“You don’t love me,” he said at last. “Don’t lie to yourself that you do. And I don’t love you. I cannot interfere in your marriage. I’m not here to take you away. I don’t expect to see you again, in fact.”
“How can you say that?” she cried, tears beginning to leak from her eyes. “Didn’t you come to see me? I don’t understand!”
“I haven’t come to save you from an unhappy marriage,” he said. “You wouldn’t be happy anyway. All your desire to run away with me now is only a wish to escape.”
“Yes! Yes, it is!” She dashed the tears from her cheeks. “If you had any idea of the hell I’ve endured these ten years—”
“As Countess of Worley?” he asked. “As a celebrated beauty? As a wealthy lady? Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
She drew in an unsteady breath. “You’re angry at me—because I didn’t wish to be poor. Neither did you! We were young and foolish but if only we had waited a bit, thought it over, we should have been happy enough together to endure it. But it’s not too late for us, it isn’t!”
“It is. It always was.” He shook his head. “Could you really leave your children? Could you really stand to drag your name through the mud for a divorce?”
“But as your duchess, none of that would matter,” she whispered, even though her already pale face grew deathly white at his query. “People would forget . . .”
“You know they wouldn’t. And you would soon hate me as much as you hate him.” He made a very formal, deliberate bow. “Good-bye, Lady Worley.”
“Wait!” She lunged for his arm as he started to turn. “He’ll kill me! He’s tried to many times already, when he’s angry over something. I beg you, even if you no longer want me, take me away from here! I shall die here, Gresham, I know I will, if you leave me!”
Charlie hesitated. Worley was a coldhearted man, no doubt about it, and his fury at his wife’s infidelity ran deep. He knew he couldn’t take Maria with him, but neither could he abandon her to cruelty. “If you ever feel in peril of your life, or in fear for your children’s lives, my brother Edward will do all in his power to aid you. But it would only make things worse if you came to me. Worley will forever despise me because of his doubts about your son. Whatever the truth may be, he’ll kill us both if he thinks there’s anything between us. For your own sake, Maria—for your son’s sake—don’t run after me.”
Her grip on him slackened and fell away. For a moment her face registered such desolate despair he wondered if she truly feared for her life. “You never loved me, did you?” she whispered, anger touching her voice for the first time. “If you did, you would never be so callous.”
A faint, sad smile bent his mouth. If she only knew. Three years ago—even three months ago, perhaps—he would have insisted he had, once upon a time. But now he knew better. What he felt for her had been a sort of love—a young man’s reckless, impetuous passion, fueled by frustrated lust for her and impotent fury at his father, thriving off the very obstacles that thwarted it. “Once, I did,” he told her softly. “But it was not the sort of love that can last.”
“How do you know?”
He knew because of Tessa. Because while he’d wanted Maria, he’d never needed her. She had never challenged him to be a better man, as Tessa did. She had never made him furious and aroused and amused, all at the same time, as Tessa could do so effortlessly. She never stood up to him when he was foolish, or turned to him in a moment of need. If it had been Maria by his side when it seemed he would lose his title and all its trappings, he was rather certain she would have abandoned him, not stood by him and declared it made no difference to her whether he was a duke or a gentleman scholar. She definitely wouldn’t have told him he would make a good pig farmer.
“Did you ever love me?” he asked instead. “Or was it only my title and fortune that caught your eye?”
She paused, tilting her head in the coy way he remembered too well, and it struck him that her look was almost calculating. “I did love you. You know I did. I still do.”
“Your father asked my father for money.”
She blinked. “Well—perhaps he did—we were rather poor—”
Charlie shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Good-bye, Lady Worley. Remember what I said about Edward.”
He went out of the house and took the reins of his horse. As he swung into the saddle he caught sight of Maria, who had followed him to the doorway and stood watching with one hand at her lips. He just gave her a level look before raising his eyes, scanning the rest of the windows, wondering if Worley watched him go as well. For a moment he thought of the little boy again, of his innocent blue gaze, and then he closed his mind to it. There was nothing he could do in any event. Under the law, the boy was Worley’s, and Maria—the only person who might know the truth—claimed she didn’t know who had fathered him. He prayed Worley never held that doubt against the boy. He prayed the boy grew up to look like Worley. And most of all he prayed for forgiveness.
He turned his horse away and rode off without looking back.
Chapter 21
The hours seemed to stretch to last an eternity once Charlie left. Tessa longed to know what he was doing, and she worried about Lord Worley’s reaction. She wished she could forget his intimations about his devotion to Lady Worley, even though it drove her wild with curiosity and uncertainty. Did he still love the lady? Would Lord Worley call him out? Would he call Worley out? Images of Charlie, shot for any reason at all, tormented her at all hours. And the resulting heartache made her castigate herself for not telling him how deeply she cared for him before he left.
