All Dressed in White EPB

by Michaels, Charis

  The plan was for Joseph to call on her and seek permission from her father for a courtship. Tessa had objected at first, insisting that she be the one to smooth the way with her parents, to make the introductions, to do the talking, but he refused. He would not be managed. He would approach her father formally and ask permission properly.

  As to mutual interest, Tessa was so far and away more interested than ever she planned to be. Joseph Chance was a stranger who answered her friend’s advertisement, and she had long since reconciled herself to the certainty that any stranger elicited by the advert would be terrible. Old, tedious, and petty were three of the better assumptions held for any man solicited by the advertisement.

  Instead, Joseph was clever but not silly, masculine but not arrogant, attentive but not oppressive or clingy. And he was so very handsome. The opposite of old and tedious. Young, golden, tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. He smiled and his eyes wrinkled at the edges. His hand swallowed hers, but not aggressively, not clinging. Gently, carefully. From a crowd of fifty men, even a hundred, she would have chosen him every time.

  Joseph Chance was so superlative, she struggled to trust her good fortune. The advert needed only elicit a man desperate enough to marry her and then detached enough to sail away from her.

  And yet this was the man who came to call? A strong, gentle Adonis who was not intimidated by her vibrant personality and whom she did not want to go?

  As for his attraction to her, Joseph Chance stared at her like she was a pin on the globe, like the world spun around her.

  As if handsome and clever and confident had not been enough.

  When he turned up on Berymede’s front stoop by eleven o’clock the next morning, she thought only this: As if handsome and clever and confident had not been enough.

  From her vantage point on the stairwell landing, Tessa found it difficult to separate gratitude from delight.

  He swept inside, the consummate gentleman, greeting her parents with bows and handshakes. His attire and bearing were as fine as any of them had ever seen, even her mother, who made a study of the finery, and her brother Lucas, whose own meticulous tailoring and grooming was second to none. As promised, Joseph requested time alone with her father.

  The door to the library closed, and Tessa shrank back, counting to ten. She listened, she said a quick prayer, she waited. Nothing. Silence. After five minutes, she slunk away.

  In her room, the maid tried to distract her with various accessories—ribbons for her hair, a broach, a fan—but Tessa refused. She’d worn a pale dress, fawn-colored, with the barest hint of a golden thread. If yesterday’s pink dress had turned Joseph’s head, the gold dress of today was designed to make him unable to look away.

  She’d held her breath while her maid buttoned her up, praying the gown still fit. Her middle thickened a little more each week. If the girl had noticed, she made no comment, thank God. Tessa and her friends had virtually no way to discover what to expect from the early stages of pregnancy. Sabine was an only child, and Willow had only older brothers. No one among their neighbors or families had welcomed a new baby for years. Pointed questions felt risky, like a suspicious level of interest, and so the three friends had simply guessed. Their best calculation put the baby’s arrival in late spring. The sooner Tessa found a husband, the better.

  “Miss St. Croix?” Ten minutes after Joseph’s arrival, the Berymede butler knocked gently on her open door. “Your parents have summoned you to the garden, if you please. They are with the gentleman caller.”

  “The garden?” Tessa repeated. The garden was her mother’s sanctuary, used almost exclusively for family gatherings or entertaining her closet friends. First-time callers were never invited to the garden.

  And yet, Joseph Chance had been. He was seated beside her father and across from her mother in the autumn sunshine. He rose smoothly when he saw her.

  “Miss St. Croix,” he said. His smile was mild, but he shot her a knowing look. She felt a somersault in her chest.

  “Mr. Chance,” she said.

  Her mother would expect Tessa to be poised and aloof, a little unattainable. But she struggled not to stare.

  If she’d found him handsome the day before, with dusty hat, rumpled hair, and wrinkled suit, today he really did look like a prince from a book. He wore snug-fitting buckskins and a blue coat of the finest wool. The pattern on his waistcoat brought out the blue in his eyes; his cravat looked as if it had been sculpted in marble.

