Much Ado About You

by Eloisa James

  Gussie put down the brush again. “I do think that must be five hundred strokes, madam, because my arm is fairly aching.”

  Tess sat at her dressing table for quite a while after Gussie left the room. How was she to approach Mrs. Felton—the other Mrs. Felton, as it were? And would Lucius be angry if she did so? Every time she tried to bring the subject up, he showed no signs of anger, but reiterated, “They have made their feelings clear.” It was like talking to a brick wall.

  Finally she decided that the best thing would be to send Mrs. Felton a note. A properly reverential note from a daughter-in-law to a mother-in-law. Perhaps between the two of them they could patch up the chasm in the family.

  She moved to her writing desk and began.

  Dear Mrs. Felton,

  I am persuaded that you must have as much interest as I in mending the—

  No. Too blunt.

  Dear Mrs. Felton,

  I write to you with every hope that you are as happy as I to—

  Too weak. Gussie’s tales of Mrs. Felton’s bad humor were worrisome.

  Dear Mrs. Felton,

  May I have the pleasure of greeting you tomorrow morning—

  No. This would never work. The best thing would be to arrange it so that Lucius and she visited his parents together. Even if Lucius’s mother were ill-humored, she could hardly behave so in front of her, a stranger and their new daughter-in-law. They all would behave with courtesy, and then it would be a short step to asking his parents to join them for dinner. And before they knew it, the family would be united. It would take small steps to heal such a terrible breach, Tess told herself.

  Dear Mrs. Felton,

  I take the liberty of requesting that Lucius and I pay you and Mr. Felton a call tomorrow morning, or another morning at your convenience. I am, naturally, eager to meet my husband’s family.

  Yours with all dutiful pleasure,

  Teresa Felton

  She had a return note the next morning at breakfast.

  Mr. and Mrs. Felton will receive callers at two of the o’clock.

  It wasn’t precisely welcoming. She read it three times, and then looked at Lucius across the table. He was reading the Times and drinking coffee with all the concentration of a man who had a rather busy night (she caught back a smile).

  “Lucius,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “Yes?” He didn’t put down his paper.

  “I have received a note from your mother.”

  He did put down his paper. But he didn’t say a word, just stared at her with that searching gaze that always made her feel as if he could read her very soul.

  “Isn’t that lovely of her?” And when he didn’t answer, “Your father and mother request that we visit them at our earliest convenience…in fact, she mentions this very afternoon, if you are free.”

  “Tess,” he said, “what did you do?”

  She widened her eyes to their most innocent. “It’s natural that she should wish to meet me, Lucius. I am their daughter-in-law, after all.”

  “How did she know we were in residence?” he asked.

  She casually let the note drop into her lap so that he couldn’t read it. “Oh, I’m certain that the servants talk to each other,” she said. “And we do live two doors apart, Lucius.”

  His eyes still hadn’t left hers. But then he said, “Very well,” and retreated behind his paper again.

  It wasn’t precisely a victory, Tess thought to herself: it was more of a tactical retreat. But the important thing was that the first step of her campaign was in place.

  Chapter

  37

  Mr. and Mrs. Felton awaited them in the drawing room. Whether by accident or by design, they were posed precisely like one of the Elizabethan portraits that Lucius hung on his walls.

  Mrs. Felton was seated in a high-backed, ornately carved chair with a faint resemblance to a throne. She was very thin and sat very still, her face turned three-quarters toward the windows. She had a great quantity of hair intricately piled upon her head and rather fat hands that were at odds with her slender body. Each finger was so weighed down by rings that it looked stiff and even plumper.

  It seemed that Lucius gained the beauty of his features from his father. Mr. Felton was smaller than Lucius and rather shriveled-looking, but the spare, angular beauty of his son’s eyes and cheekbones were there. He must have been formidably handsome as a young man. Something about the way he rested one hand on the back of his wife’s chair, waiting for her to speak before he greeted them, made Tess uneasy.

