Bronwyn Kimbrell, who was rarely at a loss for words, found herself bereft. She stood at the window of her cousin’s shop with her friend Kate, watching a man ride past on a long-tailed dapple-grey with black points. Such an animal among the pedestrians and wagons of Newford’s high street was an uncommon sight. Across the way, even Mrs. Tretheway, who would never be caught standing in the lane, slowed her march, and the blacksmith reined in his wagon.

But if the horse had caught Bronwyn’s eye, it was the man who’d caught her tongue. He sat the saddle with ease. Gloved hands held the reins loosely, and it was no hard task to imagine the strength of his arms beneath the fine blue wool of his coat. From the tall crown of his beaver to the nicely shaped leg above the top of his boot, his figure was a nice one.

 

“Who do you think he is?” asked Kate, who was visiting from London and should have been unmoved by such sights.

 

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

 

“He’s the new tenant at Penhale,” Morwenna said as she arranged a pair of bonnets in the shop’s case.

 

Bronwyn flicked a doubtful glance in her cousin’s direction. The manor above Newford had stood empty for more than a year, and Mrs. Pentreath—who led the charge on any gossip worth mentioning—had declared a new tenant twice before, only to be proven wrong.

 

“I would not set any stock by Mrs. P’s reports,” she said. “I imagine he’s merely a traveler who’s lost his way to Falmouth.” The man had nearly reached the post office; soon, he’d be gone from view. She leaned closer to the window.

 

“No,” Morwenna said, “I had it from the gentleman himself.”

 

Bronwyn and Kate turned in unison. “You’ve met him?” Bronwyn said.

 

“Has Penhale truly been let?” inquired Kate.

 

Morwenna retrieved a box of ribbons and set about sorting the spools into their drawers. “Aye to both,” she said.

 

“But where—when—?” Bronwyn asked in disbelief. How had she missed such a momentous event? Little enough happened in Newford that the addition of a stranger to their numbers should not have escaped her notice.

 

“I daresay you’ve been busy with your preparations for the fair,” Morwenna said. “But I encountered him at the apothecary two days agone. He requested camphor, castor oil and a mustard plaster, and I overheard him give his direction for the bill. He is most certainly installed at Penhale.”

 

“Heavens,” Bronwyn said. “He purchased all that? He doesn’t look sickly.”

 

“Does he hail from London?” Kate said.

 

“I wonder how he came by such a distinguished animal. He must be flush.”

 

Kate waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind the horse. Is he a bachelor?”

 

“I don’t think Ben would appreciate your interest in our stranger’s marital situation,” Bronwyn reminded her.

 

“I ask merely from curiosity.”

 

Morwenna held up both hands. “I don’t know his origins, his health or the state of his purse. I know only that he is Captain Gabriel Marsh and that, according to Wynne, he does not have a wife.”

 

“Wynne has met him, too?” Bronwyn said with a gasp.

 

“And Merryn, I believe.”

 

“My brother? Oh, but that’s too much!” Bronwyn straightened her gloves. “What say you, Kate? Do you not have an errand at the post office?”

​

***

​

Bronwyn urged Kate to hurry. The high street had resumed its usual pace, and a cart rumbled away from Mr. Clifton’s bakery. Captain Gabriel Marsh and his fine horse, though, were nowhere to be seen.

 

“Where d’you think he’s gone?” Bronwyn said.

 

“I thought you were resolved to be done with meddling.”

 

Bronwyn frowned as a farmer’s cart blocked her view of the high street. “This is not meddling,” she assured her friend. “This is a morally appropriate interest in our new neighbor. ’Tis our duty to offer hospitality… to stand as ambassador for our fine hamlet… to…” She abandoned her argument at the skeptical look on her friend’s face. “Oh, I suppose now that you’ve a bit of Town polish, you think me a goose.”

 

“I do not! But why are we in such a pelter? You know nothing of this stranger, and I always thought you too sensible to be taken in by a handsome figure on horseback.”

 

“Oh, hardly that. Have you been gone so long you’ve forgotten what little is required to enliven our days? ’Twill be diverting to have a new soul about. Only think, Kate! You’ll return to London soon, but where does that leave me? Here with no one but my own cousins and brother for company. And now, here is someone new, who hasn’t heard the stories of how I ate a beetle on a dare when I was ten, or the summer I fell out of a tree and broke my arm.”

 

“You were spying on your brother, I believe—”

 

“Irrelevant to the point, which is that this gentleman”—she waved a hand toward the post office—“does not know any of my past follies.”

 

“I daresay a day or two in Newford will resolve that.”

 

“Aye, but until then, he is unspoilt!”

 

“But you know nothing of his situation or his family, his prospects or—”

 

“You are putting the cart well before the horse, Kate. I don’t aim to marry him. I’m content as a cat with my situation. It suits me very well.”

 

And it did. At four and twenty, she had the running of her mother’s household. She came and went as she pleased, so long as she took a maid with her. She’d gained a certain freedom in her majority, and she wasn’t eager to trade it for a husband.