  Tessa blinked, recovered, and then smiled demurely. It was no secret how he’d earned his mother’s invitation to the garden. Appearances meant everything to Isobel St. Croix, and Joseph Chance’s appearance said two things: I matter, and You want me.

  Yes, Tessa thought, I do want you.

  “Ah, yes, here she is now,” her father called. “Tessa, you’ve finally stumbled upon a young man with some actual mettle and ambition. It’s about time, I daresay.” To Joseph he said, “No father should suffer the procession of worthless dandies who have paraded through my house.”

  Tessa blushed. Had it really been a procession?

  Her father asked her, “I understand you are in the acquaintance of this gentleman?”

  “Indeed, I am, Papa,” she said, leaning down to kiss her mother’s proffered cheek. “We met yesterday. In the village. He has business with Lady Willow’s family.”

  Joseph nodded smoothly, endorsing the fiction. Her first earnest lie, and she’d made him complicit. She told herself it was for the baby. Everything was for the baby.

  “I do value fine horseflesh,” Joseph improvised, “but my primary business is importation of goods to England from around the world. This is the partnership I mentioned earlier. My associates and I are working on a new venture—in Barbadoes, no less—about which I am very hopeful.”

  “The devil you say?” said Tessa’s father. “But did Tessa’s brothers tell you that we are shareholders in the West India Docks in London? I sit on the board, in fact. We see vessels from Barbadoes every week. But will you reveal the details of your venture?”

  And then they were off, discussing ships and levies and imports. Joseph spoke confidently, his experience and intellect plainly clear, while her father asked pointed questions and nodded along. When her mother asked about imported silks, Joseph recited the names of fabrics and dyes and sellers from the Orient and then guessed at the source of the silk of Isobel St. Croix’s morning dress. While Tessa’s mother enthused her delight, Tessa smiled down into her cooling cup of tea.

  You will never tell him.

  The thought, previously hovering somewhere in the back of Tessa’s consciousness, now loomed fully formed in the front of her mind. The second lie.

  Or was it less of a lie, and more an . . . omission?

  For the baby.

  He came, she reminded herself. And Maman and Papa like him, and I like him. If he will consent to marry me, I will give my body to him, and there is no reason to tell him that the baby does not belong to him.

  She repeated again, You will never tell him. Her palms began to itch, but she ignored them. Never, not ever.

  She could do this. She would do it.

  “But would you two like to take a turn around the garden?” her mother trilled. Tessa looked up, nearly spilling her tea.

  “A turn?” she asked.

  Her mother narrowed her eyes. It was neither charming nor blithe to repeat questions like a parrot, and she knew better. From the earliest age, her mother had taught her the art of sparkling conversation, and Tessa was expected to use it. So very much had been expected of Tessa. So much.

  “That is, I should be delighted,” she corrected. “If Mr. Chance is so inclined?”

  “It would be a pleasure,” said Joseph. He rose and affected a small bow. While her parents smiled on, he collected her from her chair and asked her to choose a pathway. The Berymede gardens were a web of walks and hedges, the envy of the county. Tessa chose a winding path secluded by a wall of junipers, a
nd they walked in silence until they were a safe distance on.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said finally. She slid her hand to his and scooped it up. “Truly.”

  He looked down at their joined hands and then up at her. “I hope there was no doubt,” he said.

  She shook her head. He was steadfast, she’d seen that immediately. She’d known he would come. She thought about telling him how much his steadiness impressed her, but it was imprudent to gush. She must not do anything too much or too little. She must do everything exactly right.

  She said, “Does it shock you that you answered an advert from a strange girl and yet we . . . seem to get on so well?”

  “Define shock,” he teased.

  “Oh, you know . . . speechless, wide-eyed, frozen. Shocked.” She lifted her eyes from the path to his profile. She wanted desperately to stare openly, to take inventory of each detail on his face.

