by Deb Marlowe
He gaped at the groaning sideboard. “So I see. What is this, Mother? Why are you here?”
“I have come for the Season. It’s time I had a bit of a frolic.” She made a face. “Your aunt has worn my nerves to a frazzle—and that McNamara woman! Between the two of them I thought I might go mad. So, here I am.”
To drive him mad? He went to stare at the array of food. “Are we expecting guests? At breakfast?”
“That is a typical breakfast for an English lord, Tensford. Hundreds of peers across London are surveying the same sort of spread. You are an earl. It’s time you lived like one.”
“I am an earl with few funds. We are a family with very little money, Mother.” Thanks in largest part to her. “And I’ve told you time and again, you must learn to live like it.”
“You don’t mean that I should scrape and pinch in London, surely?” she asked, aghast.
“I do. Unless you wish me to have to lease this house, as well?”
Horror filled her expression. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would. We eat simply here, Mother. We live simply. If you cannot abide by this one necessary edict, you may take yourself off to a hotel for the Season. I know your widow’s portion will cover the expense.”
He had never asked her to contribute her funds to aid Greystone’s failing conditions.
She had never offered.
She waved off his suggestion, now. “That money must go to the modistes. It’s been several years since I came to Town. I am in need of a new wardrobe if I am to assist as chaperone to Miss McNamara.”
He set his plate down, still empty. “Miss McNamara?”
“Yes. Although the mother is a forward, vulgar thing, the daughter is quite easy to get along with.”
Quite willing to stroke his mother’s vanity, he suspected.
“The girl has been everything friendly and is very eager to learn. When she was invited to stay with friends in London this spring, she begged me to come along and show her how to get on.”
And to gain her entrance into Society events, no doubt.
“I daresay she will become quite a success. Really, Tensford, you should look to her before she is snatched out from under your nose.”
Before he could reply to this sally, Higgins appeared in the doorway. “Miss McNamara has arrived, sir.”
He looked to his mother.
She looked away. “Oh, I did invite her to breakfast with us, as she and I are going to start our shopping this morning.”
“Good morning!” Miss McNamara breezed into the room, going straight to his mother and stopping to kiss her on the cheek. “My dear Lady Tensford.” She stood and smiled at him, then dropped into a credible curtsy. “Lord Tensford. Thank you for the kind invitation.”
He nodded. She was pretty, in a sharp corners and angular planes sort of way. He’d met her several times before and found her swift, darting gaze to be unnerving. Mostly because he sensed a cold and calculating mind behind it.
“Come and sit beside me, Miss McNamara. Tensford will fill you a plate.”
“Oh, thank you. How lovely.” Seating herself, she looked around with interest. “Your home is quite remarkable, my lord. Portman Square is so very impressive.” She raised her brows toward his mother. “And quite fashionable, is it not?”
“Of course,” his mother assured her.
The women spoke a little of the best London addresses and then moved on to the best London shops. Tensford fixed a plate for their guest and one for himself.
His mother rose just as he moved to sit and eat.
“I’ve finished,” she announced. “I’ll just go and fetch my things before we go. You two talk a little, get to know each other. I’ll only be a moment.”
He stared after her. He’d never seen her fetch anything in his life, not for herself or anyone else.
Silence reigned for a few moments, broken only by the clink of silver on china.
“Your mother is very kind,” Miss McNamara said eventually.
He made a noncommittal sound and covered it with a bite of bacon.
“I suppose you know she thinks to push us together.”
He looked up to find her watching him with a measuring eye.
“I hadn’t thought to go along with it at first.” Her gaze roamed over him. “Too provincial, I thought. But you do look a sight better in your Town clothes, my lord.” She pointed with her fork. “I prefer this version over the dusty farmer.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then, too, I did not understand how marriages work amongst the peerage, but now I do.”
“Then you have me at a disadvantage. I do not know what you mean.”
She leaned forward. “Let us not talk around it. You have the title and the land. I have the money.” Her shoulder lifted. “I doubt I’ll have trouble providing you the requisite heir and spare, and once they are safely ensconced in the nursery . . . we can each do what we wish.”
“What we wish?” he croaked, astonished.
“Yes. You enjoy the country life, down to the lowest aspects. I’ve seen you at work on the barns or in the fields.” She shuddered. “I find it all exceedingly dull. I prefer the excitement of Town. You can stay on the estate and perhaps I will take this place.” She looked around, nodding. “I could do quite a bit with it, given time and money.” She smiled at him. “You’ll have your life. I’ll have mine. Et voilà! Everyone is happy.”
He sat, stunned, while an image rose, of such a future. It was all too easy to imagine, unfortunately. Yet his brain shied away.
Instead it tried to conjure a different picture. One with a smiling Lady Hope seated across from him. Easy laughter, teasing. Heat and kisses. He wondered if she liked the country—
No. He stood, cutting off that line of thinking.
Damnation.
“Enjoy your shopping, Miss McNamara.”
She sat back, watching him with a brow raised.
“Please tell my mother that I had an urgent matter to attend to. Good day.”
