Lord Gresham’s dark eyes turned to her. Tessa made herself smile although Scott’s invitation irked her. She had made this appointment and come all the way from Malmesbury, and didn’t appreciate being shunted aside so carelessly. It wasn’t Lord Gresham’s fault, directly, but she’d known this would happen as soon as he asked to come with her today.
“No,” said the earl. “Mrs. Neville doubtless has come prepared with many questions, and I would only impede her. I shall wait here while you show her about.”
Scott cleared his throat. “Of course. As you wish.”
“No,” Tessa heard herself say. She stared at Lord Gresham. He stared back, his expression inscrutable. He wanted to meet Mr. Scott, he wanted to see the canal works, and then he declared he would sit in the office and wait while she asked her questions? Her brother William would not have hesitated to take precedence over her, even though he wouldn’t have the first idea what to ask about the canal. Lord Gresham, who didn’t know her and who outranked William by a league or more, deferred to her. It was startling and disarming.
It was also rather silly to ask Mr. Scott to lead two tours, especially since hers would be rushed and short if Mr. Scott was eager to return to the earl. “I certainly have no objection, if you wish to accompany us,” she said. “You have come to see the canal, and there is no reason for Mr. Scott to show us each separately.”
He bowed his head. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
The following tour was decidedly odd. Mr. Scott was intent on currying Lord Gresham’s favor, which had the benefit of drawing fulsome answers from him in response to her questions, accompanied by frequent asides to His Lordship. Scott didn’t forget himself so far as to overlook her entirely, but Tessa was well aware he was addressing himself to Lord Gresham at least as much as to her. It annoyed her, but she conceded it was making things easier for her, so she tried to ignore it.
As for Lord Gresham, he strolled along a step behind and barely said a word. Every time Tessa stole a glance at him, he was watching Mr. Scott with the same hard expression. He didn’t ask a single question, and if he examined any part of the canal plans in detail, she didn’t see it.
It was possible that he, like William, didn’t really know anything about canals and shares, but then why would he come to see for himself? William hadn’t even suggested such a thing; everyone just assumed she would go for him. It would be easier for Lord Gresham to send an estate agent in his stead, or his solicitor. She would have suspected the earl came for some other reason entirely, except he had clearly said he was interested in the canal. She didn’t understand it, but then, she didn’t understand most things men did, and this particular man was particularly puzzling.
“Have I satisfied all your worries, madam?” asked Scott jovially as they returned to the front of the ironworks. “And yours, my lord?”
“For the moment,” murmured Lord Gresham.
“I shall still want to see the latest accounts,” Tessa said, reminding Mr. Scott of what she told him weeks earlier. What he had shown her today was exactly what she’d expected to see: a small section of canal already built, all neat lines and solid stone. Since it would service his very own factory, she would have been shocked to see anything out of order with it. The success of the canal would depend on more than the three mile stretch from Mells to Frome, however. This branch was intended to run out into the coal fields, carrying lucrative shipments of coal straight into the established canal running through Bath. Scott also predicted grains and other cargoes, including iron from his own factory, would make the canal a thriving enterprise. The pamphlets and list of shareholders he’d brought to persuade William had made it sound as though money would be streaming in from passage fees, paying dividends of ten to fifteen percent or more on shares. In Bath, Mr. Scott had produced more documentation, but it wasn’t enough to justify fifteen percent.
“Of course,” Mr. Scott replied, his smooth smile back in place. “I’ve been trying to gather everything you asked for; perhaps in a few more days all will be ready.”
The earl gave a single nod and walked away toward the carriage without another word. Tessa thanked Mr. Scott and shook his hand before following. She waited until they had driven out the gates again before saying anything to Lord Gresham, as he still wore the closed-down expression that seemed to forbid approach.
“Was Mr. Scott not what you expected?” she asked at last.
He didn’t look at her, but kept his eyes on the road. “No,” he said after a moment’s pause.
