Time together shouldn’t be difficult to arrange. Now he was fixed for the summer at the castle, there were any number of issues on which his and Madeline’s paths would cross-or could be made to cross.
He felt the brandy working its way through his system, relaxing, warming, easing as it went.
His next steps didn’t seem too onerous. Not even vaguely problematic. He’d just spend some time with Madeline, and all would be well.
Or as well as things could be, until he could return to London and find himself a wife.
Chapter 2
Madeline was cantering westward along the bridle path that followed the clifftops around the bay when she saw Gervase Tregarth riding toward her. Drawing her mind from her mental list of all she hoped to accomplish that day, she smiled and thanked fate; she really didn’t have the time to spare had she been forced to search for him.
He was still some distance away, but the vivid green cliffs were devoid of trees or other cover. The instant he’d come into sight she’d recognized him; there were few other males in the area with quite his build, the broad shoulders and long rangy frame that seemed so at home in a saddle, especially with the sky wide above and the sea crashing on the shore below. His hair, a dark mousy brown, was, as always, uncovered, his fashionably cropped curls rippling in the breeze.
As he neared, she pondered the oddity of hair that appeared so soft yet did nothing to gentle the austere, aristocratic planes of his face. Well-set eyes beneath a wide brow, a strongly patrician nose and squared chin all contributed to the aura of strength, solidity and power that habitually clung to him.
They met midway between the Park and the castle. Slowing, they drew rein; their horses pranced, danced. Subduing her big chestnut, Artur, Madeline nodded a smiling greeting. “Gervase-the very man I was seeking.”
His brows rose; his sharp hazel eyes-a pale hazel more amber than green-passed over her face. For an instant she sensed he was studying her, but then he asked, “Is there some problem?”
She laughed. “Not of my brothers’ doing, thank Heaven, but I received a note from Squire Ridley asking me to call. He wants to pick my brains on the subject of the local mines, but I confess I’m not aware of any recent developments. I thought perhaps you might have heard something to account for his query.”
Gervase’s face was always difficult to read; expressions rarely rippled his surface, leaving one to guess at his thoughts. Yet in this instance, his blankness suggested he knew no more than she.
He confirmed that. “I’ve heard nothing recently-indeed, for some time. All goes well as far as I know.”
She nodded. “That’s my understanding, too.” She picked up her reins. “Nevertheless, I’ll ride to the manor and see what’s troubling Gerald.”
“I’ll come with you.”
As Gervase circled her, turning his huge gray, she glanced at him. “By all means-but weren’t you on your way somewhere?”
His head came up and he met her eyes-and again she sensed that he was looking at her more intently than usual. “I was just riding-no specific destination in mind.”
“In that case…” With a grin, she tapped her heels to Artur’s sides and the big gelding surged.
Within ten strides, the gray drew alongside. She flicked Gervase a laughing glance; he smiled back, then gave his attention, as did she, to the clifftop path.
She didn’t often get the chance to ride freely in company; when she rode with her brothers or their aged steward, one part of her mind was always on guard to identify any potentially lethal rabbit hole or hidden ditch. It was an unexpected pleasure to ride before the wind-or into it, as was the situation that day-without any such care clouding the simple pleasure of the fresh air on her face, the regular tattoo of Artur’s hooves, the exhilaration of their speed, and the strangely shared moment.
A sidelong glance at Gervase confirmed that he was enjoying the ride as much as she. Neither of them held back, but let their hacks-both seventeen hands plus, powerful and strong-run freely, using the reins only to guide them when they angled off the clifftop path and struck inland, over the windswept downs, going north of Kuggar Village with the hamlet of Gwendreath to their right, then over a section of the Goonhilly Downs to the village of Cury.
As they rode under the cloudless summer sky, with larks dipping and swooping high overhead, the only occurrence to ruffle her serenity was the occasional piercing, penetrating glance Gervase directed her way. Not that she saw them; whenever she glanced at him he was looking ahead, transparently at ease, no sign in his inscrutable face that he’d been looking at her.
But she felt those glances, lancing sharp and…examining. She’d been right; he was looking more closely at her, studying her.
She couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. She’d glanced into the hall mirror on her way out; there was nothing odd about her appearance. Her hair, of course, would be doing its best to escape its confinement, but that was nothing new.
Ridley Manor lay just beyond Cury; they slowed and clattered into the cobbled yard before the old stone house. Hearing the racket, Gerald, Squire Ridley, came out to greet them, leaning heavily on his cane. He was over sixty, with a thick shock of white hair; he’d started to develop a stoop, but his blue eyes were still shrewd and there was nothing whatever amiss with his mind.
A smile wreathing his lined face, he stumped forward as they dismounted. “Madeline, my dear-I knew I could count on you.” He shook her hand, then turned to Gervase. “And I see you’ve brought the prodigal with you.”
Gervase grinned; handing his reins to the groom who’d come running, he clasped Gerald’s proffered hand. “Madeline mentioned your query-I was curious, as is she, to learn what occasioned it.”
“Aye, well.” Gerald beckoned them to follow him inside. He led the way into his front parlor. Waving them to armchairs, he sank into his own, angled beside the hearth. “I would have sent to you as well, but I thought you were off to London again.”
Gervase’s smile was perfunctory. “I was, but this latest business with the mill brought me back. I expect to remain here over the summer.”
Madeline saw that it was on the tip of Gerald’s tongue to ask about the mill and Gervase’s sisters’ antics, but then the older man thought better of it and turned to the business that had brought them there.
“Well, as to why I asked whether you’ve had any recent news about the mining, there’s a London gentleman making offers for mining leases hereabouts.”
Gervase frowned. “A London gentleman?” Puzzling if true; the tin mining leases in the area were, by and large, held by locals. Estates such as Crowhurst and Treleaver Park, as well as local landowners like Squire Ridley, had made it a tradition to absorb any leases that might be offered for sale. They were a small community and had seen the wisdom of keeping control of the extensive tin mining in the locality in local hands. In addition, the royalties from the mining provided a welcome cushion against the vissicitudes of fortune to which farming enterprises were so vulnerable.
Gerald nodded. “Supposedly, but it’s his agent doing the rounds. Polite young man, not quality but neat, knows his place. He called here day before yesterday. I’m not sure where he-the agent-is staying, and he didn’t give me his master’s name. Just asked very nicely whether I was interested in parting with any of the leases I hold. I told him no, but then I got to thinking.” Gerald fixed his faded eyes on Gervase’s face. “Perhaps this London gentleman knows more than I do, and thinks there’s some reason why I might want to sell?” Gerald glanced at Madeline. “That’s why I sent to ask whether you’d heard any whisper-of a downturn, or a glut, or…?”