He left the house, stamping anger, panic and frustration into the pavement. This, this at last seemed too much to ask of him.
For a long time, he wandered. It rained a bit. People pushed past him, eager to get in out of the weather. He couldn’t think. His mind had gone numb. When he bothered to look up, he found himself on Fleet Street.
An idea bloomed.
Lady X. Her gossipy tidbits were current—and they were printed daily. And here was the largest gathering of printers in London. Surely the lady would not deliver her pieces to the printer herself, but she must have a regular system set up.
He could find her. He could. He longed to confront her and he needed something to occupy his mind beyond his intolerable situation—and he needed an excuse to be from home.
What had that name been? The printer who was friendly with Lord Westmore?
Childers.
He set out, reading all the signs of the printers, pubs, booksellers and mapmakers along the way. He found them, at last, in Ludgate Hill. Childers & Son, Lithographers, Printers & Engravers.
Standing outside the shop, he considered the matter. A clerk pushed by him to enter. He couldn’t follow every person who made a delivery to the place, but it was a daily sheet. There would be a pattern. He just needed to discover it. Looking around, he spotted a coffee shop across the way, several doors down.
Perfect.
Watching the traffic, he set out for the place, his resolve firming as he went.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Three days later, Tensford was still seated in the coffee house. He’d barely been home, returning only to sleep, to fetch paper, ink and quills, and to sort through his mail.
He’d made friends with Mrs. Fitz, the gregarious, comfortable lady who ran the coffee house. He’d become somewhat addicted to her special spiced café au lait, rich with Eastern flavor. He’d shared with her Mrs. Agnew’s recipe for scones. And he’d kept copious n
otes on the comings and goings at Childers & Son.
It was a slow period at the moment, so he’d also started making a list.
* * *
Queen Anne chifferobe
Sevres Ormolu vase
Silver chafing dish = 2
* * *
The bell over the door rang. He didn’t look up until a shadow fell over the paper in front of him.
“Sterne!” He blinked up at his friend. “How are you?”
“Exasperated. I’ve been looking for you for days.”
“I received your notes. That’s why I sent a message to let you know I am fine.”
“Yes, and I had to bribe the boy who delivered it to tell me where you sent it from.”
Tensford straightened. “That worked, did it?”
“Obviously. Here I am.”
He frowned, thinking.
“Tensford?”
“Yes? Oh, sorry. I have considered that route, but it stands to reason she’s thought of that already and taken measures against it.”
“What are you going on about, man?” Sterne looked around. “Why are you hiding here? Who is she?”
“Not hiding. Spying.” He explained his mission. “And I’ve narrowed it down to two likely messengers,” he said with excitement. “I’m favoring the three o’clock boy over the early morning lad. It gives her time to decide what to write and to make it . . . jaunty. Would you say that’s an accurate description of her style?”
Sterne frowned. “Good God, you’re really going to expose Lady X?” He gazed over at the printer’s shop. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The whole thing could turn against you.”
“That’s what Lady Hope said,” Tensford muttered.
“Yes, and she’s another who has been wondering where you’ve disappeared to. She asked me to give you a message, should I see you.”
“Well?”
“She hopes you’ll be available to drive her in Hyde Park tomorrow.”
Tensford heaved a sigh. “It wouldn’t be wise.” He should avoid the temptation. But he had given her his word.
“Why not?” Sterne asked.
He ignored the question and pulled his list closer. “I’m glad you are here, Sterne. I need to ask a favor of you.”
His friend waited expectantly.
“Will you ask your uncle if he might be interested in my sea urchin fossil? The one I keep on my desk? It is an unusual piece. No one else has one like it, that I’ve seen.”
“I know the one. Of course, I will ask. He will likely be interested, but Tensford—I know that fossil is special to you. Your father—” He stopped. “I know what it means. Why would you wish to sell it? Are things so bad?”
“Bad enough, though likely not in the way you are thinking.” He told Sterne about his mother and her candidate for his marriage.
“She sounds cold.”
“That’s an understatement. And my mother is as bad. She left a note on top of the stack of my mail. It said one thing. Forty thousand pounds.”
Sterne dropped into the seat across from him. “Forty thousand . . . hell and damnation.”
“Yes. It gets worse. The pair of them lay in wait for me last night, ostensibly enjoying a late cordial and discussing their night at the theatre. The outrageous McNamara chit took me aside and told me that she’d heard the rumors about me and didn’t care a snap for them.”
“Well, that’s promising.”
He shuddered. “She said I could be Lord Terror with her, if I so wished, as long as no marks showed afterwards. Or we could find a girl to keep somewhere, as long as, as my wife, she was compensated for her willingness to indulge me.”
“Good God,” Sterne said, horrified. “You cannot marry her.”
“Thus the favor. I’m making a list of everything of value that is not entailed. Perhaps I can put together enough money for that mill idea I told you about.”
Sterne still looked stricken. “I know you didn’t wish to destroy that old forest.”
“I still don’t. But neither do I wish to marry this mercenary in skirts—and no one else is lining up to have me.”
