Before he could respond, she whirled, opened the door, and walked out into the hall.

He followed, shutting the door. He caught her gaze as she faced him. “Behave yourself while I’m gone-go ask Mrs. Slattery for more of Mama’s recipes.”

That earned him a glittering, tight-lipped smile.

He grinned, reached out with one finger and traced her cheek. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

Penny watched him walk off, arrogantly assured, heading for the stables. Her lips eased into a genuine smile. Now she knew where he was going, she could make sure their paths didn’t cross.

After an early luncheon, she rode into Fowey, left her mare at the Pelican Inn, and once again descended to the harbor. After checking that the fishing fleet was indeed out, she climbed the narrow lanes to Mother Gibbs’s door.

Mother Gibbs welcomed her with a cackle, and a shrewd eye for the sovereign she’d promised, but the old biddy was as good as her word; when Penny left some twenty minutes later, all they’d heard thus far and surmised of Nicholas’s interests had been confirmed.

She turned out of the narrow passageway onto the quay.

And walked into Charles. Again.

One look into his eyes was enough to confirm that he now understood why she’d wanted to know wither he’d been bound.

She raised her brows at him. “You must have ridden like the wind.”

“I did, as it happens.” His accents were clipped, his jaw tight; he clearly recalled telling her he didn’t want her visiting Mother Gibbs alone. His fingers locked about her elbow, he turned and walked beside her along the harbor wall.

Refusing even to acknowledge his very male irritation at her intransigence, she looked ahead. “What did you learn?”

After a tense moment, he conceded. “There wasn’t much to learn in Lostwithiel-no one around who could name any local lads Granville may have called friend. As for Tywardreath, the fraternity there knew of him only by repute-he’d never run with them.”

“If he hadn’t gone as far west as Tywardreath, it’s unlikely he’d have gone farther.”

“So I think. With all the gangs about the estuary to choose from, and the Fowey crews are some of the best, why venture to more distant territory?”

They turned away from the harbor to climb back to the High Street.

“Incidentally, I’m not amused.”

“How did you know I was there?”

“I stopped to chat to the head ostler at the Pelican and saw your mare. The rest was easy.” His gaze lifted to her face. “So what did you learn?”

She told him.

Charles listened, inwardly conceding that Mother Gibbs was an excellent source-an inspired choice on Penny’s part, much as he disapproved of the connection. “So Nicholas is definitely setting himself up as Granville’s replacement, specifically putting it about that any contact looking for Granville should now be referred to him.”

“That must mean he’s expecting someone to make contact.” Penny looked at him. “But why would that be? The war’s over. There’s nothing, surely, that the French would pay to learn-is there?”

“Nothing military. But Nicholas is Foreign Office, and they’re involved in trade pacts and so on.” After a moment, he added, “I’ll ask Dalziel.”

Twisting her elbow from his grip, Penny closed her hand over his wrist and halted. She lifted her eyes to his. “Is there any way you can ask without mentioning names?”

He held her gaze for a moment, then turned his hand and caught hers. Confessed. “I’ve already told Dalziel about Nicholas, but believe me, Dalziel’s no threat to you. I trusted him with my life for thirteen years-no danger to you or your family will come through him.”

When she just looked at him, her gray eyes momentarily blank, inward-looking, he squeezed her hand. He wished he could read her mind as well as he could most women’s, then made a plea he wasn’t sure it was wise to make. “Trust me.”

She refocused, stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. “All right.” Turning, she slid her hand back on his arm.

They continued on, while he grappled with his reaction.

All right. Just like that, without further questions, she trusted his decision, one involving her family’s honor, no less. He steered her back to the Pelican, buoyed and touched by her accepting his word on a matter so profoundly important to her with so little reservation.

Reaching the Pelican, they retrieved their horses; once more side by side, they rode back to the Abbey.

Cassius and Brutus came lolloping up as they walked out of the stables. The hounds gamboled about them, pushing shaggy heads under their hands for pats. Penny laughed and complied. Charles looked across at her.

