Tuesday's Child

by Jeanette Baker

  Her voice shook and she grasped Fitzpatrick's arm. "You ask what ails me, William. I shall tell you. Your country has violated mine and even now your armies are invading American cities. Incredible as it seems, no one here feels the least bit responsible."

  The blustery voice of the Prime Minister broke in. "I believe this war was one that your countrymen began, Your Grace."

  She lifted her chin and looked defiantly at the elegant nobleman standing before her. Her voice was firm and clear in the sudden stillness of the room. "You are wrong m'lord. This war is England's fault. All America asked was to be allowed the rights of an independent nation and to be left alone. Since our War for Independence, you have refused to accept the United States as a sovereign country." Her eyes returned to her husband's stoic face. "You can win this war with sheer might. You can blockade our ports and starve our people. You can even annex our country so that it is once again a British colony. But, rest assured, your victory will be temporary. We are a proud and independent people. Never again will we bow to an English king or accept the dictates of an English Parliament."

  Eyes wide with shock and more than a little shame, they stared at her. This lovely woman, no more than a girl, with her straight back and tear-bright eyes humbled them all.

  Tess appealed to her husband. "I wish to go home, James. Will you take me?"

  All eyes turned to Devereaux, splendidly handsome, coldly furious, his lean, immaculately clad figure slouching against the card-room door. In fascinated horror they watched as he stared at his wife, immobile and silent, ignoring her plea.

  It seemed, to all who were there, that she shrank before them, the fire dying from her eyes. They watched her, cheeks aflame, cross the room and walk out the door into the night.

  Not a sound could be heard in the ballroom. Fitzpatrick glared at James Devereaux in outraged silence, willing that he do something. From across the room he could see the brilliant piercing blue of his eyes. Minutes passed and still James didn't move.

  Muttering a foul expletive, William walked across the room to the door. The tapping of his shoes was very loud on the polished marble. Glancing back one last time, he turned to follow Tess.

  Marjorie Weatherby moved to Devereaux's side. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she whispered something into his ear. He looked at her luscious figure in the low cut gown and nodded. Pushing himself away from the wall, he held out his arm for her hand. Smiling triumphantly, she hardly noticed the pointed stares as they moved toward the door.

  Castlereagh stopped them halfway. "You aren't leaving, James?"

  "Lord Devereaux has offered to escort me home," Marjorie said. "I feel a headache coming on."

  "Indeed." Castlereagh looked faintly amused. "You won't mind if I speak to him for a moment in private."

  Marjorie smiled and stepped aside. She could afford to be gracious.

  "What the devil are you doing, James?" Castlereagh whispered furiously.

  The duke's eyes glittered. "I'm going to spend time in the company of a woman who understands me."

  Castlereagh clutched his arm. "Don't do this. Leave now and make your peace with Tess."

  James looked down at the hand on his sleeve. He laughed bitterly. "There is no peace with Tess. She doesn't know the meaning of the word."

  "You're a fool, James Devereaux." Castlereagh sighed. "Why must you always take the difficult road?"

  "Marjorie is waiting," said the duke softly. "Was there anything else?"

  "No." The word was barely audible. "Nothing else."

  James walked across the room to rejoin Marjorie. Her head was very close to his as they disappeared out the door.

  At Berkeley Square, he helped her from the carriage. Leading her up the stairs he stopped at the massive front door.

  Turning her toward him, he said, "I'll leave you here, Marjorie."

  "You're not coming in?" Hurt was evident in the outraged expression on her face.

  Bending his head, he kissed her gently on the lips. "As tempting as the suggestion is, I must decline. I wouldn't be good company tonight."

  "Stay with me, James," Marjorie pleaded. "I can make you happy. I know I can."

  His face hardened. "Good night, Marjorie."

  * * *

  Fitzpatrick didn't want to leave Tess. He was afraid of what James might do to her.

  "I'll be all right," she insisted. "Even if James were to be violent, the duchess will be here. He can hardly murder me without everyone knowing."

