by Dawn Brower
“Yes. It gets worse. The pair of them lay in wait for me last night, ostensibly enjoying a late cordial and discussing their night at the theatre. The outrageous McNamara chit took me aside and told me that she’d heard the rumors about me and didn’t care a snap for them.”
“Well, that’s promising.”
He shuddered. “She said I could be Lord Terror with her, if I so wished, as long as no marks showed afterwards. Or we could find a girl to keep somewhere, as long as, as my wife, she was compensated for her willingness to indulge me.”
“Good God,” Sterne said, horrified. “You cannot marry her.”
“Thus the favor. I’m making a list of everything of value that is not entailed. Perhaps I can put together enough money for that mill idea I told you about.”
Sterne still looked stricken. “I know you didn’t wish to destroy that old forest.”
“I still don’t. But neither do I wish to marry this mercenary in skirts—and no one else is lining up to have me.”
“I am sorry.”
“I’ll replant as I cut,” Tensford said, desperate. “It won’t be forever.” He slumped in his seat. “Just for two hundred years or so.”
Sterne sat quietly for a moment. “Listen, Tensford. I think you need a fresh perspective on your situation. You know I’m staying with my uncle while I’m in Town?”
Tensford frowned. “No. Is your father not in London? What with all the debate over the Corn Laws, I would have thought he’d be in the thick of it.”
“He’s here,” Sterne said flatly. “But as I still have no burning interest in politics, he cannot find any interest at all in me.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s more comfortable for all of us if I stay with my aunt and uncle.” He grinned. “Especially me. And I think you should come over and enjoy an evening with us. How about tomorrow evening?”
He looked over toward the printer’s shop. “Yes. Thank you, it sounds—”
He jumped up. “There’s the messenger. I’ll be there. Tell Lady Hope that I’ll take her driving, first. And tell Mrs. Fitz that I’ll be back for my things.” He bolted for the door, but paused before going through. “Sterne?”
“Yes?”
“Can I borrow your curricle tomorrow?”
His friend laughed. “Yes. And my matched bays as well.”
“Thank you!” Tensford darted across the street, narrowly missed a collision with a speeding hack, and slowed his pace when he neared the printer’s shop.
The messenger boy left the place, whistling.
Tensford passed him by, ducked into a doorway, then started after the boy, several paces behind.
They traveled back to Fleet Street, heading toward the Strand and the West End. The boy was in no hurry, with his mission accomplished. He greeted several people, stopped to speak with a street sweeper and bought a sweet bun from a woman with a cart.
It wasn’t until he’d stuffed in the last of the bun that something set him on alert, or his instincts kicked in. He started to walk faster. At a corner he stopped, looking back and taking note of everyone behind him.
Acting unconcerned and oblivious, Tensford passed him by. But some stray memory of the same sort of moment earlier must have registered. The boy bolted.
Tensford gave chase. He kept up while the boy stuck to the main street, but when he ducked down one alley and then another, Tensford began to lose ground. The urchin knew the back ways, and obviously where all the bolt-holes and short cuts lay. Tensford lost him.
Damnation.
He gave up, finally, and began the long walk back to Ludgate.
Chapter 7
Where is our Lord Tender? The gentleman has scarcely been seen in Society for days. Rumor has it that certain other members of his family have arrived in Town, perhaps that is the reason?
—Whispers from Lady X
The next day the sun shown down on a fine, spring day in Mayfair. Sterne had his rig all ready to go when Tensford arrived.
He let out a long, low whistle. “I’ll say it again, these bays are beauties. Sure you want to loan them to me?”
“I’ve seen you drive to an inch. The bays will be fine. But dare I trust you to the hands of Lady Hope? She seems a resourceful girl.”
“She’s quite a wonderful girl,” he corrected.
When Sterne waited expectantly, he sighed. “With a dowry of two thousand.”
“Ah. I thought you seemed as if you were in something of a quandary.”
Tensford didn’t respond.
Sterne stopped him before he climbed aboard the curricle. “You recall, you’ve promised to return for dinner? My aunt and uncle have got together a little party, and they are expecting you.”
“I’ll be here. Thank you for keeping my kit upstairs for me. And thank you, Sterne, for allowing me to take your rig out just a bit early.”
His friend looked troubled, but he nodded. “I’ll see you tonight.”
It took a while to get through the busy streets. Everyone was out enjoying the sunshine today, it seemed. But he pulled up before Childers & Son near the proper time.
Only a few moments passed before the boy appeared. He was early. He moved quickly and watched the faces on the pavement as he approached. He hadn’t yet looked to the parked rig.
Tensford waited until the lad nearly reached the door. He gave a short whistle and an order. “Do not run.”
The boy froze. He looked over and up—and his eyes widened when he saw the gold sovereign that Tensford held aloft.
“Tell your employer that I wish to talk. I have questions to ask and things to say to her, but I wish her no harm.”
Eyes still on the coin, the boy nodded. Tensford tossed it to him, took up the reins, and pulled away.
