Chapter Nine
On the third day of the dig, the weather took a turn. Dom had squinted up one moment into a cloud-filled blue sky, and within
an hour, the breeze had grown in strength and storm clouds swept in across the horizon.
“We should begin preparing to cover the dig site,” he called to Tristan, who was on the far side of the trench they’d worked
to carve out over the past days. They’d assembled a small but reliable group of men from the village who’d made excellent
progress.
Tristan tipped his head up. “We’ll collect the tarpaulins,” he shouted back.
Dom approached to assist. The chandler in Norwich, who’d produced the enormous oilskin coverings, assured them that they’d
keep out the rain. It would be the first test of the man’s vow.
As they rushed to stretch the first length of waxed cloth, Tess appeared at the trench’s edge, an enormous basket in her arms.
“I saw the clouds and brought some stakes from Fenbridge’s groundskeeper.”
Each morning, he looked forward to her return from visiting the grumpy nobleman. And each morning, his pulse kicked up like
he was a besotted schoolboy the moment she appeared.
“Stakes?”
“To secure the edges of the tarp,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Of course.” Somehow his foresight had extended only to stretching the tarpaulins across the site, but the stakes would be
crucial if the wind kicked up.
As she did the past few days, Tess immediately joined in. The lady was not interested in merely advising. She seemed to relish
digging, sifting, or doing whatever was required to help move the excavation along. Like Dom, she was not content to sit on
the sidelines and watch others work.
Within a quarter of an hour, they had the largest tarps stretched out over the central trench. Fenbridge’s groundskeeper provided
them with a couple of mallets too, and Tristan and Dom quickly sank the stakes at the coverings’ edges to secure them in place
as the soft cool drops of rain began to pelt them.
“Come to the inn,” Dom said to Tess as she strode toward him while he pounded in the final stakes. “We can convene about the
dig and have an early lunch.”
He cast his gaze down the length of the worksite. “Tristan too, and any of the men who want to join us.”
“We don’t know how long the rain will last.” Tess stood with her hands on her hips and looked up into the light drizzle. “Summer
rains sometimes pass quickly, and the men won’t want to lose a day’s pay.”
“They’ll be paid no matter what.” Dom stood and dusted off his hands. “And if it’s possible, we’ll return to the site.”
But even as he spoke, a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
“Oh no,” Tess murmured in an ominous tone. “Not a quick shower, I’m afraid.”
“No?” Dom had dealt with all sorts of weather challenges on various digs. A bit of rain wouldn’t daunt him.
Yet the next moment, the gentle, pelting rain turned to a torrent, bucketing down so fiercely that the noise of it seemed
to swallow all other sounds.
Dom shucked off his linen sack coat and lifted it, stretching it out above Tess’s head.
She’d already been drenched and chuckled. “Such chivalry,” she teased. “But a little too late for Mother Nature.”
“I had to try.” He grinned, loving the easiness of her smile.
They exchanged a few each day, and he never took a single one for granted. Though what they never did was speak of the kiss
they’d shared at the Walcotts’. It was as if she wished to forget it. He never could. But he wouldn’t demand anything of her.
If an amiable working relationship was what she insisted upon, he’d told himself he’d push for no more. Yet it couldn’t stop
him from hoping, or from how maddeningly attracted he was to his dig partner.
“We let them go for the day?” Tristan shouted in question.
“Let’s all head to the Randalls’ inn,” Dom called to him.
Men turned to each other as the message was passed down the line, and then a few took off walking toward the road that led
to town. One scooped up an umbrella. A few broke into a run, but most ambled along, as if they weren’t at all bothered by
the downpour.
Tristan approached with a couple of the umbrellas they kept at the site for anyone who needed a moment of shade.
He tossed one to Dom, who immediately opened it and lifted it over Tess. She stepped forward, so they could share its shelter.
“We could get the pony cart,” Tristan offered.
“Let’s walk,” Tess insisted. “It’s already letting up a bit.” She cast a glance toward the trench. “And the oilskin seems to be keeping everything dry.”
Indeed, the coverings held tight across the ground they’d excavated, and the downpour had ebbed to a steady patter.
The three of them made their way through the field and to the road that led them into the village. Their hired men had beat
them to the Randalls’ and the innkeepers looked pleased about the unexpected influx of visitors to their taproom.
Soon tea, coffee, and some of Mrs. Randall’s confections had been distributed.
“We’re still making good time,” Tess said, glancing first at her brother and then at Dom. “Even if we lose the day.”
“I’m not concerned about losing a day. We’re excavating far faster progress than I’d expected.”
