by Carla Kelly
‘That will be it,’ Lady Moreland agreed as she passed a cup of tea to Tess. ‘It must be very difficult, and I never expected him to make as much of an effort to be civil to his father.’ Tess’s expression must have betrayed something of her feelings for she added, ‘I do not scruple to mention the estrangement in front of you, Miss Ellery. I can tell you will be most discreet.’
Tess mumbled something that she hoped conveyed discretion, sympathy and a total disinclination to hear more. Lady Moreland steered the conversation on to London fashions and plans for Maria’s wardrobe for the Season and Tess was left to make interested noises and look out of the window onto the carriage sweep at the front of the house for the return of the brothers.
* * *
When they did come back it was on a wave of cold air and a bustle of servants all loaded with branches to heap in the entrance hall. Matthew was in high spirits and Alex’s unsmiling face was a healthy pink from the chill. He glanced at Tess and then looked back again, a long stare while, she supposed, he took in just how dreadful she looked. She nodded politely, then joined Maria and Matthew in a discussion of what needed to go where. Alex stalked off.
‘Don’t know what the matter is with Alex,’ Matthew commented as soon as the sound of boot heels on stone had died away. ‘Like a bear with a sore head.’
Maria offered Tess’s suggestion about the heavy workload with the art business and Tess was able to retreat into a corner with a pile of holly, stout scissors and wire to fashion some wreaths. She wanted to think calmly about Alex, but she was so tired that the same hurtful, jangling thoughts just kept circling and knotting in her head until all she was conscious of was pain and a deep sense of loss. Which is irrational, she told herself. He was never yours. You know there never was any hope of that.
* * *
At luncheon she managed to sit between Maria and Dorcas and listened to Maria’s anxieties about Almack’s, her hopes that she would make friends easily and her despair of ever winning her dancing master’s approval. On the far side of the table Alex endured his father’s trenchant views of the government’s foreign policy and then politely demolished them.
Tess, conscious that the four women at the table were all holding their breath, expected that outright opposition would send the earl into an apoplexy, but he grunted, ‘You don’t toad-eat, I’ll say that for you, Weybourn. You’re a damn fool Whig, of course, but at least you can construct an argument.’
Alex took the backhanded compliment with a wry smile and began to discuss felling some of the Home Wood. Across the table Lady Moreland exchanged a knowing look with her daughter.
Last night had apparently made no impact on Alex’s thought processes or his intellectual alertness. He obviously had slept perfectly soundly, Tess thought resentfully. A touch on her arm drew her attention to the fact that Matthew was speaking to her. ‘Shall we put up the mistletoe after luncheon, Miss Ellery?’
‘Why, yes. That would be fun.’ She managed a bright smile and was rewarded by a cold look from Alex. If he thinks I’m going to flirt with his brother under the mistletoe, then more fool he, she thought. Although it might be soothing to her bruised heart if Matthew wanted to flirt with her.
Chapter Nineteen
Alex told himself he was far too busy to waste time strewing greenery about the place, releasing spiders and earwigs and making every corner prickly with pine needles and holly.
If Tess wanted to giggle under the mistletoe with Matthew, then she was welcome to him. His brother was unlikely to offer her assistance that she could then wilfully misunderstand and throw back in his face, leaving him feeling like some kind of unsavoury rakehell preying on innocent young women and then buying them off.
Righteous indignation could only get him so far. Alex stopped halfway along the Upper Gallery and slammed his fist down on to a fragile side table, sending a vase rocking wildly. ‘Hell and damnation!’
Tess had been an innocent young woman and, in virtually every way, she still was. Thanks to her gossipy schoolgirl friends she might have knowledge of some things that society thought were kept from unmarried ladies, but her understanding of the big, dangerous wide world was virtually nonexistent. He had surrendered to temptation and had taken her virginity, and now he had made that world far more perilous for her.
