by Brenda Hiatt
To her surprise, Lord Anthony, Lord Rushford and Mr. Turpin all insisted upon accompanying them home.
"Yes, I'm sure you and your father are quite capable of taking Sir George into the house," said Lord Rushford when Harold protested, "but Lady Killerby has shooed us all away while she has the detritus of her party cleared up. Stormy is only staying behind to keep Killer amused. Besides, Anthony and Thor here are become quite adept at your transfer, haven't they, Sir George?"
"Indeed they have," Sir George agreed. "And once we reach Wheatstone, I insist you all come in for some brandy, for your trouble."
They all declared that they would be quite honored to do so, and Sir George was content. Tessa, however, was not. Now she would have to ride home with both Anthony and Harold as escorts, which had the potential to become most awkward.
On sudden inspiration, she turned to her uncle. "I find myself a bit stiff. I believe I would prefer to ride in the carriage with Papa. Will you lead my horse, Uncle Mercer?"
He agreed, but rather reluctantly.
"Not to worry, Emery," said Anthony. "If you have difficulties, one of us can easily take Miss Seaton's mount off of your hands."
Tessa hid a smile, knowing how that would chafe her uncle —even though it was entirely possible that he really couldn't ride and lead at the same time. Resolving to ignore any further byplay between the men, she climbed into the carriage beside her father.
"It's good of you to keep me company, Tessa, when I've no doubt you'd prefer to be on horseback," Sir George said once they'd all started off. "Particularly after . . . Well, I'll just say that perhaps I haven't treated you quite fairly over this matter with Harold. I did mean it for the best, but—"
"I know you did, Papa, but really, we won't suit at all. You must know that." She held her breath. Ending this betrothal would not make a match with Anthony possible, but at least she wouldn't be obliged to run away, abandoning her father.
He sighed deeply. "Lily— Lady Killerby, that is— says the same. But I don't see that we have a choice. Harold and Mercer will make things most unpleasant for you if we renege now— unpleasant for us both."
"But how, Papa? Do you really think they will go to the trouble of telling people that I was away from home Friday night, simply for spite?"
"They might. And there are other things . . . I dare not risk it, my dear. For your sake."
Tessa wanted to ask what other things he meant, but it was clear from his expression that he would not tell her. Instead, she turned the conversation to the party just past, hoping she'd be able to wear him down before being forced to a terrible decision.
Soon, however, she lapsed into silence, reliving those stolen moments in the upstairs hallway of Ivy Lodge. If only—
Not until her father gasped did she remember why she should have continued to distract his attention.
"Tessa!" he exclaimed, staring out the window of the carriage at Wheatstone as they drove up the long drive. "What is wrong with the roof of the west wing? And that chimney —is it leaning?"
"It is all under repair already, Papa," she quickly assured him. "Uncle Mercer has engaged workers to—"
"Mercer should never have allowed the house to reach such a state in the first place," Sir George said severely. "Why did he not tell me it was in need of such extensive repair? I know we haven't quite the funds we used to, but—"
Tessa stared at her father. "You know—? What do you mean?"
He turned from the window to gaze at her sadly. "Despite Mercer's assurances, I can see that things at Wheatstone are not what they once were. How many servants do we have now? Less than a dozen, I'll warrant. Though I knew he was not telling me all, I fear I saw less than I should have."
Knowing that her uncle was bound to throw the blame her way if her father confronted him, Tessa said, "I confess it is not all Uncle Mercer's fault, Papa. I knew there were some problems, but I asked him not to burden you with them."
"I appreciate your care and concern for me all of these years, Tessa, but it was not for you to decide what I should know about my own estate. As my steward, Mercer should answer to me, not to you, a mere girl. He knows that."
"But you've been ill. Your heart—"
"Not so ill as that. I've been negligent, however, and that must stop —at once."
Tessa let the matter drop, for Uncle Mercer had said that the doctor thought it best that Sir George not be told the full truth about the state of his health.
