Page 17 of Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie's Curse
Following him to where her family had grouped before the fire, she craned her necktosee.
“Ah, here you are, Tamsyn dear.” Her mother turned, all smiles. Her movement opened a gap, so that Tamsyn could see at last the man who had them all in atizzy.
She stilled, utterly unabletomove.
“May I present to you my eldest daughter, Lady Tamsyn?” Her mother urged herforward.
She couldn’t make herself bend, curtsy, smile, speak a greeting—any or all of the things that she knew she must do. She could onlystare.
Her father beamed, her sisters simpered. But Tamsyn was caught by the sight of the man before her—his form old and stooped. His clothes were rich, but the brightness of his linen could not hide the age spots or the stray hairs that bunched in places everywhere but his head. The smoothness of his superfine coat could not disguise his wrinkled skin oremaciatedform.
Her mother elbowed her. “Tamsyn, meet Mr.Rowancourt.”
“Oh. I—uh, do excuse me,” she stammered. “How nice tomeetyou.”
Her brain was spinning and her heart pounded. Rowancourt? Wasn’t that the name Gryff had mentioned, in his story of the stranger who wanted the parcel of his father’s land? Where the pixies were supposed todwell?
“And a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” The man sent her father a charged look. “Every daughter you present to me is more beautiful thanthelast.”
It was a pretty compliment to the girls, but Tamsyn sensed it was her father that the man was interested in. She looked wildly from him to her family, but they all seemed thrilled with the visitor. What did they see, when they lookedathim?
“Truly, this one is special,” Rowancourt continued. “You must feel right at home here in the wilds. You have the touch of mist and magic onyourbrow.”
Her sisterstittered.
Tamsyn wondered just what he saw whenhelookedather?
“Mr. Rowancourt was telling us the best places to keep our horses in London, Tamsyn. We told him what a grand rideryouare.”
“I suspect beauty and talent run together in all of your family,” he saidsmoothly.
Tamsyn met the stranger’s gaze directly. His eyes were the only part of him that didn’t look on the verge of collapse. They were large and grey and she could almost swear she could see something swirling there, like a storm cloud. “Thank you, sir. You are kind. My father said that you have come for the reading ofthewill?”
“Did he?” The man drew back. “Yes. It’s just a small matter. I’m sure all will be put torights.”
She blinked, not having to feign confusion, but determined to find out everything she could. “Do you mean that you have come on your own? You were not summoned byMr.Hunt?”
“Now, now,” her father interrupted. “I’ve assured Rowancourt that Hunt is a fine man and an upstanding solicitor. He’ll see everything is done just as itshouldbe.”
She watched the stranger closely. “Have you met Mr. Hunt yet, sir? Father is right, he seemsirreproachable.”
“I haven’t met him, but I will soon enough.” The old man arched a brow at her. “And I think that you, my lady, have an idea that no one is truly as they present themselves to the world.” He gave a little bow. “Save for the present company, of course, which must be even more pleasing on deeperacquaintance.”
Her sisters laughed again, thinking he was being flirtatious, but Tamsyn knew he was fishing for clarity just as she was. “On the contrary, sir. If my time here in the last few days has taught me anything, it’s that people are oftenmorethan what they seem.” She tilted her head. “Oh, and you also must ask Father to introduce you to Mr. Drake, the castle steward. He’s been with the family for a long time and knows everything about the castle and the people here. Surely he might be helpful in your business.” She paused. “Or have you met him already, as you were gettingsettledin?”
“No, but I got in late in the evening.” The stranger smiled at her mother. “Enough of business matters, they are sure to bore young ladies. We were going tohavetea.”
But it was too late. Tamsyn watched the truth form before him, an image of the old man standing over a confused looking Drake, while the steward handed over a file of papers. She looked closer even as the image began to fade. Rowancourt looked the same, but that was ayoungerMr.Drake.
She fought to contain herself as they sat down to tea. She couldn’t eat a thing and let her sisters carry most of the conversation. Eventually a notion dawned on her. She leaned over to Gwyn and asked, “What color would you call Mr.Rowancourt’shair?”
“Wheat?” Gwyn answered with a sigh. “Or Starlight onWheat?”
“Hmmm,” was all the reply Tamsyn couldmanage.
“His hair is all well and good, but that chin? Those cheekbones? I vow, such bone structure is crying out to be immortalized in marble.” She giggled. “Forget the portraits, we should ask Father to begin a collection of sculpture—and to startwithhim.”
Tamsyn made another noncommittal sound. Surely they must all be seeing the well-favored man that her father’s vision had shown her this morning. She was the only one who could see thetruth.
