by Carla Kelly
He had written to her once a month, knowing his father would have forbidden her to correspond with him and that he could expect no answer to his letters. It was desperation that had made her disobey now.
‘You look tired, Mother.’
‘I look old, you mean.’ Her chin came up. ‘And you look well. More than well. How you have grown, matured. Who is that young woman? I thought, no, I hoped, you were going to introduce her as your wife or your betrothed.’
‘Really? After what my father says about me?’ She winced and he bit his lip. She was not the one who deserved to be punished.
‘Your father can be a great fool,’ his mother said. It was the first time he had ever heard her utter a word of criticism of her husband.
‘And a stubborn one. But, no, Miss Ellery is just what I told you, a young lady adrift in London because the arrangements made for her reception went awry.’ He shrugged. ‘At any other time of the year I could have found half a dozen ladies of my acquaintance to look after her, but you know what London is like before Christmas. And I could hardly deposit her in a hotel. And before you ask, no, the baby is not hers and most certainly not mine. The child is Daisy White. Now tell me what is wrong with my father.’
His mother sagged a little, then straightened her spine. ‘The doctors say your father has a disease of the blood, one they cannot cure. He is deteriorating steadily.’
‘Has he asked for me?’ He kept the hope out of his voice, ashamed of the weakness.
‘No.’ She did not seem to realise that she was shredding the fragile Honiton lace of her handkerchief.
‘And Matthew?’ His brother, the perfect Tempest. Big, strong, physical. A hard rider, a hard drinker, a hard gambler, a hearty philistine. A man’s man and always the apple of their father’s eye.
‘Matthew drinks, gambles, whores,’ his mother said, her lips stiff with distaste for the words. ‘He was never an intellectual.’ Her raised brow dared Alex to comment. ‘Now it is obvious that he incapable of taking up the work of the earldom. The agents do their best, but your father was always a man who kept his hand and his eyes on every aspect of all the estates, the business interests, the finances. He thought that Matthew took after him.’
‘And that—as he did not believe I would marry, let alone father an heir, then—Matthew, or his son, would one day inherit it all. When did he realise?’
‘That Matthew was incapable of managing a great inheritance? Not until he became so ill and even now he will not admit he needs help.’
‘Of course not. That would mean calling me back.’ Alex settled back in the chair, took a deep breath, found some sort of control of his voice. ‘And possibly apologising. I imagine he is a very angry man.’
‘You must be angry yourself.’ His mother met his eyes. ‘You must be angry with me.’
‘You were in an impossible position.’ He had known that right from the beginning. His mother was of a generation that would support their husbands whatever kind of tyrant they were. It was simply how she had been raised. ‘Do you believe I am what he says I am?’ Lord, the last thing to discuss with one’s mother.
‘That you are...not interested in women? Of course not. I have eyes in my head, I knew you went sneaking out of the house at night down to see Mary at the White Swan.’ For the first time something like a smile twitched at her thin lips. ‘I imagine I could tell you the date you lost your virginity. And while your letters to me contain nothing that might shock a maiden aunt, I do have my old friends in London. I hear the gossip.’
Alex had thought himself beyond blushing like a youth, but it seemed he was wrong. ‘Does he know you sent for me?’
His mother got to her feet, as elegant and feminine as he always remembered her. ‘I told him I would, but he did not believe me. I have never disobeyed him before, you see.’
I never knew she had the courage. That I did not remember. ‘When will you tell him I am here?’ He got to his feet, went to take her arm.
The door banged open with no warning knock. ‘Hell’s teeth and damnation.’ The man on the threshold stared at Alex and then laughed. ‘It really is you, my popinjay big brother, all grown up. Come to see if the old man’s dead yet?’
‘No. And do not swear in our mother’s presence. Do you not knock on her boudoir door, or are you perhaps no longer a gentleman?’ Alex found himself toe to toe with Matthew without realising he had moved. ‘I will see you at dinner, Mama. You come with me.’ He took his brother’s arm, twisted it and had him out of the door before he could get his balance. He closed it behind them and pushed Matthew down the corridor out of earshot before he let him wrench free.