“How so?” As soon as she said it, she realized she probably shouldn’t ask. It was none of her business, and he was obviously deep in thought about something. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “That was impertinent.”
He took a deep breath and glanced at her. Some of the lighthearted look came back into his expression. “Impertinent? Not at all. Inquisitive, perhaps, or at worse prying, but not rude.”
She blinked in consternation. “Well . . . well, good. I didn’t want to be rude again.”
Charlie grinned, easily slipping back into his former mood, before they had reached the factory. It was a relief to put aside his thoughts about Scott and think about Mrs. Neville instead. “No, he was not at all what I expected, but I’m exceedingly grateful to you for the introduction.”
She looked baffled. “It was nothing. If anyone is in my debt for that introduction, it appears to be Mr. Scott.”
“Will you return to the ironworks?” he asked. He had barely paid any attention to the details of what Scott said, but he’d heard every word from Tessa Neville’s mouth. “He didn’t answer all your doubts today, I presume.”
“No, he didn’t. Canals are notorious for costing more than anticipated, and although Mr. Scott assures me this canal is being built with great economy, he hasn’t produced any accounting for it, only the initial projections. I won’t throw Marchmont’s money into a company that will waste it.”
“I see.” Charlie realized he was feeling a measure of scorn for Lord Marchmont, who sent his sister out to invest his money for him. But wasn’t he the same? He hadn’t made any effort to take control of his estate, or even prepare to do so, from his brother Edward. Telling himself it wasn’t really his estate yet was only an excuse, and he gave himself a mental slap for being so . . . indolent about it.
When they were within a mile of Frome, he slowed the carriage and gestured to a neat little house set back from the road. “My new lodging. Should you or Mrs. Bates ever need to contact me, you may send word to Mill Cottage.”
“You plan to stay in Frome a while, then,” she said in surprise.
“No,” said Charlie. Only as long as it took to sort out Hiram Scott. He’d sooner sleep in a stable than listen through the thin walls of the inn to the couple next door argue all night again. Fortunately for him, he didn’t need to settle for a stable. It had taken his valet exactly one hour to find an estate agent very keen to let any house in Somerset to His Lordship. Barnes should have already removed his belongings to the cottage by now.
“Ah.” She was quiet a moment. “Mrs. Bates and I plan to leave for London within a fortnight, if not within the week.”
“Commendable.” Charlie hoped he was as lucky. “You will be staying with your sister, I believe?”
“Yes,” she murmured. Some of the light went out of her face, and he realized she wasn’t looking forward to it with much pleasure. Every response he thought of, though, seemed inadequate or insensitive, so he said nothing, and they drove into Frome in silence.
He reached The Golden Hind, where she was staying, and stopped the carriage. “My thanks again for your company, and for the introduction to Mr. Scott,” he said as she stepped down.
She smiled uncertainly and bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you for driving.”
“It was my honor,” he said, and meant it.
“You’re too kind.”
She was looking up at him with a vaguely quizzical air; he wondered what her agile mind was thinking now. It was rather amusing that she thought he’d been following her because she called him indolent. Of course, telling her he only wanted an introduction to Hiram Scott made only a small bit more sense. This woman wasn’t fooled by any prevarication or flattery. He’d have to think faster the next time he saw her.
That thought put a real smile on his lips. He would definitely see her again. “Good day, Mrs. Neville.” He touched his fingers to his hat, and watched her turn and walk inside the inn before he lifted the reins.
He had only begun to order his thoughts by the time he reached his new residence. To his consternation, Hiram Scott hadn’t displayed a blink of recognition when Mrs. Neville introduced him. It was possible Scott wouldn’t know to connect the Gresham name with Durham, but that wasn’t very good research for a man who hoped to make five thousand pounds in blackmail money. It would have taken nothing more than a quick perusal of any London newspaper to discover the connection, thanks to the recent scandal. It was possible that Scott had learned someone was looking for him—subtlety was not Gerard’s strength, and word might have circulated in Bath—and prepared himself for the encounter so well that he could react without any alarm. But Scott had expected Mrs. Neville alone today. Charlie had watched Scott from the moment the man came out of his office to greet her and hadn’t seen even a flicker of surprise or unease. If anything, Scott’s eyes had lit up in delight, which he only amplified during the tour.