“But we’ve still found little of note.” Tristan sounded a bit irked. They’d found some nails, animal bones, a few chips of
crockery.
“I’m still hopeful,” Dom told him with a glance toward Tess.
She nodded as if she shared his optimism. “We’re only a couple of feet down. And there are the soil changes. Those are notable.”
Tess thought them very promising, though her brother was dubious. Experience told Dom they were a sign, but of what, he couldn’t
yet say. But for now, he was willing to trust Tess’s intuition. As a result, they’d focused on extending the length of the
trench rather than the depth over the previous day.
“If you say so,” Tristan grumbled.
“Let’s stay hopeful,” Tess urged.
“I am,” Dom told her. That earned him another smile. Her brother arched a brow and flicked his gaze between the two of them.
Dominic Prince’s smiles were too beguiling, gradually slipping past her defenses like ivy wound its way up the garden fence
at Foxdene: slowly, gently, and yet with determined persistence. Now, she felt the answering tug of a smile each time he looked
her way.
She was beginning to believe those easy smiles weren’t simply meant to charm but were a genuine reflection of his nature.
From what she’d observed, he was good-tempered whenever he was working. In fact, the harder the day’s work, the happier he
seemed. She sensed his frustration when nothing was found at the end of a day, but he still joked with the others, had built
a rapport with Tristan, respected her suggestions, and listened to her observations.
Somehow, the workaday Dominic Prince she was beginning to know was every bit as appealing as the swashbuckler he’d been for
the ladies at Priscilla Walcott’s party.
No, I am not thinking about that kiss.
The inn’s door banged open. A gust of rain swept in followed by a breathless boy in a brown cap and wet boots. His cheeks
were red from the rain, and he shouted over the sudden silence.
“Mr. Wilton’s barn’s come down! Roof caved clean through. Daisy’s trapped and she won’t come out!”
Dominic and Tristan and a few other men from the dig were on their feet before the boy finished speaking. Tess stood too.
“Come on,” Dominic said.
“Can we take your market cart, Mrs. Randall?” Tess asked as the innkeeper’s wife stood among them, having just finished topping
up teacups.
“Aye, whatever you need,” her husband called from the kitchen’s threshold. “I’ve just returned from the village, and Angus
is in the harness still.”
The group raced out behind the inn and climbed into the wooden cart.
Tristan helped hand Tess up to the driver’s seat, and Dominic took the spot beside her.
She knew the Wiltons well, and it seemed the Randalls’ horse, Angus, knew the way too, for the hardworking animal took the path easily.
They were at the Wiltons’ cottage in but a few moments.
Mrs. Wilton stood outside the barn, her face tear-stained under her wide-brimmed hat. The structure itself was a mess of collapsed
thatch, its beams exposed. A man’s voice could be heard as he shouted in frustration.
“Still not coming out?” Tristan asked as he jumped down from the horse cart.
Dominic handed Tess down, and they approached to stand beside him. A few of the other men shouted into the barn for Mr. Wilton.
“Stubborn girl, she is,” Mrs. Wilton told him. “Must be scared witless. And my mister won’t let me inside again. Twisted my
ankle when I tried to get to her.”
“How old is the child?” Dominic asked.
“Oh—” Tess started.
“No child, sir.” Mrs. Wilton frowned at him as if he’d lost his wits. “Daisy’s our best milk cow.”
“Ah.” Dominic shot Tess a look. “Shall we try?”
Tess nodded and started off toward the barn. “Do you think your charm will work on cows too?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
Tristan and another man from the dig emerged from the barn carrying chickens in baskets. “Be careful if you’re going in,”
her brother told them.
Mr. Wilton stepped out as they approached, leading a calf. “Daisy’s the last of them. If we lose her, we lose our earnings.”
“Let us see if we can persuade her, Mr. Wilton,” Tess told him.
“Kindly of you, Tess.” He glanced back at his barn. “We’re going to see if we can repair the posts and put canvas over the
top.”
“Who tends to her most?” Dominic asked.
“The missus has a taking for her, but the stubborn thing won’t heed her today.”
“She’s likely terrified,” Tess said. “But will you send Mrs. Wilton round to the edge of the barn near Daisy’s stall?”
Mr. Wilton nodded.
Dominic bent to enter the dilapidated barn without hesitation. “Watch your head,” he urged, checking over his shoulder as
if to make sure Tess was behind him.
Tess dodged puddles, lifting the edge of her skirt, as rain trickled down her neck from the straw overhead.