‘Get your hands off me.’
Alex held both of his up, palm out. ‘I imagine my appearance is a shock to you. Mother asked me to come.’
‘The hell she did! And Garnett says you’ve got women with you and a baby.’
‘There are two ladies. Gentlewomen, and you’ll do well to remember that,’ Alex said, keeping his voice soft, his hands by his sides. ‘The baby belongs to Mrs White, the widow who is the companion to Miss Ellery. They find themselves unfortunately stranded in London. Mother has kindly offered them hospitality for the Christmas season.’
‘We’ll see what Father has to say about this.’ Matthew turned on his heel and strode off towards the East Wing.
‘You do that, brother mine,’ Alex murmured as a door slammed violently in the distance. ‘I just hope your reflexes are good enough to duck whatever he hurls at your head.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘I am petrified,’ Dorcas whispered. ‘I’ve never been anywhere this elegant. I’ve never been anywhere except as a servant,’ she added with a tremble in her voice.
‘You told me your father was a doctor, Dorcas. You speak nicely, your manners are correct, your gown is perfectly acceptable. Besides, I don’t think companions are expected to do more than sit in the background under these circumstances.’
‘Good,’ Dorcas muttered, her eyes on the back of the liveried footman sent to collect them for dinner. ‘I’m glad we have an escort, this place is huge.’
The footman stopped, opened a pair of double doors. ‘The Green Salon, ma’am.’
Tess took in a breath down to her toes. I can do this.
‘Ah, good evening, ladies.’ Lady Moreland held out one hand, gloved to the elbow in lavender kid. ‘Do come and meet my younger son. Matthew, Miss Ellery, Mrs White.’
‘Mr Tempest.’ Tess inclined her head to the man who stood on the other side of the fireplace. She could see the resemblance to Alex, although he was shorter and stockier, but he had none of Alex’s elegance or air of sophistication. He looked, she thought, sulky.
‘I will leave Matthew to keep you company for a few moments while I make sure my husband has all he requires. I know you will excuse him eating in his chamber.’ Lady Moreland shared a brittle smile between them and left the room.
‘Miss Ellery. Absolutely charmed to meet you.’ Matthew Tempest’s gaze flickered over her figure, lingered on the bare skin exposed by the neckline of her simple evening gown. Tess felt her own smile congeal. She was not used to wearing anything so revealing and she was certainly not used to being ogled. Occasionally she caught a gleam of masculine awareness in Alex’s eyes when they rested on her—more than occasionally, if she were to be honest—but not this blatant assessment. ‘A bore for you to be landed with my brother’s company,’ he added.
‘You think so, Mr Tempest? Lord Weybourn has been all that is kind.’
‘He is hardly a ladies’ man.’ Mr Tempest appeared to find that an inordinately amusing remark.
‘He is, however, a gentleman,’ Tess said as sweetly as gritted teeth would allow.
The laugh this time was a trifle forced. Not such a fool, Matthew Tempest, that he could not recognise an insult w
hen it was offered. ‘No doubt you feel very safe with him.’
Tess stared at him, then noticed the knowing smirk. He didn’t mean... He couldn’t. Yes, he did. She resisted the urge to box his ears and lowered her lashes coyly instead. ‘As safe as a lady wishes to feel with a handsome gentleman.’
His jaw dropped and she strolled away to where Dorcas had perched on one end of a sofa. ‘That poisonous little toad,’ Tess whispered as she sat down beside her. ‘He is jealous of his brother.’
‘Oh, hush, Miss Ellery, he is coming over.’
Matthew Tempest had, it seemed, recovered his temper, or at least his composure. Or else he thinks we are whispering about him and wants to find out what we are saying, Tess thought as he strolled over to their sofa.
‘May I fetch you ladies a glass of Madeira? Or sherry, perhaps? Ratafia?’
‘Nothing, thank you,’ Tess said as the door opened and Alex came in.
‘Miss Ellery, Mrs White, forgive my tardiness. Matthew, now I see you in good light, how you have changed.’
