by Brenda Hiatt
Tessa couldn't help smiling at her perceptive brother-in-law's comforting words. "Thank you, Lord Peter. I will try to prove you right."
"Now, suppose we head back," Lord Marcus suggested. "It's growing late, and those clouds in the west look rather ominous."
* * *
"Oh, my lady," Sally sighed when she finished weaving a strand of artificial autumn leaves through Tessa's hair. "You look like a fairy princess, indeed you do. You'll put them other fine ladies to shame, just see if you don't."
"I don't know about that, but thank you, Sally." Tessa eyed her reflection with mingled awe and relief.
The brocade ballgown became her well, in its autumn shades of rust, cream and gold, accented by the red and gold leaves in her hair. It was lower in the bosom than anything she'd ever worn before and, with the support of her new corset, made her look quite buxom. Her shoulders and decolletage, at least, were creamy, and Sally had applied a dusting of powder that minimized the tan on her cheeks.
She did look far better than she'd have believed possible. Perhaps she would not disgrace Anthony at the ball tonight after all.
The past two days had been so busy she'd had little time to worry, but now she couldn't help but remember how important tonight would be. The Duchess had made it abundantly clear that Tessa's acceptance would depend on her reception at this ball, which would be attended by the very cream of Society.
"As the newest addition to our family, you will be examined most minutely," the Duchess had told her that afternoon. "I trust that by now you've been instructed in everything that will be expected of you at such a function."
The family had certainly tried, Tessa had to admit. Anthony had brought in a pianist so that he could help her to practice the more fashionable dances. Lady Bagstead had drilled her on which people to befriend and which to avoid. And Quinn and Sarah had offered her all manner of advice and, more importantly, their unwavering support and friendship.
Still, she felt far from ready for the coming ordeal, becoming new gown or no.
Anthony and his eldest brother stood in the main hall, near the foot of the grand staircase, waiting for their wives. Conversation had been stilted and awkward, as the two had so little in common. Robert had no interest whatsoever in foxhunting or any other sports, while Anthony had little to offer on the topics of political influence or the latest scandals.
He was just giving thanks, yet again, that he was blessedly safe from inheriting a dukedom, when a stir on the stairs made him look up—and catch his breath. Beside him, Robert stopped his droning, apparently speechless for a rare moment.
Tessa was descending the staircase, resplendant in gold-shot cream brocade, her honey-colored hair upswept and wreathed in leaves that matched her unusual gown. Anthony was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. As she reached the bottom, however, he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and hurried forward to take her hand.
"You are exquisite, my dear," he assured her. "Like a beautiful wood-nymph."
Robert surprised him by saying, "Aye, you'll do very well, Lady Anthony. Very well, indeed."
Lady Bagstead and the Duchess reached the landing just then, and swept down the last flight of stairs together, heads held high. "What's that, Lord Bagstead?" said his wife. "Oh. Yes. Quite nice, Lady Anthony. What say you, Your Grace?"
The Duchess brought her lorgnette to her eye to examine Tessa from head to toe. "Passable, certainly. The leaves are a nice touch. Was that your maid's idea?"
"Lady Peter's, actually, Your Grace," Tessa replied, drawing closer to Anthony, as if for support. He placed a hand at her waist and gave her a small squeeze of reassurance.
A footman announced that the carriage was at the door, and the Duke emerged from the library, where he'd been tending to some business. His eyebrows went up when he saw Tessa and he nodded approvingly, though he did not deign to give her an actual compliment. Still, Anthony thought, it was something, after all of the private criticisms he'd had from his parents since his arrival in Town.
Keeping a protective hand over the one Tessa tucked through his arm, Anthony escorted her out to the carriage, determined to make this one of the most memorable nights of her life. He couldn't help recalling the conversation they'd had in that gamekeeper's cottag e—it seemed so long ago now—nor her wistfulness when she'd spoken of visiting London. This would be her night to shine.
