Tessa's Touch

by Brenda Hiatt

  She looked at him to find him regarding her tenderly— persuasively. Her very eagerness to believe him, however, warned her that her motives were by no means pure. "Perhaps in time that will be true, my lord, but I dare not put my own wishes above his health. Not when I am all he has."

  His frustration was evident in his sigh. "I've realized I can't ask—" he began, when Lady Killerby interrupted them.

  "—don't you agree, Miss Seaton?" she was saying.

  "I beg your pardon, my lady?" Tessa asked. What had Anthony been about to say? That he could not ask her to marry him after all? Had he wisely reconsidered? Her heart twisted within her, though she told herself that was what she wanted.

  Lady Killerby explained, "I have just invited your father to accompany me in my phaeton to the Belvoir meet tomorrow. The Duke of Rutland was quite an admirer of mine once upon a time, you know." She tittered. "But that is neither here nor there," she said quickly when Sir George frowned.

  "We can all stop here before leaving for the meet in the morning," she continued. "It should be an easy enough matter for Anthony and his hulking friends to help Sir George into my phaeton. What a jolly time we will have!"

  Tessa glanced at her father in alarm. Spend all day outdoors, riding across rough country in an open carriage, in November? That could not be good for his heart. Surely he would never—

  "I believe I would quite enjoy it, truth to tell," he said before she could express her reservations. "The fresh air will surely do me good, so long as it doesn't rain."

  Tessa seized upon that. "But suppose it does rain, Papa? It often does this time of year, you know."

  "Pish!" exclaimed Lady Killerby. "It's clear as a bell outside right now, and like to stay that way for a day or two more. If it looks like rain in the morning, I won't be going myself, so there's no need to worry on that head."

  "There, Tessa." Sir George seemed pleased. "Lily has no more desire to get wet than I do, of course. We shall be fine."

  Though she still had grave misgivings, it was not Tessa's place to give or withhold permission, though long habit had made it seem so. "I hope so," was all she said. Perhaps later, when they were alone, she would be able to dissuade him.

  Once everything was settled, Lady Killerby rose. "Come, Anthony, I promised my son I'd not be too long away. He gets so restless, confined to his couch. I don't want him to attempt anything foolish."

  Tessa accompanied them out to the carriage, trying to sound sincere in her thanks for Lady Killerby's kindness. Anthony handed the older woman into the conveyance, then turned to Tessa. "I have much more to say to you, but I suppose it must wait for a better opportunity —perhaps during tomorrow's meet."

  She nodded, trying to read the expression in his eyes. "Anthony, I—" she began, then broke off. There seemed nothing she could say that would not provoke another argument, and that was out of the question with Lady Killerby waiting in the carriage. "Tomorrow, then," she finally said.

  He looked as though he wanted to kiss her—or perhaps that was just her imagination? –but then he turned suddenly on his heel and jumped into the carriage.

  "Tomorrow," he said as the door was closed, making it sound almost like a threat.

  Tessa watched the carriage drive away and sighed. Surely a night of reflection would convince Anthony how ill-advised a union between them would be. Or perhaps he already realized it, and planned tomorrow to retract his offer as gently as possible. Either way, it would be for the best, for both of them.

  Wouldn't it?

  Sir George was still in high spirits when Tessa returned to the parlor, and seemed more inclined to talk about tomorrow's outing than to return to his study and his memoirs, which he'd been neglecting of late.

  "Would you like me to help you get your notes in better order, Papa?" Tessa asked after a while, trying to steer the conversation away from a topic she couldn't help finding distressing.

  "No need," he replied cheerfully. "Take a peep into my study and see what I've done already."

  Curious, she stepped across the hall. To her astonishment, her father's study was the cleanest she'd ever seen it, with papers —far fewer than before —neatly stacked, and every book in its proper place on the shelves. "Did you have Griffith do that while I was gone this morning?" she asked, returning to the parlor.

  Sir George shook his head. "He put away a few of the books for me, but I did the rest myself. Amazing how little time it took, once I set my mind to it and simply started. I disposed of all of my out-of-date notes and duplicates and filed and organized the rest."

