They had reached the table. A waiter whisked up to them with a tray of delicate sandwiches, no doubt intended for someone else but diverted at Charlie’s imperious demand. Mrs. Bates cast a dazed look over the table—the best in the room—and sighing in longing. Charlie eased out a chair. “Be seated, madam,” he said gently. “Just for a moment, until you recover.”
As expected, no older lady of strained means could resist that invitation. She wet her lips, then fell into his trap, sinking down in the chair he held. Hiding his satisfaction under a concerned mien, Charlie seated himself opposite her. “Please, Mrs. Bates, eat something. I cannot rest easy until you do. Ah, Mr. Lucas,” he said, turning to find the hotelier leaping forward. “You have the sherry?”
“Oh, sir, I’m sure I don’t need that . . .” Her protest died away as Mr. Lucas presented a pair of glasses and a bottle of fine, pale sherry. The expression on her face argued very much against her words.
“Just a drop.” Charlie leaned forward and poured a small glass, giving her a sly wink as he placed it in front of her. “To allay my fears.”
“Well . . .” She smiled, blushing again, and took a tiny sip.
It was child’s play from there. Under the influence of the sherry, fresh tea, and a plate of pastries in addition to the sandwiches, Charlie learned all he wanted to know from Eugenie Bates. She was in town with her dear, late cousin’s daughter, a widow named Mrs. Neville. They were from Wiltshire, where they lived with Mrs. Neville’s brother, Viscount Marchmont, at the very lovely family estate called Rushwood. The siblings’ widowed sister, Lady Woodall, was soon to take up residence in London, and she had charged Mrs. Bates with discovering the latest in fashions. Charlie equably answered all her hesitant questions, divining that Lady Woodall’s young son, Thomas, would be the prime beneficiary of his sartorial wisdom. Mrs. Bates was not sorry she wouldn’t be moving permanently to London herself, as the city seemed too intimidating and taxing, although she did so look forward to visiting her dear relations there and seeing the sights.
Between her words, Charlie read more detail: she was a poor relation, shuttled from home to home as convenient for her hosts. She considered herself utterly beneath his notice, and his continued attentions acted as the most efficient lubricant on her reserve. The sherry, no doubt, helped as well.
Slowly he began to steer the conversation toward his object. A decade of enforced sloth and idleness had some benefits; Charlie had learned well the trick of listening to someone with only one ear while still making the proper responses. As she chattered along, increasingly voluble after he poured a second glass of sherry, he tried to guess what brought Hiram Scott, blackmailer, into contact with this apparently innocent elderly lady. She had sent the letter upstairs, and said his whole name; Scott wasn’t likely well-known to her, or she would have referred to him more familiarly. Her young friend, Mrs. Neville, must know the man well, since she was expecting his letter, but how?
The first time he mentioned Mrs. Neville, though, Mrs. Bates grew suddenly quiet. She continued to smile and blush at him, but uneasily. Charlie exerted every ounce of charm he possessed, but still learned little. Mrs. Neville had business in town, and she was out shopping. That was all Mrs. Bates would share. What about Mrs. Neville did Mrs. Bates not want him to know? There was something, he could tell. He was just about to invite both women to dine with him that evening when his companion’s expression broke with relief.
“Why, look at the time! I really must be going, my lord. It was too, too kind of you to be so solicitous of me, but I’m quite refreshed now.”
Charlie turned his head, certain the mysterious Mrs. Neville had arrived. As suspected, a woman hovered in the doorway, fluttering her hand at Mrs. Bates. She quickly lowered her arm when she noticed him looking, and something like a grimace flashed across her face.
He could guess why. Mrs. Neville was the woman who had called him indolent the night he arrived in Bath. Now, as then, a slow grin spread over his face. Oh, this was too perfect. Somehow he’d been hoping to meet the beautiful shrew face-to-face, just once. He rose to his feet, already looking forward to the coming clash.
She crossed the room as if someone were shoving her in the back. By the time she reached the table, she had arranged her face into a stiff, polite smile, but he didn’t miss the wariness in her eyes. “My lord, this is my dear friend, Mrs. Neville,” said Mrs. Bates, tittering nervously. “Tessa dear, Lord Gresham has been so attentive to me since I became unwell a little while ago.”