  Lucius took her forward toward them. Finally, Mrs. Felton rose. The diamonds at her ears caught the light from the fire. She held out her hand, and Lucius bent to kiss it, quite as if he were greeting Queen Elizabeth herself.

  “And you are my successor,” Mrs. Felton said, turning to Tess. She smiled suddenly, and with the same abrupt charm that accompanied Lucius’s rare smiles. “It is a true pleasure to meet you. I admit that I was losing hope that my son would marry at all.”

  Tess’s heart lightened, and she smiled back, curtsying. “Thank you for your welcome,” she said. “It is wonderful to meet my husband’s family.”

  “I share your sentiments,” Mrs. Felton said. “I have every hope that your marriage will be the catalyst to bring our beloved son”—she smiled at Lucius—“into our acquaintance again.”

  Lucius bowed. Tess felt a germ of irritation at his unsmiling face. Why didn’t he tell his mother how glad he was that she was receiving him? Why wasn’t he helping this reunion by saying something to signal his happiness?

  “Do sit down,” Mrs. Felton said. “Stilton, bring my son and his wife some tea, if you please. I shall have a glass of ratafia, and Mr. Felton shall have his normal repast.” She suddenly seemed to think of something and turned her heavy, rather swollen-looking eyes to Tess for the first time. “Unless you would prefer a glass of ratafia? I was under the impression that you must be quite young, but now I see that you are more than old enough for spirits.”

  “Tea would be very welcome,” Tess said.

  “Splendid.” Mrs. Felton waved the butler from the room. “Now, you must tell me about yourself, my dear. I never had a daughter, and I assure you that I am most, most delighted at the prospect. I understand that you are an orphan?”

  Tess nodded. “My sisters and I are wards of the Duke of Holbrook.”

  Mrs. Felton’s smile widened. “Ah, yes, my son’s dearest friend. They met years ago at Eton. Of course, Holbrook was only a second son, as I’m sure you know. No one had any expectation that he would succeed to the title. Quite fortunate, really.”

  Tess thought that it depended on one’s point of view; she knew without a moment’s hesitation that Rafe would give his right arm to have his brother Peter alive. But she nodded.

  “We have been quite pleased with our son’s acquaintances,” Mrs. Felton continued, as if neither her son nor husband were in the room at all. “You do realize that his circle includes the Earl of Mayne?”

  “I have met the earl,” Tess said cautiously, wondering whether Mrs. Felton would ever hear the tale of her near marriage to Mayne.

  “Mr. Felton and I have never had the slightest concern about our son’s intimate friendships. His godfather was kind enough to send him to Eton, and even as a boy Lucius associated himself only with the very best. I am certain that he has chosen you with equal care, my dear.” She paused and smiled at Tess. “Since you are now a member of the Felton family, I deem it appropriate that I ask you questions rather more intimate than would be countenanced amongst strangers.”

  “Please, ask me any question that you wish,” Tess replied. She hadn’t really given much thought to being a member of the Felton family. Of course, one did gain a new family upon marriage.

  “I ask this only because of your unfortunate circumstances,” Mrs. Felton asked. “But…did you bring a dowry to the marriage?”

  “A coarse question, Mother,” Lucius said, “and unwarranted by our fami
lial ties.”

  “Despite your avid interest in things financial, son, you forget that the great families arrange marriages for more reasons than an attractive face.”

  “We are not a great family,” Lucius said. “And aren’t you discussing things financial at the moment?”

  “It is one thing to marry well and quite another to dirty one’s hands with lucre,” Mrs. Felton pronounced.

  “I would be most happy to answer any questions that your mother asks, Lucius,” Tess said with a frown at her husband.

  “In that case,” he remarked, “Tess did indeed bring a notable dowry to our marriage.”

  Tess blinked, and then folded her hands together. Only Lucius would label a horse a “notable” dowry.

  “Good,” Mrs. Felton said. “I trust you did not object to my question,” she said to Tess. “One who is friends with the Duke of Holbrook and the Earl of Mayne might be expected to make a great marriage indeed.” She sniffed. “It has been difficult to watch our son lower the tone of his acquaintance by proving mercantile in his daily life. One could not but worry that no worthy matron would wish to match her daughter with him.”

