The door to Tamsyn's bedchamber stood ajar, and she could hear Josefa engaged in a somewhat one-sided exchange with a maidservant, who had brought a morning tray of chocolate and sweet biscuits for his lordship's guest.
Tamsyn wrapped the cloak securely around her so her unorthodox costume was fully hidden and entered the room with a cheerful, “Buenos dias, Josefa.”
“Oh, miss.” The girl turned with visible relief before Josefa could return the greeting. “I was trying to explain to your maid here that breakfast is served in the small parlor behind the library, but she doesn't seem to understand.”
“No, I'm afraid she won't,” Tamsyn said, smiling.
“But I can translate, and if there's a problem below stairs, Gabriel will translate.”
“That's that big bloke, is it, miss?” The girl's eyes were very round in a very round face.
“An accurate description,” Tamsyn agreed with a grin. “He's her husband.” It seemed simplest to tell the conventional fib.
“Right. Then I'll tell Mr. and Mrs. Hibbert-they're the butler and housekeeper,” she added. “We wasn't sure about how things stood, miss. You arriving so sudden like, and his lordship not being a great one for explanations.” She blushed in sudden confusion, clearly feeling she might have spoken out of turn, and bobbed a swift curtsy, backing out of the room muttering about fetching hot water.
“Ay… ay, I'll never understand my man's tongue,” Josefa declared. “Such a jabber. I told that girl three times that you'd be wanting hot water, and she just stared at me like an idiot.”
“She doesn't understand you, querida, any more than you understand her,” Tamsyn said, chuckling, as she threw off her cloak and the britches and shirt beneath. “But Gabriel or the colonel or myself will translate for you. Now, which of those stupid dresses shall I wear?”
Naked, she wandered to the armoire, taking the cup of chocolate on the way. She stood frowning in front of the wardrobe's contents, sipping chocolate, nibbling on a biscuit.
They'd spent five days in London, putting up at Grillon's hotel. The colonel had vanished once he'd seen them installed and hadn't reappeared until it was time to begin the journey to Cornwall. He'd given her a list of dressmakers and milliners, together with what he considered minimum requirements for a would-be debutante’s wardrobe, and left her to make shift as she could.
Tamsyn had found it tedious work putting together such a wardrobe, but she'd tackled the task with the grim determination she would have brought to any piece of necessary preparation for some serious venture. The colonel had inspected the fruits of her shopping the night before they'd begun their journey and had pronounced himself satisfied. Any other necessities or forgotten accessories could be purchased in St. Austell or Lostwithiel.
She heard the bustle behind her as Mary reappeared with a heavy copper jug of steaming water but didn't turn around, idly flicking through the garments. She disliked them all, reserving her greatest distaste for a sprig muslin that the colonel had particularly approved. She drew the dress out and held it up to the light. It was very pretty, pale lilac with a pattern of darker flowers and a cream sash.
“Ugh!” she muttered, tossing the despised gown onto the bed. “It had best be this.”
“Such a pretty dress, miss,” Mary said, fingering the material admiringly. “It'll suit your coloring.”
“I suppose so,” Tamsyn agreed half-heartedly, turning to the washstand where Josefa was filling the basin with hot water.
She scrubbed the salt from her skin with a soapy washcloth, enjoying the glow that her rough attentions left in their wake, then set about the tedious task of donning stockings, drawers, and chemise. So many clothes, and so unnecessary when the sun was as warm as it was today. She scrambled into a lawn petticoat, kicking at the folds with a grimace.
Josefa dropped the gown over her head, and she thrust her arms into the little puff sleeves with a roughly impatient movement that caused the other woman to tut reproachfully at the possible damage to the delicate material. The gown was hooked, the sash tied beneath her bosom, and she examined herself in the mirror. She really didn't look like herself
“My hair's getting long, Josefa, you must cut it for me.” She brushed her fingers through the smooth, fair cap. “It's straggling on my neck and the fringe is getting in my eyes.”
As satisfied as she was likely to be in such a costume, Tamsyn went downstairs to the breakfast parlor. The colonel had clearly been and gone, and only one place was laid at the round table in the bay window overlooking a side garden. The morning's activities had given her a good appetite, and she greeted with enthusiasm a footman's arrival with a dish of eggs, bacon, and mushrooms.
“Coffee or tea, miss?”
“Coffee, please.”
“Your manservant wishes a word with you, miss. Should I tell him to wait until you've breakfasted?”
“Ye'll no be telling me anything, laddie.” Gabriel spoke from the doorway. “And I'll thank ye to bring me another dish of the same. Good morning, little girl.”
Ignoring the footman's indignantly indrawn breath, he pulled out a chair and sat down. The footman was puffing up like a rooster, and Tamsyn said swiftly, “Gabriel isn't my manservant. He's more of a bodyguard. I'm sure Lord St. Simon will explain the situation to you.”
“Yes, miss.” The man sniffed and shot Gabriel a fulminating glance.
Gabriel's benign expression didn't change, but he pushed back his chair a fraction, his massive hands resting on the edge of the table. “And I'll have a tankard of ale with my breakfast, if you please.”
The footman paused, then beat a hasty retreat with as much dignity as he could muster. Gabriel's booming chuckle filled the small room as he reached for a crusty roll and slathered it with rich golden butter.
“I'll be needing to set a few things straight,” he observed. “Don't seem to know what to make of me in this house. I'd best have a word with the colonel.”
“Yes,” Tamsyn agreed absently. “I saw Cedric Penhallan yesterday.”
Gabriel's eyes sharpened. “Where?”
“In the inn at Bodmin. I couldn't say anything to you on the ride back because of the colonel.”
“Aye,” Gabriel agreed, falling silent as the footman returned with a tankard of ale that he placed beside him with an emphatic thump before turning to take a laden platter from the kitchen boy who'd followed him in.
“My thanks, laddie,” Gabriel said blandly, burying his nose in the tankard. The footman looked as if he would burst, and the boy stifled a grin, scuttling from the room before Tom took his fury out on him with a clout around the ear.
“You didn't speak with him?” Gabriel speared a mushroom and dipped it in his egg yolk.
“No, but the colonel did. They seem to know each other.”
“Most folks do in these parts.”
“I daresay, but they don't like each other, Gabriel. In fact I suspect that's an understatement.” She gave him her impressions, relating the snatch of conversation she'd heard.
“I'd best look into it, then,” Gabriel said comfortably. “Ask around in the taverns. They'll be cousins of yours, then, these nephews?”
“So it would seem. The children of Cecile's younger brother, I suppose. I can't remember his name-she did tell me once, but I've forgotten. She didn't consider him to be important in the family setup.”
“Seems like only Cedric's important in that setup,” Gabriel observed, burying his nose in his tankard.
“Up to now, Gabriel,” Tamsyn said with a small smile. “Up to now.”
“Well, well, I'll be damned. Did we really see St. Simon sporting in the waves with a doxy?” Charles Penhallan sighted, aimed, and his gun cracked. A crow plunged to the cliff top.
David grinned at his brother as he took aim himself Scaring crows was dull work but better than taking pot-shots at rabbits, and it was all the legitimate sport available at this time of year.