by Brenda Hiatt
Her father's startled glance reminded her belatedly that he did not know about the accident. She would trip herself up with her web of lies yet! But Anthony covered her blunder smoothly.
"He is doing much better, though he won't be walking for some time yet. I presume Mr. Emery told you about his fall?" He directed the question to both of them.
Tessa nodded, while her father shook his head. "Harold heard about it in the village," she improvised. "I was quite sorry to hear of it. What of the horse he was riding?" She tried to communicate with a look that she preferred her father not learn it was Nimbus.
"A strain and a scratch, but the vet assures us it will recover." He turned back to Sir George before he could ask questions and said, "I'm sure, immobilized as he is, Lord Killerby will be delighted that you have accepted my invitation."
"Invitation?" Tessa echoed. "What do you mean? Papa?"
Sir George beamed at her. "Lord Anthony has been kind enough to invite me to dinner tomorrow night at Ivy Lodge. He has promised to send a carriage for me, and to wrestle me into it, one way or another."
"I have indeed," Anthony agreed, smiling first at his host and then at Tessa. He held her eyes for a long moment and she smoothed her instinctive frown before her father could see it.
Still, she could not quell her misgivings. "And you're certain you wish to do this, Papa?"
"I wish to try," he replied with a determined nod. "If I can't manage it, best to know it at once, eh? And if I can, why then, who knows what I may attempt next?" He winked at her.
Tessa blinked, unaccustomed to her father in such a mood. Recalling her conversation with Anthony this morning, however, she restrained herself from voicing her concerns.
"Very well, Papa." She would have to speak privately to Anthony before he left. He needed to understand the risks, not only to her father's health, but to his peace of mind, should he discover himself unable to travel after all. She would prefer to spare Sir George the potential blow to his pride, but he seemed set on this course.
Their talk turned to the hunt then, with her father expressing regret that neither she nor Anthony were able to ride in the Cottesmore meet today. Tessa found herself blushing as she remembered the reason, even though her father had no inkling.
Last night, even this morning, seemed almost like a dream now, with Anthony sitting there so formally, paying her no special attention. Had she read too much into the intimacy they had briefly shared? His demeanor now would suggest so.
"—won't you, Tessa?" her father was saying.
She turned to him with a start. "My apologies, Papa, I was woolgathering. What did you ask of me?"
"I was suggesting that you see Lord Anthony out, as I'm well aware you'll want to give him advice on how he should deal with me tomorrow, out of my hearing." Her father's eyes twinkled.
"Oh, but I—" she started to protest, startled, then shook her head. "You know me far too well, Papa, for I'd planned to do just that. I'll try not to fuss, however. Lord Anthony?"
He stood and she accompanied him from the room and down to the front door. "I suppose I need not tell you to be careful of him tomorrow night?" she said with a self-conscious smile. "I'm trying to take your advice to heart, as you see."
"And doing an admirable job," he assured her, his answering smile making her heart flutter. "I wish you could come as well, but of course it would not be proper."
"No. I understand. I'll trust you not to tire my father." Much as she was trying to avoid coddling, she needed that reassurance.
He gave it. "I'll be as watchful of his health as ever you could be, Tessa, I promise."
She knew he meant it and smiled her relief. Just as she relaxed, however, he glanced up the stairs behind her, then bent down to give her a swift kiss. "Until tomorrow," he whispered, and then he was gone.
Tessa stood by the front door for a long moment, her fingers at her lips. Smiling to herself, she turned —only to notice the shabbiness of the front hall. If Papa was going to be carried through here tomorrow, she had work to do!
Over the next few hours, she set their few servants to polishing and rearranging, moving out those things that were worn or obviously repaired and replacing them with anything she could find that could be cleaned up to look elegant. The silver sconces were stripped of tarnish, an ornament or two was fetched from storage, the carpet was taken out and beaten to within an inch of its life. By dinnertime, the hall was presentable, making her wonder why she'd never done this before.