Hope watched at the window, praying he would come. She hadn’t seen Tensford in days. She was gambling and she knew it. She just hoped she hadn’t already lost the game.
She gave a little hop of joy when he pulled up before the house. She ran straight from the room, hoping to meet him before her sister-in-law could say anything scathing to him.
She paused on the landing, however, when Catherine came forward from the back of the house. Her brother James and Lord Bardham were with her.
Hope suppressed a groan.
“There are maps in here,” Catherine said, going into the study. “But the area is huge. How could anyone know—”
Her words faded as she went further. Her brother followed her. But Bardham looked upward before he entered—and caught sight of her on the stairs. Closing the door, he stood and waited.
Sighing, she continued down.
“Lady Hope.”
“Lord Bardham.” Her maid trailed down the stairs after her, bringing her bonnet and gloves. Hope took them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going out.”
He stepped closer and the maid fled.
“I am willing to overlook the insult you paid me at the Loxtons’.” His breath smelled sour. “Why don’t we start over again?”
She raised her chin. “Because I will not forgive your ungentlemanly behavior that night, nor the harm you meant to do me.”
“So fine you find the moral high ground, my lady.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “I know your secret. I have need of that money.”
“Oh, I’ve a good idea of your secret too, sir.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Two of the partners in your father’s canal venture are known swindlers.” She nodded toward the study. “Why maps? Looking for details to use to cheat people of their money? Or are you looking for a place to hide after the scheme fails and everyone loses their investment? Everyone but you, that is?”
The purple hue of fury swept over his already reddened features. His grip tightened.
A knock sounded on the door. A footman emerged to answer it.
She snatched her hand away. Lord Tensford stepped into the hall.
“Him? You’re going out with him?” Bardham ground his teeth. “Why?”
She raked him with a scornful l
ook. “Because he is a gentleman. And you, sir, are not.”
“Good afternoon, Lord Tensford,” she called, moving toward him.
“Good afternoon, Lady Hope.” He bowed. Rising, he fixed Bardham with a warning look, then turned to her without acknowledging him. “Thank you for agreeing to take a drive with me,” he said wryly.
She laughed and pulled on her gloves. “Thank you, my lord. Shall we go?”
She went out on his arm without looking back.
“Oh, my,” she said, as they stepped out. “What a dashing rig.”
He grinned. “My wallet may be thin, but I am rich in my friends. Sterne lent me his curricle.”
He helped her up. “You are indeed wealthy in your friends,” she said as he climbed in and took the reins up with skill. “But only because you are rich in character, sir.” She stiffened her spine as they eased out into traffic. “Before we reach the park, I wish to say something.”
His mouth twisted. “My hands are full. I doubt I could stop you.”
“I want you to know I think you a fine gentleman and I enjoy your friendship. It pains me to see you worry. I think you deserve everything good.” She paused. “I offer my apology for the . . . incident at the end of our last adventure. I have no wish to make you uncomfortable in my company.”
His gaze slid sideways. “That was a very fine speech.”
“I meant it.”
“It was a fine kiss, too. I greatly enjoyed it.”
“As did I.”
“Too much,” he said with a sigh, then a great frown. “I don’t wish for either of us to be hurt.”
“No. Nor do I.”
“It’s between us . . . the potential, for hurt.”
“Yes.” He meant heartbreak. But there was also potential for so much more. She was gambling on the more.
“Then let us remain friends.”
“Friends,” she agreed. For now. “As a friend, can I ask you to accompany me to tea after the park? I have someplace special in mind.” She tossed him an arch look. “It’s the next step in my campaign.”
“I should be glad to. If you still mean to find a young lady who would have me, I will tell you, I am in need of alternatives.”
She’d heard his mother had brought a young lady to Town with her. “I think I can provide you with at least one palatable choice.” She crossed her fingers under a fold of her skirt.
He sighed. “It’s find an acceptable girl or learn all I can about timber and milling, for I have no taste for my mother’s plans.”
“Milling?” she asked.
He explained about his idea, and his reluctance to destroy Greystone’s old forests.
She shook her head, impressed. “You do not flinch from hard choices, Lord Tensford. I admire how you handle your difficulties with grace and ingenuity.”
He shrugged. “It’s only necessity—and while you have not shared all of the facts about your parents and your mother’s illness, still, I think you must not be a stranger to stepping in and doing what must be done.”
She flushed a little. It was both uncomfortable and strangely wonderful to be seen. To know that someone had looked past her light comments and noticed the painful truth behind them.
They spoke of other things, then, but not in depth, for they’d reached Hyde Park, where the entire fashionable world appeared to be out on the strut. Time and again, they were stopped for a greeting, a compliment or an invitation.
“You seem to be well on your way to being accepted back into the ton, my lord.”
“Yes, well, the curiosity seekers are due to Lady X. But the cautiously friendly folk are due to you.” He was not wearing his stark and impassive look now. In fact, his gaze looked soft and . . . hot. “Thank you.”
Her face had grown warm, too. The heat was spreading, from the back of her neck, along her arms . . . and heading south to pool in her belly.
