by Deb Marlowe
“Are you all right?” Tensford’s tone was still harsh, but his touch was gentle as he steered Hope away.
The fear and anger began to drain, leaving her shaking. She nodded up at him, blinking furiously as her eyes began to fill.
“Oh, no!” he said. “No tears. We are not done yet. Come.” He held out a hand and she stared at it, finding it a welcome change from all the grabbing of her person that had gone on this evening. “Hurry. We cannot let you be found here.”
She put her hand in his—and couldn’t contain the shiver that went through her. He paused, looking for a moment at their clasped hands, then at her, before leading her to the window and helping her to climb through. Following, he tucked her hand in his arm and led her away. They strolled toward the wider portion of the terrace as if they’d only been following the curve of the balustrade.
“Are you betrothed to him?” he asked sharply.
“No.” She shivered, but indignation began to rise again. “He offered. I refused. With no hesitation and utmost certainty.”
“Ah.” Some of the tension left the arm beneath her hand. “What is the man thinking?”
She snorted. “He is thinking of paying off his debts with my dowry, I believe.”
“Then he must be deep in dun territory. This reeks of desperation.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.” Pained, she paused. “We have not even been introduced. But you are Lord Tensford? I am Lady Hope Brightley—and I am so grateful.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry to thank me. We are not out of the woods yet,” he said sardonically. “If you are going to emerge from this unscathed, there must not be a whisper of your involvement. It would be best if we got you to a public spot where you can appear calm and unruffled and then completely surprised if news of Bardham’s condition becomes known.”
“I know you must be right, but it infuriates me.” She breathed out a huff of frustration. “I want to shout Bardham’s perfidy from the rooftops, let everyone know exactly what he is—if only to prevent some other girl from falling into his clutches.”
He stopped. “That is exactly what you must not do.” It emerged on a severe note. An order. “You cannot give these people . . . anything.” He waved at the house, shining and full to the brim with guests, his expression bitter. “Don’t give them a morsel, a tidbit or even a whisper of scandal. It will not matter that Bardham is a fool and a predator. The truth will not matter. They will take the facts and twist and turn them to suit themselves, sculpting a scandal that fits their prejudices and appetites, spreading it and allowing it to grow until it no longer resembles even a particle of the truth.”
They had reached the area of the terrace that lay outside the ballroom. The light from inside set his oddly lovely eyes to glittering. “Your innocence will be inconsequential. The fact that you acted just as you ought—it doesn’t make a good enough story.” He snorted. “The ton will delight in your downfall. Especially the women.” His eyes rolled. “The fairer sex? That is a joke. You will hear them say things of you that you will scarcely believe.”
She stared up at him and wondered if he knew how he was exposing his own pain. “Is that what happened to you, my lord?”
He started, pulled back. For a moment, she thought that he wouldn’t answer. She held her breath, afraid he would walk away.
He didn’t. He glared again at the dancers whirling inside, at the people chatting and laughing. Then he looked back at her. “Thank you.”
She blinked. “For . . ?”
“For asking. You are the first person who ever asked me.”
The undeniable sadness of that statement struck her hard. Was he so alone?
“Yes,” he answered. “That is exactly what happened to me.” He took her arm and started them moving again. “It will not happen to you.”
He paused and leaned against the rail next to the stairs and gestured below, over the small garden. “Do you see anyone you know? It would be best if you were among friends when Bardham awakes or his conspirator shows up.”
She peered down. “Yes. There. I am acquainted with Miss Nichols.”
“Perfect. We’ll see you added to her group.” He straightened and offered his arm again at the top of the stairway, but before she could take it, someone blurred past her and barreled into him, knocking him down the stairs.”
“Oh, pardon.” Sarcasm weighted the words. “I must have missed you there, Tensford.”
“Lord Bardham, have you lost your senses?” She shrank back as the man turned to her. His cheek was split and bleeding, and his nose still trickled blood too. One eye was rapidly swelling and the other looked . . . utterly mad. “You should have cooperated,” he growled.