To occupy her time she walked. It didn’t matter where she went, or with whom. Eugenie strolled about Frome with her the first day, but then begged off. Tessa apologized—she knew she was tense and restless—but Eugenie just smiled.
“I quite understand why, dear, quite understand,” she said with a sympathetic pat on the hand. “I was once young and bedeviled by a young man.”
Tessa laughed uncomfortably at that. “Bedeviled! I’m sure you had Mr. Bates sorted out in no time. You’re a sly one, Eugenie, for all you protest it.”
“Sly!” Eugenie blushed and looked prim. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” But she gave herself away with an impish smile. “But my Henry did require a bit of encouragement!”
It was on her walk two days later that she gave in to temptation and let her steps stray past Mill Cottage. Just walking past would calm her, and, why, if Barnes happened to be out, and happened to spy her, he might mention any word he’d had from his master. It was unlikely Charlie would write to his valet, especially when he planned to be gone only a few days, but Tessa shoved aside those annoyingly rational points. She missed him, and only that mattered to her.
She was quite shocked to see a large coach on the gravel drive beside the cottage. Imposing, lacquered in black with bright red-trimmed wheels, it was as out of place in Frome as the King and Queen would have been. Tessa stopped in her tracks, open-mouthed, and then caught sight of the crest on the door. It was the same crest she’d seen across the Duke of Durham’s papers, which meant this was Charlie’s town coach. Of course—he must have gone through Bath after all and decided to travel back in comfort. She distinctly remembered his grand arrival at the York Hotel in just such a coach.
As she stood on the road, daring to hope he might have just returned, she saw him. He sat out in the sunshine as he’d done that first day she ventur
ed this way, his dark head bent over as he read. Tessa’s heart skipped, jumped, and soared. Impulsively, she turned across the grass and hurried his way. The sun was behind him, and she squinted as she got closer, close enough to see the light glint off his signet ring and to see that he had cut his hair. She liked it longer, she decided, although this made him look very ducal.
She slipped her arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek against his temple. “You’re back,” she whispered. “I missed you.”
He went utterly still at her touch. “Have you?” he said after a pause.
Tessa blinked, then leaped back in horror. It wasn’t Charlie, but a different man, rising from his seat and turning to face her. He looked like Charlie—the same fine, long nose, the same arched brows—but his eyes were gray, and there was no mischief in his expression. He was also a bit leaner, and his hands were definitely different. Her brain seemed to be cataloging differences all on its own as she stood and gawked at him like a lunatic.
“I thought you were Charlie,” she said inanely. “I—I apologize most humbly, sir.”
He smiled. Now he looked even more like his brother, because of course this had to be another de Lacey. “So I gathered. I am Edward de Lacey, his brother.”
Flushing to the roots of her hair, Tessa dipped a curtsy and mumbled something polite.
“He is not at home at present,” said Lord Edward, watching her. “No one seems to know precisely when he will return.”
She had to wet her lips. “No. He did not say, before he left.”
“Ah.” He tilted his head. Tessa had to clamp her jaw tight to keep from scowling at him; she didn’t like being studied so brazenly. “Do you know where he has gone?”
“No.” She kept her head up. Instinctively she thought Charlie would want privacy, and she had no business telling anyone what he had confided in her. “Don’t you?”
Lord Edward’s brow creased thoughtfully. “No.”
Tessa hesitated, but he seemed in no hurry to speak. She deeply regretted coming over; even if it had been Charlie, back from his private mission, she should have waited for him to seek her out. Had she learned nothing from Louise? “I should be going,” she announced. “I am sure he’ll return soon, and be delighted to see you.”
“Will he be?” Lord Edward had a way of looking at people as if he knew what they meant to say, regardless of what they did say. “I daresay he won’t be very glad. I have come to bring him back to London.”
Her heart seized up. “Have you?” she said, striving for disinterest. “I believe he was about to return to town anyway.”
He nodded, growing grave. “That is fortunate, for he must come now, whether he wills it or not.”
She shouldn’t say anything, but Tessa suddenly remembered that he would have the same vital interest in Mr. Thomas’s letter that Charlie himself had. “He found it,” she blurted out. “The proof he was looking for, about Dorothy Cope.”
Lord Edward’s eyes blazed and he tensed. “Proof?” he demanded. “Legal proof?”
She nodded. “A record of death from the church at Nunney. We saw her gravestone.” She noticed then what he’d been reading: those impenetrable marriage registers. “Look in the one with the stain shaped like a pig,” she said with a nod toward the registers. “About one-third of the way through. Her true name was Dorothy Swynne, and she was buried in the Nunney churchyard in December of 1773.”
Lord Edward regarded her with narrowed eyes. “We,” he repeated with emphasis.