  "Tess." He clasped her hands. "Come away with me. I'll make you happy. I promise I will."

  The corners of her lips turned up in a smile. "You're a dear friend, William. What would I do without you?"

  He looked down into her vulnerable, delicate face and groaned. Pulling her to him, he kissed her with hard, insistent lips.

  She remained stiff in his arms, neither responding nor resisting.

  "Fitzpatrick," a quiet voice, terrifying in its clarity, interrupted them. "Unless I have taken leave of my senses, this is my house and the woman you are mauling is my wife."

  Tess looked up, startled. Her husband's figure filled the doorway. He was dangerously angry. Quickly she ran to him.

  "It was nothing, James," she stammered, laying her hand on his arm. "William was worried about me. That is all it was."

  "Go upstairs," he ordered.

  "James," she pleaded.

  "Go! Now!"

  She stopped before him on her way to her room. "If you hurt him, I shall never forgive you."

  His mouth twisted bitterly, but he didn't reply. Fitzpatrick, white-faced and defiant, was equally as silent.

  Tess allowed her maid to pull a nightgown over her head and brush out her hair. Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers over her, praying for sleep. It didn't come. The hours crept by. It was almost morning when she heard a step outside her door. She sat up and waited.

  The knob turned and James stepped in. He was still dressed in evening clothes. The lamp from the hall shone on his ink-black hair, lighting his face. His features were controlled but his eyes blazed with fury. Tess hid her fear.

  "What happened?" she asked her head tilted defiantly.

  Ignoring her question, he moved toward the bed. Her eyes, bruised and dark in her too-white face, stared up at him.

  "Did you hurt William?"

  Reaching out, he traced her delicate bones with gentle fingers.

  "Were you afraid for him?" he asked jealousy searing a fiery path across his chest.

  "I would fear for anyone you were terribly angry with," she admitted.

  "But not for yourself." His exploring fingers reached the buttons of her nightdress. He unfastened the top one. "You aren't afraid of me, are you, Tess? If you were, you would never have made such a scene in public."

  She melted under his touch. It had been such a long time. "No. I'm not afraid of you." She lifted her head proudly. "I love you."

  "You might have thought of that earlier." He slipped the gown from her shoulders, staring hungrily at her body in the moonlight.

  She raised her arms to pull him close to her. "You told me to say what I felt. You said it wouldn't matter." She gasped as his mouth found the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. "You told me I didn't have to change my politics."

  "Holy Christ, Tess," he groaned, pulling off his clothes and sliding into bed beside her. "You can't be that naive. You insulted the Prime Minister of England."

  "He insulted me first." She smiled into the darkness, pressing her lips to his shoulder as he fitted his body to hers.

  "You're supposed to be my wife."

  "But I don't agree with your politics."

  He didn't answer, his eyes intent on her face. "I never knew love could be like this," he murmured, smoothing back her hair. "We're as different as oil and water. Like a moth to your flame, I'm incapable of living too near or too far from your glow."

  She touched his face with shaking hands. "Shall we cry truce, my love?"

 
With arms of steel, he locked her beneath him and without further preliminaries, slid into her.

  Tess forgot the Prime Minister and Lady Bridgewater's ball. She forgot she was an American and her husband a British aristocrat and that Annapolis was an ocean away from London. She forgot that she missed her father and sisters and the lovely tranquil monotony of life on the tidewater. Nothing mattered but the feel of the hard body against hers, the clean soap-like smell that clung to his skin, the warm rush of pleasure evoked by his caressing hands, and the incredible dizzying passion that never failed to claim her.

  Later, while she slept, he watched her. Blue shadows showed under the long lashes. Remorse smote him. He had tried to force her to his will with arctic aloofness. It hadn't worked. There was a steel-like quality, an inner strength in the fragile woman lying beside him. He had hoped to make her admit she needed him. In the end, he couldn't stand their emotional separation any longer. He had come to her.