Charlie had been counting on learning something from the confrontation, and was a bit confounded by the results. Scott made no mention, not even a hint, of the Durham Dilemma, even though it was probably the most infamous story in Britain right now. The man seemed pleased to see him, and appeared bent on winning his favor. Perhaps Scott thought his chances for blackmail had died with Durham, and now hoped to wring the money from him by more direct means. He had all but begged Charlie to buy some shares in the canal company. If Scott had any purpose in life, it was that damned canal.
But what did that imply about the blackmail? Perhaps there was a different Hiram Scott who traveled through Bath . . . but this fellow fit the description, and he was in obvious pursuit of funds. Charlie would be absolutely certain of him if only he could find a single thread connecting Scott to Dorothy Cope.
On the other hand, Mrs. Neville and Mrs. Bates also seemed unaware of the Durham Dilemma. He was rather certain Mrs. Bates at least would have been unable to resist saying something, if she’d known. Her memory wasn’t all it used to be, though, she’d told him, and Charlie thought he’d made such an impression on her, she might have overlooked it anyway. Mrs. Bates was utterly dazzled by his attentions.
Not so Mrs. Neville, although Charlie hoped she was thawing toward him, now that he had learned the trick of how to talk to her. It was just his luck to run up against a logical, intelligent woman who was clearly not dazzled by anything about him, when it would have suited him so much better to have her entirely under his sway. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t fancy her as she was; in an odd way, it was part of her allure. He had never had to work for a woman’s regard before, and even as it frustrated him, he found it somehow invigorating. He had to be in top form around her. He no longer suspected she had any part in Hiram Scott’s scheme, but he certainly wasn’t ready to give up the advantages of her acquaintance with Scott. And he really didn’t want her to know he had ever suspected her at all.
He handed the reins to the groom who came running when he stopped in front of the cottage. The front door stood open, and he found Barnes in the sitting room supervising a handful of servants, all dusting and sweeping and polishing. Charlie gave him a brief nod and walked through the rest of the house. It was small, dark, and sparsely furnished, but isolated and private, and there were no neighbors to argue loudly at nights. And he only had to endure it for a few days, so it was perfect.
Barnes found him in the main bedroom, looking out over the ruins of the mill on the nearby stream. “Will it do, my lord?” he asked.
“Perfectly.” Charlie nodded. “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Carry out a table and chair over there,” Charlie added, indicating a sunny spot near the old mill. “And fetch something to eat and drink. No, I don’t need that anymore,” he added as Barnes made a motion toward the cane, propped in the corner. His valet nodded and slipped from the room.
Charlie flexed his foot, stretching his healing leg. It was a bit stiff from driving back and forth to Mells, but not beyond what he could bear. He was done with the cane, just as he was done avoiding his duty. With one last deep breath, he turned. The leather dispatch case Edward had given him was sitting on the dressing table, waiting. It had been waiting for a while now, and finally he was ready to face it. Confronting Hiram Scott had revealed nothing—yet. It was time to read the Fleet minister’s wedding registers.
Chapter 8
The next few days seemed to drag by. Tessa was normally quite capable of occupying herself, but for some reason she felt out of sorts and restless. It might be Frome itself; the village was small and dull, with only a few shops and a lone, rather dismal coffeehouse. She wrote to William, took her usual brisk morning walks for exercise, and found herself with nothing to do by midday. Even Eugenie had a novel to savor.
