by Deb Marlowe
“I’ll have to clean and trim it. Perhaps build a frame,” Tensford mused.
Glory stopped next to a table that held small blades, picks and brushes. Gritty dust covered them, most surfaces and the floor. “You’ve done it at last, Tensford. I’m so happy for you.”
“Oh, no. You’ve done it. You and Kes and Miss Munroe. I’ll make sure that you all get full credit for it.”
“At least something good has come from this cursed leg,” she said with a sigh, moving slowly around the workshop, examining his displays.
He watched her with sympathy. “Hope has told me that the gentlemen seem to be . . . overlooking you.” Reaching out, he gripped her hand with his dirty, dusty one—and she didn’t mind in the least. “It won’t always be that way, Glory. Trust me. You know how it was with me. No young woman wanted to come near Lord Terror—and then they laughed behind their fans at Lord Tender. I thought I would carry my burdens alone, forever. For a while, I feared I would have to marry and yet would still find myself alone—you know what I mean.” He smiled. “And then your sister and I both went after the last lobster patty at the buffet at the Loxton ball—and nothing has ever been the same.”
“Thank heavens for that lone lobster patty,” she said with a laugh.
“I give thanks for it every day. And it will be that way with you, with someone, someday. I know it.”
“The house party hasn’t been a complete loss,” she said carefully. “Some of the guests are perfectly nice—and they will be familiar faces in London if we attend the Season next year.”
“If? Your sister has given me to understand that there is very little choice in the matter.”
Glory sighed. “I know. She’s already begun bullying me about it, as well.” She bent over and ran a finger along the curve of an ammonite. Watching from the corner of her eye, she said, “It has been pleasant getting to know Lord Keswick as well. It will be nice to have a real friend in Town.”
Tensford stilled a moment, and then went on with his work.
“You’ve been close with him a long time, I understand,” she ventured.
“Yes.”
“Tensford, I have . . . questions.”
With a sigh, he set down his tools. “Glory, you need to be careful. No, you need to just put whatever thoughts you are having about Kes right out of your mind. I’m telling you this because I care for both of you, and because I know him.” He gave her a frank look. “I have loyalty to both of you, my dear, but I’ve known Kes far longer.”
“I understand. And I promise, I’m not going to pry into his deepest, darkest secrets.”
“Good.”
She moved on to the next cabinet, thinking about how to approach this. “Tensford, can you at least tell me why Keswick doesn’t keep his own horses?”
Her brother-in-law shrugged. “He spends most of his time in Town.”
“Other peers keep mounts in London. Hope keeps telling me I can ride in Hyde Park and there might be riding excursions to Richmond or elsewhere. Miss Munroe said her father takes his mount because it helps him get through all the traffic in quicker fashion.”
“Yes, well, the squire must have a house with a mews, as we do. Kes lives in bachelor rooms. Maybe he just doesn’t care for the expense of boarding horseflesh in London.”
“Maybe. He rides well. He cares for the chestnut you’ve loaned him. You know what I mean—he checks him for soundness and takes care of his hooves, he brushes him out himself and gives him little treats. He acts like a man who loves horses, not someone who has never had a mount of his own.”
“He’s definitely had a mount of his own. At least once. A sorrel chestnut that he loved.” Tensford paused in his work. “When we were just boys, I recall him saying he saved up his money and bought the animal himself. He called her Saoirse, because it means freedom in Irish, or something like that.” He grinned at her. “Kes is a bruising rider, you know. Perhaps not up to your standard, but very fine. He loved that horse. Our first year in school, he talked about her all the time. Couldn’t wait to get back to her on holiday.” Straightening, he frowned.
“What is it?”
“I never realized, never thought of it . . . but Kes didn’t talk about Saoirse after that first summer holiday. I do know he never went home again, either. He stayed in Windsor over holidays, or sometimes he went home with one of us.”
She cleared her throat. “When I asked him, he said that he loves horses—and that is why he doesn’t keep them.”
Tensford said nothing.