They pulled to a halt before the house and the carriage door was opened. Anthony handed her down, then he and Mr. Turpin efficiently whisked her father back into his chair and through the front door, which the waiting Griffith held wide.
Following them up the stairs, flanked by Harold, Uncle Mercer and Lord Rushford, Tessa could not help feeling that control of her life was slipping inexorably away from her. A month ago, her life had been routine, predictable, if not precisely happy, and had seemed likely to remain so. Now she could not see her future at all, which frightened her. She must find a way to regain her perspective, her control —her freedom.
Upon reaching the parlor, Tessa rang for tea while her father told Griffith to pour brandy for all of the gentlemen. Harold and Uncle Mercer stood to one side of the fireplace while Lord Anthony and his friends stood on the other. Tessa thought it looked rather like a standoff —though surely that was absurd.
She took the chair next to her father, in the middle of the room. With a possessive air, Harold immediately moved to take the chair on her other side. She couldn't resist a quick glance at Anthony, and found him frowning at Harold, a small, enigmatic smile playing about his lips.
"It was very kind of Lady Killerby to have a party on such short notice," Tessa said brightly, mostly to break the silence.
"Indeed," her father agreed, so heartily that she thought he must have noticed the growing awkwardness as well. "And following the hunt in her phaeton went off far better than I anticipated, I must say. I thought we'd be left behind at once, remembering the breakneck pace of the rides of my youth, but there were gates in every hedge and fence, and the checks and changes of direction allowed us to remain within sight of the bulk of the field. I quite enjoyed myself."
"I am glad to hear it," said Lord Anthony, coming suddenly to life. He glanced at each of his friends, who responded with almost imperceptible nods, then stepped forward. "Sir George, I must ask you a question."
Tessa tensed, but her father only looked up at him with mild curiosity. "Of course, my boy, er, my lord. What is it?"
Anthony flashed Tessa a quick look that only increased her trepidation before saying, "What is the true reason for this sudden betrothal between your daughter and Mr. Emery?"
Clearly startled, Sir George hesitated, while on her other side, Harold jumped to his feet. "What kind of question is that?" he demanded. "I offered, Tessa accepted, Sir George gave his consent. That's all you need know."
Coolly, Anthony looked Harold up and down before returning his attention to Sir George. Tessa could only watch in stunned silence, wondering, fearing, where this might lead.
"My question was for Sir George," he said. "Well, sir?"
"It . . . it is as Harold says," her father answered unconvincingly. "Why do you ask?"
Again Anthony looked at Tessa, and this time she saw a determination in his eyes that somehow chilled and warmed her at once. "I have reason to believe this betrothal stems from Miss Seaton's absence from home Friday night. Is this true?"
Tessa gasped. Surely he was not going to—?
Her father slowly nodded, his face anguished and pale. "I don't know how you learned of it, but yes. It appears my daughter was . . . less than wise, though no doubt she told me what she did to spare me worry. Under the circumstances—"
"Tell me," Anthony interrupted, "did Mr. Emery claim to know where she was, after informing you she was not at the Hilltops' as you had believed?"
"Harold said that she was with him," replied Sir George, frowning, "t
hough Tessa swears that nothing improper occurred. Mercer said that they were seen, however —which must be true, as you gentlemen seem to know of it. So marriage is clearly the only possible option."
Harold, still standing, began to look smug, but then Anthony turned his steely gaze upon him. "In that case, Mr. Emery, I presume you can tell Sir George exactly where you and Miss Seaton spent the night?"
"That's none of your business," Harold blustered.
Anthony's mouth curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Oh, but I believe it is."
When Harold only glowered, Anthony turned back to Sir George. "He will not say, sir, because he does not know. I believe your nephew— persuaded, perhaps, by your brother-in-law— merely seized opportunity in both hands when he learned of your daughter's truancy, using it as a lever to force her into marriage. She did not spend Friday night with him at all, though it was to his advantage to say she did."
Now Tessa was thoroughly alarmed, but Sir George simply looked thoroughly confused. "To his advantage?" he echoed.