  “If I am those things, it is my reaction to you—not the random luck of a random advert.”

  Another somersault in her chest.

  “I am keenly susceptible to beautiful, charming women,” he said, “and you, Miss St. Croix, may just be the most beautiful and most charming girl I have ever had the unearned fortune of meeting. If anything, I am surprised that a girl as lovely as you should be forced to advertise for a husband.” He looked down at her with raised eyebrows. He waited.

  Tessa nodded quickly. She and her friends had expected this. Her friends, however, assumed she would simply tell him the truth. He would receive her £15,000 dowry in exchange for accepting her pregnancy. It was meant to be a fair and open trade. She and Joseph would part ways after the wedding and rarely, if ever, see each other again. This had been the arrangement struck by her friends and their convenient grooms.

  But her friends had not been paired with Joseph Chance.

  Joseph had the potential to be so much more than one half of an open trade; he had the potential to be a real husband. In every way. She wasn’t prepared to put that unbelievably lucky potential at risk, and talk of a baby could only scare him away. It had scared away Captain Marking. If her parents knew, it would horrify them—they would disown her. How much more ruthless would a near-stranger be?

  “Oh, that,” she said. “Well, my friends are determined to move to London, you see; and I cannot bear to be left behind. My parents would never allow me to go alone. The three of us have been planning to make our lives in London together since we were girls. And now Willow has the opportunity for an apprenticeship and Sabine must escape her terrible uncle, so they will go for certain. I cannot be abandoned in the countryside while they . . . while they have all the fun.”

  He considered this silently, and she added, “My family is lovely, but they stifle me. With four older brothers, I shall always be viewed as a child. I’ve waited many years for an opportunity to be an adult person with a life beyond Surrey. Even so, the advert was . . . sort of . . . a lark for me honestly. And then you came along . . .”

  There, she thought. I’ve said it.

  And none of it was a lie, not really. If it was, it would be her third. Three lies. Tessa shut out the growing number.

  Joseph continued to study her and she pressed, “So we are in . . . agreement?”

  “In agreement . . .” he repeated. “Is that what we shall term our . . . ?”

  He smiled in a way that caused Tessa’s insides to expand and resettle. She wanted to laugh and tease, to draw the moment out. She wanted a real courtship that allowed them to become truly acquainted. She wanted to fall in love. But her future was at stake, the future of her child. She stayed the course. She wanted to hear him say it.

  “Our arrangement?” she provided. “My dowry goes to your venture. And your, er, proposal comes in exchange?”

  He stopped walking and looked down at her.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Miss St. Croix,” he began. “May I call you Tessa?”

  “Absolutely,” she blurted. She cleared her throat. “That is, yes, please.”

  “Tessa,” he repeated. “If I’m being truthful, I sought you out yesterday also on a lark . . .”

  Tessa sighed. “Yes, we placed the advert on a lark, you answered on a lark, you sought me out on a lark. It’s all a great lark—”

  “Until it’s no lark at all,” he cut in. Tessa held her breath.

  He said, “That is, until I saw you. From that moment, I’ve scarcely been able to believe my incredibly good fortune. Was it a lark or was it . . . fate?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. “I’ve not stopped thinking of you since the moment we parted in the village,” he said. “I am beguiled and dazzled by you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Does it alarm you to hear me say this?”

  Slowly, as if in a daze, Tessa shook her head.

  He continued, “Unless I am sorely mistaken, unless I cannot trust my unerring instincts—which are always right, by the way—yes, we are in agreement.”

  Tessa closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks.

  “Should I take your closed eyes and tense expression to mean that you are quietly reconciling yourself to me?” he teased.

  She laughed and blinked up at him. “No, no. Take them to mean that you have made me very happy.”

  He nodded and turned again down the path, leading her along. The silence was charged with a playful, uncertain anticipation. Tessa cleared her throat and said, “Were you aware that practically no one outside the family is invited to my mother’s garden for tea? No one. Clearly my parents are impressed.”