“What do you think happened?”
“I couldn’t say, with any certainty.” He sighed. “I love Kes like a brother, but there are things he keeps to himself. He has . . . moods, occasionally. And sometimes he goes off and no one sees him for a few weeks at a time.”
Her brother in law set down his blade. He left his fossil and went to look out of the open door. Glory held her silence. Tensford looked out over the stable yard for several long minutes, then turned back to regard her with solemnity, his lips pursed. “Glory, I’m going to tell you something I likely should not.”
She nodded and sank down onto a stool.
“I just want you to understand . . . and not to get any of the wrong sort of ideas. And I want you to promise not to share the tale, or tell anyone I’ve told it to you.”
“I promise.”
Tensford heaved a sigh and sat back down at his worktable, his fingers moving idly over his prize. “In our third year, a set of vile rumors spread about school.”
“About Keswick?”
“Yes. They seemed almost . . . designed . . . to goad us, his closest friends, into despising him. To break our confidence in him.” His gaze looked beyond her, as if into the past. “Even as young as we were, we felt the wrongness of it. Not one of us believed the lies. We stuck by him. And we worked together to track down the whoreson who was spilling such filth.”
“Who was it?”
“A young man none of us knew, not beyond sight. He was in the year ahead of us. We beat the truth out of him, but still, all he could reveal was that he’d been paid to do it—and told exactly what to say.” Tensford shook his head. “The whole incident eventually blew over, but now, looking back as an adult . . .”
He blinked and looked at her, his expression still shadowed. “The next year, our last year, we returned from summer holiday as usual. Kes had spent the time with Chester, I believe, and they showed up in the house just as the rest of us did. But Kes was called in to the headmaster. One of the Fellows was there as well. They informed him that he was no longer enrolled. His father had declined to pay the tuition for his last year.”
“What? Why?”
Tensford shrugged. “Back at the house, there was a letter waiting. It informed him he could transfer to another school—one we’d never even heard of—or he could leave school altogether and come home.”
“Which did he choose?”
“Neither. We all pooled our resources. We used allowances, called in debts and begged or borrowed everything we could. We paid for his last two halves ourselves.”
Both hands covered her mouth. “How wonderful you all were. How kind. And how lucky Keswick is to have you all.”
He hunched a shoulder. “You know how it was with me. You can imagine I did not have much to give, but my sister had only just married. I borrowed a sum from her new husband to contribute.”
She knew how hard it must have been for him—and how much Keswick must have meant to him for him to even consider such a thing.
“Kes paid us all back, of course, as soon as he was able.” He sighed. “There was no reason for it. Nothing financial. No family trouble. No reason at all, that we could discern. It seemed like such random cruelty. We couldn’t let it stand.”
“Of course not.”
“And as you can imagine, we all grew that much closer. Our bond has only tightened and it still stands to this day, but . . . Kes does not trust easily.”
Suddenly
Keswick’s words were ringing in her head. “He told me that he had no more room for constants in his life.”
“Then you should believe him,” Tensford said earnestly. “Be kind to him. He deserves that much. Treat him well, if only for my sake. But don’t make the mistake of expecting anything . . . substantial from him. He won’t allow himself to give it to you. You’ll only be disappointed.” He gave her a sad smile. “I wouldn’t see you hurt, Glory.”
She wouldn’t care for it either. “Thank you, Tensford. I’ll keep your confidence, you may rely upon it. And you have given me much to think upon.”
She left the workshop behind and made her slow way back to the house. Entering through the servant’s entrance, she passed by the merry-making and headed to her rooms for a good, long brood.
Chapter 11
The next day, tables and chairs had been set up in the shade of the house for the afternoon, right near the croquet course and the netting that Glory had helped set up days earlier. Pretty canopies provided shade and groupings for an afternoon outdoors.