"Of course," Anthony said. "If—"
Harold stepped forward menacingly. "Now see here, Northrup," he began, but Anthony's sudden glare made him hesitate.
"Sit down, Harold," Sir George advised. "You were saying, my lord?"
Anthony waited until Harold had resumed his seat before continuing. "If I'm not mistaken, your daughter stands to inherit Wheatstone. As her husband, Mr. Emery would have control of the estate after your death— though of course we all hope that will be many, many years delayed."
"Yes, I suppose that is true," Sir George confessed, "though I hadn't thought of it in quite that way. Not that Wheatstone— That is— But where was Tessa Friday night, if not with Harold?" he asked, looking to Tessa herself for an answer.
An answer she refused to give. Folding her lips tightly together, she glared at Anthony. All of her arguments against marriage with him were still valid. He could not force her to implicate him.
"She was with me," Anthony said.
* * *
CHAPTER 16
"What?" Harold was again on his feet, and Uncle Mercer came forward as well, his face nearly as angry as his son's. Curiously, neither Mr. Turpin nor Lord Rushford looked surprised.
"I think you'd better explain yourself, Lord Anthony," Uncle Mercer said menacingly. "How dare you come here, pretending to be a friend to Sir George, when all the time—"
"Silence!" shouted Sir George with an authority that startled Tessa exceedingly. "Lord Anthony, explain yourself."
Anthony flicked a glance at the two livid Emerys before turning back to Sir George with a respectful nod. "Of course, sir. It all stemmed from Lord Killerby's foolishness and Miss Seaton's generosity." Briefly, he described the events that had led to Tessa's being trapped at the abandoned cottage overnight.
"I was unwilling to allow her to stay there alone, for there was no guarantee that the gamekeeper or poacher who lived there would not return, or that some other untrustworthy person might not happen by during the night. Therefore, I returned to the cottage and spent the night there as well."
Slowly, Sir George nodded. "I can appreciate your dilemma, my lord, and I certainly can't fault you for your concern for my daughter's safety. However, it would have been wiser to have come here, so that someone else could be sent to stay with the horse while Tessa came home to spend the night in her own bed."
"In retrospect, I must agree," Anthony said, "but Miss Seaton insisted that the horse would suffer more if she herself did not stay with him."
She couldn't help feeling grateful that he had not revealed the full truth —about Nimbus, about her role in helping to sell such an ill-tempered horse . . . about what had occurred between the two of them.
"Yes, well, my Tessa does have a special way with horses," her father admitted with visible pride. "And I suppose what's done is done. The question, my lord, is what we are to do now?"
Suddenly seeing her way clear to regaining control of her life, Tessa spoke up. "Papa, surely we need do nothing, now that you know the truth? No one outside this room is aware I was even gone, and I'm sure we can trust everyone here to say nothing of the matter."
Her uncle and cousin would not wish to facilitate her marriage to Anthony, she was fairly certain, so would hold their tongues. "I needn't marry Harold or . . . anyone else," she concluded.
"If we could be certain, perhaps," said her father with a worried frown. "But—"
"But there is no guarantee that we were not seen by anyone else, such as a servant," Anthony said. Abruptly, Tessa remembered Billy, the stable lad.
"Are you offering to do the honorable thing, then, my lord?" Sir George asked.
"Honorable!" Harold exclaimed. "He's simply scheming to have Wheatstone for himself. What makes his offer more honorable than mine?"
"For one thing, mine would be based on truth rather than a deception," Anthony said mildly.
Again Tessa felt obliged to intervene. "Stop it, all of you. There has been no offer —nor is there any necessity for one. Nothing untoward happened, after all."
They all turned to look at her. Suddenly, vividly, remembering what had occurred that night —and again this very afternoon —Tessa fought desperately not to blush, knowing that would give the lie to her words. After a moment, her father turned to Anthony.
"Is that true, my lord?"
