by Louise Allen
For a moment he was tempted to toss it onto the fire unopened. Alex looked down at it in his hand. His shaking hand. Coward. With an effort of will he stilled the tremor then broke the seal.
Weybourn. Alexander. I do not know whether this will find you in London or what to do if it does not. Or what will befall us if you will not come.
It was his mother’s handwriting. He hadn’t seen it since he was seventeen. Alex stood up and the salver went spinning off the desk, hit the polished boards, spun and fell with a clatter.
Your father is very ill. He will not admit how ill, or how weak he is. Dr Simmington tells me he will not recover, that it is only a matter of time.
The elegant handwriting faltered and became less controlled.
Matthew is not capable or able to take control of everything that must be done here. Alexander, I need you to come home. Your family needs you to come home. Your father will never admit he cannot cope, that he needs you. But despite everything, despite what your father did and said and what you vowed, I beg you, if you have any affection left for your poor afflicted mother, return to Tempeston.
Lavinia Tempest.
The letter slipped from his fingers, drifted down to the carpet like a great falling leaf. Return to Tempeston. Come home. He closed his eyes.
‘My lord? Alex?’ A whisper of movement, a scent of lavender water, a touch on his arm.
Alex opened his eyes. Tess stood before him, the letter in one hand, the other resting on his forearm. Her face, puzzled and anxious, was turned up to his. ‘What is wrong?’
‘My father. Read the letter if you want.’ He didn’t seem able to move away, to think. Your family needs you.
‘Oh, Alex.’ There was a rustle of paper and then Tess’s arms were around him, her hand pulling his head down to her shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. ‘I am so sorry. What terrible news.’
She held him as though he needed comfort, as though he had broken down. What was wrong with her? Didn’t she realise he didn’t care? He hadn’t seen them for ten years.
Tess was murmuring nonsense in his ear, rocking slightly back and forth as she held him. Alex found his arms would move, that he could hold her, too, soft and warm and fragrant. Feminine and sweet and, under it all, a backbone of steel. ‘I do not need comforting,’ he said. But he let his cheek rest on the soft mass of her hair while he got his balance back.
Tess leaned back against his arms and looked up at him. ‘Of course you do, you stubborn man. You love them and they hurt you and now they need you and it hurts all over again.’
‘Tess.’ There were no words and no coherent thoughts either, just wanting. Alex bent his head and kissed her and the world righted on its axis. She opened to him with the generous innocence that was Tess, untutored, a little clumsy as their noses bumped. He remembered the taste of her, slightly tart under the sweetness, like new cherries.
Her hands cupped his head, her fingertips stroked his nape and her curves nestled against him as though a tailor had cut her to fit him. Only him. She gave a little gasp as he touched her tongue with his own, then bravely stroked back, gave a little wriggle and pressed closer.
He was going to have to stop. Through the incoherence that were his thoughts that imperative took shape, became urgent. Stop, stop now. This is Tess. And that, he realised, was why he did not want this to end.
When he lifted his head she blinked up at him, deliciously tousled and pink.
‘Tess, we must—’
‘Plan, I know.’ She released his head, stepped back out of his arms. For a moment he was shocked by how easily she could set aside what had just happened and then realised this was the only way she could cope with it: pretend it hadn’t happened, at least for a while.
‘I’ll ring for tea. There is a great deal to be done if you are to leave early tomorrow.’ She went to the bell and pulled the cord, then sat down on the far side of the desk and regarded him with, he thought, some anxiety.
At least he could put a decent distance between them. Alex sat down in his desk chair. ‘Your mother is going to need help,’ she went on. ‘An invalid in the house makes extra work for the male staff, I imagine, so our two footmen will be useful. Do your sisters live at home?’
‘Laura’s married and lives in Edinburgh. Maria is not at all practical. At least, she never used to be. She is…was, sensitive.’
‘You’ll need John Coachman and the grooms.’ She was thinking aloud, frowning as she reviewed the staff.
‘I take them all away and leave you alone?’