Tessa nodded even though her face warmed again. “I offered my assistance. It was a tedious job, but Ch—Lord Gresham would not be deterred.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said finally. “I am deeply grateful for your assistance. That is excellent news for my family.”
Tessa bowed her head in acknowledgment. She hadn’t done anything for him or his family, excepting one member. “I really should be going,” she said for the second time. “And I do apologize for my ill manners.”
“On the contrary,” he replied with a ghost of a smile. “It was a pleasure, Mrs. . . . ?”
“Neville,” she said. “Teresa Neville.” She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Good day, my lord.”
“Good day, Mrs. Neville,” Edward de Lacey murmured, watching her hurry away without looking back, her hands in fists at her sides. What an intriguing visit that had been, he thought. “Who is that woman, Barnes?” he asked the valet, who had come out with the paper, pen, and ink he’d requested.
Barnes looked after the departing visitor. “Mrs. Neville,” he said after a pause. “A widowed lady.”
“Indeed.” She’d called him Charlie. She’d thrown her arms around him and all but kissed him when she thought he was Charlie. “Has she visited often?” Edward asked.
“I couldn’t say, sir.” The valet’s face was blank.
“I see. Did my brother by any chance meet her in Bath, before he came to Frome?”
Barnes hesitated again. “I believe she and her companion were staying in Bath at the same hotel as His Lordship, sir.”
“Ah.” Edward recalled the curious story his brother Gerard had told him, about Charlie’s fascination with a woman who allegedly despised him. “That will be all, Barnes.”
He settled himself at the table once more, picking up the register Mrs. Neville had indicated, the one with a large watermark in the shape of a pig. Edward regarded it for a moment with a small smile. “And Charlie laughed at me for falling in love,” he murmured. “Oh, how fate has repaid him!”
Tessa had a stitch in her side by the time she reached The Golden Hind, walking as fast as one could walk without breaking into a run. “Eugenie,” she called as she hurried into their rooms. “Eugenie!”
“What is it, dear?” Eugenie came out of her room, little bits of thread on her skirt from her embroidery. “Is something wrong?”
“Why would you think that?” Tessa took off her bonnet and inhaled a deep breath. “We leave for London tomorrow. Mary, finish packing,” she said to the maid who popped out of the other room. Mary nodded and disappeared again.
“Tomorrow!” Eugenie’s mouth dropped open.
Tessa nodded. “We’ve delayed too long as it is. Louise is expecting us, and it’s wrong of me to dally. Your packing is almost finished, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, nearly, but Tessa dear . . .” Eugenie wrung her hands. “What about Lord Gresham?” To say Eugenie’s hopes regarding Lord Gresham’s intentions had risen was an understatement. After Tessa returned from her overnight escapade, swathed in blankets to bolster the lie that she’d taken ill in the rain, Eugenie had fussed over her as much as if she had been sick, but with such a bright, knowing smile that Tessa wondered if she’d already sent a wedding notice to the newspapers.
“Well, it’s interesting you mention him.” Tessa smiled brightly. “He’s also going to London soon. On my walk I happened to meet his brother, who’s come to fetch him back to town.” That was literally true.
What Tessa didn’t say was what she had thought about after leaving Mill Cottage. Lord Edward had asked if they’d found legal proof; he had been in charge of the legal filings regarding Durham, and now said Charlie must come back to London whether he wished to or not. Tessa thought that probably meant the Committee for Privileges was about to consider the case, including the contesting claim from Charlie’s cousin. In her mind, that led to three inescapable conclusions.
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First, that Charlie would be occupied for some time in London with this hearing. He had the proof he needed, but there was no way to know how easily or quickly the committee would accept it.
Second, that meant he would have little time for her. How could he, when he must fight for his birthright and everything he’d been raised to become? Tessa wouldn’t have wanted to distract him even though her heart quailed from facing it. And then he would be a duke, blessed by God and the King, and much too high above the likes of her.
So thirdly, she should go to London now. She was only delaying the inevitable by lingering. As hard as it was to leave without a farewell, she preferred it this way. If she left before he returned to Frome, there would be no need for promises that might be regretted later. There would also be no chance that he would return only to tell her he was still in love with Lady Worley, or regretted taking up with her, or had just remembered that he was a duke and would be expected to marry a proper duchess once he reached London. There would be no unpleasant scene of any sort. And what had she expected, anyway? That he would escort her and Eugenie to London? She remembered the shiny black coach at Mill Cottage, and almost shook her head at her foolishness.
She told herself this was the best way. If by some chance he wished to see her again, she would be in London, too. If he didn’t wish to see her again, well, London was a large place. They had parted on good terms, with no trace of scandal or unseemly behavior, for which Tessa was deeply grateful. This way, she couldn’t possibly make a fool of herself again.
The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke Page 25