"Thank you, Mrs. Bealls," she said to the matronly woman who filled multiple roles in their household —not that Sir George knew that. "You really are a treasure."
"Thankee, miss, but if we're to convince your father of that, I'd best go check on Sally in the kitchen. I left her to watch the soup, but she's no cook, I fear. I'll send her up to you once I've taken over."
Tessa nodded and sent her off, then headed upstairs herself to put off the mobcap she'd donned for her share in the work. She really must speak with Uncle Mercer about hiring more staff, if Papa persisted in his plan to entertain more. The servants they had now were by no means sufficient to a house of this size.
She came down to dinner early, again hoping to have a private word with her father about Harold, but discovered Uncle Mercer already in the parlor with him. Sir George was talking animatedly about his outing the next day, but Uncle Mercer was frowning.
"Really, sir, you should have consulted with me before agreeing, for I cannot think this wise. At least let me send for your physician, that we may hear his opinion on the matter."
"Nonsense," Sir George exclaimed. "That old charlatan is far too conservative for my tastes. The two of you would have me keep to my bed continually, and there's clearly no need of that. Eh, Tessa?" He turned to her for confirmation as she entered the parlor and took a seat.
"No need at all." For all that she'd not been in favor of this outing herself, she would not take Uncle Mercer's side now, when her father was so eager to go.
Her uncle shrugged. "I must hope that you'll prove me wrong then," he said somewhat sourly.
Harold came in then, and a few moments later dinner was announced. Tessa realized with a sigh that her talk with her father would have to wait until tomorrow, for by the time dinner was over, he would certainly have had too much wine to be trusted to carry on a discreet conversation.
* * *
After breakfast the next morning, the rector came, as he always did on Sundays, to conduct a private service for the family in the little chapel at the rear of the first floor. Tessa took the opportunity to pray for guidance in the matter of her cousin's training —and in the matter of Lord Anthony —but couldn't say that she received any answers.
The afternoon was spent out at the stables, where she again worked with Vulcan, finally progressing to the point where she could place a hand on his shoulder without him snapping at her.
"You've got him good and calm now," Harold said softly from behind her. "Here, let's see if I can touch him while he's quiet."
Before Harold could get within two feet of him, however, the stallion reached out his long neck and snapped, narrowly missing Harold's shoulder. Harold jumped back and Vulcan reared, screaming, before galloping away to the far corner of the paddock.
Tessa sighed. "Really, Harold, I'll make much better headway with him if you stay well away."
"We had this all out yesterday. You've been out alone a deal more than is wise lately, in my opinion. People are beginning to talk."
She stared at him. "People? What people?"
He shrugged. "Those hereabouts," he said evasively.
"I've been riding out alone for years," she reminded him. "I've never cared about any talk before, and neither have you, as it's made your job easier."
Now he scowled at her. "That was before —I just think I need to keep a closer eye on you, that's all, and Father agrees."
She suspected this had something to do with her riding out alone with Anthony Friday night,
but thought it wiser not to ask. The less she seemed to make of that, the better. It would not do at all for Harold to suspect her feelings there. At best, he'd taunt her for entertaining foolish hopes. At worst, he might see Anthony as a threat, and do or say something to warn him off.
Such thoughts led inevitably to Anthony's impending visit to take her father to Ivy Lodge. With that in mind, she bathed and dressed with unusual care, even though she knew she would only see him for a few moments. When she came downstairs shortly before he was due to arrive, she felt confident that she looked her best.
Again she hoped to have time to talk to her father about Harold's training, and again her hopes were dashed, for both Harold and his father were in the parlor with Sir George. All three stared at her in some surprise when she entered, and suddenly she wished she hadn't taken such pains with her appearance.
"My, you look lovely, Tessa," her father exclaimed. "Does she not, gentlemen?"
They both murmured agreement, Harold frowning at her suspiciously. She thanked them, though her heart sank at the thought of an evening spent hearing her cousin's barbed comments and clumsy attempts at gallantry. She tried to think of something to say that would turn their attention elsewhere, but before she could do so, a knock came at the front door and a moment later Lord Anthony and his friend Mr. Turpin were announced.