“Hello, Miss Daisy,” Dominic said with all the warmth and charm he’d wielded when greeting Priscilla Walcott that day in the
village. “You’re all right, girl.”
“Part of her stall is damaged,” Tess whispered as she pointed to the beam of wood that had collapsed under the weight of the
sunken roof.
“Can we get her past it?” Dominic asked.
Tess inched closer from the far side of the stall. “It’s not blocking her, but she may not realize that.”
“Daisy, love, come out now,” Mrs. Wilton called softly through a wood-framed window at the edge of the barn.
The red-coated cow turned its head at the sound of its carer’s voice.
“That’s it, Daisy girl. Will you come with us?” Tess asked. She looked around, found her lead rope with a slipknot hanging on a peg, and approached slowly. Reaching out, she laid a hand on Daisy’s side, letting the animal get used to her nearness. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
“Careful, Tess,” Dominic whispered.
She reached back to offer him the rope. “You’re taller. Can you loop it over her head?”
Wordlessly, he took the rope, then moved up close behind Tess. So close his chest brushed against her back. “She’s still scared.”
Tess saw the signs too—swishing tail, wide eyes.
“It’s all right, girl,” Dominic said, his voice low and comforting. “You’re safe.”
Mrs. Wilton had begun singing a pretty little tune that once again seemed to catch Daisy’s attention.
With the cow’s head turned, Dominic reached up, his body inching Tess’s forward slightly, and looped the rope over Daisy’s
head.
“You did it.” Tess turned her head to glance at him. He stood close, and the heat of his body warmed her skin. “Now we have
to hope she’ll let us lead her.”
Dominic lowered his arm along Tess’s side and slipped the rope into her hand.
When he stepped away from her, the loss of his warmth shot an odd sense of longing through her, which she forced herself to
ignore.
Gently, she tugged Daisy forward. At first, the cow tossed its head, but as Mrs. Wilton continued singing, and Tess and Dominic
offered words of encouragement in soft voices, Daisy took her first tentative step outside of her stall.
“That’s it, girl,” Dominic said with what sound liked genuine enthusiasm. “A little farther, love.”
Tess smiled at his wooing tone and could not deny the appeal of his low, resonant voice.
Daisy wasn’t immune either. The cow took two steps forward, and Tess kept the rope’s pressure lightly taut but not tight against
her neck.
Dominic laid a hand against Tess’s back as if to guide her as she stepped backward, her eyes trained on the cow.
“You’re doing grand, Daisy,” Tess crooned. “A few more steps and I’m sure we can rustle up a carrot for you.”
Dominic chuckled. Tess turned her head.
“What?” Tess said. “A treat would motivate me.”
His eyes met hers, crinkled at the corners from his smile. “I’ll remember that.”
“I’ve got one,” Mrs. Wilton called a few moments later. She stood behind them now, near the entrance of the barn, and waved
a carrot.
Daisy seemed to understand and took the next few steps with less hesitation. Once she was close enough, Tess reached out and
handed the lead rope to Mrs. Wilton.
“Oh, my dear girl,” she said as she patted the cow’s side. “Thank you both.”
“Pleased we could help,” Dominic told her.
Once they’d all stepped clear of the barn, Tess noticed the line of men, including Tristan, who stood at the ready to begin
basic repairs.
“Thought we’d wait until she was out,” Tristan told her. “But we’d best start while the weather holds.”
The rain had now slowed to a light drizzle, though the sky remained darkened with gray clouds.
“How can I assist?” Dominic asked her brother.
Tristan handed him a hammer, but Dominic hesitated.
“You’ll be all right?” he asked Tess.
“Of course.” She offered him one of the smiles that seemed to come easily between them now.
In the past few days when he’d asked after her well-being, she’d initially snapped a reply, feeling a need to prove herself
every bit as capable as the men working the site. But Dominic never treated her as if she was unequal to tasks the others
engaged in, so now she tried to take his concern as a kindness. The man had sisters. Perhaps his thoughtfulness for the ladies
around him was borne of that.
Yet his gaze lingered, reminding her that there was more between them. Something that had been there since he’d balanced on
a rolling staircase above her in Lady Goddard’s library.
He took her in, rain-soaked and disheveled, eyes flicking down to her mouth, then lower to the damp curls at her neck. The
way he looked at her made her skin tingle as if his gaze had left a mark wherever it touched her.
Then he turned away to help shore up the Wiltons’ barn, and Tess was left with a warmth unfurling inside her that she tried
to ignore. The problem was that the more time she spent with Dominic Prince, the harder it was to dismiss him as nothing more
than a seductive rogue.