The carriage drew up in front of the assembly rooms in St. James's, where Lord and Lady Twyford were holding their ball, and Anthony felt Tessa tense beside him as she stared out the window at the arriving guests, all dressed in the absolute height of elegance.
"You outshine them all," he whispered encouragingly into her ear. He saw her swallow, but then she squeezed his hand and lifted her chin, signaling that she was prepared to go forward.
The coachman opened the carriage door and handed down the ladies in order of precedence, the Duchess first, then Lady Bagstead and finally Tessa. When the couples were reassembled at the foot of the steps, they proceeded up to the doors of the assembly rooms in the same order.
Lord and Lady Twyford waited at the top of the grand staircase to greet their guests. This time, when Tessa sank into her deepest curtsey, Anthony made certain to help her up at the precise right instant. Her grateful smile cost him a pang of guilt for his earlier lapse, the night of their arrival in Town.
"And now, the worst is over," he murmured to her as they continued into the brilliantly lit ballroom. "We have only to mingle and dance and respond to the compliments that are certain to come your way."
She looked up at him doubtfully. "You make that sound easy, but I've never done any of those things —at least, not in a setting such as this. It really is beautiful, though," she added, gazing around her in awe. "I never would have imagined there could be so many hothouse flowers available in November. And the candles —there must be thousands upon thousands of them."
"I'm glad you like it," he said, drawing her further into the room. As he'd predicted, numerous people came forward for introductions, though most already knew who Tessa was, from the announcement that had appeared in that morning's papers.
"Charming," murmured Lady Jersey, after Tessa responded to her greeting. Other influential ladies and gentlemen also expressed their approval and admiration, complimenting Anthony on his good fortune in acquiring such a wife.
"You see?" he whispered. "You are a success."
The orchestra began tuning its instruments in preparation for the first dance, so he led her toward the center of the floor. "The first will be a minuet," he told her, probably unnecessarily. "You did beautifully with that one when we practiced."
She nodded, looking only slightly nervous, as they took their places in one of the lines forming.
Suddenly they were accosted by a voice he'd hoped not to hear tonight. "Ah, Lady Anthony," exclaimed Lady Adelaide, coming up just then with another lady who looked vaguely familiar, both of them trailed by the gentlemen partnering them in the opening dance. "I wanted you to meet a friend of mine, Miss Porrington."
Anthony bit back a curse at the name even as Tessa turned with a wary smile.
"I wished to meet you, Lady Anthony," Miss Porrington said, "for my brother mentioned a Miss Seaton in his letters. That was your name until your marriage, was it not?"
"It was," Tessa replied. Anthony was proud to see that her chin was still high.
The two ladies tittered together. "Then everything Penelope tells me must be true." Lady Adelaide's eyes glittered with malicious glee as she continued in a carrying voice. "That your father's estate is in shambles and that your mother," she punctuated her words with a delicate shudder, "was a commoner. In fact, the daughter of . . . of a horse trainer!"
"Indeed," added Miss Porrington, "according to my brother, you have even been in the habit of foxhunting with the gentlemen, among those wild 'Meltonians' we hear so much about. Tell me, Lady Anthony, what is it like to flout convention so? Or do you even kn
ow the difference between proper and improper behavior?"
The two did not wait for a reply, but with a high burst of laughter moved down the line to find places well away from Tessa and Anthony. He was glad to see them go, but the damage had been done, for the lady to Tessa's left was looking at her askance while the gentleman to Anthony's left reached across the line to take his wife's hand and lead her to an entirely different set.
Heads began to turn all up and down their line and the next as the gossip about the new Lady Anthony spread through the room like wildfire.
* * *
CHAPTER 20
Tessa felt the color draining from her face at the unexpected attack. If the truth caused raised eyebrows in the Shires, how much more scandalous must it seem in the highest social circles of London? She looked bleakly across at Anthony, who was staring after Lady Adelaide and Miss Porrington with a face like thunder. She tried to mouth an apology as the music began.