  “Is that so?” he said and whistled. “Honestly, I cannot believe I was admitted to the front door. Your home is lovely, by the way.”

  Tessa glanced at the green, stately beauty of her mother’s gardens. She’d never cared less about Berymede. “Thank you,” she said, and she snuggled more tightly to him.

  Joseph licked his lips. “I’m in trouble.”

  “Why?” A shy smile.

  “The expression on your face.”

  “And what expression is that?”

  He hesitated for a moment, and then he leaned in, so close Tessa could smell the musky scent of his soap. He whispered, “The suggestion that you would like to see more of me than my face.”

  Tessa knew she should gasp, she should go rigid or pull away. Instead, she swayed closer. Her face hovered just inches from his; she looked up from beneath lowered lashes.

  “Perhaps I do,” she whispered.

  He swore then, a soft frustrated oath, and then swiped his lips across her mouth. Once, twice.

  Tessa closed her eyes, allowing the feeling of what she wanted and what she needed to intertwine and wrap around her. She felt safe for the first time since the tree. Perhaps she had never felt so safe.

  A bird called in the distance, and Joseph cleared his throat. He swore again. Before she had even opened her eyes, he was tugging her down the path.

  “Miss St. Croix,” he began.

  “Tessa,” she corrected.

  “Tessa. There is one essential thing that I did not fully explain to your parents, but I will. First, I should like you to know.”

  Oh, let us not reveal bald truths, Tessa thought, but she nodded.

  “It was my intention to present myself as a gentleman today. To dress and speak like an educated man of means and breeding.”

  Tessa nodded again. No description could be more accurate.

  He went on, “In many ways—my house in London, my carriage, other trappings of dress and comportment—these all suggest that I am, indeed, a gentleman. But be aware . . .” and now he stopped walking and looked down at her “. . . that none of these are inherited possessions. They have been earned. By me. By my own hands—hard work, wits, and ambition.”

  He paused, watching for some reaction. Tessa was confused. She shook her head.

  He went on, “In fact I have very little family to speak of, and my start in life was very humble. Please . . .” he faltered again “. . . be awar
e. I alluded to your father that I was a self-made man, but I did not tell him just how far I have made myself.”

  “How far is that?” And now she was really intrigued—but also worried. Her parents would struggle with the notion of humble.

  He stared out at the field beyond the garden. “I began life as a servant, Tessa.” He looked back, his blue eyes fast on hers. “I was . . . a serving boy, a footman, a groom, and valet all rolled into one. I served a man who would become an earl. My mother had been a lady’s maid to this man’s mother.”

  “A servant,” Tessa repeated.

  She was endeavoring to arrange her own marriage to a former servant.

  My parents will never consent if they know, she thought.

  If they know.

  The heap of half truths continued to grow. Three? Four? Tessa felt herself begin to sweat. She looked again at the smooth wool of his jacket, the fine leather of his boots. His face was like that of an angel. He was as handsome as any man she’d ever met, and yet now she noticed a handful of marked distinctions. The strength of his build—the physicality in his movements, powerful and deliberate. There was no loll or lazy graze to his touch. When he brought her hand to his arm, he took it firmly, placed it securely. When he walked, he strode. When he looked, he stared.

  He was not a blithe observer of life, he was an achiever. He came across as capable most of all, and she was shocked by how much this thrilled her.

  It would not, however, thrill her parents.

  “Are you alarmed?” he asked. “Does it put you off?”

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice. “No. Not put off. I am impressed.” This was the truth, she was impressed. But her parents? Dear God.

  She said, “But how did you . . . ?”

  “How did I come up in the world? The story is not so riveting, I’m afraid. The earl for whom I worked saw some potential in me beyond servitude and hired tutors to educate me.”

  “Of course he did,” she laughed. “What else would an earl do when faced with such potential?”