“Shall we leave them behind and go to take our tea?”
Her heart started to hammer. “Yes. Please.”
She directed him to Jermyn Street and a bakery called Le Cygne. He wondered what she was up to as he paid a lingering boy to watch the bays. They went inside and sat by the window, where the French Madame who owned the place took their order herself.
The tea was of good quality and the pastries delectable. He ordered gingerbread and sighed in happiness at the first bite.
“A favorite?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Cook always made ginger biscuits in the winter months. I would come in from the cold and follow my nose down to the kitchens. I could stay, if there were ginger biscuits. She’d fix me a plate and a tumbler of cold milk. It was always so warm and cheerful down there.”
Unlike the rest of the house.
“Our cook’s specialty was a currant cake. It was always a grand day when she made them. The smell would drift up and everyone would smile, from my father on down to the chamber maid.”
They enjoyed in silence for a moment.
“What do you eat in your tenant cottage?” she asked, eventually.
He shrugged. “Toasted bread and cheese. Fruit from the orchards. Fish from the river.” He grinned. “Sometimes I am invited to a tenant’s or laborer’s home for dinner. Just like those tea parties of old, the cook at Greystone always gives me a game pie or a pot of stew to take with me.”
“I’ll bet you get a lot of invitations, then,” she said with a laugh.
“More than in Town, for sure.”
He took another bite, savoring it. “It is a good way to stay connected with my people, keep track of their conditions, and be sure that they are fed well, at least for a day.”
Her expression turned solemn. “We are fortunate, all of us who know the comfort of good smells, a warm welcome and a full belly.”
“Very true.” The bloke who married her would know such comforts, and countless more. He wondered who the damned lucky sod would be.
He hated him already.
“Why was Bardham at your home?” he asked suddenly.
“He’s thick with Catherine and her brother. I cannot avoid him entirely.”
“If he bothers you, tell me immediately, and I’ll—” He’d beat the sodding arse to within an inch of his life. And he’d enjoy every minute of it.
“I think Lord Bardham understands the situation.”
“I hope you are right.”
Madame came to their table. “Everything is fine, yes?” She was middle aged, very French and still pretty.
“More than fine. Every bite was delicious.” Tensford reached for his purse.
“Non, non! Lady Hope and her friends are always welcome, and they do not pay here.” She waved him off with a smile.
He looked between the two of them, sure there was a story there.
Lady Hope merely raised her brows at the proprietress.
“Yes, yes.” Madame nodded toward the back. “The doors are unlocked. All is ready.”
“Will you come with me, my lord? I will explain.”
“Ah, the campaign continues?”
“It does.”
She led him to the back. Another woman worked in the kitchen. In one corner she had trays of small, rounded loaves laid out and she stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled wonderful. “Oyster stew today,” she told Lady Hope.
She sniffed appreciatively. “I’m sure it will be well received.” She led on, taking a narrow stair at the back to a sparse bedroom upstairs. A wide door on the far wall looked out of place, until Tensford realized it was a pass door that connected this building to the next.
They went through, to a room set up as a parlor, but with a cot in the corner. Lady Hope went to the window and adjusted the drapes, leaving an opening down the middle.
“Come and look,” she beckoned.
An alley lay below and the back door to the bakery kitchen. The half door had been left open at the top and steam and the smell of the stew drifted out.
“Now, stand back, please. Just a step or t
wo. They will not come if they think they are being watched. Can you still see the back door?”
He nodded, mystified.
“Good. Stay there and watch. We’ll wait. Let me know if you see anyone down there.”
She settled into a nearby chair. “You’ve been scarce these last days, sir. Have you been on the hunt for Lady X?”
“I have.”
She stilled. “Did you find her?”
“Almost. I am very close.”
She pressed her lips together.
“You still disapprove.”
“I’ve been reading back over her sheets. I believe she overreacted to the stories that were going around about you and your family and I wondered why. For the sales? The scandal? Was she trying to say something to the ton without saying it directly?”
“And what did you conclude?”
“Nothing absolute, but I did see a hint of a pattern. She seems to react strongly to any idea of a woman in peril or a girl neglected, or one pushed into marriage by her family.”
It hit him like a bullet, the crux of what she was saying. “You think she reacted strongly to the stories of me neglecting or abusing the women in my family, because she is suffering a similar situation?”
She lifted a shoulder. “How can we know for sure? But I think it is a possibility.”
His mind began to churn out scenarios. Was Lady X writing her scandal sheet for money? For revenge? As a small, secret rebellion?
So many emotions. Empathy. Anger. Frustration. But when he looked at Lady Hope he felt nothing but wonder.
“All these years, she’s been publishing. They all hang on her words. Yet no one noticed? No one thought to look. Until you.”
She was . . . he didn’t even know how to describe it. She was so different, so much more than any other woman he’d even known.
He took a step toward her—but movement in the alley below caught his eye. He turned.
“Someone is below.”
She moved to his side. “Be sure to stay back out of sight.”
A stack of crates sat down there, between their spot and the bakery door. A young girl had crept out from behind it.