by Dawn Brower
He’d had an idea that he was developing with his steward. Much of Greystone Park’s vast acreage was wooded. He could sell the timber. And if he set up his own mill and milled the lumber himself, he’d make an even higher profit. And he could mill for others in the region, as well. It was an expensive undertaking, however. Those giant blades were expensive and Gibbs, his steward, talked of a steam engine to run it—he could only imagine the cost of that.
He really did not wish to denude the ancient forests on his property. But he could not deny his need for cash.
The door opened again and Higgins stepped inside. “Lady Forsham has arrived, my lord.”
His sister pushed her way into the room before Tensford could do anything save grimace.
“Good afternoon, Tensford.”
“Fanny.”
“Oh, good.” Spotting the tray, she seated herself next to it. “Send up a fresh pot, won’t you, Higgins?” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Thank you.”
Tensford sighed as Higgins shut the door with rather more force than was necessary. “Do refrain from ordering my servants about, please, Fanny?”
“Oh, posh! This is my home, too.”
“It was your home, sister dear. You are Forsham’s problem now.”
“Do stop funning, William. I am here on serious business.”
He already knew what sort of business.
“I need a small loan.”
He mouthed the words at the same time as she spoke them.
“Oh, do stop! Why are brothers always so loathsome? I am utterly serious. I don’t need much. Nothing above five or six hundred pounds, I shouldn’t expect. I simply must redecorate the front parlor. It’s still in the Egyptian style, William! Dreadfully out of date and so humiliating!”
Tensford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me explain to you again how this works, Fanny. You are Forsham’s wife. If you wish to redo Forsham’s parlor, then you must use Forsham’s money.”
“He doesn’t have it,” she said bluntly.
“Then how does this qualify as a loan?” he demanded.
“Oh, he’ll have it eventually. He’s due for a turn-around of luck. Even he cannot lose all of the time.”
“Well, there you have it. Redecorate when your husband’s luck turns.”
“Oh, no. He has a long list of creditors panting after him. I cannot wait until he pays them all off.”
“Neither can I.”
“Oh, posh. Mother always managed to find money for me when I needed it. It’s not easy keeping to the forefront of fashion, brother.”
“It’s Mother’s mismanagement of the family money that has put us all in these straits. Don’t quote her mistakes to me.”
She huffed in disapproval, but paused to look over the scones. Choosing one, she eyed him closely, clearly deciding to change tactics. “William, dear, you know you’ll have plenty of money soon enough,” she said in a wheedling tone. “And I must have the parlor done in Indian fashion. It’s about to be all of the rage, I just know it. I have visions, William! Elephants and golden figures of Buddha and palm fronds and brilliant embroidery! Don’t you wish to be sister to the leader of fashion in the ton?”
Plenty of money soon enough. He knew to what she referred. The time-honored tradition of an impoverished peer. She and his mother and aunt were waiting for him to marry for money.
She was still talking, but he’d quit listening. “Fanny,” he interrupted. “If you and Mother and Aunt Camille are so eager for me to marry a fortune, then perhaps you should not have spread the rumors that make it an impossibility! Thanks to the three of you, the women of the ton wish nothing to do with me.”
“I—spread rumors? Mother and I?” She took up her cup and raised her brow over it. “If you must blame someone, blame that meddlesome Lady X. She’s the one who stuck you with that loathsome nickname.”
“Oh, I know exactly who to blame.” All the women in his family and Lady X, too. And now he was expected to sacrifice his future to set it all to rights. He’d be damned if he would.
“In any case,” his sister continued. “There are other women, brother dear.”
“I’ll not be marrying that merchant’s daughter that Mother keeps pushing at me,” he declared. “She sat in the parlor at the dower house, estimated the cost of every stick of furniture and painting on the wall and gave me a rough number of the worth of the furnishings before she’d finished her first cup of tea.”