As she'd hoped, Anthony's eyes lit up when he saw her. "You are lovelier every time I see you, Miss Seaton," he declared.
Taking her hand, he bent over it, his eyes holding hers in a way that made her stomach start to flutter. Harold cleared his throat loudly, and Anthony's smile widened a fraction. He dropped a lingering kiss on the back of her gloved hand, then straightened and turned toward her father.
"Sir George, with your permission, I should like to extend my dinner invitation to your daughter as well."
Tessa stared. "But—" she began, even as her father spoke her thoughts, with evident surprise.
"That's very kind of you, Lord Anthony, but as you yourself pointed out, Ivy Lodge is a bachelor establishment."
"Aye," Harold chimed in belligerently. "What do you mean by insulting her with such an invitation?"
Though Anthony's smile did not falter, there was something in his eyes as he glanced Harold's way that made Harold step back a pace.
"I would never insult Miss Seaton," Anthony said, his voice reminding her somehow of a drawn sword. "As it happens, Lord Killerby's mother has come to stay with her son during his convalescence. Lady Killerby's presence at Ivy Lodge makes it perfectly eligible for Miss Seaton to visit."
"In that case," said Sir George, "I'm sure my daughter will be delighted to accept. Will you not, Tessa?"
She smiled, her spirits suddenly soaring at the prospect of an evening in Anthony's company instead of Harold's. "I will indeed," she said.
* * *
CHAPTER 11
Anthony couldn't help enjoying the impotent fury on Harold Emery's face as he returned Tessa's smile. "I am delighted," he said with perfect sincerity. "Shall we go, then?"
"Will you not at least have a glass of sherry first?" asked Sir George.
Anthony shook his head, still smiling. "It is our turn to play host, Sir George, and I am eager to hear your opinion of Ivy Lodge —nor do I wish to be scolded by Lady Killerby, should we delay. The carriage is at the door, so let us get you into it."
Sir George glanced at Tessa, the merest flicker of nervousness passing over his face, but then he nodded. "Very well, gentlemen, I put myself in your hands— literally."
As they had planned it between themselves, Thor stepped forward to grasp the back of Sir George's Merlin chair, while Anthony bent down to take hold of the front. Between them, they were easily able to lift man and chair, carrying him through the study door and down the stairs.
Anthony glanced about the hall as they paused there, noting the changes that had taken place since yesterday. Catching Tessa's eye, he winked and nodded to show that he understood. She colored slightly, smiling self-consciously in reply.
Lifting the chair again, Anthony and Thor carried Sir George out the front door and down the broad steps to the waiting carriage. There, they carefully helped Sir George from his chair, Thor lifting him under the arms and Anthony catching him about the knees. Though Tessa hovered anxiously, they were able to get him into the carriage with little difficulty.
"There. Did I not tell you it would be quite easy?" Anthony asked. He placed pillows under Sir George's feet while Thor helped the coachman to tie his chair securely on top of the carriage.
"You did indeed, though I confess I didn't quite believe you," Sir George replied. "If I'd any idea it would be so simple as this, I'd have left the house years ago. I am indebted to you, Lord Anthony."
Anthony glanced back at Tessa, still standing outside the carriage, to find her frowning. With a glance at the others, he quickly moved to her side. "Are you still worried?" he asked softly. "You need not be, I assure you."
She looked up at him, her brown eyes troubled. "No, not worried, precisely. It is only, well, I begin to realize how much I have sheltered him, and to wonder whether it was truly for the best."
Looking down at her, he had to resist a strong urge to pull her close, to erase the unhappiness from her eyes with a kiss. "I have not the smallest doubt that you have always acted in what you believed to be your father's best interests. He is very lucky to have you for a daughter, Tessa."
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Anthony!" Thor called from the carriage. "Are we going or not?"
Looking up, he saw Harold Emery watching from the open front door, his eyes narrowed. "Coming!" he called back, holding out his arm to Tessa, as much to tweak young Emery as out of politeness. "Shall we?"
