Simply Love

observant spectator might even have sworn that his lips twitched as he gazed back at his wife.

Precisely fifteen minutes later the last of the cavalcade of carriages moved away from the front doors of Glandwr, taking the Bedwyn family and all their children and guests-including David Jewell-to the morning service at the English church in the village.

Anne Jewell watched them leave from the window of her bedchamber, happy in the belief that her absence had gone quite unnoticed by everyone except Joshua and David.

Sydnam stood at the window of the sitting room in his cottage, watching the driveway. A number of carriages had passed down some time earlier-the service at the church was an hour earlier than the one at the Welsh chapel-but he had not seen Miss Jewell in any of them. She must intend to keep her appointment with him, then. For some reason he had half expected her to send an excuse-perhaps because he had looked forward to this so much.

It had looked earlier on as if it were going to rain, and the sky was still cloudy. But he thought the fine weather would hold after all.

He was tired. He was accustomed to the old nightmares, but they were never easy to bear, and pulling himself out of them after he had awoken was always akin to a nightmare in itself. The servants, including his valet, knew not to disturb him on such nights even if they heard him cry out or scream, as he sometimes did. In latter years he had been very thankful to be away from his family, whose concern and insistence upon bearing him company on such occasions was not so easily deterred. During the day after one of his nightmares he was always tired and listless, and usually depressed too. But the old, familiar enemy did not have quite the power it used to have. He had pulled himself determinedly free of it this morning.

He just wished last night had not been one of the nights. He wanted to be fully alert this morning. It might be the last opportunity he would have to be alone with her.

He wondered if she realized how close he had come to kissing her up on the hill a few nights ago. It was a night he would long remember. Her beauty and his attraction to her had proved almost irresistible. Thank heaven he had resisted.

They were not a couple who could fall into any easy flirtation or romance.

When he saw her coming down the driveway, tall and graceful and lovely in a cream-colored muslin dress with a straw bonnet tied with brown ribbons, he felt his spirits rise after all. It was such a rare thing to have female companionship, and he genuinely enjoyed hers. He donned his hat, let himself out of the cottage, and went to meet her beyond the cottage gate.

“I hope,” he said, looking up at the sky after greeting her, “we are not going to be rained upon. But the clouds do not look as threatening as they did earlier.”

She looked up too.

“I did not even bring an umbrella,” she said. “I am determined to be optimistic even if I ruin a bonnet in the process.”

And indeed she looked happy, as if she really were glad she had agreed to accompany him to the chapel. How foolish they had been to miss longer than a week of an acquaintance that seemed to give them both pleasure. He had thought of her a great deal during that week, he realized-and she was to be here for only a month in total.

Now that he was outdoors he felt less tired.

“The others all drove to church,” he said. “I saw the carriages pass. What excuse did you give for not going with them?”

“None,” she said. “I spoke privately with Joshua to ask if David could go to church with him. I told him why I would not be going myself, but I daresay he will not tell the others. Why would anyone else be interested to know where I am anyway?”

Ralf had brought her into the conversation while a few of them had been out riding last week-and had asked Sydnam’s opinion of her looks in such a contrived, offhand manner that it could only have been deliberate. Then the other night Sydnam had caught Alleyne’s eye as he stepped back into the drawing room with her, and there had been amused speculation there. And then he had intercepted Morgan’s glance, and she had smiled fondly at him. The Bedwyns might be very much more interested than Miss Jewell realized-but he would not alarm her by saying so. Bedwyns be damned-the women he chose to be friendly with were none of their business.

“The duchess has arranged for us all to go for a drive this afternoon,” she said. “I must not be too late back.”

“And I am planning to go over to Ty Gwyn later on if it does not rain,” he told her.

“Tea what?” she asked.

“Ty Gwyn,” he repeated. “Two Welsh words meaning white house, though in fact it is not white at all, but a sizable gray stone manor set in its own park. I believe the old house was indeed white, but it was pulled down and rebuilt a century or more ago. It belongs to the Duke of Bewcastle at present, but I have hopes of purchasing it from him and making it my own.”

He had finally broached the subject with Bewcastle two days ago. The duke had not said yes. Neither had he said no. He had merely stared at Sydnam, his silver eyes slightly narrowed, his fingers seeking out the handle of his quizzing glass.

“Doubtless,” he had said at last, “you have marshaled all sorts of irrefutable reasons why I should comply with this request, Sydnam. I will hear them all before I leave Glandwr, but not today. Today the duchess awaits my presence in the drawing room for tea.”

That had been that. But he had not said no.

“You spoke of it,” Miss Jewell said, “when we went walking in the valley, though you did not name it. TyGwyn. I like the name both in its Welsh form and in translation. It sounds cheerful.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “you would like to go over there with me one day before you leave here?”

As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. Ty Gwyn, he hoped, was going to be his future home. It was where he would belong, where he would set down roots, where he would be as happy as it was possible to be for the rest of his life. He was not sure it was at all wise to take Miss Jewell there, to have memories of her there- though why not he did not know.

But the words were out.

“I would like to show it to you,” he said. “I always make sure that the park is kept tidy and that the house is kept clean, though it is almost a year since the last tenants left.”

“Then I would like to go,” she said. “Thank you. I shall look forward to it.”

They did not speak much after that, but after stepping through the park gates and turning left along the narrow road with its hedgerows on either side and over the stone bridge that spanned the valley, they were soon in the village. It was small and picturesque, its gray stone houses, some thatched, some roofed with gray slate, set back a little way from the road at various angles, a green privet hedge all about the perimeter of each garden, flower beds and grass in front, long lines of vegetables growing at the back. The church was tall with a narrow spire, the chapel more squat and solid-looking a short distance farther along the road.

He did not always attend the chapel. Although he was taking Welsh lessons from Tudor Rhys, the minister, and could both understand and speak a few sentences and read a great deal more, he was quickly lost when people around him started to speak at normal conversational speed, and the lengthy sermons went right over his head. But he did come sometimes. He loved the sound of the language and the fervor of the minister and congregation. It was the music that drew him most, though.

He no longer felt self-conscious with the villagers, who had grown accustomed to his appearance long ago. But he felt self-conscious this morning as he arrived at the chapel with Miss Jewell and was aware of the hush that fell over the congregation and then the renewed whisperings and head noddings. And one glance at her told him that she was feeling equally embarrassed.

But it was a morning service that he knew he would long remember. Perhaps he always would, in fact. Though the villagers and country people were accustomed to him, most of them nevertheless kept their distance from him, perhaps more out of respect than revulsion. He always had the pew to himself-except today.

Today he had a beautiful woman seated beside him for all of an hour and a half and it was just as well no one could read his thoughts. During the long sermon he entertained all sorts of fantasies about her relationship to him.

Most of all, though, he would remember the way she blushed and smiled when Tudor Rhys suddenly switched