  "That's . . . wonderful. I'm proud of you, Papa," said Tessa, still amazed. It seemed today was her day to be surprised by men— first Lord Anthony, and now her father.

  "I'm rather proud of myself, actually," he said, beaming. "Now it will be much easier to write— should I find the time to do so," he added, an unfamiliar twinkle in his eye.

  Tessa wasn't sure what to make of the transformation in her father over the past two weeks, but she was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that it was a good thing for him. He was drinking far less, for one thing, and—

  A knock at the front door interrupted her bemused thoughts.

  She rose, smoothing her hair with her fingers. Had Anthony returned to speak privately with her—or perhaps with her father? she wondered with a flutter. No, he wouldn't have had time to take Lady Killerby to Ivy Lodge and ride back to Wheatstone yet.

  Griffith appeared in the parlor doorway. "Mrs. Hilltop and Miss Hilltop, sir," he announced. "Shall I send them up?"

  Tessa, caught wholly off-guard, could only gasp. She began shaking her head, groping for a plausible excuse to deny them, when her father said, "Of course, man. Don't leave them standing below. And have Cook send up a fresh tea tray."

  "But Papa," she protested weakly, then subsided, unable to think of a single thing that might dissuade him. She would simply have to do her best to brazen out this visit, and hope against hope that somehow her secret would not come out.

  A moment later, stout Mrs. Hilltop came puffing into the room, the single flight of stairs apparently having taxed her. Behind her came Cynthia Hilltop, whom Tessa had once described to herself as ferret-faced. Alas, the description still fit. The girl's thin face and narrow, rapidly shifting eyes looked as though they meant to discover every possible discreditable detail.

  "Welcome, Mrs. Hilltop, Miss Hilltop," said Sir George before Mrs. Hilltop regained her breath. "We are most honored to have you come visit us."

  The matron dropped into the nearest chair and fanned herself with a handkerchief. "I was delighted to find you at home, Sir George, and you, too, of course, dear Miss Seaton!" She motioned to her daughter to sit next to her.

  Cynthia complied, glancing quickly from Tessa to Sir George to the ornaments on the mantelpiece, then back to her mother.

  "I confess, sir, I did not know what to think at first when I read your note thanking us for our kindness," Mrs. Hilltop continued, her breath no longer coming in gasps. "But at last I realized that it must be a sort of irony, and a good joke it was, too, for we have been dreadfully neglectful neighbors of late."

  Tessa pinned a bright smile on her face. "Not at all, ma'am! I haven't found you neglectful in the slightest, nor Miss Hilltop, either."

  Sir George nodded. "Indeed no, madam. Why, your calling today is quite a kindness in itself, for you must be fairly on your way to London."

  "Oh, did I not tell you, Papa?" Tessa interjected rather loudly before Mrs. Hilltop could give voice to her surprise. "It turns out I was quite mistaken on that point. I completely misunderstood what I heard."

  Mrs. Hilltop gave a jarringly artificial laugh. "Yes, rumor does have a way of becoming distorted, does it not? Which reminds me—is it true, as my husband says, that you have actually ridden to hunt this season, Miss Seaton?"

  Grateful for the change of topic, hoping that Papa would not think it odd that the Hilltops wouldn't know this after an evening supposedly spent in th
eir company, Tessa nodded.

  "Yes, quite true. Papa agreed to allow it, so long as Uncle Mercer rides with me to preserve propriety. I rather hope other ladies might follow my example eventually." She glanced at Cynthia, who looked as though she'd eaten something nasty.

  "You see, Mama?" she began, but her mother gave a quick shake of her head before continuing.

  "Yes, it was Mr. Emery my husband spoke to last night, at the Swan. He was sur—er, pleased to see him hobnobbing with some of the young aristocrats who come here to hunt. I understand you've dined with some of them?"

  Suddenly Tessa understood the real reason for this visit: Mrs. Hilltop was hoping that by cultivating a friendship, she might throw Cynthia in the way of some of those gentlemen. It appeared that Lady Killerby had been right, she thought with a small smile. But, she remembered abruptly, that motive did not make her own danger any less.

