He’d separated himself from the group, on the excuse of letting Badger tumble through the heather. As she looked closely, Kate thought he had the dog engaged in a training exercise. However, she couldn’t follow quite what he was training Badger to do, because she kept getting distracted by the flexing of his thighs whenever he crouched to praise or correct the pup.
It wasn’t only his physical firmness that drew her attention. His character was solid, too. She’d long known him to be stern and immutable, but since their engagement party, Kate was beginning to glimpse the good qualities his silence masked. Patience, confidence, steadfastness. Such traits didn’t clamor for attention. They just quietly . . . existed, waiting to be noticed.
She’d made it her hobby these past few days—noticing. And the more she noticed, the more she yearned to know more.
“Well, that’s a lovely view for a picnic,” Aunt Marmoset said, joining them. “I do enjoy gazing upon a well-carved man.”
“He’s called ‘the Long Man of Wilmington,’ Aunt Marmoset.” Lark scribbled in her journal.
“How odd. I’d been under the impression his name was Corporal Thorne.” Aunt Marmoset came and put her hand in Kate’s pocket. “My dear, hold onto that one. Tightly, and with all four limbs.”
Kate blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. We have similar tastes.”
The old lady withdrew her hand, leaving Kate’s pocket oddly heavier—full of spice drops, she assumed.
“Remember what I told you,” Aunt Marmoset whispered. “Strong. Overwhelming at first. But with a bit of work, you arrive at the sweetness.”
Kate had to laugh. “I am coming to adore you, Aunt Marmoset. Even if you’re not truly my aunt.”
Over the past few days, she had begun to sort out the web of Gramercy family relationships. She knew Harry had meant it as a joke the first night, but she secretly had made herself a chart. Aunt Marmoset was Evan’s mother’s sister, come to live with the family when their father took ill. Therefore, the old lady was not a Gramercy and no potential blood relationship to Kate whatsoever. But that fact didn’t seem to diminish Aunt Marmoset’s efforts to welcome her with warmth and good humor and a great many spice drops.
All the Gramercys had blended in with Spindle Cove life. Drewe had rightly pointed out that the village was a haven for unconventional ladies—and Harry, Lark, and Aunt Marmoset certainly met the standard. They’d been enjoying regular activities with the other ladies: country walks, sea-bathing, making decorations for the fair.
But today the family had decided on an outing—not only to satisfy Harry’s curiosity about the Long Man, but to give them time alone. In the village, they’d still kept the possibility of kinship a secret. Here, they could speak freely.
Kate haltingly approached Lord Drewe. As always, his aristocratic presence and sheer male splendor humbled her. His gloves alone . . . they held her rapt. They were things of seamless, caramel-colored perfection, encasing deft, elegant hands.
“Any news from your men of business?” She hated to pry, but she knew from Sally that he’d had several expresses since arriving in Spindle Cove.
“No information of value at Margate,” he said regretfully. “No information at all.”
Kate only wished she could claim surprise.
“But now they’re canvassing the area around Ambervale, looking for any servants from Simon’s time. Perhaps one of them would remember Elinor and the babe.”
“That sounds like a possibility.” If a slim one.
His gloved fingertips touched her elbow, drawing her gaze up to his face. “I know the uncertainty is difficult to bear. For us all. Lark, in particular, is growing very attached to you. But today we should simply enjoy the outing.”
“Yes, of course.”
On the flat green, two liveried servants had been working hard to erect a canvas pagoda, topped with red banners gaily striping the blue sky.
The Gramercys did nothing without a certain degree of pageantry, Kate was coming to understand. From the carriages, the footmen unloaded two large hampers stocked with a variety of savory dishes and freshly baked sweets provided by the Bull and Blossom. This might be a picnic, but it wasn’t a rustic affair.
As she and Lark helped unpack and arrange a tray of jewel-bright jam tarts, Kate realized there was one question her charts hadn’t helped her settle. “Who is this Ames that Harry’s always talking of? Another cousin? A family friend?”
“No,” Harriet called back, overhearing them. “Not a cousin and certainly no kind of friend.”
“Now, Harry,” Lark said. “Just because the two of you had a little argument . . .”
“A little argument?” Aunt Marmoset scoffed. “More like a waterless reenactment of the Battle of Trafalgar, with saucers and teacups launched in place of cannonballs.”
“Ames must have been playing Lord Nelson, then,” Harry replied. “Because she has been dead to me ever since.”
“ ‘She’?” Kate had been picturing someone male.
Lark sighed and drew her into confidence. “When my sisters and I were younger, Miss Ames was our paid companion. And now . . . now she is simply Harriet’s companion. Her life companion.”