“I am sorry.”
“I’ll replant as I cut,” Tensford said, desperate. “It won’t be forever.” He slumped in his seat. “Just for two hundred years or so.”
Sterne sat quietly for a moment. “Listen, Tensford. I think you need a fresh perspective on your situation. You know I’m staying with my uncle while I’m in Town?”
Tensford frowned. “No. Is your father not in London? What with all the debate over the Corn Laws, I would have thought he’d be in the thick of it.”
“He’s here,” Sterne said flatly. “But as I still have no burning interest in politics, he cannot find any interest at all in me.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s more comfortable for all of us if I stay with my aunt and uncle.” He grinned. “Especially me. And I think you should come over and enjoy an evening with us. How about tomorrow evening?”
He looked over toward the printer’s shop. “Yes. Thank you, it sounds—”
He jumped up. “There’s the messenger. I’ll be there. Tell Lady Hope that I’ll take her driving, first. And tell Mrs. Fitz that I’ll be back for my things.” He bolted for the door, but paused before going through. “Sterne?”
“Yes?”
“Can I borrow your curricle tomorrow?”
His friend laughed. “Yes. And my matched bays as well.”
“Thank you!” Tensford darted across the street, narrowly missed a collision with a speeding hack, and slowed his pace when he neared the printer’s shop.
The messenger boy left the place, whistling.
Tensford passed him by, ducked into a doorway, then started after the boy, several paces behind.
They traveled back to Fleet Street, heading toward the Strand and the West End. The boy was in no hurry, with his mission accomplished. He greeted several people, stopped to speak with a street sweeper and bought a sweet bun from a woman with a cart.
It wasn’t until he’d stuffed in the last of the bun that something set him on alert, or his instincts kicked in. He started to walk faster. At a corner he stopped, looking back and taking note of everyone behind him.
Acting unconcerned and oblivious, Tensford passed him by. But some stray memory of the same sort of moment earlier must have registered. The boy bolted.
Tensford gave chase. He kept up while the boy stuck to the main street, but when he ducked down one alley and then another, Tensford began to lose ground. The urchin knew the back ways, and obviously where all the bolt-holes and short cuts lay. Tensford lost him.
Damnation.
He gave up, finally, and began the long walk back to Ludgate.
Chapter 7
Where is our Lord Tender? The gentleman has scarcely been seen in Society for days. Rumor has it that certain other members of his family have arrived in Town, perhaps that is the reason?
--Whispers from Lady X
* * *
The next day the sun shown down on a fine, spring day in Mayfair. Sterne had his rig all ready to go when Tensford arrived.
He let out a long, low whistle. “I’ll say it again, these bays are beauties. Sure you want to loan them to me?”
“I’ve seen you drive to an inch. The bays will be fine. But dare I trust you to the hands of Lady Hope? She seems a resourceful girl.”
“She’s quite a wonderful girl,” he corrected.
When Sterne waited expectantly, he sighed. “With a dowry of two thousand.”
“Ah. I thought you seemed as if you were in something of a quandary.”
Tensford didn’t respond.
Sterne stopped him before he climbed aboard the curricle. “You recall, you’ve promised to return for dinner? My aunt and uncle have got together a little party, and they are expecting you.”
“I’ll be here. Thank you for keeping my kit upstairs for me. And thank you, Sterne, for allowing me to take your rig out just a bit early.”
His
friend looked troubled, but he nodded. “I’ll see you tonight.”
It took a while to get through the busy streets. Everyone was out enjoying the sunshine today, it seemed. But he pulled up before Childers & Son near the proper time.
Only a few moments passed before the boy appeared. He was early. He moved quickly and watched the faces on the pavement as he approached. He hadn’t yet looked to the parked rig.
Tensford waited until the lad nearly reached the door. He gave a short whistle and an order. “Do not run.”
The boy froze. He looked over and up—and his eyes widened when he saw the gold sovereign that Tensford held aloft.
“Tell your employer that I wish to talk. I have questions to ask and things to say to her, but I wish her no harm.”
Eyes still on the coin, the boy nodded. Tensford tossed it to him, took up the reins, and pulled away.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Hope watched at the window, praying he would come. She hadn’t seen Tensford in days. She was gambling and she knew it. She just hoped she hadn’t already lost the game.
She gave a little hop of joy when he pulled up before the house. She ran straight from the room, hoping to meet him before her sister-in-law could say anything scathing to him.
She paused on the landing, however, when Catherine came forward from the back of the house. Her brother James and Lord Bardham were with her.
Hope suppressed a groan.
“There are maps in here,” Catherine said, going into the study. “But the area is huge. How could anyone know—”
Her words faded as she went further. Her brother followed her. But Bardham looked upward before he entered—and caught sight of her on the stairs. Closing the door, he stood and waited.
Sighing, she continued down.
“Lady Hope.”
“Lord Bardham.” Her maid trailed down the stairs after her, bringing her bonnet and gloves. Hope took them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going out.”
He stepped closer and the maid fled.