He steadied the vase, ran his thumbs over the fragile white purity of the Wedgwood medallions that decorated it. Tess had rocked his life, unsettled his certainties. She had taught him a tolerance and forgiveness that made this painful reconciliation with his family negotiable. She had burrowed into his affections and curled up there, trusting and straightforward, just like that accursed kitten.
His offer of financial support had shocked her in a way that his uncontrolled lovemaking had not, he realised as he paced down the Gallery. She had told him the truth when she came to his bed. She had wanted, and asked for, the right simply to be with him for a short while, to share whatever it was between them.
The portrait he was staring at came into focus. Lucinda, wife of the second earl. Beautiful, the daughter of a duke, well dowered and, by all accounts, a profligate little madam who had brought her besotted husband to the brink of financial ruin. He walked on a few paces to Wilhelmina, the first countess. Impeccable breeding, the face of a horse and the temper of a cornered cobra, so legend said.
For all their blue blood, what had those two carefully selected brides done for the Tempests, other than bring unhappiness? ‘Damn it,’ Alex said in the face of Wilhelmina’s haughty disapproval. ‘I’ll marry the girl, bring in some affection and honesty and caring, and society can damn well think what it likes.’ She might not think much of him any longer, but with good fortune he would give her children to love and, God willing, she’d stop him being such a disastrous parent as his own father had proved.
The prospect should have filled him with satisfaction, not a faint feeling of queasy foreboding. Nerves. He turned on his heel and strode towards the double doors. A man proposing marriage had a right to feel a degree of anxiety. He would sweep her off, down to the stables, take her up in front of him and ride off to the old castle, propose there. Tess would like that, enjoy the romance of it.
He diverted to his room, shrugged into his greatcoat and took his hat and a heavy cloak for Tess.
‘My lord?’ Byfleet hurried out of the dressing room. ‘I’m sorry, I did not hear you ring.’ He stopped at Alex’s gesture of dismissal. ‘Are you quite well, my lord? Only you seem a trifle pale.’
‘Need some fresh air.’ Was he coming down with something? Alex caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, dark under the eyes, white around the mouth. He hadn’t looked as bad as this, or felt as bad, before his one and only duel, an affair involving an Italian contessa, a dubious Old Master drawing and a jealous husband.
Then his life had been at stake, reason enough to feel a cold lump in the pit of his stomach and an encroaching sensation of dread. Now there was no excuse. All he had to do was make his peace with an intelligent, sweet and forgiving young lady who would be swept off her feet with joy at the thought of finding herself a future countess.
* * *
Tess was in the dining room, filling vases with holly and trails of ivy. No servants, he was pleased to see and, thankfully, no sign of Matthew, either.
She dropped the ball of twine from which she was cutting lengths when he marched up to her and stopped in a swirl of coat-skirts and cloak. ‘My lord.’
No one who did not know her as well as he did now could have told that she was unhappy. Her self-control was as impeccable as ever, and it gave him no pleasure to see the tension in the way she held herself, the slight droop of her mouth. ‘Tess, come riding with me.’
‘I cannot ride.’
‘I’ll take you up in front of me. Tess, I am sorry, I should not have offered you what I did. I should have offered y
ou marriage.’ So much for a romantic interlude on horseback, a gallant knight making a powerful declaration to his lady in the castle ruins.
Her eyes were huge and dark and deep. A man could drown in those eyes. She was amazed that he had offered marriage; she was in shock. At any moment a smile would dawn and she would be in his arms.
‘No,’ Tess said. ‘No.’ She backed away from him, her hands clenched tight by her sides. ‘You must not. No.’
Alex made no move to stop her when she ran from the room. From him. So that was that. He had disgusted her with his violent rutting and insulted her with his crass offer and she had punished him in a far more effective way than she could ever have dreamed, leaving him unable to do the honourable thing.