“No, that one is unacceptable, I agree. But I introduced you to Miss Vouchell. Her father is a banker. She has quite a sizeable dowry and a biddable nature.”
“Are you so sure of that?” He sat back and raised a brow at her. “I’m surprised to hear you push the match, sister. I heard her tell her mama that the first thing she means to do when she marries is to set up a receiving room in the Indian fashion.”
His sister’s teacup clattered into the saucer. “No! The little baggage! She wouldn’t have the faintest notion of Indian decor without my guidance. Well.” She straightened. “We will find you someone.”
The door opened once more. “Mr. Sterne has arrived, my lord,” Higgins intoned.
Tensford stood. “Barrett!” He left his desk to greet his old friend.
“You made it,” Sterne grinned. “I know you said you were coming for the Season, but I didn’t quite believe it. You sounded too utterly happy to be at home last year, with your estate improvements and your fossils. I was afraid you would succumb to their peaceful lure again.”
Sterne was a man of science as well. He had come out to Greystone several times to hunt fossils, although he was not as much as an enthusiast as Tensford. His uncle, however, was one of the foremost experts in the field.
At his jest, Tensford cast a jaundiced eye to his sister. “I begin to wish I had.”
His friend followed his gaze. “Oh, good morning to you, Lady Forsham. I hope you are well.”
“Well enough.” Fanny stood. “And better after Tensford and I settle this small matter.”
“I’m sorry, Fanny.” Tensford shook his head. “There are too many needs at Greystone. I have to rank hungry tenants higher than your elephants.”
“Hmmph.” Fanny’s nose went into the air. “I should have known better than to ask. I told Forsham that this tender business was stuff and nonsense. He doesn’t know you as I do.” She swept toward the door. “Good day, Tensford. And I hope you feel it keenly when you enter some other hostess’s parlor and find tiger skins and embroidered floor cushions.”
“I’m sure I shall.” But not for the reason she expected.
“Elephants?” Sterne asked as the door closed behind her. “Tiger skins?”
Tensford shook his head. “Just another fashion emergency.” But he gazed after his sister. What did she mean when she mentioned this tender business?
“Well, we’ve no time for nonsense,” Sterne said. “Come, and get rigged up. We’re going out.”
“Where?”
“Hadn’t you heard? My uncle is giving a lecture at the Surrey Institution. This afternoon.” He paused dramatically. “He’s displaying some of the pieces from his collection?”
Tensford brightened. “The skull?”
“Of course.”
He’d never seen it in person, the four-foot reptilian skull that had made Mr. John Sterne’s name in naturalist circles. “Let’s go, then.”
In minutes, they were headed out. Sterne’s driver had been walking the horses around Portman Square. They were turning the curved corner now, and the Tensford and Sterne stood talking as they waited on the pavement.
“I know you stayed away last Season because you felt like time and distance would allow the rumors around your name to fade. Have you put it to the test yet, this year?” Sterne asked.
Tensford sighed. “I did. At the Loxton ball, last night.” Shaking his head, he admitted, “But it was all still turned shoulders, disapproving glares and young girls quaking in their shoes at the thought of exch
anging a word with me.”
“I did wonder,” his friend said sympathetically. “There was as much talk when you were gone as when you were here.”
“Spurned on by my female relatives, no doubt. They each love to play the martyr, and constantly try to outdo the others.” Tensford hesitated. “However, there was one young lady, last night . . .”
“Oh?”
“She took the risk to converse with me. Spoke readily and easily. Even before—”
“Oh, watch now.” Sterne stepped back and tipped his hat as a trio of young ladies approached, trailed by their maid.
Tensford moved quickly out of the way, wishing to avoid either glares or shivers, but the oldest, first in line, a pretty girl with large, grey eyes, nodded politely. She met his gaze—and paused.
He tensed, waiting.
But she smiled. Nodded again and dropped a curtsy. “So nice to see you again, Lord Tensford,” she said. “A beautiful day, isn’t it?”
