Love Me, Lord Tender

by Deb Marlowe

  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 exchanging 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.”

  “Forgiven.” He straightened. “I must offer my regrets as well, for stalking off the first time you attempted your handsome apology. I couldn’t trust myself not to vent my anger.”

  “I would have deserved it,” she said humbly, and meaning it.

  “You would not have. Neither of us is to blame in this. It is the beau monde.”

  “They are behaving badly.” She sighed.

  “The young bloods are vainglorious, overeager pups, without a care who is harmed by their fun. The ladies are as bad—empty-headed sheep, willing to follow anyone whistling the latest on-dit.” He shrugged. “I suppose I should thank you, though. At least it’s become fashionable with some of the ladies to encourage my reformation. There are more than a few now, who manage not to drop or run when I draw near.”

  “A small blessing,” she murmured, feeling worse than ever.

  “Not that any of their fathers will entertain an offer from a notorious, pockets-to-let fellow like me. But not to worry,” he said ironically. “My mother and aunt both have bridal candidates they wish me to meet. And that will be my fate, in the end.” The resignation in his tone set her heart to aching. “Some merchant’s daughter or cit’s girl will take me, and I’ll be grateful enough, if it allows me to set things aright at Greystone.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “But not quite yet,” he said, becoming more animated. “First I mean to make the most of this Season.”

  Surely he was too young to have worry lines at the edges of his green eyes? And it was a certainty that she shouldn’t be wishing to smooth them with a finger. “Looking for a girl with wits enough to see what a fine gentleman you are?”

  “Lord, no. There’s no use in wishful thinking. No.” He rubbed his hands together. “I mean to attend all the scientific events to be had, dance with a pretty girl or two, and finally . . .” He lowered his voice to a dramatic baritone. “I will unmask the mysterious Lady X.”

  That startled her. “Unmask Lady X? Do you think that wise?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you may not find what you expect. Who knows why she writes her gossip? Perhaps she has a good reason.”

  “A good reason to interfere with the lives of others? No. She is a shepherdess with an acid pen and she’s put it to use in altering the course of my life. Why should I not return the favor? Perhaps, in the process, I might even shake a few ladies of the ton awake. Who knows? They might even begin to think for themselves.”

  “You don’t think much of women, do you, sir?”

  “And should I? It was my own mother, sister and aunt who started all of this—all because I cut their profligate spending and forced them to tighten their belts like the rest of us at Greystone. One sent her story of my cruelty to her friends, and the other two were not to be outdone. Tales of my harsh, miserly ways and the horrors I subjected them to spread and caught the attention of Lady X. And thus my fate was sealed.”

  “But not all women are so short-sighted.”

  “True. I know more than a few good, kind and worthy women, but none of them are in the peerage. Society ladies are too often silly, shallow and short of both sense and intellect.”

  She took a step back. “I think you forget who you are speaking to, my lord. I am a lady of the peerage.”

  He merely grunted and rolled his eyes. “Well, present company excepted, of course. You don’t think I would include you in such a list of deficiencies?”

  “I think you easily could. You barely know me, after all.”

  “I know enough,” he said gruffly.

  She dipped her head. “I thank you for the compliment.” Lowering her brow, she stared at him.

  “What now? I think perhaps I know you well enough to be nervous at that look.”

  “I am getting an idea.”

  Now he truly looked alarmed.

  “You’re right,” she said baldly. She was happy to see that he was smart enough not to relax. “It is a problem, is it not?”

  He frowned. “Which? I’ve more than enough to choose from.”

  “The marriage mart.” She waved a hand. “The whole process by which the ton contracts a marriage. Titles, money, political power—they are reason enough for some people to marry. Clearly, some are happy to choose using such criteria. But not all of us. Not you, I think, sir.”

  “And not you?”

  “Definitely not me. I have different measures of a man. Is he kind? Responsible? Can he laugh at the absurdities of life? Does he have enough heart to feel the sorrows?”

  He laughed. “Good luck finding such a paragon.”

  “He’s out there,” she said confidently. “There are good men. Just as there are good women in the peerage.” She eyed him with speculation. “I daresay there is even one out there who would have you.”

  “Such a fairytale creature does not exist.” He stopped, suddenly arrested. “Unless you happen to be a fabulously wealthy heiress?”

  Disappointment gripped her, but she forced a laugh. “All the world knows that I am quite an eligible catch, despite my three and twenty years, my lord. I have a good family name and two thousand pounds set aside by my father for a respectable dowry.”

  He sighed in obvious disappointment. “Only two thousand? I need a good deal more to repair the damage my mother has wreaked in her years of stewardship.” He grinned at her. “Couldn’t you wangle more out of your brother?”

  “Ha!” she scoffed. “Catherine has tight hold of those purse strings. And I’ve no more wish to be married for money than you do to be dismissed for lack of it.”

  “I can’t
blame you.” He sighed. “But neither can I help but be disappointed.” He smiled, but the heat in his gaze awoke a similar, slow burn in her belly. “I do think we’d get on well together,” he said, his tone lower.

  She shivered. “I believe there is hope for you yet.” Chin raised, she looked him up and down. “Moreover, I am going to help you find the lady you seek.”

  Now he looked interested in a different way.

  “Yes,” she continued. The idea was firming, growing. “You did me a good turn, my lord. And I am going to return the favor, as you put it.” She put a finger to her chin. “But how to go about it? It cannot be in the usual fashion, an introduction at a ball or Society event. How to show you a young lady’s truly valuable qualities?” She narrowed her gaze, thinking.

  “A scheme,” he said admiringly. “You’re getting one up, aren’t you? I can see the wheels turning.” He tilted his head. “I’ll go along with yours if you go along with mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “To unmask Lady X. Have you forgotten already?”

  “Oh.” Her heart fell. “I don’t know. I don’t think it is a good idea. People could be hurt. You could be one of them.”

  “Fine, then. I won’t ask you to assist in the actual sleuthing. But I may request that you invite me along to a Society event or two that I might not be invited to, on my own.”

  She considered. “Very well.” She extended her hand. “Shall we shake hands to mark the deal?”

  He took her hand and bowing low instead, kissed it.

  It was a very correct kiss, if unexpected. In front of witnesses. On the back of her gloved hand. Of short duration with no excessive lingering. The sort of kiss one would use to say farewell. Completely unremarkable.

  Utterly chaste—and yet not at all. Why else had her heart begun to pound? Her knees to quiver? Why should all the hairs on the back of her neck tingle and stand at attention?

  “We have an agreement,” he said, straightening and raising a brow. “And you may begin by inviting me to escort you to the Westmores’ ball tomorrow evening.”