamsyn had her doubts, starting with the risk of encountering Cris, through qualms about her lack of familiarity with society beyond the local gentry and assemblies at the nearby towns, to the prospect of making the longest journey she had ever attempted.

She mentally stiffened her spine and told herself not to be feeble. She could do this. ‘Will you write at once, Aunt Izzy, and say I would be delighted to come for a week? And I will send a note to the Golden Lion in Barnstaple and book a seat on the stage for the day after tomorrow.’

‘I will say a month,’ Aunt Izzy said from her seat at the writing desk. ‘It is too far to make a week’s stay worthwhile. The roads are better than the last time I went to London, but they are still poor as far as Tiverton, so you will be a good two days on the road, besides having to set out from here the day before to stay at the Golden Lion. You had best take Harris with you, you can’t go staying at inns by yourself and we can manage with Molly. I can always get in more help from the village if necessary.’ Purposeful now the decision had been made, she was writing rapidly as she talked.

Tamsyn went to her own desk and wrote a note for the doctor, then another to the inn to reserve a room and two inside seats on the stage, and finally a list of things to do that took up three sheets of notepaper. It was not until she fell into bed that night with a grateful sigh that she realised that she had not thought about Crispin de Feaux for at least eight hours. That seemed like a small, but significant, victory.

*

Tamsyn swam up through clouds of sleep into a pale blue light and, for a moment, had no idea where she was. She fought her way upright against a heap of pillows, looked around and remembered. She was in London. Had arrived yesterday afternoon and had been swept into the warmth of Lady Pirton’s welcome.

‘My dear Tamsyn! May I call you Tamsyn? Such a pretty name. Welcome to London!’

Her hostess, in a flurry of silken skirts, had come across the drawing room, hands outstretched as Tamsyn collected her scattered and travel-tossed wits and executed a respectable curtsy, trying not to stare like a yokel at the elegance of Lady Pirton and her drawing room. ‘Lady Pirton, thank you for your invitation.’

‘Harriet, dear. Why, we are almost cousins, are we not? Now then, are you exhausted? What would you like best? A nice bath and your bed? A little something to eat? A walk in the fresh air? You must tell me just what would suit you.’

‘A bath, something to eat and my bed, Cousin Harriet,’ Tamsyn had admitted honestly. ‘I do apologise, but I have to confess that the room is jolting up and down and I forget when I last had more than a few hours’ sleep together.’ And when she had closed her eyes it had been to fall into a restless doze, full of anxious dreams about the aunts and disturbingly erotic fantasies of Cris.

As she had travelled, grown more weary of the jolting, crowded coach, the hectic, grubby inns, the constant need to look out for their possessions and to find their way in unfamiliar places, she had felt both her uncertainty about what to do deepening but her determination to do something about Franklin strengthening.

‘You are a heroine for even attempting a stagecoach journey of that length,’ Cousin Harriet said with a shudder. ‘Now, up to your suite and I will send my woman to look after you. I have no doubt yours is in as much need of a rest as you are.’

And now it was full morning, judging by the light. A bell pull hung by the bed and she tugged it, wary of just who might appear and hoping it would not be Cousin Harriet’s very superior lady’s maid, Fielding, who had helped her into her bath, unpacked her battered valises and had refrained with crashing tact from showing any reaction to her workaday, unfashionable wardrobe.

But, thank goodness, it was Harris who came in, neat as a pin as usual and looking as rested as Tamsyn felt. ‘How are you feeling, Harris?’

‘Much better, Mizz Tamsyn. Sorry—madam, I should say.’ Harris wrinkled her nose. ‘Lord, but they’re a starched-up lot below stairs, for all they’ve made me very comfortable. All precedence and Miss Fielding this and Miss Harris that. And a butler called Pearson with a poker up his—yes, well, you know what I mean.’

Tamsyn snorted with laughter and felt better. ‘It is all very grand, is it not? What is the time?’

‘Eight o’clock, madam. Her ladyship says, would you care for breakfast in your chamber or will you join her in the breakfast parlour in half an hour?’

‘I’ll go down, I can’t lie about in my room any longer.’ Tamsyn slid out of bed. ‘It will have to be the green morning dress, I think, Harris. It is the better of the two.’

*

Cousin Harriet was just entering the breakfast parlour as Pearson, the stately butler, showed Tamsyn to the door. She managed to say, ‘Thank you, Pearson’, without giggling over Harris’s pungent description of him and took her seat.

‘Now then, what would you like to do, my dear? I have all kinds of suggestions, but this is your visit.’ Lady Pirton heaped her plate from the buffet with an enthusiasm that belied her slender figure and gestured to Tamsyn to help herself.