She’d come upon the party after her ride, and joined them, still in her riding habit. She sat with Hope and Miss Myland as the guests enjoyed a light nuncheon, finished off with a wonderful confection of blackberries and syllabub. The elderly lady finished off two helpings of the sweet, slightly alcoholic dessert, then promptly began to doze. Hope was called away—and that left Glory alone.
A game of croquet was currently in play. Glory got up and went to fetch a mallet. She returned with it to her chair and turned her seat to face the field. Croquet was a game she enjoyed and could easily participate in. She could maneuver through the course at her own pace and the entire field here was level. Past the last stake, an incline began. It grew steeper and dropped down over a hill. There was a staircase there, and the netting for battledore had been set up in the pretty, green spot at the bottom, but there should be no need for her to go so far.
Just a few feet away, Mr. Lycett stood with Miss Ruddock. They watched the play, talking low together. Both held mallets as well, and they were clearly waiting for their turn to play.
“Those two saw you take a mallet. They know you wish to play, but they’ll leave you out of it, if they can.”
Glory stiffened. Turning, she found Miss Myland still slumped back in her chair with her hands folded in front of her, but her eyes were narrowly open and watching Glory. “Don’t let them push you out,” she admonished.
“Oh, surely they will not—”
“They will.” The elderly lady’s tone held utter certainty. “The girl’s mother slipped back to the house for something. The pair of them will be trying to get alone out there on the course. Don’t let them exclude you, girl. It will start to become a habit. You need to nip it in the bud, right from the start.”
“I cannot be rude,” she objected. “They are my sister’s guests—”
“That’s right! They are your sister’s guests, and not yours, so you’ve no responsibility and no need to coddle them.” Miss Myland pushed herself up straight and leaned toward Glory, speaking in earnest. “I’ve been watching you, girl, and I speak to you now with the voice of experience. You need to step out more, stop letting them turn away from you, stop fading willingly into the background. Get out there into the light and claim your due.”
Glory couldn’t ever recall seeing the older woman quite so . . . awake. She was intrigued, and a little embarrassed. “How do I know what is my due?” she whispered.
“Bah!” Miss Myland scoffed. “If you see it, and you want it, step out and chase it. Get yourself into that croquet match. It’s the first step. You’ll need a partner. Find that blue-eyed viscount with the jaw like a game trap and that fine, Roman nose.”
Glory blinked.
“I always did like a fine nose,” the older lady said with a sigh. She pointed a finger straight at Glory’s chest. “I’ve seen you looking at the man—and guess what, girl? He looks the same way back at you, whenever he thinks you cannot see. You stop hiding in the shadows and snatch him up. If you don’t, before you know it, you’ll be a drudge in your sister-in-law’s household, fetching and carrying, and taking on every unpleasant task. Your only moment to yourself will be when she takes a tray in her room at meals because she cannot abide to hear anyone chew.”
“Oh, dear, is that why she’s insisting on eating in her rooms at every meal?”
“Never mind!” Miss Myland waved a hand in the air. “It’s only her latest fancy. She’ll leave it behind and find another, soon enough.” She sighed. “I look forward to the day she stops insisting she needs me to sleep near her, in case she needs something in the night. If I must endure such a crescendo of snoring, I’d much rather it come from a husband.” She wiggled her fingers. “It’s too late for me, but not for you. So, quit dallying. If you like that lantern-jawed viscount, then make him yours.”
“I’m not so sure he wishes to be mine,” she admitted.
“Ha! There’s scarcely a man alive who knows what he wants or needs. You decide for yourself, and grab him if you think he’ll suit you. He’ll be damned lucky to have you, if you do.”
“Thank you.” Who would have thought the older woman would be a font of good advice? But Miss Myland was right. She’d pointed out the real question. What did she want? It was time to admit, she’d been lying, just a little. To both Keswick and herself. Yes, she did despise the idea of being left out of the physical side of love—especially after everything they’d done to each other yesterday. She blushed just thinking of it, of the joy and heat of his kiss, of the spark that had blazed through her when he touched her bare breast . . .
