The Rogue Not Taken by Charlotte Henry

Author:Charlotte Henry [Henry, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-939087-98-0
Publisher: Moonshell Books, Inc.

Chapter 13

The Tremayne family usually used the large closed carriage for travel about the parish, but that would be far too intimidating a vehicle in which to take a young lady for a drive. The high flyer had gone to Truro for repairs. Jago’s only other option was his mother’s gig, which was low and rather flimsy, but since they were not like the Penroses, with a different carriage for every mood, he was forced to use it.

As he bowled into the village, he congratulated himself on having successfully avoided his father for going on three days now. It couldn’t last forever; nor should it. After today’s tête-à-tête, all would be resolved.

Since the cloud cover had lifted and a brisk breeze was blowing, Minerva Tomgallon was waiting at the gate, a turkey roosting upon the wall behind her. She wore a pelisse of heavy wool, though it was too early in the autumn for it, and a bonnet with a deep and practical brim, trimmed only with enough ribbon to keep it secured and no more.

“Will the fowl be coming along, too?” he inquired as he handed Minerva into the gig.

“I think not,” she said in a considering tone. “She is a homebody, and her conversation is of the domestic kind. This I will say—she never contradicts me, which I find an admirable trait.”

Jago took encouragement from this philosophy. He guided the horse up Water Street past the large, elegant square of buildings that housed the Morvoren China Clay Company’s pottery, and into the countryside toward the high ground, where one might stop and point out the sights.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To Pevensey Hill. There is a barrow there and a very good view of the entire parish. It will be like looking at a map of the neighborhood, for on a clear day you can see as far as St. Michael’s Mount.”

“I should like to go there,” she said. “Imagine walking across to the castle at low tide and having to remember the time, or be stranded.”

“In that case, I am certain you would find someone with a boat,” he told her. “And if worse came to worst, Sir John St. Aubyn would offer you refuge until the tide went out again.”

“Goodness. I should not dare to ask. My acquaintance does not aspire to such exalted persons.”

They wound their way up the rising ground while Jago cudgeled his brain for a way to open the conversation they must have. In the end, there was nothing for it but to plunge in, for here they were at the top, with not a soul in sight to interrupt.

He brought the horse to a halt in the shelter of an enormous henge formed of three uprights and a massive lintel. Minerva looked up. “We shall not get wet if it rains, at any rate. I have read of these. They were said to be the tombs of ancient kings.”

“If you look there, you can see Minear Park.” With the whip, he pointed down the valley.

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