  “It is my understanding that your son was one of the most sought-after bachelors in all London,” Tess noted.

  “The daughters of shopkeepers, many of them,” Mrs. Felton said, taking a slender glass of ratafia from the tray her butler held out. One of her rings knocked sharply against the delicate crystal.

  Tess felt compelled to note that Lady Griselda’s report had been quite the opposite. “I was informed that the daughter of the Duke of Surrey showed your son marked attention during the last season,” she said gently.

  “One had hopes, naturally.” Mrs. Felton sighed. “But now my fears are in the past. I understand that you have some sort of a title in your background, and then there’s the dowry.” She gave Tess a measured smile.

  Tess hoped to God that the truth of her equine dowry never found its way to the ears of any of Mrs. Felton’s friends.

  “My father, of course, was the Earl of Devonshire,” Mrs. Felton said, rearranging the rings on her left hand so that they caught the firelight and glimmered. “I rarely use my title, Lady Margery, as I prefer Mrs. Felton.”

  “Teresa’s father was Viscount Brydone,” Lucius put in.

  “From the other side of the border? Then they have viscounts in those parts?” She smiled at Tess. “I always think it’s so interesting how other countries mimic English customs. I suppose it’s merely another sign of our supremacy throughout the world. I do hear that they even have some barons and some such in America.”

  Mr. Felton cleared his throat. “How are your stables?” he asked.

  They all jumped slightly. It was clear to Tess that Mr. Felton spoke so infrequently that his wife hardly remembered his presence.

  “Fine,” Lucius said.

  “Who will you run in the Ascot next year?”

  Mrs. Felton laughed, and made a rueful gesture to Tess. “I’m afraid that I have a firm rule that Mr. Felton has perhaps forgotten: we do not speak of the stables in my presence. Otherwise, the conversation grows too, too tedious.”

  After a moment, Tess said, “How is your health, madam? Lady Clarice intimated that—”

  “Please do not call me madam,” Mrs. Felton said sweetly. “I’m afraid that I absolutely loathe the term. It has the smell of the shop, you know. The best people do not address each other in such a fashion, my dear.”

  “Oh,” Tess said. “I am grateful for your advice.”

  Mrs. Felton lowered her chin in an approving nod. “Those whose titles are of recent creation,” she advised Tess, “must always pay the closest attention to every nuance of the spoken language. My father’s title reached back to the age of Elizabeth, and therefore I felt no such anxiety. For example, I married whom I pleased, and although my husband’s birth is not equal to my own, I fancy my consequence has been unmarred.”

  Tess was beginning to feel slightly ill although there was nothing in Mrs. Felton’s demeanor to suggest that she meant to offend. “The first Baron Brydone was given his title by King Edward I,” she said, with a very credible show of carelessness.

  “Really? Now who would have thought that there were such titles in Scotland in that date?” Mrs. Felton exclaimed. “Or that Edward found his way to such an outlandish place? I thought the country was full of Picts at that time. Warriors with blue paint on their faces.”

  “Actually, my father’s title is English,” Tess explained. “We were raised in Scotland, but King Henry VI granted the title of viscount.”

  “Very proper indeed, I am sure,” Mrs. Felton said, her gaze seeming to warm slightly. “And I am truly happy to welcome you into the family. Dearest.” She leaned toward her, again seeming to ignore the presence of her silent husband and son. “Perhaps between the two of us we can hatch up a plan to return my son to a place of respectability in the ton.”

  Tess blinked uncertainly.

  “You are aware, are you not?” she said. “My son’s activities have been the bane of my existence for years now.” There was a distinct note of horror in her voice. “Stocks and so forth,” she said, lowering her voice as if the very subject were indelicate. “Blood will tell. My father always said it, and he was right.”

  “Blood?” Tess repeated.