She shook her head and reined in her wayward thoughts. Yes, he was the best—the only—candidate she could contemplate asking to teach her such things, outside the bonds of marriage. But also, yes, she had been secretly hoping it would all lead to more.
But now? Now, she had doubts. Tensford had planted them, but Keswick had laid down enough fertile soil for them to grow. He said he was empty. She knew it for nonsense. But something made him retreat from her. He definitely bore unseen, unexplained scars. She might never understand them. But the real question was—would they allow him to feel a real, abiding connection? And if so, would he allow himself to acknowledge it?
Which Keswick was the real man? The distant, cynical rake, fond of gambling and dissipation, low places and women? Or the man who easily looked past her most prominent flaw—and most of her other weaknesses, too? Who told her the truth and treated her with kindness? The same man who leased a farm, ostensibly to enrich his pocketbook, but also to enrich a young couple’s life?
She didn’t know, but she had to find out. She couldn’t make a decision that would affect the rest of her life until she knew.
“Well, girl, here comes your chance to knock two birds with one stone.”
Miss Myland hitched her chin in the other direction and Glory turned to see Tensford and Keswick come around the corner of the house. They were talking and they kept to the path instead of venturing out onto the grass where the party was gathered.
“I doubt he’ll stop. Tensford is busy and Keswick is avoiding me.”
Miss Myland laughed. “Good, that just means you’ve got to him. And we’ll see what we can do about it.” She sat straight up and raised a hand. “I say, Lord Tensford!” she called. “Come over here, lad!”
Tensford looked over and she beckoned imperiously. The earl nodded and started to move toward them. As he was talking to Keswick, the viscount had no choice but to follow.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Tensford bowed. “I hope you are enjoying your luncheon al fresco.”
“Yes, yes. The day is perfect for it and the syllabub is divine. You might tell your countess to use a bit more wine in the receipt, but perhaps that is just my taste. She is a credit to you, my boy. But I do wish to discuss your aunt with you, and there is no time like the present—while the old girl is still inside.”
Tensford glanced
at Keswick. “Oh, well, I—”
“Come, come! I know you just want to scurry off and muck about with your great, stone fish, but this is important.” She glanced at Keswick. “You sir! You may make yourself useful in the meantime. Lady Glory needs a partner if she is to join the croquet match those two are starting up.”
The first game had finished at last. Miss Ruddock and Mr. Lycett were collecting balls from the players.
Keswick looked startled. “Oh, I had planned—”
“Go on, sir. Take the girl over there before she’s left out again.”
Keswick’s expression tightened.
Coming to a decision, Glory stood. She needed to learn more, to get a deeper measure of the man without forcing him to run off or to reject her completely. “Thank you, Keswick. I was hoping to play. With only four of us paired off, the game should go quickly.” She listed off balance, just a bit, but it was nothing to do with her leg and everything to do with how close he stood and how the smell of bay was taking her back to that wooded path.
Swallowing, she gave him an even, slight smile. “The mallets are here.” She led the way, grateful that she still wore her habit. The color suited her and gave her confidence, even as the heavier fabric did the best job of hiding her limp.
It was a chance. They would be apart from most of the others, but still on display. Paired off with their opponents, but perhaps with a few moments alone. Squaring her shoulders, she vowed to take Miss Myland’s advice and work to get what she wanted—as soon as she decided just what that was.
* * *
Keswick gave his friend a look of resignation and followed Glory. He’d successfully avoided her for just over twenty-four hours—which was likely the limit for an event like this one.
He didn’t know how to act. He’d never dallied with an innocent before—and he was beginning to see the wisdom of it. She looked so vibrant in her stylish habit, so proper and sweet, as if she’d just been pushed out of the finishing school door. But yesterday he’d held her against a tree and kissed her until they were both nearly senseless. He’d pinched her nipple and made her gasp. He’d pressed his erection into her hand. And now he was supposed to walk tamely beside her and play croquet? When all he wanted to do was grab her up, lay her out on the grass and nip and lick and rip and plunge until they both cried out in completion?
