Page 47 of The Dreaming Beauty
Tansy had not been to town since their arrival at Rose Cottage, except to attend church, and she took in the tidy storefronts and market stalls with curiosity, suddenly wishing she could see it through Marcus’s eyes, as he had expressed a fondness for the place. From where she stood, the town was free of debris. Either it had not been hit by the storm as hard as other places, or the debris had already been cleared away. Pushing forward down High Street, she made her way toward the ironmonger, in search of nails. A man with an apron greeted her with a friendly nod and assisted her with her purchase of a few hand-forged nails as well as some cheap wooden pegs. He rolled them in brown paper and tied the purchase with a bit of string. When she asked after any scraps of wood, he directed her to the sawmill at the edge of town. On her way out, she mustered a smile at a couple passing by. Surely not everyone disliked them as Daisy had inferred. Of course, rumors spread quickly in small towns, but few of the people here had actually been introduced to her or her aunts.
Her gaze fell to her feet to keep her from wondering if anyone was staring as she navigated down the road toward the sawmill. When she looked up, she froze in surprise. There, coming toward her, were two honey-brown eyes and a charming smile belonging to none other than Marcus.
Her grin was instantaneous. “Mar—I mean, Mr. Taylor. I did not expect to see you this morning.”
“Nor I you.”
In her mind, they were back on the doorstep of Rose Cottage, and his arms were around her. She suddenly wished for the cloak of night, a stream of stars above them, and a reason to step closer to him. Instead, she stared awkwardly, recalling her drab brown dress, the bonnet strings she had left loose at her shoulders, and the shawl that was not big enough to hide herself behind. Her smile faded as she searched for something, anything, to say to him. His seemed to do the same, as the warmth in his expression disappeared into one of preoccupation.
A man approached them, and Marcus motioned her out of the way to the side of a set of steps leading to a cobbler’s shop called Brown’s Boots and Shoes. Marcus cleared his throat and glanced around as if searching for someone.
It was not hard to guess who it was. “Are you here with your family?”
His gaze came back to hers. “Yes, actually. My mother is in the milliner’s with Simon.”
“I see.” He didn’t want his mother to see them together, or maybe it was Simon he hoped to evade. His uneasiness where his family was concerned only fed her own. But it did not feel right to excuse herself without some attempt at conversation. “How did Ashbury Court fare in the storm?”
“We had a tree felled beside the dower house, but it was old and needed to come down anyway. Our gardener and gamekeeper are overseeing the task.”
The dower house. Was the dowager really a murderer? Tansy had not considered her conversation with the duke since their first painting lesson.
“How about Rose Cottage?” Marcus asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“It’s a mess, but thanks to your help, our fence is standing beautifully. I actually came to town to... to...” Should she mention the fairy houses? She hated to ask him.
His mouth turned down and concern flickered in his eyes. “What is it?”
“It’s Daisy.” She held up the bag of nails. Then she lowered her voice so no one would overhear and think her mad. “I am to rebuild stronger fairy houses after hers were destroyed. I admit I have little experience with this sort of thing.”
She had not expected uncertainty to flash in his eyes. He was a man who did not hesitate to help, and yet he was clearly doing so now. This was exactly why she had not wanted to race to his house to ask him directly for such a thing. He had a great deal of responsibilities, and she and her family were not and should not be on his list. As much as she had wanted to see him, and even now wished to prolong their visit, the timing felt off. “I should be on my way. I hope to purchase some wood scraps and start as soon as I return.”
“Lord Melbourne!” A stout older woman approached from the next store over and latched on to Marcus’s arms.
She did not seem old enough to be slight of mind, but Tansy winced at the woman’s confusion. Marcus was not Lord Melbourne, and even the duke did not carry that title any longer. Tansy stepped aside to make room and examined the woman as she examined Marcus. She wore a simple gray wool dress with a darker-gray fichu that curled around her neck. Wisps of salt-and-pepper hair strayed beneath the frill of her mobcap and bonnet.
“I do declare it has been an age!” The woman pulled out a handkerchief from her long sleeve and blotted her eyes. “Look at me, tearing up. You don’t even know me, do you?”
“I am not—” Marcus didn’t get a word in to correct her mistake before she answered her own question.
“It’s me, Nurse Jones, from Melbourne Meadows. Why, I took you straight from your mother’s arms after you was born. Such a dream, you were. Never cried. Always minded me. Forgive me. This must be your wife! I had not heard of your marriage. But isn’t she fine on the eyes and—”
“No, I am his neighbor,” Tansy interjected. The woman truly was mad if she thought a titledladywould be wearing the hideous brown dress she was wearing.
“Oh? He seemed to look at you like... well, never mind. It is hardly my business.” Her eyes went back to a flustered Marcus. “But you are not Lord Melbourne anymore, but His Grace. I heard how you inherited the dukedom. There was never a better young master, and I imagine you are an even better one now. Oh dear, my niece is waving me down.” Nurse Jones waved to a younger woman across High Street who held a crying baby, then released Marcus’s arms and grasped his hand instead. “Dear me. I must go. I recently moved to town to stay with my niece, Mrs. Fairchild, to help tend her little ones. But there are many stories I could jaw your ear off with. You’ll come see me soon, won’t you?”
Marcus opened his mouth. “I am not—”
But Nurse Jones heard nothing as she fled from them with a spryness that negated her mental state. If Marcus was flustered before, he was more so now. He stared after the woman, his brow creased.
When he turned back to Tansy, she gave him her best encouraging smile. “It’s so hard when a person ages and starts to confuse things.”
“It is a sad thing,” he said. “I wish I had a recollection of her, as I have no doubt she was a kind nurse.” He cleared his throat, and his hand tapped against his leg. “I will encourage Simon to reconnect with her, should he have the mind to.” He took a step backward, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his steel-gray cravat as he swallowed hard. “Forgive me. I have been away too long and must find my mother.” He dipped his head and turned away, his expression bordering annoyance.
Tansy clutched her bag of nails tighter. Was it her or Nurse Jones who had brought on such an emotion in him? Nothing in his words denoted any reason for her to be concerned, but she was beginning to know him well enough to sense otherwise.
Chapter 22
What else could a mando when he saw a beautiful woman outside a store window but hurry out in hopes of catching her? Marcus had waited a full ten minutes for her to finish up at the ironmonger’s, and then when he had her to himself, he’d been interrupted by a sweet but senile woman. This wasn’t the first time he had been mistaken for Simon, and not because they resembled each other at all but because they were often together. It had been some time, though, and this one had thrown him. He’d been searching for a way to ask if Tansy had used her painting things, but now he was glad for the interruption. Perhaps he was trying too hard to make something work that would never come to pass.
