with huge black boulders at the base of soaring black cliffs.
“My l-lady,” Meg chattered. “It’s so c-cold.”
Blanche closed the window, simply breathless. “I am sorry, Meg.” Was she actually excited by this adventure? It seemed so!
Meg nodded at the other, still-open, window. Blanche was about to close it when she saw the sheep and cattle now grazing upon the moors. They had to be close to Land’s End. As she was anticipating her arrival there, clearly, she had been in town for far too long.
She had yet to visit Penthwaithe, her father’s estate. The moment she had realized that her friends were right and she must escape the crush of suitors, and that a holiday in Cornwall would be perfect—she had never been to the south—she had decided she would use the opportunity to call on Sir Rex. She was not interested in Sir Rex in the way Bess had suggested. That was absurd. Calling on him was socially correct—and a failure to do so was socially insulting. Of course, it was even more correct to go directly to Penthwaithe, settle in and then call at Land’s End. However, the decision to take a holiday in the south had been made so spontaneously that they had not had a chance to send word to Penthwaithe’s manager, informing him of her arrival. In fact, it was somewhat uncertain as to who that manager was. Her solicitors had only just discovered the manor’s existence, as the title had been lodged between drawers, perhaps for years. Bess was the one who had decided they would go directly to Land’s End, spend the night there, and then settle in at the neighboring manor.
It seemed logical to go directly to Land’s End and ask Sir Rex for lodging for the night. But Blanche was traveling alone except for her maid, Meg. At the last possible moment, Felicia had become ill—a ploy, Blanche knew, as she had no wish to leave Lord Dagwood. But Bess’s daughter had taken a nasty spill from her hack. Bess had clearly wished to rush home and Blanche had assured her she wouldn’t mind taking the holiday alone.
And she didn’t mind. The solitude was striking, but it was oddly pleasing, too. She had been surrounded by friends and callers each and every day of her entire life. When she wasn’t entertaining or making calls, she was immersed in her charitable duties, which involved numerous appointments and meetings.
They had spent two entire days traveling from London. Every day, the villages had become fewer and farther between. Every day, they had begun passing fewer travelers and fewer estates. Today, they hadn’t seen a single vehicle other than their own. They had passed the last village several hours ago.
The isolation was magnificent, Blanche thought, and it was also a terrible relief. It wasn’t just escaping the headache of entertaining so many single gentlemen every day—and deciding which one she would marry. There were no more meetings with her agents, trying to unravel her father’s complex affairs. There were no callers and no calls. For this brief holiday, she had no duties and it was very enjoyable, indeed. She had the most surprising sense of freedom.
Blanche had been taking in every detail of the countryside for some time now. She was beginning to wonder if everyone was wrong about Land’s End. They had taken the turnoff marked Land’s End and Bodenick an hour past. The road they were now traveling on was very well maintained—and in far better condition than the main highway. Grazing cattle and sheep dotted the moors and they were fat and well fed, unlike most of the livestock she had previously seen.
Beside her, her maid shifted restlessly.
“Meg?” she asked.
Meg grimaced. “It’s so cold, my lady. So cold and so ugly!”
Blanche shook her head. “It is a chilly day, but how can you say the moors are ugly? There is beauty in their stark desolation, beauty and power. And did you see the ocean, Meg? This is truly God’s creation!”
Meg looked at her as if she were mad.
A number of buildings were coming into view and the hills were now crisscrossed with hedges. Blanche inhaled, suddenly glimpsing a castle with a single tower, its back to the horizon where the ocean blended seamlessly into the sky.
Land’s End was not a manor home after all, she realized, glancing out of her coach window so she could see the castle as they approached. Several towering trees had emerged, lining the approach to the courtyard, where a single oak tree butted up against the dark castle walls. A herd of magnificent horses espied her coach and took flight. Blanche sat up with delight, watching a number of huge, dappled horses galloping alongside her coach. The herd wheeled and vanished over a rise.
As her coach approached the courtyard, she looked everywhere, at once. Wild rosebushes and vines crept up the castle walls, but they were obviously being tended. She was not a historian, but the castle had to be centuries old—and it was in perfect condition, on the outside, at least. There were a number of stone buildings, and the beginnings of a new structure, which she guessed might be a stable. She saw several carts neatly ordered between the buildings, and she now heard hammering. There were some bushes near the tower, cleverly clipped. In fact, everything was terrifically neat and well kempt.
Land’s End did not to appear to be as impoverished as it was rumored. It was impeccably maintained, Blanche thought. Oddly, she was pleased. And the countess did not have to worry—her son was clearly preoccupied with his estate and had no time for town or his family’s matchmaking.
Her coach had stopped a short distance from Bodenick’s front door. Blanche suddenly hesitated. She had not sent word and Sir Rex did seem inclined toward his privacy. Still, she was a family friend, and now, apparently, a neighbor. Sir Rex would never send her away. But she suddenly wished she had delayed her trip by a single day, so a note could have warned him of her arrival, never mind what Bess thought best.
And for the first time in a week, she thought about Sir Rex’s failure to offer his condolences. If she truly dared admit it, that lapse in grace did bother her, and in a way, so did his failure to come forward as a suitor. On the other hand, she instinctively knew he was not a fortune hunter, even if his estate was modest enough to warrant his marriage for financial reasons. It had probably never crossed his mind to look at her as a prospective wife.
Blanche was uncomfortable with her thoughts. She hardly thought him suitable even as a candidate for her hand, much less as a husband, so there was no point in feeling a bit chagrined by his failure to come forward. She was a renowned society hostess and he was a notorious recluse, so they had a grave contradiction of character. And she did not want to think any more about it. But oddly, suddenly she wished Bess were with her. Suddenly she felt a bit awkward, calling like this. Suddenly, she was nervous.
Still, he had always been the perfect gentleman when their paths had crossed. She could not imagine him turning her away.
Blanche smiled at her footman and stepped to the ground. “Please wait until I have had a chance to ask Sir Rex for the night’s lodging before you take care of the horses. Meg? Please stay here with the coach until we know that Sir Rex is home.”
Meg nodded.
Blanche started for the front door, aware now of the litany that was the ocean echoing on the beaches below the castle. She knocked on the front door, and as she waited for a response, she glanced at the rosebushes growing against the castle walls. She had been right, they were wild, but Sir Rex clearly had a gardener tending them. She wondered when the last thaw was and when the roses would bloom.
She turned back to the door, knocking again, somewhat concerned. She had to have been standing there for a good five minutes.
“My lady?” Meg called from beside the coach. “Maybe no one is home.”