“The lady refused you.” Lord Tensford had managed to keep his feet. “Take your rejection like a gentleman,” he growled.
“No.” Bardham glared at her. “I don’t believe I will.”
“Heavens!” Miss Nichols and her friends had rushed forward. “What’s happened?” She climbed the stairs to stand next to Hope.
Lord Tensford climbed after her. “Leave the girl alone,” he told Bardham in a menacing tone. He turned then, and bowed to Hope. “It was a pleasure, Lady Hope.” With nods to the gathering guests, he turned and stalked into the house.
Bardham whirled and went back the way he’d come.
“Gracious,” someone murmured.
“What was that about?” another one asked.
“Are you well, Lady Hope?” Miss Nichols looked concerned.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She was looking off after Tensford.
“What happened to Lord Bardham?”
She hesitated. “An accident?” she offered. “What else could it have been?”
The murmurs hiked up a notch.
“And Lord Terror? Did he mistreat you?” someone asked.
“No!” She looked around, determined that Tensford should not be subjected to further disparaging rumors because of her. “Lord Bardham seems quite . . . not himself this evening. But Lord Tensford was nothing but kind.”
“Hard to believe that,” someone said nastily.
“Please do believe it, nonetheless,” she insisted, raising her voice so that all could hear her. “I only just met Lord Tensford this evening, but he treated me very kindly indeed. Almost tenderly,” she added, in a whisper, to herself.
Someone laughed.
“Don’t tease her.” Miss Nichols put her arm around Hope. “Come, let’s go and get you a glass of wine.”
She nodded and let herself be taken in by the considerate girl. And though she watched carefully for the rest of the evening, she did not see the Earl of Tensford again.
Chapter 2
My dearest readers, it is true. Even Lady X can make a mistake. And it does seem that I, and indeed all of London, have been mistaken in Lord Terror. He attended the Loxton ball and was seen aiding not one, but two damsels in distress! At first I thought it a trick, but having heard the stories, I am convinced. Indeed, it seems we must change his moniker, dear readers. He is Lord Terror to us no longer, but, borrowing the words of one of the lucky damsels, we dub him our Lord Tender!
--Whispers from Lady X
* * *
Tensford breathed deeply as he looked up from his accounts. Something smelled good. He felt hungry, really hungry, for the first time in a long while. Surprising, considering the state of the numbers he was working on, and the fact that he was no closer to solving his real dilemma.
But not so surprising, perhaps, since he felt the first glimmer of a lighter mood in months—and it had been brought to him along with a smile in a pair of dark, shining eyes.
He stood, stretching, as Higgins, his butler, entered with a tray. “Tea, sir. And Mrs. Agnew sends you some scones. They are not ginger cookies, alas.”
“Ah, but ginger is pricey these days, Higgins, or so I hear.”
“Yes, but they are your favorites, my lord. And you are the earl.”
“We make d
o. And these smell good, too.” He raised a brow at the man. “And we are lucky men, in the end. A good woman who is also a good cook? Mrs. Agnew is worth her weight in gold.”
“I know you are correct, sir.” The butler’s expression changed but a moment. “Mrs. Agnew knows it, too.”
Tensford grinned into his tea. His butler and cook shared a tumultuous relationship that kept the rest of the staff on their toes.
Higgins left and Tensford took up one of his ledgers.
He was going to have to reach a decision soon. Greystone Park needed an influx of cash. He’d done what he could with economies, with reorganization, and with the strict enforcement of budgets that had so upset his assorted female relatives.
He had spared no one, not even himself. To the horror of his mother, he had let the manor house at Greystone, leasing it for a year to an extremely wealthy merchant who wished to introduce his family to the social niceties of the gentry’s country life before he took them up to Town. The servants had all stayed on and Tensford had moved himself into an empty tenant’s cottage.