  Finding her in William Fitzpatrick's arms shocked him. Not for a moment did he believe Tess would be unfaithful to him. He knew her too well, and her rigid stance told him she had not encouraged the embrace. But the sight of another man holding his wife had wiped all sanity from his mind. It had taken the combined efforts of Litton and his mother, who arrived in time to witness the entire scene, to convince him to leave Fitzpatrick unharmed.

  Tess stirred and opened her eyes. The question in them could not be ignored.

  "I'm so sorry, my darling." Devereaux kissed her forehead. "Have you been as miserable as I?"

  "Yes," she said. "I have." Her pale hair covered the pillow, framing her face like a portrait. "Has anything changed?"

  "Only my perspective." He laughed harshly. "I've never been more miserable in my life as I have this past month. Shutting you out isn't the answer."

  "What is?"

  He breathed a deep, shaking breath. "I'll give it up," he said, "all of it. We'll go back to Langley. I'll play the role of a gentleman farmer and put all of my efforts into producing the grandson my mother wants so desperately."

  Tess blushed, but her eyes never wavered from his face. "Can you do it? Give up the world of politics you've been a part of for ten years? Can you disappoint General Wellington?"

  "Yes," he said softly, "but only if you promise to do the same."

  Her eyes were the grey of smoke and filled with love. She reached up, her lips seeking his. "You are my life, James Devereaux," she whispered against his mouth. "There is nothing for me without you."

  Chapter 20

  Leonie Devereaux was relieved that her son and daughter-in-law had settled their differences. Their decision to return to the country alone had her unqualified approval. Because their hasty wedding had been such a private affair, she decided to combine the annual Devereaux ball with a public reception, formally introducing Tess as the new duchess of Langley. She insisted they delay their departure until then. The couple reluctantly agreed.

  Invitations were sent out to the most elite members of the ton, and although the event was scheduled for only one week away, there wasn't a single refusal.

  Leonie was flushed with excitement and nervous tension. The ballroom was cleaned from ceiling to floor. Musicians were hired, flowers ordered and menus planned. Workmen entered and exited the servants' entrance at impossible hours, sawing and hammering until, finally, she pronounced everything perfect.

  The decorations were a well-guarded secret. The day before the ball, she led Tess to the huge double doors closing off the ballroom from the rest of the house. With a sweep of her hand she ushered her inside.

  "What do you think?" she asked, smiling proudly.

  Tess stared at the scene before her, a lump forming in her throat. She couldn't speak.

  Mimosa and honeysuckle filled the room and the air was perfumed with the scent of roses. Tall white columns, thick with bougainvillea, supported graceful arches. A huge wooden porch, painted white, had been constructed against the far wall for the orchestra. The room was a perfect replica of the entrance to Harrington House.

  Her hand rose to her throat. Tess turned toward her mother-in-law, tears stinging her eyelids.

  "This is beautiful," she whispered. "I can't believe it. How could you know exactly what it looks like?"

  Leonie looked surprised. "By listening to you, of course. You've described your home to all of us, countless times. What you didn't say, Georgiana filled in for me." She looked around her. "It really is lovely, isn't it?"

  Tess's sweeping glance took in colors of moss green, purple, crimson, and bright yellow. She looked again at the ceiling, painted a robin's egg blue and dotted with white clouds. A mural of the bay and Annapolis Harbor, covering one wall, was so lifelike she could almost smell the tangy odors of mussels and crayfish.

  She turned to see Leonie anxiously watching her. "Thank you." She smiled. "This is the loveliest gift I've ever received."

  Leonie sighed with relief. "I'm so glad you like it." She reached out to take Tess's hand and hesitated. "It hasn't been easy for you these last few months," she said. "I hope you know that we want you to be happy here."

  Deeply touched, Tess reached up to kiss the older woman's cheek. Leonie's uncharacteristic display of affection dissolved the remaining awkwardness between them.

  "I am happy," she assured her. "And also very lucky to have such a kind and thoughtful family."

  Leonie looked into the shining grey eyes. Her last doubt disappeared. Slipping her arm into Tess's, she led her out of the room.

  "Shall we show the others or keep it a surprise?" she asked, closing the doors behind her.