‘Hardly surprising, given that I was fifteen when you walked out on the family.’ Neither brother made any move towards shaking hands, let alone embracing, Tess noticed. ‘I had expected quite the court card, if not a fop.’ There was reluctant admiration in Matthew’s expression, Tess realised. Or perhaps envy. ‘Tell me, who is your tailor? Weston?’
‘Of course.’ Alex’s smile became more natural, as though to take the edge off the words. His clothing was so plain as to be almost austere. He wore black and white, his shirtfront with barely a ruffle, his only ornament the gold of his watch chain, the dull gleam of the intaglio seal ring and the glow of the amethyst in his neckcloth. ‘Do you get up to town much?’
‘No.’ Matthew’s voice was sulky. ‘I’m kept tied to this place, at Father’s beck and call.’
‘He is sick after all. I have no doubt you’re a help to him.’
‘Ha! He’s got perfectly good stewards and agents, but nothing will satisfy him but that he has to have a finger in every pie, read every report, send me out to check on this and that, and then what I tell him is always wrong, or too short in some tiresome detail or I’ve missed the point. Again.’
Tess felt a twinge of reluctant sympathy for the young man. His father must be seething with impatience at his own limitations and nothing Matthew did was going to be good enough. ‘What would you prefer to be doing, Mr Tempest?’ she asked him.
He shrugged, then seemed to realise he was speaking to a guest and a lady and took the sullen look off his face. ‘Breed hunters. Hunt.’
‘Be a country squire, in effect,’ Alex said.
‘Nothing wrong with that. I’m the younger son after all.’ The aggression was back in his voice and Tess cast around for a neutral topic of conversation.
‘I am so looking forward to seeing something of the English countryside. I have lived in Ghent for years.’ From the hallway came the sound of raised voices and she broke off as the door opened.
Lady Moreland came in, still speaking over her shoulder as she did so. ‘John, James, do be careful. Moreland, I do think—’
‘I am going to eat dinner at my own board and see what this nonsense about that popinjay Alexander coming back is about.’ The earl entered, batting irritably at the two footmen who were attempting to steady him on either side. ‘Get off, damn it, I’m not in my coffin yet.’ He stopped dead and stared. ‘My God, he really is here. I thought Matthew must have been drinking. Alexander?’
‘Father.’ Two syllables. Two perfectly civil drops of ice.
Tess, her gaze flickering between the men, wondered if Alex was as shocked as his father. He had made a barely discernible movement when the earl came in. Now he was stock-still.
It must be like staring into a looking glass, one that aged the viewer on one hand and stripped years away on the other. They were obviously father and son. Everything proclaimed it—their height, their bone structure with those high cheekbones and thin nose. Alex had his eyes from his mother, but that was all. Lord Moreland had once had the physique to match his son; now the broad shoulders seemed bony and, despite the careful tailoring, his evening clothes looked loose, as though he had lost a lot of weight recently. His hair was still thick, but faded into grey now, and the heavy eyebrows were almost white. How old was he? Fifty-five, sixty? He should be in his prime, and he certainly resented its loss as much as he suffered from his symptoms.
‘What in the blazes are you doing here, Weybourn?’ Lord Moreland wrenched his arm from the grip of the supporting footman, took two steps and sank down on to the nearest chair.
‘I have come to celebrate Christmas in the bosom of my family.’ A nerve jumped in the angle of Alex’s jaw, but his tone was bland. ‘And, naturally, to enquire after your health.’
‘Measure me for my coffin, more like. How did you hear I’ve had my notice to quit?’
‘A well-wisher wrote to me that you were unwell.’
The silence seemed to shimmer, or perhaps she was feeling faint with tension. Tess caught the involuntary movement of her hand towards Alex and willed herself to stillness.
‘And you brought guests with you.’ Hooded eyes turned in her direction.
Tess made herself step forward. Her curtsy, by some miracle, did not waver, nor her knees fail her. ‘My lord. I am most grateful for your hospitality to myself and my companion Mrs White at a most awkward time for us.’
‘Miss Ellery, Father. Miss Ellery, the Earl of Moreland.’