* * *
I can’t. I mustn’t. Tess ran blindly away from temptation, ran as though all the devils in hell followed after her whispering inducements and false promises. She pushed open panelled double doors and found herself in a long gallery. It was mercifully empty, so she sat in one of the window seats and uncurled her cramped fingers. There was blood in her right palm where the nails had bitten in. She had wanted to say yes so much. Had wanted to reach for him, be held close, kiss that tight unhappiness from his face. She wanted to have her Alex back, her knight in slightly tarnished armour, her cynic with a soft heart, her lover with magic at his fingertips.
‘No,’ she told herself again. ‘You will not take advantage of his honour.’ She was being watched. The uneasy feeling stole over her as she sat there and she sat upright, got her face under control. How shameful to be found huddled miserably in a corner by the servants, or worse, her hosts.
When she looked around her the long chamber seemed empty, peopled only by the ranks of portraits with their guarded, careful expressions. It was foolish to imagine they were all staring with disapproval at her.
Chin up, back straight, Tess walked over to confront one particularly haughty dame. ‘Wilhelmina, Countess Moreland’, the gilded label on the frame read. ‘Daughter of Hugo de Vane, Third Marquess Peterborough’. Wilhelmina stared down at Tess as though she was a junior housemaid who had upended a chamber pot on the best Wilton carpet.
Her bloodlines would be traceable back to some uncouth and sweaty Norman baron who had come over at the Conqueror’s heels, Tess had no doubt. The countess would have been the culmination of centuries of dynastic breeding, careful alliances, political manoeuvring. There could have been no blots on her escutcheon or the earl would not have wed her. She was not illegitimate, let alone the product of a scandalous union.
Tess wondered rather drearily if she was ever going to find a place where she actually fitted, belonged. Everyone else knew their place, it seemed. She only wished Alex would let her find hers and stop filling her full of hopeless dreams.
She pulled a face at Wilhelmina. It was juvenile, but it relieved her even more childish desire to fling herself down and have a tantrum about the sheer unfairness of life. She had experienced what she had wished for—to lie in the arms of the man she loved and to share physical passion with him. Now she had to live with the consequences.
‘What I need,’ she informed Wilhelmina, ‘is a baby to cuddle and a kitten to play with. I will wager you never said that in your life. And I know where I can find both of those things.’
* * *
Baby Daisy was in the nursery with Dorcas and Annie. She had just been fed and changed and was at her adorable best, all gummy smiles and tiny waving fists. Ten minutes of cuddles and cooing restored Tess’s spirits enough to pay some attention to her companions. Dorcas looked plumper, healthier, happier than Tess had ever seen her and little Annie was acquiring quite alarming confidence with her new role of nursery maid.
Tess cradled Daisy and watched the other two women together. Annie had the rudiments of reading and writing, but Dorcas was encouraging her to read the newspaper and to keep basic nursery accounts. What was going to happen to them when the new year came? It would be a criminal waste for Annie to go back to her role as Alex’s scullery maid and Dorcas, with no references and the baby depending on her, could never hope for respectable employment.
‘Dorcas, may I tell Lady Moreland about your circumstances? I hope she may give you both a reference, and I will ask Lord Weybourn if you may both stay at the Half Moon Street house until you find employment.’
They both shot her startled glances. ‘But, Miss Ellery, won’t you be staying here? So can’t we stay, too?’ Annie said and was promptly nudged in the ribs by Dorcas. ‘What?’ she demanded inelegantly. ‘Miss Ellery and his lordship are all April and May, anyone can see there’s a wedding coming.’
‘I cannot marry Lord Weybourn.’ Annie opened her mouth so Tess snapped, ‘Because I am not eligible. I am illegitimate.’
‘But you love him,’ Annie protested. Little Daisy began to grizzle and she scooped her out of Tess’s arms. ‘And he loves you.’
‘He doesn’t and my feelings have got nothing to do with it,’ Tess stood up, the good effects of cuddling Daisy vanishing. All she could think of now was the children she could never have with Alex. ‘Lord Weybourn has his duty and he is perfectly well aware of it.’ He would be, and be relieved, once he had got over his momentary fit of gallantry. And as for the suggestion that he loved her, why, that was simply Annie’s romantic nonsense.