  Mrs. Felton shook her head sadly, leaning even closer to Tess. “Surely you’ve noticed how seriously he takes commerce? As if it isn’t good enough for a gentleman to live by rents, as has always been the case in my family. Why, if you believed my son, you’d think that Mr. Felton and I were dependent on his generosity.”

  “We are dependent on our son’s generosity,” said Mr. Felton.

  Once again, they all jumped at the sound of his voice.

  Mr. Felton was still standing behind his wife’s chair. One hand was clenched on the back of her throne, and the other held a glass of liquor. He was looking straight at Lucius, ignoring his wife and daughter-in-law.

  Mrs. Felton laughed, not bothering to turn her head and meet her husband’s eyes. “That small unpleasantness, far in the past, has been made too much of, Mr. Felton.”

  “The unpleasantness, as you call it, continues month by month,” her husband said, still looking at his son.

  Tess was bewildered. Lucius was frowning at his father.

  Mrs. Felton rose from her chair and turned to Tess with her charming smile. “May I show you the portraits of my ancestors, my dears? After all, this house will be yours someday. I have a magnificent portrait of the Earl of Devonshire with the countess, my mother.”

  “You allowed, Mrs. Felton, that subjects may be aired amongst us that are more intimate than might be discussed amongst strangers,” her husband said.

  “I’m afraid that we must leave,” Lucius said. “I’m certain that Tess would be more than pleased to take up your invitation at some other time, Mother.” Tess could tell from the wintry look in his eye that his father had seriously enraged him…somehow.

  “As long as your wife understands our precise obligation to you,” Mr. Felton said, still staring at his son. “I have allowed all of London to believe the worst of you, but I will not countenance a misunderstanding within the family.”

  “The merest trifle!” Mrs. Felton said, her affable voice taking on a shrill note. “A trifling assistance some years ago. And yet—”

  Mr. Felton spoke over her, turning to Tess. “When Lucius—my son Lucius—was in his final year at Oxford, we came near to running aground. We were living above our means and that money from rents—well, there was nothing to rent anymore. No land.”

  Mrs. Felton was opening her mouth like a fish out of water.

  “My son came down from Oxford for a matter of two months, and in that time he made so much money on the market that he paid my debts and financed the rest of his education.”

  “There was no need for recounting the past!” Mrs. Felton snapped. Her face was turning purplish.

  “W
e would have been ruined,” Mr. Felton continued, ignoring his wife. “Utterly bankrupt. Since then, Lucius has supported us. He paid the mortgages on our estate in the country. And how do we repay him?” He looked at his wife’s head. She had turned away from him and was staring rigidly toward the windows. “All London knows of the breach between us.”

  “You exaggerate, as always, Mr. Felton. My husband,” she said to Tess, “is far too sensitive for his own good. He is not a gentleman at heart. Those of our rank do not become ruined. That is something that occurs to commoners. We simply continue as we have always continued. The tradesmen are perfectly willing to wait for a time before they are paid, in return for the honor of our patronization.”

  Lucius held up a hand. He was taller than either of his parents, and far, far, more beautiful, Tess thought. He stood between them like a fine-grained version of his mother, her almost grotesque slenderness turned to his muscled grace; his father’s shrunken prettiness become his masculine beauty.

  “My wife and I are most grateful that you invited us to the house, Mother,” he said, turning to her. “But I should not wish to outwear our welcome. I know that Tess will be most happy to return another day and take tea with you.” He tucked Tess’s hand under his arm.

  She hadn’t said anything for the last ten minutes and couldn’t think what to say now, until his fingers tightened on her arm in a warning fashion. At which point, she dropped a curtsy, a bit lopsided due to Lucius’s grasp, and managed to say that it had been a true pleasure.

  Chapter

  38

  They didn’t say a word on the way to their own house. Once inside the antechamber, when Smiley was taking Tess’s pelisse and bonnet, Lucius bowed, and said, “If you will forgive me, I shall—”

  “Oh, no!” Tess said, reaching out and grabbing his sleeve as he was about to melt away to his study.