 

That wasn’t to say she was wholly uninterested in the origins of a handsome stranger.

 

“I merely wish to—to broaden my acquaintance,” she said as they reached the low steps of the post office.

 

But on entering the small timber-framed building, her nose wrinkled with disappointment. The post office, which also served as the village shop, held only her cousin Cadan behind the counter and Mrs. Tretheway. There was no handsome stranger in sight.

 

Still, as post-master, Cadan knew more about the goings-on in the parish than most. He guarded the King’s post very seriously, but perhaps she might still learn something. She pulled Kate toward the shelves and busied herself inspecting a tin of paints.

 

Cadan retrieved a letter from the bins behind him and passed it to Mrs. Tretheway. The lady, dressed in her usual brown wool and white cap, complained over the cost of the post and how every pinch-farthing Kimbrell aimed to lighten her purse.

 

Cadan patiently explained that if the lady’s grand-niece had made use of the penny post, she might have spared her aunt the expense.

 

Finally, the lady finished her business. As she turned to go, her cane fell to the floor with a heavy clatter, and Bronwyn knelt to pick it up. “Allow me, ma’am.”

 

Mrs. Tretheway accepted her stick with a curt nod. “Miss Kimbrell.” The frost in her tone was unmistakable, though it had been more than a decade since Bronwyn had dressed the lady’s pug in a periwig. Despite Bronwyn’s very pretty and mostly sincere apology, Mrs. Tretheway’s manner had not thawed a whit. To any who speculated the lady’s memory had begun to fail her, Bronwyn could argue such was not the case.

 

“How d’you do, ma’am? I trust you’re in good health?” she said, confident that a cheerful greeting never did anyone a bad turn. And, if Newford’s matrons found such a manner vexing, then she would count that an additional triumph.

 

“I’m as well as can be expected,” came Mrs. Tretheway’s grumbled reply, the lines around her mouth flowing south like the rivers on a map.

 

Bronwyn held the door for her. “Allow me, ma’am.”

 

“I’m not infirm, girl,” the lady said with a swing of her cane, which Bronwyn barely avoided with a neat skip. As Mrs. Tretheway’s backside crossed the threshold, Bronwyn was tempted to let the door swing a little too quickly, but she checked the impulse.

 

“Ladies,” Cadan said once Mrs. Tretheway had gone. “How can I assist you?”

 

“Kate wishes to know if she’s any post from London,” Bronwyn said, for which she received a narrow-eyed frown from her friend.

 

“Let me check,” Cadan replied before consulting the bins behind the counter.

 

“It’s not enough to drag me with you,” Kate whispered, “but now you must embroil me in your lies?”

 

“’Tis all to a good purpose.”

 

When Cadan returned with the news that, regretfully, he had no letters for Kate, Bronwyn turned them to the question at hand. She set the paints atop the counter and laced her fingers over the tin. Casually, as if she merely commented on the weather, she said, “I hear Penhale has a new tenant.”

 

“Aye,” came his short reply.

 

“A Captain Marsh, I believe.”

 

With a laugh, he said, “Cousin, you’re as obvious as the matrons. Mrs. Clifton was here this morning, and ’tis certain Mrs. Tretheway came to pick news from me rather than letters.”

 

His phrasing put her in mind of a buzzard picking flesh from a rabbit’s bones, and though she couldn’t like the comparison for herself, she thought it rather apt for the matrons. Straightening, she said, “I will thank you not to liken me to the matrons.”

 

“’Tis a proper shame a man can’t sneeze in Newford without half the parish flapping about it.”

 

“I’ve no interest in whether he sneezes or not,” she protested. Although, he had purchased a noteworthy number of purgatives and cures… She let that go for the moment to say, “But don’t you feel any curiosity for our newest neighbor? Why, he could be a… a duke in disguise or an American.”

 

“Perish the thought,” he replied, “though I’d venture to say ’tis doubtful.”

 

“Why? D’you know something?”

 

Her cousin merely laughed and turned to record Mrs. Tretheway’s coin in his ledger.

 

“D’you not find it the least bit curious that a single gentleman should set himself up in a house like Penhale?”

 

“I don’t find it curious at all,” he said without looking up. “Or peculiar or interesting or any other adjective you might wish to use, because I don’t give it a thought. Nor should you.”

 

“I don’t understand how you can have not a single thought on the matter.”

 

“Will you be purchasing the paints?” he said, and she realized she still held the tin.

 

“If I buy them, will you make an introduction when Captain Marsh comes for his mail?”

 

“Bronwyn!” Kate whispered, her propriety offended by this bit of bribery.

 

“Well, to be sure, he’s met the gentleman,” Bronwyn said reasonably. “Why could he not perform the introduction?”

 

“The post office is a serious establishment,” Cadan said. “’Tis not an assembly room, and I am not your master of ceremonies to be making introductions.”

 

“Oh, don’t put yourself in a pucker,” Bronwyn said.