  Tess tilted her head to one side, giving the matter serious thought.

  "Show them now," she decided, after a lengthy pause. "When the room is filled with people, the full effect won't be the same. I want James to see it as it is, right now."

  "Very well." Leonie answered. "We'll take the others through tonight, after dinner."

  Harmony between the two women was short-lived. The subject of clothing was an area where Tess and her mother-in-law still could not agree. It was the Langley ball that brought their differing philosophies to a head.

  The price of a gown in London was abhorrent to the American girl. Raised by fiscally conservative Nathanial Harrington, Tess understood the value of money. To her, a ball gown worn only once, should not cost as much as the average man earned in a year's time. The clothing she brought from Annapolis was well-made and stylish. Even if she wore a gown not nearly as expensive as one designed in London, her figure and coloring gave everything she wore a special appeal. She also had a much smaller wardrobe than Leonie or Georgiana. Rather than relegate a gown to the back of her closet, she wore it until the fabric was faded or worn through.

  Leonie was appalled that the new duchess of Langley was content to wear inferior garments.

  "You simply must have a new gown," Leonie insisted.

  Tess looked up from the book she was reading to answer her mother-in-law.

  "I'll wear my green satin," she said.

  Leonie looked scandalized. "You can't wear the same gown twice in a row! It is absolutely out of the question."

  She looked at her son, who entered the room at exactly that moment. "Your wife is being extremely unreasonable," she complained. "I've gone to considerable trouble to make this event perfect and she won't listen to reason."

  James looked amused. Seating himself beside Tess, he casually placed his arm across the back of the sofa, his fingers caressing the nape of her neck.

  "Are you being unreasonable, my love?" he teased.

  Tess smiled, trying to ignore the gentle, insistent pressure against her skin. His touch aroused feelings that had no place in Leonie Devereaux's sitting room.

  "I see no reason to incur the expense of a new ball gown," she explained. "It may be years before I'll be able to wear it again and I've bought enough clothes already."

  "Do you have news for us, my dear?" There was an edge of excitement to Leonie
's voice.

  "What do you mean?" Tess looked confused.

  James translated for her. "What Mother wants to know, is whether or not we are expecting a child?"

  Color flamed across Tess's cheeks. "No, I don't think so," she answered, her eyes meeting her husband's. "But soon, perhaps."

  "All the more reason for you to have this gown," argued Leonie. "Who knows how long it will be before you have another like it. Sometimes a second child arrives soon after the first." She looked to her son for help. "What do you think, James?"

  "I think Tess looks beautiful in whatever she wears." He continued to look at the exquisite face beside him. "And, although I can certainly afford to dress my wife in anything she chooses, the decision is hers."

  Leonie lifted her hands, in a gesture of defeat. "Very well," she sighed. "Do what you will. I wash my hands of it. Don't be surprised if the gossips say you are miserly in the treatment of your wife."

  Neither James nor Tess deigned to answer. Her eyes narrowing, Leonie assessed the expression on their faces. Without another word, she tactfully left the room.

  "I thought she would never go away," James murmured, pulling the pins from Tess's bright hair, until it lay like a sheet of spun silver across her shoulders. Cradling her face in his hands, his mouth came down hard on hers.

  Responding to the urgency of his kiss, Tess parted her lips and moaned at the familiar intimacy invading her mouth. Her arms reached up to encircle his neck at the same time his hand reached into her gown, cupping her breast. Heat coursed through her veins. She pulled away, breathing rapidly.

  "It's the middle of the day." Her voice was breathless, her protest halfhearted.

  His eyes were dark with desire. "Didn't I hear you say you hoped to be expecting a child soon?"

  "That was for your mother."

  His lips twitched. "Then, you don't want a child?"

  "No," she stammered. "I mean, yes." Tess pushed him away and stood up, hands on her hips. "You're teasing me," she accused.

  James stood and pulled her into his arms. "Only a little," he said, trailing light kisses from her ear to her shoulder. "You're magnificent when you're angry."