Her gaze touched the sherry glass for a moment, as if she suspected he had plied the older woman with wine. “How very kind, sir.” At last she looked directly at him. Her eyes were the most unusual color of green, pale and clear like a polished peridot. For a moment he stared, set off-balance by their shade and depth. “I hope you weren’t inconvenienced.”
“Not in the slightest.” He recovered his most charming smile. “It was entirely my pleasure. In fact, I was about to invite Mrs. Bates, and you, to dine with me this evening, as we are both travelers without friends in town.”
“Oh!” Delight pinkened Mrs. Bates’s face, but it was quickly snuffed by worry. “Oh, how very kind of you, sir! But we are . . . that is . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked anxiously to the younger woman.
“That is excessively kind, but we must, unfortunately, refuse, my lord,” Mrs. Neville said smoothly. She had a lovely voice, clear and ringing with confidence. From her voice, at least, she managed to keep all trace of dislike. “We must retire early, as we depart in the morning.”
“Ah,” he replied. “A sad disappointment, to part so soon after meeting. I understand you are to be in London later this year; perhaps our paths will intersect there.”
Mrs. Neville’s eyes went to her companion, who blanched and tried to smile. How interesting; she wasn’t pleased Mrs. Bates had told him about their trip to London. “Perhaps,” was all she said. “If you are unwell, Eugenie, we should return to our rooms so you can rest.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Bates gave herself a small shake. “Yes, of course. The time . . . and my head . . . Thank you ever so much, Lord Gresham. It was perfectly delightful, sitting with you.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he assured her, bowing over her hand as he helped her rise from her chair. “Might I walk you to your room, in case you should feel faint again?”
Mrs. Neville didn’t approve of that, he could tell. Her mouth pressed into a flat line and the little pendant on the chain around her neck twitched in time with her rapid pulse. It convinced Charlie there was something here to root out, something she didn’t want him to learn about her. Did she know anything about Dorothy Cope, Durham’s long-missing first wife? She was nervous, and he was determined to know why.
“Well . . . now that you mention it, I do feel a bit weak in the knees . . .” Mrs. Bates let her hand linger in his, and cast a pleading look at her young friend. “It wouldn’t be improper, would it, Tessa dear?”
Mrs. Neville fixed her penetrating gaze on her companion. It was clear she thought it highly improper, or at least undesirable. Whatever she wished to hide, though, it was clear Mrs. Bates had no inkling of it. “Of course not.”
“I promise to behave myself with the utmost circumspection,” he said gravely, but letting his eyes twinkle at Mrs. Bates. She turned pink and smiled back, softening again. “Just to your door, where I will deliver you to your maid’s care.” To drive home his advantage, he looked up, over the old lady’s head, to Mr. Lucas. “Deliver the sherry to Mrs. Bates’s room, Mr. Lucas. It restored her so wonderfully.”
Mrs. Bates gave a faint gasp of delight. Mrs. Neville’s eyes frosted over. “You are kindness itself!” cried the older lady, now clinging to his arm. “Tessa dear, isn’t he the most charming gentleman?”
“Without question.” Her stiff smile back in place, Mrs. Neville turned and headed for the door. Charlie followed, in no rush to pursue her si
nce he had her companion well and truly snared. Mrs. Bates hung on his arm, enthusing about his kindness and gentlemanly nature and how very glad she was that he had been around in her moment of need, for she was quite fearful she would have needed a doctor if he hadn’t come to her rescue. Charlie murmured the appropriate reassurances and flattering replies, but half his mind was turning over Mrs. Neville’s reaction. Mrs. Bates knew to be wary of him, though not strongly enough to resist when he tempted her with pastries and sherry. She seemed anxious for the younger woman’s approval, but she didn’t appear to be in great fear of her disapproval.
Perhaps that was natural. A blackmailer would be a fool to trust a chatty old lady like Mrs. Bates. Charlie was sure he could tease just about any secret from Mrs. Bates, given enough time and sherry. Tessa Neville, though, was made of stronger stuff. In fact, she seemed determined to hate him, even after he’d been cordial to her. Could that mean she knew Scott was a blackmailer? Or even that she was party to it, as unlikely as that seemed? Perhaps she was just a bit shrewish by nature . . . but it provoked him like nothing else could have.
