Love for Lady Winter - Christy Carlyle Page 0,1
kindness and concern that Win wasn’t quite used to. “Have I insisted you travel too soon? While you’re still too filled with grief?”
“Not at all.” She could wake now, most days, without thinking of her parents’ death fourteen months past. “I enjoy accompanying you on your travels. Especially to places I’ve never been.” In truth, Win had never traveled much at all, other than the occasional journeys from Buckinghamshire to London and back. Her family had been a solitary lot. Even now, her three older siblings had drifted their separate ways, as if their family’s tragedy was best faced alone.
But Win didn’t like being alone, and she was grateful for her aunt’s generosity. After the loss of her parents, her mother’s oldest sister had offered kindness, companionship, a home. Aunt Elinor never assigned her duties, but Win was happy to manage her correspondence, pen invitations, and arrange the menus in their London home.
They rubbed on well together and had much in common. Aunt Elinor was a spinster, as Win expected to be. They both loved Bach concertos, bad poetry, and bawdy novels. And both of them had been blighted with odd coloring. Her aunt confessed her bright red curls had earned her as much derision as Win’s white blonde waves. Most of all, Aunt Elinor was patient. She never shouted or criticized. And she was amusing. Few could resist her lively conversation, even if much of it during this trip had been about a haunted castle on the Cornish coast.
“Thank goodness we’re not staying at Keyvnor.” Her aunt’s tone wasn’t completely convincing. There was a note of intrigue in her voice whenever she spoke of the castle. “They are expecting quite a crush, I understand. The chambers will be overflowing with attendees arriving from all corners of England.”
“With two couples marrying, there must be a veritable army of guests.” The thought of attending an event with so many people tied a knot in the center of Win’s throat. Yet it was the purpose of their journey to Cornwall. A double wedding was to be held on Christmas Eve, and ancestral connections between the Renshawes and Banfields resulted in an invitation for both of Win’s aunts.
The aunt she would soon meet, Aunt Cornelia of Cornwall, had become a kind of mythic figure in Win’s mind. Her mother spoke fondly of her wild, adventurous sister who’d married a privateer and settled in a humble cottage overlooking the sea that had claimed him.
“Look, dear. We approach Penwithyn.” Aunt Elinor fussed with the broach at her neck as she peered through the carriage window toward a two-story structure gilded in afternoon light. “Shockingly tiny, isn’t it? I did warn you that Cornelia’s home is much smaller than what you’re used to.”
“I prefer cozy spaces and small houses.” Gissing Park had been too cavernous for Win’s family. Half the chambers went unused by anyone. Except for the ghosts.
“Despite its appearance, Penwithyn is full of cozy rooms, and Cornelia assures me we shall each have our own bed chamber.”
As they approached the cottage, Win glanced toward the sea. The land tilted down and she studied the hazy line where the water met the sky. With her own odd tastes, she’d hoped for ominous clouds and churning waves along the coastline. From all she’d read of Cornwall, it was the perfect setting for the Gothic novels she favored. But the day had been cold and clear. Only one object obscured her view. An odd free-standing round tower on the horizon, not far from Penwithyn. “What’s that?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Aunt Elinor retied her bonnet and pushed stray strands of hair back into their pins. “T’wasn’t here the last time I visited. Some fancy of her ward, mayhap. Cornelia says he’s of a scientific bent. He always was a curious boy.”
“Inwardly curious or outwardly so?” Whenever Win had been called curious, it had not been intended as a compliment.
Aunt Elinor let out a soft chuckle. “A bit of both, I suppose. You may soon judge for yourself.”
Soon came very quickly. The coachman drew the horses to a jangling stop outside the cottage’s battered wooden door. A moment later, a woman emerged who took Win’s breath away, for she was the very image of Win’s mother.
“Ellie, my goodness, I’ve missed you.” Aunt Cornelia took her sister in a long embrace and then turned her attention to Win. “You must be Winifred, Mariah’s youngest. You have her stubborn chin and quite the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen.” She enveloped Win