His eyes snapped back to her face, his expression still hard. "Dance," he commanded her.
Confused, not sure whether he was angry with her or only at what had just happened, Tessa automatically complied.
Luckily, the minuet had been drilled into her when she was quite young, so that she did not have to think about her steps. Even so, toward the end of the dance, when a turbaned matron sent her an outraged glare, she stumbled, barely recovering her balance in time to avert a fall. She felt sure that every eye in the room was upon her— judging her, condemning her.
The dance ended, and a moment later the Duchess of Marland and Lady Bagstead descended upon her, both fairly quivering with fury.
"What is this nonsense Lady Adelaide is spreading?" the Duchess demanded, glaring at Tessa and then Anthony. "I know it must be false, but she must have based it upon something."
"What story did you hear, Mother?" Anthony asked with what Tessa thought was commendable coolness, given the magnitude of the disaster.
The Duchess blinked at his tone. "Some faradiddle about Lady Anthony's mother being daughter to a horse-trainer. I assume he was a gentleman farmer or some such, but Lady Adelaide is making him sound like the veriest commoner."
"It's true, Your Grace," Tessa forced herself to say. The truth could scarcely be concealed, as it was common knowledge in Leicestershire. "My maternal grandfather was employed as horse-trainer by my paternal grandfather. He owned no lands of his own."
Both ladies gasped.
"And what of her other tale?" asked Lady Bagstead urgently. "Surely you have not actually ridden after hounds in a foxhunt?"
"She has indeed," Anthony said before Tessa could answer. "And extremely well, I might add. I don't see why—"
"Quiet, Anthony," snapped the Duchess. "Of course you wouldn't see, as seldom as you are in Town, but I assure you that such behavior is the stuff of scandal here, however lax things may be in the country." Lady Bagstead nodded vigorously.
"The next set is forming," the Duchess said. "We must try to brazen it out for the remainder of the evening, and then we will determine what is to be done. I am most disappointed in you, Anthony —in both of you. See you do not disgrace us further tonight." With that, she turned on her heel, Lady Bagstead in tow.
Tessa swallowed hard, feeling tears prickling beneath her eyelids. "Anthony, I—" she began, but he shook his head.
"It's not your fault, Tessa. I should have known, should have warned you, should have . . . I'm sorry." He looked both angry and unhappy, and there was no doubt that she was the cause, whatever he said. "Come, we must do as Mother said and dance, pretending nothing is wrong. It's the only possible response."
Taking her by the hand, he led her into the country dance just beginning, resolutely ignoring the curious or outraged stares they received. Tessa followed his lead, keeping her expression carefully blank, though inside her heart was breaking —not for herself, but for the agonies Anthony must be enduring.
This was not her world, she reminded herself as she concentrated on her steps, determined not to stumble again. It had never been her world, and in a few days they would be back in the country. Surely, after this, Anthony would agree that they must never come to London again? That would be one positive, amid so many negatives.
Or, came the chilling thought, perhaps Anthony would simply resolve not to bring her to London again, when he came here himself. It would be a reasonable compromise, she realized bleakly.
The next dance was more complicated, requiring all of her attention as she moved down the line from gentleman to lady and back to gentleman. Some of them seemed vaguely sympathetic, nodding politely as they turned about her, but others— mainly ladies— refused even to link arms with her when the dance demanded it, instead keeping their distance as they simulated the motions.
A waltz allowed Tessa a brief respite from censure, as she need not face anyone but Anthony. The strain of the evening was evident on his face, however.
"Perhaps we should leave early," Tessa suggested, too miserable to thrill at his touch, as she had during their practice session yesterday.
"We can't," he replied, his voice expressionless. "The Prince Regent has arrived, which means no one can leave until he does."
Tessa glanced about, excited in spite of herself at being in the same room with the Regent. "Oh, I . . . I did not know. Which one is he?"