“Come for a walk-it’s too early for dinner, and these two need a run.”

The hounds had understood enough; they circled, barked encouragingly.

She smiled. “All right.”

They followed the dogs east to the long sweep of the ramparts. Steps led up to the broad grassed walk atop the sloping mound; they climbed them side by side. In companionable silence, they walked along, drinking in the wide views over the lush green fields to the silvery blue estuary and farther, to where the waves of the Channel glittered on the horizon, gilded by the sun.

The breeze was brisk, tugging wisps of her hair from her chignon, rakishly ruffling Charles’s black curls. The hounds bounded up and down the slopes, ranging out, noses to the ground, then circling back to check on them before ambling off once more.

Charles scanned the fields as they walked along. “What was it like around here during the war?” He gestured with one hand, encompassing all before them. “Did anything change?”

She understood what he was asking; she shook her head. “Not fundamentally. There was more activity in the estuary-naval ships and the like putting in, and our local privateers were especially active. There was always talk of the recent engagements whenever one went into village or town, and no dinner party was complete without a full listing of all the latest exploits.

“But underneath, no, there was no real change. The same day-to-day activities still consumed us-the fields, the crops, the fishing. Which family’s son was walking out with which family’s daughter.” She paused, remembering. “Life rolled on.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he’d asked; instead, she observed, “But if there were any real changes wrought by those years, you, coming back to it so rarely, would notice more than anyone.” She glanced at him. “Has it changed?”

He halted, looked at her, then looked out over the fields, now his fields, to the sea. His chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath, then he shook his head. “No.”

Turning, he walked on; she kept pace beside him.

“If I had to identify the most important motivation driving those who fought in the war, then it would be that we fought to keep this”-he gestured to the fields-“and all the other little pieces of England unchanged. So the things that define us weren’t washed away, debris cleared to allow a victor’s rule, but would endure and still be here for the next generation.”

A moment passed, then he added, “It’s comforting to find things the same.”

She caught the waving wisps of her hair. “You spent years over there, years at a time. Did you think of us often?”

He looked over her head at the Channel, beyond which he’d spent all those years; there was, to her educated eyes, something bleak in his gaze. “Every day.”

Her throat tightened; she knew how he felt about this place-the fields, the sky, the sea. There were no easy words she could offer him-would offer him-in the face of what she more than anyone understood had been his sacrifice. Small wonder those years had chipped and chiseled and separated the man from the superficial mask.

She was watching when he glanced down. His blue eyes met hers. For an instant, recognition and acceptance were simply there, as they so often had been in years past.

“Why didn’t you marry?”

The question took her aback, then she nearly laughed; it was typical of him to cut to the heart of things, blatantly ignoring all social convention. Her lips curved; she continued strolling. “As I’m sure your mother told you, I had four perfectly successful Seasons, but none of the gentlemen caught my eye.”

“As I heard it, you amply caught theirs. Several of theirs-a small platoon, it sounded like. So what didn’t you like about them-they can’t all have had warts.”

She laughed. “As far as I know none of them did.”

“So why were you so fussy?”

Why did he want to know? “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

He hesitated. She wondered, but then he said, “Not this time.”

She glanced at him, surprised at the undercurrent of steel in his tone, at a loss to account for it.

He caught her glance, lightly shrugged. “You were one of the things I was sure wouldn’t be here when I got back.”

She owed him no explanation, yet it was hardly a state secret. Looking ahead, she walked on. He walked beside her and didn’t press.

Eventually, she said, “I didn’t accept any of the offers for my hand because none of the gentlemen who made them could give me what I wanted.”

She’d known what she wanted from marriage from an early age. When it came to the point, she hadn’t been prepared to accept second best.

He didn’t pressure her for more. The riddle of what she’d wanted had stumped all her suitors; she doubted he’d understand any more than they had. Not that it mattered.

They reached the far end of the ramparts; they both stopped to look back one last time at the view.

Her senses flared a second before she felt his hand touch her waist, felt it slide around, strong and assured, turning her, effortlessly drawing her to him.