‘There’s Dorcas to keep me company. And Annie. The poor child is living in some lodging house. I cannot abandon her at Christmas after I promised she could come here. Three of us will be quite safe together for a few days.’
He’d have to go, he knew that. He couldn’t ignore his own mother in the face of a plea like that. ‘Come with me.’
‘Come… You think your mother will need help sick nursing? Dorcas and I could assist with that, I suppose. But your mother isn’t going to want to have strangers descend on her.’
‘Tempeston is a big country seat, and it has the room to absorb an entire house party and all the additional servants. It can certainly cope with this household.’
She bit her lip and he wondered whether she was nervous about the thought of the big house, or of being with him. Then she took a deep breath and smiled. ‘If you think I can help, then of course I will come, and Annie and Dorcas, too. We’ll all come. It’s the least we can do.’
Brave Tess. ‘At least we have not got far to go, only into Hertfordshire, and the weather is fine.’
‘Hertfordshire?’
‘Yes, the Hertfordshire-Buckinghamshire border.’
She went very still, then gave herself a shake. ‘Tempeston is so close? That is good news, we will be able to do the journey in the day.’ There was a tap on the door and MacDonald came in before he could query why the mention of Hertfordshire seemed to take her aback.
‘Tea, please. And some of the cake, thank you.’ Tess waited until the door closed behind the footman. ‘We will have to think about how to explain me.’
‘And a baby. That might well need some explanation, also.’ Alex found the everyday lunacy that was now his household was helping him get a grip. He realised with a jolt that he intended to go…home. He had jested about the family vault to Hannah; now there seemed to be a very real possibility that he would be expected to lay his father to rest in it in the near future.
‘We could try a version of the truth,’ he said, forcing himself to think of strategy and practicalities and not of the morass of emotions and anger and misunderstandings. ‘I escorted you to England from Ghent for you to stay with an elderly lady as her companion. The elderly lady has died, you are stuck in London with no friends or relations and only Mrs White, your companion. I put you up, all very shocking, but what is one to do right before Christmas? Dorcas is the widow of a man who died very shortly after Daisy was conceived, which is why she is out of mourning now. You’ll have to work out the details between you. If anyone asks me about you I can look convincingly blank—after all, I’m only acting as a courier.’
‘That is brilliant, Alex.’ Tess poured tea and passed him a cup. Her blushes had subsided, but her smile when she looked at him was still shy. He tried not to look at her mouth, pink and slightly swollen from his kisses. ‘You will organise the carriages? There are rather a lot of us, and the luggage and the Christmas presents and the food.’
‘Food?’
‘We can’t leave a goose, a turkey and a ham to rot, let alone all the puddings and the cakes. It will be less of a burden on your mother’s cook if we take it.’
‘Then, that’s both of my carriages and the wagon for the heavy luggage.’ Alex put down his cup, demolished a jam tartlet in one mouthful and stood up. Tess and her entourage were like an anchor, tethering him to safety. There were practical things to do, things involving a baby and a fat goose, things to keep his feet rooted
in reality and the nightmares at bay. ‘Tess?’
‘Mmm?’ She looked up, blushed and dropped her gaze to her notebook, already open on her lap.
‘Thank you. Thank you for the comfort and the practicality. Thank you for that kiss.’
Alex locked away the thought of how much more he wanted than her lips as he pushed open the kitchen door. ‘We are going to Tempeston tomorrow, all of us,’ he announced. ‘We’re taking our perishable food, the Christmas presents, everything. Mrs Ellery will be down in a moment to give you instructions.’ He looked round at their expressions, confused, excited and, in Annie’s case, awestruck. ‘And when we leave this house you will kindly remember that I never had a housekeeper named Ellery and if I did, she has nothing to do with Miss Teresa Ellery. Is that clear?’
There was a moment while they all stared at him, taking in the enormity of what he was asking, then Dorcas said, ‘Annie, you run home and pack your bags then be back here, sharpish. I’ll pack for Mrs…Miss Ellery, then I’ll come down to help out here.’