‘You’ll forgive me if I do not rise.’ The dark eyes assessed her gown, her lack of ornament, her ringless hands, then lifted to her face. ‘Ellery? One of the Buckinghamshire Ellerys, I presume, by the look of you.’
Now she really might faint. Tess clenched her hands until the nails bit into her palms and the sting steadied her. ‘I am not acquainted with the family you speak of, Lord Moreland.’ And they were most certainly not acquainted with her; they had made quite sure of that.
‘Very wise,’ the man in front of her said. ‘A top-lofty crew.’
‘They do have a duke in their ranks, which probably accounts for it, Papa.’ A pale version of Lady Moreland wandered into the room and blinked short-sightedly at its occupants. ‘They are most dreadfully proud. Is that really Alexander?’
‘Of course it is Alexander,’ the earl snapped. ‘Why don’t you wear your spectacles, you foolish chit?’
‘I’ve misplaced them.’ The young woman drifted closer and squinted. ‘Alexander, you’ve changed. How lovely to see you.’
‘I should hope I have changed after ten years. And so have you, Maria.’ Alex stooped and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You were eight when I left. When do you have your come-out?’
‘Oh, this Season, I expect.’ She smiled and Tess was suddenly aware that for all her vagueness and pallor the girl had intelligence and more than a share of Alex’s charm.
‘Unless I cock up my toes, which is more than likely, the way you crows all fuss and flap around me.’ The earl appeared to take a perverse pleasure in the prospect of ruining his daughter’s debut with a year of mourning.
Alex, ignoring the interjection, turned to Tess. ‘Miss Ellery, may I introduce my sister, Lady Maria?’
‘How do you do?’ Close up the hazel eyes focused and the air of vagueness disappeared. What had Alex said? That his sister was sensitive. Tess had taken that as meaning foolish or hysterical, but she rather suspected he had meant she was attuned to other people. ‘Mama told me what a fix you are in, Miss Ellery. Such a pity. Never mind, you’ll be comfortable here. Shall we sit down?’ She went over to the sofa and held out her hand to Dorcas, who shot to her feet and took it as though it was red hot.
Tess joined them, ready to deflect attention before Dorcas melted with nerves. Behind her she heard the earl growl some comment to Alex, but sh
e was too grateful to be able to sit down to listen to his words.
* * *
‘Sit down, Weybourn.’
Alex took the chair opposite his father and made a business of crossing his legs, smoothing a wrinkle from his thin silk evening breeches, tugging a cuff. It gave him something to do with his hands and, after all, one could not hit one’s own father, not when the old devil was ill.
‘Why have you come back? To apologise?’
‘Certainly I owe my mother and sister an apology for my absence,’ Alex conceded. ‘I am not aware of any other apology owing. From me, that is.’
He had remembered his father’s eyes as brown. Now they seemed black against his pale skin. ‘You expect me to apologise?’
‘It is normal, when a gentleman wrongs another.’ Alex kept his tone mild and found to his surprise that it was easy. He was confronting the bogeyman of his memories and his nightmares and here was a sick, frustrated, angry man, old before his time. Someone to be pitied, if he could find it in himself. If he wanted to find the capacity to pity. There was Peter to remember and avenge. Peter, who was ten years in the cold ground thanks to the man in front of him.
‘But this is not something to discuss now.’ Alex glanced around him, saw his mother’s eyes on him, felt the weight of Tess’s anxiety behind him. She was upset and by more than tension over this scene or their deception. He tried to recall when he had first noticed it, then set the puzzle aside. He could not focus on it, not now, with his father’s sardonic gaze on his face and the hostility coming off Matthew in palpable waves.
‘Certainly not in front of the ladies,’ his father agreed with a bitter twist of his lips that negated the reasonable tone and words. ‘In my study at ten tomorrow.’
‘Naturally. The usual place and time.’ That was always the summons at dinner time whenever one of his sons had done something wrong, and that was usually Alex, not Matthew. Ten the next day, a time carefully chosen to ensure a night of anxiety and a lack of appetite at breakfast.