Tessa blinked, startled that her father should require his word in addition to hers, but she was far more surprised by Anthony's response.
"As a man of honor, I find myself in rather a delicate position," he said, glancing at Tessa and then away —but not before she caught the glint of humor in his eyes. "I pride myself on my honesty, yet a gentleman would never say anything to impugn a lady's reputation. Therefore, I am unable to answer your question, Sir George."
Her father turned shocked, saddened eyes on Tessa, making her long to fling herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness. How could Anthony do this to him—to her?
"As I tried to say before, I am more than willing to marry Miss Seaton," he said then.
Again, Harold began to protest, but Sir George held up a hand. "Under the circumstances, my lord, I fear that is the only course open to you—to you both."
"But—" Tessa began, but her father shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Tessa, but this puts an entirely different light on things —as I'm sure you must realize."
"It does indeed," said Uncle Mercer from across the room. "However, I wonder if Lord Anthony would be so, ah, eager to do the right thing if he knew—"
"Mercer!" Sir George all but barked the name, startling him to silence. "Tessa, I believe it might be best if you left us for a time . . . so that we can discuss the particulars."
For a moment, Tessa sat motionless, unable to believe that her brief glimpse of freedom had been so suddenly snatched away, and even more stunned that Anthony, whom she had trusted, had done this to her. She would not let him—let any of them —see her cry, however. She'd done far too much of that of late. With one withering glance at Anthony, she stalked out of the room.
Anthony watched her go with more than a little regret. He'd carried his main point, but he had lost Tessa's trust —and perhaps her regard —in the process. He hoped it was not gone past rebuilding. Meanwhile, he had other matters to resolve.
"You were saying, Emery?" he prompted the elder of his antagonists.
Ignoring a pleading glance from Sir George, Mr. Emery smiled unpleasantly. "I can't say I'm terribly surprised to learn that my niece has landed herself in such trouble, though I'm pained, of course. Doubly so, because it brings old wounds to the surface. But blood will out, they say—isn't that true, Sir George?"
"Don't, Mercer. Please." There was real anguish in Sir George's voice, but his brother-in-law appeared unmoved.
"It seems only fair that Lord Anthony know the truth," he said. "About your daughter's birth."
Anthony started, though his resolve never wavered. He knew alre
ady that his parents would not approve his choice. But even if they cut him off entirely, it scarcely mattered, as he spent so little time with his family anyway. He was more concerned about Sir George —and Tessa.
"Sir, if this truth, whatever it is, upsets you, rest assured that I will not insist upon hearing it," Anthony said now.
The older man gave him a sad smile. "No, Mercer is right. You should know —but I will ask you not to tell Tessa. I'd not have her memory of her mother tainted in any way, particularly for something that was entirely my own fault."
"Your fault, sir?" Anthony asked in surprise. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
Sir George stared into the fire, his eyes misty with reminiscence. "Grace was the most beautiful woman I'd ever known. I loved her to distraction and, in time, won her love in return. It mattered nothing to me that her father was our horse-trainer, but my own father was incensed. He was the first baronet, you see, and considered the honor hard-won. It made him acutely conscious of our position in Society, of what people thought of us—of him. He was determined that I should make a brilliant match, to further elevate our social standing."
He sighed, shaking his head. "He never understood that the match I made was the most brilliant one imaginable. My father forbade our marriage. Grace refused to come between me and my father, or risk her own father's position here, so she ran away. Alas, we had already been rather . . . imprudent, though I had no idea, when she left, of the result of our indiscretion."
"I take it she was already with child —with Tessa?" Anthony prompted when Sir George paused again.
With a sigh, he nodded. "Aye. By the time I found her, she was near her time. As soon as she could travel after the birth, I convinced her to accompany me to Ireland so that we could be married —for the sake of the child. My father died just a few months later and we were able to return to Wheatstone."
"Where you told everyone you'd married right after Grace ran away," said Mercer Emery sourly. "Luckily for my sister, no one here in Leicestershire knew when the marriage took place."