‘I am going down to the kitchens and then to find Noel. I will see you at dinner, Dorcas.’ She was running away, she knew that.
* * *
The kitchens were all a bustle with preparations for the Christmas Eve dinner, but Cook assured her that the sweetmeats she had made as gifts for the family were safe and sound in the coolest larder. One skill that Tess possessed to the satisfaction of the nuns was making the traditional candies that they sold in the town. She had created strong peppermint drops for Lord Moreland and Matthew and delicate rose pastilles for Lady Moreland and Maria, and Cook had found some pretty paper boxes for her to pack them in.
That just left Noel to find. He was drawn to the stables, but Tess worried that the bigger, fiercer stable cats would hurt him and fetched him back whenever he strayed.
She left by the kitchen door into the service yard, dodged the laundry maids lugging wet washing into the drying rooms, waved to the woodsmen delivering a load of logs and went through the archway into the stable yard. There was no sign of the kitten but she could hear Alex’s voice coming from the tack room and went close to the door to listen. She should go before he saw her, but she needed to find out how he was after that last, fraught declaration.
‘I think we’d do better running them unicorn.’ When she peeped though the gap between open door and hinge she saw Alex was sitting on a saddle horse, his back to her as he spoke to one of the Tempeston grooms.
‘Showy, my lord, I’ll give you that, especially with the three greys. But Mr Matthew’s been having a devil of a time with them and unicorn is a tricky configuration.’
‘But it will remove the gelding who’s proving most troublesome. The remaining three work well together.’
Obviously he wasn’t nursing a broken heart, or even wounded pride, if he could chat so casually about carriage horses.
Tess began to back away, then her heel caught an upturned bucket and it tipped over with a clang on the flagstones.
The groom leaned sideways and saw her. ‘There’s Miss Ellery, me lord.’
Alex swung one long leg over the saddle horse and turned to face her. ‘So I can see. I wondered what had happened to you, Miss Ellery. You had seemed a little discomposed earlier.’
‘Oh, I have been busy, my lord.’ Tess smiled politely. ‘A little art appreciation, a visit to the nursery and the kitchens, then I thought I must see where Noel had got to.’
‘I saw him in the hayloft a while ago,’ Alex said. His voice was calm, his eyes were stormy.
Tempest eyes, Tess
thought. ‘I was concerned, but I see I was mistaken to be so. Life goes on, does it not, whatever emotional distractions confuse us.’
‘You can call what there is between us an emotional distraction, Tess?’
She threw up a warning hand to remind him the groom was somewhere close.
Alex turned and called, ‘Hodgkin, see if you can find Miss Ellery’s ginger kitten, will you?’ The sound of booted feet faded away. ‘You have it all worked out now, do you, Tess? I cannot say I have.’
‘You are suffering from a fit of quixotic gallantry. I am utterly unsuitable for you, you know that. It is not just that I am an orphan with no connections, no dowry and no qualifications whatsoever for a place in society.’ She braced herself. Time to tell him, time to see the shock and distaste on his face. Time to watch the man she loved disentangle himself from this coil with cool finality. ‘I am—’
‘Illegitimate, I know.’ Alex looked impatient, as though that bombshell was merely a minor irritation, a firecracker going off.
‘But my mother—’
Again he cut in before she could finish. ‘“Jane Teresa Ellery, born 1775, died, unmarried, 1809.” Yes? That is what the Peerage says and she was your mother, I assume? The date and her middle name seem too coincidental.’
Silence. ‘Am I allowed to finish a sentence now?’
‘Of course.’
‘There is no of course about it. You do not listen to me. You have not right from the beginning. If you had, I would never have missed that boat, none of this would have happened. Now you will not allow me to finish a simple explanation when you must see how difficult it is for me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Alex moved away abruptly, as though to leave, then swung back. ‘I am unused to difficult discussions with women. With a lady,’ he corrected himself. ‘But James Ellery, third Marquess of Sethcombe, is your grandfather, is he not?’