Anthony motioned to the right with his head. "The heavyset gentleman in the regimentals."
She followed his glance and regarded the portly monarch with awe. That she, Tessa, simple country girl, should be in the same room with royalty, seemed impossible. No wonder everyone here was offended by her presence. She truly didn't belong.
She opened her mouth to apologize again to Anthony, but stopped herself, knowing he would brush it aside again, that her apologies only made him feel worse. But what more could she do?
When they adjourned to the supper tables, it became evident that the rest of the family had been discussing that very question. Quinn, Sarah, and their husbands all greeted her warmly, but the other four faces were grave.
"I can't imagine what you were thinking, Anthony," Lord Bagstead began as they reached the group. "At the very least, you could have warned us, so that we could have prepared some sort of defense."
Anthony glared at his brother. "Do you mean to say that Father didn't already know everything there was to know about Tessa's background? I'm stunned." He looked at the Duke, as did everyone else.
"I knew about her parentage," the Duke conceded, in no way apologetic, "though I did not expect it to become common knowledge in so explosive a manner. I had not had time to discover the financial status of Wheatstone or that your wife had done something so unwise as join the hunting field —as you no doubt intended, by waiting until the last possible moment to inform me of your marriage."
Tessa glanced at Anthony, who merely shrugged, his jaw clenched.
"And now I learn that Lady Anthony was apparently betrothed to her cousin mere days before you married her," the Duke continued, "which also smacks some sort of irregularity."
Lady Bagstead clicked her tongue and turned scandalized eyes on Tessa again, as though expecting her to do something outrageous on the spot. "So what are we to do, Your Grace?"
"I will take Tessa back to the country tomorrow," Anthony said with sudden decision. "I won't have her subjected to any more insult— particularly not from my own family."
"Yes, I think that would be best," the Duchess agreed. "Give this thing a chance to blow over. By Spring, or perhaps the Season after that, people will have moved on to other gossip."
Tessa's embarrassment and guilt over the grief she'd brought to her husband was assuaged for a moment by a surge of relief at this plan, but then Lord Peter shook his head.
"No, that's the last thing you can do," he said firmly.
Lord Bagstead frowned. "But—"
"Don't you see?" Lord Peter continued. "To run away is to admit that the gossips are right and we are wrong —that we are ashamed of
Tessa's background. Are we not Northrups? We should set the standards, not allow others to dictate their standards to us."
The Duke nodded slowly. "There is something in what you say. I could wish these facts had not surfaced in such a setting, but now they are out, we cannot allow certain people to use them as ammunition. The political situation—"
"Exactly," Lord Peter said, looking to the others for agreement.
Sarah spoke up in support of her husband. "My lineage is little better than Tessa's, after all."
"And I'm an American," Quinn put in. "Yet I am accepted."
Anthony still looked stubborn. "I won't have Tessa hurt by any more snubs. It is my responsibility as her husband to protect her, and I mean to do just that." He took her hand in a firm grip that felt more determined than affectionate.
"Nevertheless, I believe Peter is right," the Duke said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Anthony and his wife will stay —at Marland House —until we deem that Society has accepted her."
Tessa's spirits fell. Such a thing could take weeks —or months— assuming it ever happened at all. Was she never to be allowed to return to Wheatstone, to her father? She looked pleadingly at Anthony, but though he frowned, he said nothing.
"The Regent will likely leave soon after supper," Peter said then, "at which point we should probably make a strategic retreat. Tomorrow is Sunday, which will give us a respite to plan how to turn this setback into a triumph for Tessa and the family."
* * *
"I'm sorry, Tessa. I know I promised that we would only stay in Town a few days."
It was a few minutes past two and Anthony had just joined Tessa in her bedchamber after her maid and his valet had completed their tasks of divesting them of their evening attire. She had put on a brave front during the final hour of the ball and the ride home, but Anthony suspected that she was near a breaking point.