Alex did not stop to give any orders. They were competent and Tess would take control. He went out to alert the grooms, then, as they hurried to check over harnesses and dust off the wagon they usually used for transporting the bigger pieces of statuary and furniture he dealt in, found himself alone in the stall with Trojan, his hunter.
The big chestnut, apparently delighted with the company, rested his shoulder against Alex’s and leaned his weight on him. ‘Daft fool.’ Alex rubbed him under the chin in the sweet spot that always reduced the animal to jelly and put up with having his palm dribbled into. It was peaceful here, smelt of warm horse and straw and saddle soap. Horses were an indulgence that still gave him a lot of pleasure. His father, having decided that his willowy elder son would never make a horseman, had lavished the best mounts on Alex’s brother, Matthew.
Strange that he had never felt jealous of his brother. His father’s opinion that Alex was a disappointment had hurt, but then, he had never known anything else. As a child he was the undersize one, the dreamer, the reader. He’d retreated back into his own head, his own company when punished or lectured, which must, he could see now, have made him even more infuriating to his noisy, energetic, utterly nonintellectual father.
His mother had worried and fussed—which had only made his father more dissatisfied and irritable. But the man hadn’t been a monster; he’d obviously wanted to be proud of his sons and yet he hadn’t been able to cope with one of them not fitting his mental image of the perfect heir. Were all parents like that, wanting perfection, expecting too much? Would he be like that in his turn if he was ever rash enough to contemplate a family? It was one of the unpleasant night thoughts that weighed against marriage.
Now his parents needed him; even Matthew needed him, although he was unlikely to admit it. Alex suspected he was going to be a bit of a shock to all of them. ‘That’s an interesting thought,’ he observed to Trojan, who merely snorted. ‘The power balance has shifted. What do I want now? An apology, but not for me. To be loved? Ridiculous. To be approved of? Now, there’s the rub. There’s some part of me that’s still seventeen and wants approval, that hasn’t learned that the only approval worth having comes from people whose opinion you value.’
And that was quite enough introspection for one evening. He slipped Trojan a carrot and shut the stable door. He had his mother to worry about—she’d sounded at her wits’ end—and Tess. Tess, who, for reasons he failed to understand, trusted him. Desire was one thing; he understood that. But what possessed the foolish chit to trust him? It was that quality of innocence about her, he suspected. She had decided that he was redeemable from his cynicism and his self-centred lifestyle. Seduce him into happiness of all the wild ideas. It was going to take more than a few wreaths of evergreens and a wassail bowl to do that.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Tired?’ Tess stifled her own yawn and smiled at Dorcas, who perched, heavy-eyed, on the seat beside her. Opposite them Annie was already asleep again, one hand on little Daisy lying securely swaddled on the carriage’s plush upholstery.
‘Retiring at two and up at six is not my favourite choice of bedtime, Miss Ellery.’
‘Not following on from the evening we had, that is certain.’ Tess held on tight to the strap as the carriage rounded the corner on to the Edgware Road and headed north.
‘It feels like a dream, packing everything and everybody up and leaving in such a procession.’ Dorcas stroked the upholstery with the reverence she would accord fine silk as she peered out of the window into the gradually lightening morning gloom. ‘And his lordship looking so dashing.’
Now Dorcas had drawn her attention to their outrider Tess allowed herself to stare. It was the first time she had seen Alex on horseback, and she was not at all certain she was glad she had seen him now. He was magnificent, so at home on the big chestnut that it would only add to her store of delicious, and thoroughly uncomfortable, images to be taken out for daydreaming and then severely closed away again. Ever since that kiss yesterday it had been even more difficult to close the mental door on those fantasies.
‘I wonder why he chooses to ride. It is such a damp, chill day and I doubt it is going to get much more pleasant.’ How easy was riding? It had never occurred to her before, but Alex was controlling the big animal with no apparent effort at all. Those muscles again, that deceptive strength.