The other two girls bobbed in his direction as well, then they all sailed on, heading for Upper Seymour Street.
Sterne grinned as Tensford stared after them. “Well, perhaps you had the right of it, after all. Might this mean that the tide has turned?”
He stared after the retreating figures. “Damn, but I hope it does.”
The Surrey Institution was crowded. Sterne’s connection with the speaker meant that they had good seats in the lecture hall. A fortunate thing, because even the gallery above was filled with gentlemen—and ladies, too—all eager to hear Mr. Sterne speak.
He was skilled at it. Tensford was not the only one absorbed in his lecture and excited over his displays. When the talk finished, most of the attendees lingered, eager to discuss the scholar’s theories and expand upon their own.
And it quickly became apparent that Barrett Sterne might just perhaps have been correct about the turning tide of public opinion. As they made their way down the aisle, debating fine points with a few others and comparing fossil discovery stories, it appeared that more than one young lady not only didn’t avoid him, but might actually have sought out his opinion.
He exchanged a relief-filled glance with Barrett.
But as they slowly moved toward the exit, his hopes began to fade as it became obvious that the gentlemen were treating him differently as well.
“We thought you might not still be interested in fossils,” Mr. Finch said with a smirk. “Hunting and chipping them free is so difficult and stony fossils are so hard.”
“My interest hasn’t changed,” he replied warily.
“You cannot blame us for wondering.” Finch’s friend Harding elbowed him. “It’s perhaps too much for a man with your tender sensibilities.”
The pair of them snickered and a couple of other gentlemen chuckled along with them.
There was that word again. Tender. A sinking feeling began to make him sweat.
“Don’t listen to these jackanapes.” Lady Hargrove, an older woman with a keen mind and a quick sense of humor, was well known in scientific circles. “I find the whole affair ridiculous, but at least this new label is an improvement over the old.”
“Indeed, the fact that he’s out in public at all today proves that Tensford has a hide tough as leather.” Barrett’s uncle had joined them. He gave Tensford an approving nod. “Proving the gossips wrong, as usual.”
The gossips? “I’m afraid I don’t understand the joke,” he said. And he knew he wasn’t going to like it when he did.
“Oh, dear heavens. The man hasn’t seen it.” Lady Hargrove fanned her face with her notepad.
Anger and the old frustration began to rise. They’d all made their way out of the lecture hall and into the entryway. He blinked in the light. “Seen what?” he demanded.
The older lady snapped her fingers. “Someone find a copy of that dratted paper. He deserves to know what he’s up against.”
“I have a copy.”
Tensford froze as Lady Hope Brightley approached their group, moving against the flow of traffic heading for the door.
“And as the entire debacle is my fault, I’ve come to apologize.” She met his gaze directly. “I went to your home, first, my lord. I’m afraid I convinced your butler to reveal your whereabouts.”
Dread sitting heavy in his gut, he held out his hand.
She gave over a folded newspaper, open to the pertinent page. “I am sorry,” she whispered.
He read it.
Such a small thing. Just a few short sentences to have so much power—the ability to shape a man’s life.
He should be used to it. Used to the frustration and madness of being judged unfairly and found wanting without true cause. But the hope that had begun to grow today made it worse. The thoughts about this girl that had unfurled deep in his heart . . . He looked at her set expression, at the worry in those pretty, dark eyes—and fury erupted in his chest.
It wasn’t her fault. Or his either. But his name was a byword again. More notoriety, but no more money. He glanced over at the sniggering men, watching for his reaction. Any remote chance at finding a girl like . . . He looked at Lady Hope.
Perhaps a wellborn girl or two might look more kindly upon him now, but convincing her family to accept his suit—well, he still had not a snowball’s chance in hell.
He wanted to rage. At these fools around at them, at the fickle Lady X, at the petty, bored ton, at the whole damned world.
He thrust the paper back at her, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he pushed past her and out the door, ignoring the calls, the questions from them all.