Mrs. Bates directed him to turn down a corridor leading toward his own rooms. He almost laughed out loud when she stopped in front of a door nearly directly across from his. What a fine joke on him, if the person he sought had been mere feet away since he arrived in Bath. “Why, how near we are!” he exclaimed, not hiding his pleased surprise. “My own suite is right there. Should you require more assistance, you must send your maid to knock.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Bates blushed again. “How—How delightful, my lord! But really, I have been enough nuisance to you . . .”
“Not a bit,” he assured her.
“Well, and yes, we are leaving tomorrow,” she went on, sounding increasingly relieved. “It has been such a pleasure; I am sure it was the finest afternoon I spent in Bath!”
“I shall hope we meet again in London.” He bowed and kissed her hand as the young maid opened the door. “Farewell, Mrs. Bates.”
“Farewell, my lord,” she replied breathlessly, fluttering her fingers as she went into her room. Beyond her Charlie could see no sign of Mrs. Neville, who had rushed ahead of them. He wondered what sort of scolding she would give her companion once he was safely away. The maid bobbed an uncertain curtsy and closed the door.
He went to his own rooms, where his valet looked up from polishing a boot. “There are a pair of ladies in this hotel, Barnes, lodged directly across the corridor,” Charlie told him. “Mrs. Tessa Neville and her companion, Mrs. Eugenie Bates. They are leaving tomorrow. Find out where they are going, and pack my things. We’re going to follow them.”
Chapter 4
Tessa stayed out of sight until the door closed on Lord Gresham’s charming smile and perfect manners. Then she pounced on her companion. “Eugenie! What were you thinking?”
Eugenie gave a great start. Her dreamy little smile vanished, turning into alarm. “Oh, my dear, was it really so bad of me? He was so polite and so kind and so solicitous—”
Tessa waved it away impatiently. “After you made me promise to avoid him at every turn! What possessed you to speak to him?”
“Well,” replied the older woman cautiously, “he spoke to me first. Mary and I had just returned to the hotel—that reminds me, dear, Mr. Scott left a letter for you. Mary, where is the letter for Mrs. Neville?”
“Here, ma’am.” The maid fetched it from the mantel.
Tessa accepted the letter without looking at it, still focused on Eugenie. “Thank you, Mary. You may go for now.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” Eugenie twisted her hands, looking penitent. “But don’t you see? He wasn’t angry about what you said, not at all. And now I can safely tell Lady Woodall we have formed an acquaintance with His Lordship, and you know how pleased she will be about that.” She hesitated. “Was it really so awful? Surely your opinion of him must have improved, due to his gracious behavior today.”
Tessa sighed and pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. Everything Eugenie said made sense, and if Lord Gresham remembered them with any regard at all, it would completely disarm any fears Louise might raise when she learned of her own earlier, rash remark. There was no chance Eugenie would keep silent about that now, as it fed into the delightful story of how she met the earl. Sooner or later she would tell Louise, and Tessa knew her only hope of avoiding a storm of reproach was a newly cordial, or at least civil, relationship with the gentleman.
Still, there was something that made her uncomfortable. “How did you meet him?” she asked Eugenie. “You looked quite well, only a little tired, when we parted. I’d no idea you were unwell.”
“Ah . . .” Her companion’s brow wrinkled in thought as she sank into a chair. “I don’t remember. We came back to the hotel, and I did plan to take tea, but no sooner had Mary gone upstairs than he appeared beside me, inquiring after my health. I must have looked unwell—perhaps I swayed on my feet? I was very tired, and you know my left ankle has been tender since we left Rushwood. But Lord Gresham escorted me to the tearoom, and ordered an excellent sherry—delivered by Mr. Lucas himself, my dear!—and we had a very amiable conversation.”
“What did he want to talk about?” asked Tessa, suspicious again.
“Why . . .” Eugenie’s face blanked. “Nothing of import, dear. He made the most polite inquiries about what brought us to Bath, and where we were from. When I mentioned we would be in London in a fortnight’s time, he answered my every meek query about the city with kindness and great charm. Lady Woodall shall be so very pleased to know all I learned from His Lordship about London.”