Even that had not been enough. Especially as the harvest was in danger this year, after such a disastrously wet and gloomy spring. It was hard enough keeping his people fed. How would he do it if they had a bad season?
He picked up the round, fist sized rock on his desk. Absently, his fingers traced the outline of the fossilized sea urchin that stretched over the curve of it. He’d found it on an expedition with his father. Fossil hunting had been the hobby they shared when he was a boy. It was still his hobby, in point of fact. It was peaceful. Quiet. His best hours were spent away at the riverside cliffs at Greystone, exploring the rocks, looking for signs of ancient life, caught forever.
When he’d first inherited and learned of the difficulties his estates were facing after years of his mother’s stewardship, he’d hoped that his fossils might be their salvation. Good specimens fetched decent money. If he could find something really unusual, something large and intact, or something never seen before, it could bring in a fortune.
But he’d looked. Every spare minute, when he wasn’t working at the estate, but he’d had to conclude that nothing valuable enough was to be found. He had to find another way.
He’d had an idea that he was developing with his steward. Much of Greystone Park’s vast acreage was wooded. He could sell the timber. And if he set up his own mill and milled the lumber himself, he’d make an even higher profit. And he could mill for others in the region, as well. It was an expensive undertaking, however. Those giant blades were expensive and Gibbs, his steward, talked of a steam engine to run it—he could only imagine the cost of that.
He really did not wish to denude the ancient forests on his property. But he could not deny his need for cash.
The door opened again and Higgins stepped inside. “Lady Forsham has arrived, my lord.”
His sister pushed her way into the room before Tensford could do anything save grimace.
“Good afternoon, Tensford.”
“Fanny.”
“Oh, good.” Spotting the tray, she seated herself next to it. “Send up a fresh pot, won’t you, Higgins?” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Thank you.”
Tensford sighed as Higgins shut the door with rather more force than was necessary. “Do refrain from ordering my servants about, please, Fanny?”
“Oh, posh! This is my home, too.”
“It was your home, sister dear. You are Forsham’s problem now.”
“Do stop funning, William. I am here on serious business.”
He already knew what sort of business.
“I need a small loan.”
He mouthed the words at the same time as she spoke them.
“Oh, do stop! Why are brothers always so loathsome? I am utterly serious. I don’t need much. Nothing above five or six hundred pounds, I shouldn’t expect. I simply must redecorate the front parlor. It’s still in the Egyptian style, William! Dreadfully out of date and so humiliating!”
Tensford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me explain to you again how this works, Fanny. You are Forsham’s wife. If you wish to redo Forsham’s parlor, then you must use Forsham’s money.”
“He doesn’t have it,” she said bluntly.
“Then how does this qualify as a loan?” he demanded.
“Oh, he’ll have it eventually. He’s due for a turn-around of luck. Even he cannot lose all of the time.”
“Well, there you have it. Redecorate when your husband’s luck turns.”
“Oh, no. He has a long list of creditors panting after him. I cannot wait until he pays them all off.”
“Neither can I.”
“Oh, posh. Mother always managed to find money for me when I needed it. It’s not easy keeping to the forefront of fashion, brother.”
“It’s Mother’s mismanagement of the family money that has put us all in these straits. Don’t quote her mistakes to me.”
She huffed in disapproval, but paused to look over the scones. Choosing one, she eyed him closely, clearly deciding to change tactics. “William, dear, you know you’ll have plenty of money soon enough,” she said in a wheedling tone. “And I must have the parlor done in Indian fashion. It’s about to be all of the rage, I just know it. I have visions, William! Elephants and golden figures of Buddha and palm fronds and brilliant embroidery! Don’t you wish to be sister to the leader of fashion in the ton?”
Plenty of money soon enough. He knew to what she referred. The time-honored tradition of an impoverished peer. She and his mother and aunt were waiting for him to marry for money.