Setting out, he jammed his hat on his head. It was a long, damned way home from Southwark. Maybe he’d feel better by the time he got there.
But he doubted it.
Chapter 3
I confess, I am at times bewildered at the antics of the young bucks of our Society . . . Lady X deigns to remind you that there are far worthier activities than making fools of yourself for the sake of a betting book gamble . . . we beg of you -- go forth and find one, gentlemen!
—Whispers from Lady X
Straightening her gloves, Hope gazed across the crowded room. Mr. Jack Alden, young as he was, held a reputation as a noted scholar and a specialist in ancient cultures, but he was developing an interest in the natural sciences after the discovery of two tree-sized fossilized ferns at his family’s Dorsetshire estate. A second son, he was using his brother’s house to throw this party and had invited the scientific set to come and discuss the findings and view his etchings and notes.
Hope knew Tensford had been invited and suspected it would be an impossible evening to resist. She’d wangled an invitation to accompany Miss Nichols—who was invited everywhere—so that she could finally face Tensford and offer a proper apology.
And good heavens, she did owe him one. She hadn’t been in Town when he’d been saddled with that first nickname. She scoffed at it now and would have then, no doubt, but if the hue and cry and attention had been anything like what he suffered now . . . she shuddered.
The young bucks of the ton were having a grand time amusing themselves at his expense.
“Yoo hoo, Lord Tender!” They waved and called and batted their eyes at him whenever he ventured beyond his door.
And the pranks . . . they were endless. One young wit hired a parade of women to knock at his door one day. One after the other, when the door opened, they all thrust a child forward. “The birch rod does no good with this one,” they all proclaimed in one version or another. “P’raps Lord Tender’s ways might reach him and show him how to go on.”
Another bribed a butcher to pull a beef-laden cart to the earl’s door. “Here’s all my toughest cuts of meat,” he bellowed loud enough to be heard all over Portman Square. “Lord Tender, help me out with ’em, won’t you?”
Next a broadsheet had been plastered all over Town, depicting a risqué musical number being performed in a brothel—and being interrupted by the distraught bawd. No, no! she screeched in a
bubble over her head. You are all too coarse for this delicate piece! Somebody fetch Lord Tender! He’ll show ye!
Society’s ladies were not much better. Half of them had declared that this latest was just a ruse on Tensford’s part, to make everyone forget his true, terrible nature. The other half had decided that such acknowledged instances of gallantry showed promise and must be encouraged.
It was a disgrace, the way they all behaved—and it was all Hope’s fault. The very least she could do was apologize.
But then she remembered the magnificent storm in his eyes when he’d read that gossip. And the night that they’d met and his slow, warm smile, the way her pulse had quickened at their banter and how the air between them had come alive . . .
And she knew that she wished to do more than the very least.
She feared it was too late.
But she meant to find out.
Stepping up next to Miss Nichols, she smiled as her friend took her arm. “He’s here somewhere. I’d wager on it,” she said.
Hope grinned. “Let’s hunt him down, then, shall we?”
They found him in the parlor, talking with their host. Miss Nichols patted her hand and went on, but Hope lingered behind a curio cabinet, waiting for the pair’s earnest discussion of rock layers to wind down.
Eventually, Mr. Alden was called away, and when Lord Tensford made to leave, she stepped right out into his path.
He stopped.
She ignored the jolt to her heart at his closeness. “I’m quite persistent,” she warned.
“And determined, if I can correctly read the glint in your eye.”
“I’m afraid so. Your wisest course would be to just allow me to have my say.”
“Very well.” He folded his arms. “Have at it.”
She set her shoulders. “I do most humbly beg your pardon. That night—you saved me. You were most heroic. They tried to disparage you and I defended you. The last bit—about you acting tenderly—it was just a whisper, meant for no one but myself. But it was heard, and just look at the mischief it’s caused you.” She shook her head. “I am truly sorry.”