That sounded very innocent. Tessa couldn’t quite put her finger on why she still felt uneasy about Eugenie’s tête-à-tête with the earl, but she most certainly did. “That was all? He didn’t ask about me?”
“He did ask, a little, although it made me recall . . .” She cleared her throat primly. “Well, I did become more reticent, not wishing to remind him of what you said, in case he had forgotten, but he showed no sign of any displeasure! Why, when you came into the room, I thought his expression looked . . . well . . . rather intrigued, dear . . .” Her voice, having become almost hopeful, petered out as Tessa stared at her incredulously.
“Eugenie, I’m shocked at you. Persuade me if you will that he acted out of excessive solicitude for you and your health, but you’re mad to think he—” She stopped short. “It’s rubbish. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But you’re a very attractive lady,” persisted Eugenie timidly. “And he’s such a handsome gentleman . . .”
“He’s an earl,” she snapped. “A titled nobleman leagues above a woman of my position. You’re indulging in fantasy, Eugenie, and I beg you stop.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The older woman subsided, looking small and woebegone in the large armchair.
Tessa drew a deep breath. There was nothing to be gained by snapping off Eugenie’s head over this. If Lord Gresham didn’t remember or didn’t care about her imprudent remark, she should count herself very fortunate. If he found anything at all to like about her, so much the better, at least with regard to keeping Louise in good spirits. But what Eugenie intimated was complete farce, almost frighteningly so. The Earl of Gresham was the very last sort of man whose attention she wished to attract. There had been a flash of something in his eyes when he turned to see her trying to catch Eugenie’s attention from the tearoom doorway. She couldn’t even say what it was; he looked . . . well, almost pleased to see her, which was a puzzle. Their only connection was her rude remark, but he hadn’t said or done anything to indicate offense.
He had in fact been the picture of charm. Up close, the earl was even more attractive, with black hair that had just a hint of wave and dancing eyes as dark as sin. His mouth seemed permanently curved with a devilish hint of smile. It was really no surprise Eugenie had melted under the brilliance o
f his attention. Even Tessa, whose heart had grown a hard, protective shell years ago, felt the warmth of his smile right to her bones. Of course, that allure was also the reason she was so distrustful of him. Such a charming fellow must have some purpose in plying Eugenie with sherry and flattery. But what?
She gave her head a small shake to refocus her thoughts. How unfair it was that she could never meet a handsome man without suspecting him of every sort of vice and treachery. Just because one handsome, charming fellow had proven himself a lying snake, intent on deceiving her and using her, didn’t mean every such man was equally horrible. “I’m not angry. I was alarmed when I saw you sitting with him, but it sounds as though he acted honorably and decently, for which I am very grateful to him. I cannot believe he would notice me in any significant way, but as you say, it’s always flattering to be admired, and I would far rather be in his good graces than suffer his ill will.” Did that cover everything? Nearly. “And since we are leaving in the morning, there’s very little chance we shall see him again, which quite allays any last worries I had. Forgive me for being snappish with you.”
“Oh, but in London, we might—” Eugenie stopped as Tessa gave a small shake of her head. “You think not, dear? Would he snub us?”
“Likely not,” she said gently, “but you must remember, London is a far larger place than Bath. I doubt we shall move in the same circles, even if all my sister’s hopes are realized. It’s unlikely he would seek us out, and it would be most improper of us to seek out him. You mustn’t depend on seeing him in London.”
“You’re right,” murmured Eugenie after a moment. “I know you are. Still . . .” She sighed and plucked at her shawl.
Tessa felt a little sorry for her companion. No one as elegant and urbane as the Earl of Gresham had ever paid Eugenie any heed, and it was clear to see the experience had been utterly bewitching. She felt terrible for squashing all the lingering delight of her companion’s tea with the earl, but it would be harder if Eugenie lived in constant hope of meeting him again in London—or even worse, filled Louise with false expectations of an acquaintance. “Is he as charming as he appears?” she asked, trying to atone for the disappointment. “I don’t think we’ve seen a handsomer man in Bath.”
The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke Page 5