She wished Mr. Scott had gathered the materials she wanted in good time. The day after her trip to Mells, he sent a brief note, apologizing for not having the books ready but explaining he had to make a trip to Poole and would be away for a day or two. Since he wanted to be at hand to answer any questions she might have, he hoped she would forgive him another delay. There was nothing Tessa could reply but that she understood completely, even though she wanted to browbeat him. Really, how hard was it to bring out the canal company account books and let her read them? He was the treasurer of the company and as such maintained the accounts himself. They were probably kept in his very own factory. He professed complete understanding of her desire to see them, but he certainly wasn’t making it quick or easy for her to do so. If she were a man, Scott wouldn’t be so cavalier about putting her off repeatedly. Tessa wondered in aggravation if she’d have more luck getting to see the books if she persuaded Lord Gresham to ask for them.
Well—there was no question she would. Scott would trip over himself to fetch the books for the earl. If only there were a way to ask Lord Gresham without seeming too forward and presumptuous. Or even any way at all to ask him, because after he accompanied her to the ironworks, His Lordship hadn’t called on them once.
Eugenie blamed her for this, Tessa knew. When he didn’t call the day after their visit to Mells, Eugenie asked timidly if there had been any disagreements between them. She said no, but rather too quickly, and saw the disappointment on her companion’s face. She tried to tell herself it was the truth, but as another day dragged on without him, she began to wonder, uncomfortably, if he’d been more offended than he appeared to be. She had apologized for calling him indolent, and invited him to come along on her tour, but there was no question Lord Gresham had come away in a dark temper, and hadn’t spoken half as much on the drive home as on the drive out. It made her uneasy and annoyed all at once. She knew she had less social grace than everyone else, and that she was often too blunt for her own good. But Lord Gresham, with his provoking little smiles and devil-may-care laugh, hardly seemed the sort of take deep offense so easily. If he had put on some easygoing pose just to lure her into greater indiscretion . . .
She caught herself and wondered what had come over her. She was too insignificant to have such an effect on Lord Gresham. He claimed he’d only wanted an introduction to Mr. Scott, which he had duly gotten, so perhaps he was just done with her—and with Eugenie by extension. It would decimate her opinion of him if that were true, but she didn’t know him, and heaven knew, most aristocrats wouldn’t hesitate to act that way. In fact, it
would only confirm her original feeling about him, which ought to have added the prospect of some vindication, but somehow she felt more betrayed than anything. She had wanted to hate him, and now that he’d made her like him instead, she didn’t want to hate him again.
This tortured thought sent her to her feet. It was a warm, sunny day, and she was going mad in this small inn. “I shall go for a walk,” she told Eugenie, who was embroidering listlessly by the window. “Would you like to come along?”
“No, dear,” sighed her companion. She poked her needle through the cloth again and glanced out into the street. “I shall stay here. My ankle is feeling very tender again.”
Left unspoken was Eugenie’s lingering hope Lord Gresham might call. It hadn’t escaped Tessa’s notice that Eugenie stationed herself by the window overlooking the street every day, with her book or her sewing in hand. It only increased her own guilt, that she had driven the earl away without even knowing how.
She put on her lightest pelisse and went out, determined to quiet her nerves with vigorous exercise. She struck out away from town, wanting more peace than the streets of Frome offered. The Somerset countryside lacked the idyllic serenity of Wiltshire, where she had grown up, but there was a kind of beauty in the wildness of the land, and she occupied herself with studying the unfamiliar flora as she strode briskly along the rutted roads. Anything to get Lord Gresham’s wicked grin out of her mind . . .
After a while she began to feel more herself. It was the inactivity, she decided; at home she had plenty to do and therefore little time for her mind to wander to inconsequential questions, like why Lord Gresham had paid her any attention in the first place or why he had abruptly stopped. Tessa preferred things that way. She didn’t want to be cross and bewildered over the actions of that man, or any man. In a few days she would be done here in Frome and would go on to London, returning to her family, where everything was normal and no handsome earls would bedevil her sensible, well-ordered life.
The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke Page 10