  "Yes," Sir George replied with obvious pride, "we had several members of the Odd Sock Club to dine here, and they returned the favor on Sunday. Lady Killerby, Lord Killerby's mother, is staying at Ivy Lodge, you see, which made Tessa's visit there perfectly proper. She was invited again for tea this morning, in fact."

  Tessa prayed that her father's fond illusions about her would not be shattered before this visit ended. "Yes, Lady Killerby and all of the gentlemen have been most kind," she said, noticing that Cynthia was now regarding her with surprise, and something like respect. "Lord Rushford and Lord Anthony Northrup, among others, have expressed a desire to spend more time with Papa in future."

  At mention of those illustrious names, Mrs. Hilltop's eyes widened, as did her daughter's. Smiling more broadly than ever, she exclaimed, "Well, that is lovely, I must say! We must have you to dine soon, and I will be certain to extend an invitation to those gentlemen as well, as they are particular friends of yours."

  Suddenly they were back on dangerous ground, which became even more treacherous when Sir George responded, "Oh, but we should first have you here, as we are quite a dinner in your debt."

  Mrs. Hilltop blinked. "In our debt? Oh! From when we had Miss Seaton to dine three years since, do you mean? Nonsense. But now, we really must be going." She and her daughter rose, to Tessa's intense relief.

  Papa would certainly question her after they left, but she was now confident that she could manufacture some sort of plausible explanation for Mrs. Hilltop's odd-seeming comments.

  "Thank you so much for coming," she said, rising to see them out, her relief giving her words added warmth.

  The ladies smiled upon her, then Mrs. Hilltop said, "Not at all, my dear. Indeed, we would have called earlier, but we only returned from London yesterday afternoon, after spending all of September and October there. Much as I adore Town, it is nice to be back in the country —and among friends."

  With a nod to Sir George, who, after an alarmed glance at Tessa, nodded back mechanically, she and her daughter swept from the room. Tessa followed only to the top of the stairs before turning reluctantly back to the parlor. As she'd feared, her father greeted her with a scandalized frown.

  "Tessa, perhaps you can explain to me how you were able to dine with the Hilltops Friday night —to stay overnight at their house —when they were not even in the country?" he asked ominously.

  Her heart sank. She knew how important propriety was to Papa, what store he set on her being accepted by the neighborhood. The truth would devastate him. Perhaps, if she made no mention of Lord Anthony . . .

  "I, ah—" she began, only to be interrupted by the entrance of Uncle Mercer, with Harold close behind.

  "Sir George, a matter of some concern has just come to my attention," he said, with a sidelong look at Tessa.

  "I'm afraid I can't discuss estate matters right now, Mercer," her father replied impatiently. "Tessa and I have something rather important to deal with."

  Uncle Mercer nodded. "Yes, I saw Mrs. Hilltop leaving just now. I presume you have discovered, as I have, that they were not at home on Friday, when your daughter claims to have dined there. I believe my son has something to say that will clarify things."

  Tessa and Sir George both turned toward Harold in surprise as his father nudged him forward. The younger man nodded with apparent reluctance, but Tessa caught a triumphant gleam in his eye. She bit back an unladylike curse, certain that Harold was about to make things even worse. But how much worse, she hadn't even imagined.

  Standing in front of Sir George and hanging his head, Harold said, "I must beg your forgiveness, Sir George, particularly after your kindness to me." His words had a rehearsed quality. "The truth is, Tessa spent Friday night with me."

  "With you!" Sir George exclaimed, as startled as Tessa was. "But where—how—?"

  Harold glanced at Tessa with a sheepish smile. "I know it was wrong of us, but we've grown quite fond of each other and Friday night, well, our passions got the better of us."

  Tessa stared, openmouthed, at her cousin. What on earth was he saying —and why?

  "I'm prepared to do the right thing, of course," Harold continued. "With your permission, Sir George, I am willing to make Tessa my wife —at once."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 14

  Tessa gasped. "Papa, it's not true!" she exclaimed as soon as she could speak. "You must know I would never—"

  "Unfortunately, they were seen," Uncle Mercer broke in. "She rode out with Harold Friday night, and returned with him Saturday morning, bold as you please."