She nodded, thanking him again with her eyes. He escorted her to the carriage and helped her into the seat beside her father and a moment later they were off, Anthony taking care to distract Sir George with conversation, so that he would not look too closely at the exterior of Wheatstone and notice the still-sagging roof of the west wing. Luckily, it would be dark when they returned.
Sir George himself was quite animated during the drive, commenting along the way about landmarks he remembered and a few small changes he noticed in the neighborhood.
In less than twenty minutes they reached Ivy Lodge. Using the same process in reverse, Thor and Anthony extricated Sir George from the carriage, seated him in his chair, and carried him up to the main drawing room. Accepting the glass of sherry Stormy offered him, Sir George looked around happily.
"How pleasant this is," he exclaimed. "Really, I must make a habit of this sort of thing."
"I hope that you can do so, Papa," Tessa said, and Anthony thought she sounded sincere —though there was still a trace of worry in her eyes. She then turned to Killer, who was ensconced on a sofa, his bound foot elevated on a pillow.
"You will excuse me for not rising, will you not, Miss Seaton?" he asked with a grin, his exuberance dampened not at all by his injury.
"Of course, Lord Killerby," she replied warmly. "Are you in much pain?"
He shook his head cheerfully. "Devil a bit, so long as I stay like this. Even if I were, it would be a small price to pay for your concern."
Anthony felt obliged to step forward. "The surgeon says he is mending nicely, though of course he won't be up to any more foolish antics anytime soon."
"Foolish antics? My William?" came a voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Lady Killerby make her entrance, resplendant in magenta satin, an enormous green feather sprouting from her bright yellow turban. "Surely he hasn't managed any yet this evening? I should hate to have missed them."
Nearer fifty than forty, Lady Killerby was still a handsome woman with a fine figure, though her fading beauty was rather overshadowed by her flamboyant choice of attire. Tessa blinked at this unlikely vision before stepping forward to curtsey.
"Lady Killerby," said Lord Anthony, "may I present Miss Tessa Seaton and her f
ather, Sir George Seaton."
The dowager pierced Tessa with a searching gaze, then gave a slight nod before turning to her father. "I'm delighted, of course, but we need no introduction, do we, Sir George? I'm certain you won't have forgotten Lily Gilthwaite."
Tessa glanced at her father in surprise, to find him grinning widely. "No indeed! What a delight to see you again, Lily —or, should I say, my lady. It has been what, twenty-five years? I was devastated along with all of the other young men in the country when Lord Killerby snatched you up."
"Flatterer." Lady Killerby swept out a pink feathered fan and fluttered it flirtatiously.
While Tessa watched the playful banter between her father and Lady Killerby with astonishment, Lord Anthony moved to her side. "I begin to think this visit will be even better for Sir George than I had predicted. Lady Killerby said nothing beforehand about being previously acquainted with him."
"I suspect she is a woman who prefers to preserve the element of surprise," Tessa replied in an undertone. "Thus she ensures that all attention is hers."
"Now, Tessa, don't begrudge your father this bit of enjoyment," Anthony chided her softly. "It will do him more good than harm, I'm certain."
Tessa glanced up at him uncertainly. Was that what she was doing? Perhaps so, for she couldn't deny a spark of resentment toward the lady for winning smiles from her Papa so easily. "You're right, and I'm sorry," she said, determined not to be so selfish in the future.
He patted her shoulder. "There's my girl. Now, come meet the other members of the Odd Sock Club." He led her across the room and introduced her to Roger Littleton and Lord Uppingwood. Lord Rushford and Sir Charles Storm she already knew, of course, and they expressed their delight in seeing her again.
It was a genial group that went in to dinner a few minutes later. Tessa found herself seated in the middle of the table, with Lord Anthony on her right and Lord Uppingwood on her left. Directly across from her sat Lady Killerby, flanked by her son, his injured foot propped on a low stool, and Tessa's father.