‘Perhaps he does not want to be sitting with us because of the baby,’ Dorcas said, jerking Tess back from her reverie.
‘He could always tell Annie to take her to the other carriage if she became fractious,’ she pointed out.
‘I am sure he would not do that. He is such a gentleman and patient with her.’
Impossible man. He is nice to babies and kind to kittens, he looks wonderful on a horse. And he kisses like every sort of temptation I could imagine and more.
‘Do you think they’ll believe it, about me being a widow? Daisy’s so very young.’ Dorcas nibbled a fingernail as she looked at her daughter, fast asleep and blowing bubbles.
‘Of course they will. We worked it out that you’ll just be out of mourning. But you do need a wedding ring.’ Tess pulled the chain that hung around her neck out from her bodice and unfastened it. ‘Here, borrow this, it was my mother’s.’
‘But I can’t take something so precious.’ Dorcas put out her hand and then snatched it back.
‘Try it on.’ It was loose on the thin finger, but the knuckle was enough to hold it securely. ‘She would have been glad of you wearing it if it helped someone, and that is what we are doing, isn’t it?’ After all, it has never been a real wedding ring. ‘We are preserving my reputation and at the same time helping Lord Weybourn.’ That was what the thin gold band had represented, the appearance of respectability. The lie.
*
They reached the market town of Watford in the early afternoon and pressed on into rolling hills clad with the golden brown of beech trees that held their dead leaves into springtime. Finally, as the light hung at the edge of dusk, they halted outside an inn on a small village green.
Tess watched Alex dismount, hand his reins to one of the grooms and then go inside, followed by Byfleet carrying a portmanteau.
‘Strange,’ Tess mused, but Dorcas was feeding Daisy, and Annie tidying up all the paraphernalia from changing the baby, and both seemed to welcome the stop.
When the two men emerged again Alex was transformed. Gone was the rider in the low-crowned hat, the many-caped overcoat, the breeches and the long boots. In his place was a London swell, as exotic in the little village as a peacock in a barnyard.
Alex climbed into the carriage while Tess managed to close her mouth and stop goggling like a yokel.
‘Ladies.’ He settled onto the seat next to Annie, chucked Daisy under her fat chins with one exquisitely gloved forefinger and crossed his legs. Cream pantaloons. Skin-tight pantaloons. Tess shifted her gaze to the Hessian boots with silver tassels, then up to a waistcoa
t of cream moiré silk embroidered with lavender flowers. His coat was dark blue and his intricate, pale lavender neckcloth was secured by an amethyst stickpin. There was a gold seal ring on his left little finger, a quizzing glass hung around his neck and the subtle smell of his cologne filled the carriage.
He has shaved again, Tess realised, feeling travel-soiled and unkempt in contrast. ‘Lord Weybourn. Did you have an enjoyable ride?’
‘I did, thank you. Are you ladies comfortable?’ Annie giggled and he lifted his quizzing glass, reducing her to blushing confusion. ‘Miss Annie, chief nursemaid.’
No one would guess he was within miles of a reunion he was dreading and a meeting with a dying father, Tess thought. Although his manner was…strange. Almost artificial. The young ladies at the convent had once been allowed to attend the theatre to see an improving play. Tess, who had tagged on to the party, found her way backstage and watched from a corner, fascinated, as the actors transformed themselves from ordinary people into creatures of fiction.
And that was what Alex was doing, transforming himself. He was becoming more mannered; his accent carried a subtle affectation. He wore his beautiful clothes like a mask, she realised. Or armour.
She knew before he spoke when they were nearing their destination. Alex sat up straighter against the squabs and his eyes followed the line of the high wall to their left. The carriage turned between a pair of lodge cottages and began to follow a winding road through parkland. Tess watched Alex, saw the mildly bored expression on his face and saw, too, the way his hand tightened on the strap, the white knuckles.
‘Have we arrived?’ It was an inane question, but she could stand the silence no longer.
‘Yes. Welcome to Tempeston.’ Alex was looking through the misted glass with an intensity that was a kind of hunger.