  "With Harold?" Tessa echoed. "You know perfectly well—" But then she stopped. To mention Lord Anthony would be tantamount to admitting she'd spent the night with him, instead. "—that nothing improper happened," she finished lamely.

  Her father looked up at her, his eyes shadowed and sad, which nearly broke her heart. "I'm sorry, Tessa. Even if that is true —yes, yes, of course I believe you—it matters not a whit. Word is bound to get around, if you were seen. The only solution is the one Harold has so generously offered."

  "Generously!" she spat, glaring at her cousin. "Papa, do you not see—"

  "Generously," Sir George repeated heavily. "Particularly if, as you say, nothing truly improper occurred. I admit I had rather hoped— But that is neither here nor there. I will send to the bishop and make arrangements for a license. If all goes smoothly, you should be able to wed sometime next week."

  Tessa stared, first at her father, then at Harold and Uncle Mercer, who both looked insufferably smug. No doubt they'd begun planning this right after Uncle Mercer spoke with Mr. Hilltop last night. Her choices now were to marry Harold or to drag Lord Anthony's name through the dirt so that she could marry him instead. Or to run away, abandoning her father to her scheming uncle and cousin.

  Bursting into tears of frustration and anger, she fled the room and ran up the stairs to her own chamber to rail against the unfairness of it all to her unsympathetic pillow.

  * * *

  Anthony reined Cinder to a stop in front of Wheatstone the next morning, gazing up at the solid main block of golden stone with new appreciation. Yes, he would be more than willing to live here, if that's what it would take to make Tessa happy.

  Perhaps Rush or Killer would be interested in renting Ivy Lodge —which would also provide Anthony with enough income to make him independent of his father.

  "The phaeton will be here in a moment," Thor said, stopping next to him on his big smoky black. "Shall we get Sir George ready before they arrive, do you think?"

  "Yes, let's go ahead and knock," Anthony said, dismounting.

  When he'd first considered offering to live at Wheatstone, his pride had rebelled, particularly since he had relatively little to offer of his own. Ivy Lodge was his only real asset, for as third son he was unlikely to inherit an estate from his father. His army stipend and his allowance —which his father might well cut off if he married Tessa— would scarcely support her in the sort of style she deserved.

  Would Tessa be foolish to marry him? As long as he had enough income to be independent, he'
d never worried much about the future, as he'd never intended to wed. But now . . .

  No, she cared for him, he was certain. And he loved her to distraction. He could live here, help to make the estate profitable again and so earn his keep —and in time become a man she could be proud of.

  Not that they necessarily had to live here.

  On a hunch, he had spoken with the surgeon when he'd come to check on Killer's progress last night. The man had treated Sir George after his accident six years prior, and upon questioning said he knew nothing of any heart condition. He did, however, volunteer that Sir George's current physician was widely considered a fraud, and that he'd once boasted that Mercer Emery paid him well to preserve the fiction of Sir George's weak heart for Miss Seaton's benefit.

  The front door opened, and Anthony stepped forward, eager to see her again. At the first opportunity, perhaps even during the ride to Belvoir, if he could draw her away from the others, he would present her with his plan, and the good news about her father. He smiled, imagining her delight —and acceptance.

  "Good morning, gentlemen," Sir George greeted them when they reached the parlor. Tessa was not present, to Anthony's disappointment.

  "Lady Killerby should be here with her phaeton in a moment," Anthony said, thinking Sir George looked a trifle more tired than usual. "Shall we take you downstairs to wait?"

  The older man nodded. "Very well." He definitely didn't seem to be in spirits today.

  Anthony wondered whether he had dismissed Tessa's concerns for her father's health too lightly, even if his heart was not the problem. Frowning, he lifted the back of the Merlin's chair while Thor took the front. They all reached the front step just as Lady Killerby's phaeton came wheeling up the drive, flanked by Rush and Stormy on horseback. Tessa was still nowhere in sight.

  "You are quite the early bird I see, Sir George," Lady Killerby called out as her driver pulled the phaeton to a halt. "I believe I will choose to be flattered —though in truth you are probably just anxious to witness the hunt again."