She was still talking, but he’d quit listening. “Fanny,” he interrupted. “If you and Mother and Aunt Camille are so eager for me to marry a fortune, then perhaps you should not have spread the rumors that make it an impossibility! Thanks to the three of you, the women of the ton wish nothing to do with me.”
“I—spread rumors? Mother and I?” She took up her cup and raised her brow over it. “If you must blame someone, blame that meddlesome Lady X. She’s the one who stuck you with that loathsome nickname.”
“Oh, I know exactly who to blame.” All the women in his family and Lady X, too. And now he was expected to sacrifice his future to set it all to rights. He’d be damned if he would.
“In any case,” his sister continued. “There are other women, brother dear.”
“I’ll not be marrying that merchant’s daughter that Mother keeps pushing at me,” he declared. “She sat in the parlor at the dower house, estimated the cost of every stick of furniture and painting on the wall and gave me a rough number of the worth of the furnishings before she’d finished her first cup of tea.”
“No, that one is unacceptable, I agree. But I introduced you to Miss Vouchell. Her father is a banker. She has quite a sizeable dowry and a biddable nature.”
“Are you so sure of that?” He sat back and raised a brow at her. “I’m surprised to hear you push the match, sister. I heard her tell her mama that the first thing she means to do when she marries is to set up a receiving room in the Indian fashion.”
His sister’s teacup clattered into the saucer. “No! The little baggage! She wouldn’t have the faintest notion of Indian decor without my guidance. Well.” She straightened. “We will find you someone.”
The door opened once more. “Mr. Sterne has arrived, my lord,” Higgins intoned.
Tensford stood. “Barrett!” He left his desk to greet his old friend.
“You made it,” Sterne grinned. “I know you said you were coming for the Season, but I didn’t quite believe it. You sounded too utterly happy to be at home last year, with your estate improvements and your fossils. I was afraid you would succumb to their peaceful lure again.”
Sterne was a man of science as well. He had come out to Greystone several times to hunt fossils, although he was not as much as an enthusiast as Tensford. His uncle, however, was one of the foremost experts in the field.
At his jest, Tensford ca
st a jaundiced eye to his sister. “I begin to wish I had.”
His friend followed his gaze. “Oh, good morning to you, Lady Forsham. I hope you are well.”
“Well enough.” Fanny stood. “And better after Tensford and I settle this small matter.”
“I’m sorry, Fanny.” Tensford shook his head. “There are too many needs at Greystone. I have to rank hungry tenants higher than your elephants.”
“Hmmph.” Fanny’s nose went into the air. “I should have known better than to ask. I told Forsham that this tender business was stuff and nonsense. He doesn’t know you as I do.” She swept toward the door. “Good day, Tensford. And I hope you feel it keenly when you enter some other hostess’s parlor and find tiger skins and embroidered floor cushions.”
“I’m sure I shall.” But not for the reason she expected.
“Elephants?” Sterne asked as the door closed behind her. “Tiger skins?”
Tensford shook his head. “Just another fashion emergency.” But he gazed after his sister. What did she mean when she mentioned this tender business?
“Well, we’ve no time for nonsense,” Sterne said. “Come, and get rigged up. We’re going out.”
“Where?”
“Hadn’t you heard? My uncle is giving a lecture at the Surrey Institution. This afternoon.” He paused dramatically. “He’s displaying some of the pieces from his collection?”
Tensford brightened. “The skull?”
“Of course.”
He’d never seen it in person, the four-foot reptilian skull that had made Mr. John Sterne’s name in naturalist circles. “Let’s go, then.”
In minutes, they were headed out. Sterne’s driver had been walking the horses around Portman Square. They were turning the curved corner now, and the Tensford and Sterne stood talking as they waited on the pavement.
“I know you stayed away last Season because you felt like time and distance would allow the rumors around your name to fade. Have you put it to the test yet, this year?” Sterne asked.
