by Diane Gaston
‘Good afternoon, miss.’ The girl, a pert, curly-haired blonde, curtsied. ‘I’m Nancy Peters. What would you like to know about me? I would so like to be a lady’s maid, if you find me to your likin’.’
The girl was bright-eyed and fresh-faced and so very eager.
‘Do you want to go to London, Miss Peters?’ Tess asked.
The girl pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘It is Nancy, miss. I am not old enough to be Miss Peters. Sounds like you are speaking of my aunt. She’s old. Thirty, I think.’ She took a breath. ‘But you want to know if I want to go to London?’ Her eyes grew huge. ‘My dream is to go to London!’ Her expression changed again. ‘But do you not want to know if I know how to care for your clothing? And to dress your hair?’
Tess almost smiled. ‘Do you know those things?’
Nancy looked earnest. ‘I have been sewing clothes for as long as I can remember. I know how to care for cloth.’ She frowned. ‘I know a little about hair, but I can learn. Surely I will learn much in London just by looking at the ladies. I have good references and I’m an honest girl, I promise.’
Nancy made it feel as if spring had come early. She was so fresh. So happy.
‘I believe you will do very nicely, Nancy.’
She jumped up and down. ‘Oh, thank you, miss! Thank you! I—I must tell my mother and pack. But may I do something for you now?’
‘Nothing now. Take your time.’
The young girl curtsied, grinned and danced out of the room.
Mr Glenville knocked and poked his head in. He’d been standing outside the room. ‘Will she do?’
‘Yes,’ Tess said. ‘Thank you, Mr Glenville.’
He walked towards her. ‘It is Marc, miss,’ he said, mimicking the new maid’s voice. ‘I’m not old enough to be Mr Glenville.’
‘Marc.’ She smiled, but her smile fled. ‘I suppose it is acceptable to use given names since we are betrothed.’ She looked up at him. ‘I am Tess.’
‘Tess,’ he repeated in a low voice. ‘I believe I’ve found a coach for hire that should be available tomorrow. We can proceed then.’
She met his gaze again. ‘I feel as if you have rescued me again.’ A third time, really. Was his offer of marriage not another rescue? He could have ridden away and forgotten her. ‘Nancy is as delightful as Ivers was unpleasant.’
‘I dislike being under someone else’s thumb,’ he said in a low voice. ‘And I’d be a fool if I let that thumb’s lackey spy on me.’
He was correct, of course. She’d not thought of it before, but obviously Ivers was supposed to report on her.
Glenville walked back to the doorway, but turned and faced her again. ‘Shall I have your dinner sent up to this room?’
Did he not wish to dine with her? She felt disappointed.
But she would not show him. ‘Very well.’
* * *
The next two days on the road were much more pleasant for Tess with Nancy as a companion, but Marc spent little time with her. She rode with Nancy, ate with her, shared rooms with her at the inns where they stopped for the night. Nancy was so open and curious and eager to please that Tess was tempted to tell her everything about her family, her sisters and how it came about that she was going to marry. She missed her sisters so desperately. Confiding in someone would ease the loneliness, but it would not be fair to burden a servant with her trials. She told Nancy only that her betrothal had been sudden and that Marc’s parents knew nothing of it. To the village girl it sounded all romantic and exciting.
It was exciting, Tess could not disagree, but obviously romance was not a part of it.
* * *
The morning of the third day, Marc appeared when Tess and Nancy entered the public room for breakfast.
He smiled at her. ‘Good morning, Tess.’
Her heart skipped a beat. When had her heart skipped beats? With Mr Welton, perhaps, but that seemed an eon ago.
‘Good morning.’ She lowered her lashes.
He turned to Nancy. ‘Nancy, I would like to dine with Miss Summerfield alone. Would you mind?’
Imagine him asking a maid.
Nancy curtsied. ‘Not at all, Mr Glenville.’ She grinned. ‘Do not worry over me. I’ll take care of myself.’ She entered the room and took a seat at one of the tables.
Tess glanced at Marc. ‘May we keep her in view? I do not like to leave her alone.’
‘Indeed,’ he responded.
He led her to a table nearby the maid.
Why did Tess feel so breathless? As if she’d run down the stairs to this room?
A tavern maid arrived and they ordered their food.
From across the table he gazed at her with his startling blue eyes. ‘I expect we will reach London today.’ His demeanour was serious. ‘I should tell you what to expect.’
Her eyes widened. She’d worried about what would happen when they reached London. Would he leave her alone someplace, like in a hotel for ladies? Would she be alone in a city she knew only from magazines and books?
‘I plan to take you to my parents’ house.’
Tess released a relieved breath.
This plan appeared to make his brow furrow deeper, though. ‘I cannot predict how they will welcome you. I can only warn you that my parents are...’ He paused as if he had to consider carefully what to say. ‘Well, their situation—not being as socially connected as you might wish—’
She interrupted him. ‘Do not concern yourself over that. I am not at all certain I wish to be connected to society.’ Not if such people were as unreasonable as Lord Tinmore.
A defensive tone entered his voice. ‘I told you that my mother was not born to society. She may not be accepted by the ton, but she is a fine person.’
Tess almost reached for his hand, only inches from hers on the table. ‘Yes, you did tell me. I am the last person who would judge your mother from the situation of her parents. I can only hope your parents do not hold it against me for being the daughter of Sir Hollis and Lady Summerfield.’
He shook his head. ‘That is what I cannot predict.’
She blinked. ‘You had hoped to marry a respectable woman. I expect that was their wish, as well. I am so sorry.’
He frowned, but his blue eyes still pierced her. ‘No more apologies, Tess. What is past is done. We can only look to the future.’
But the future was like the sheets of rain from the storm that led to this day. She could not see where she was headed. To Tess the future seemed grey and cold, a place where she would be lost and alone.
* * *
By midday, much to Nancy’s sheer glee, the buildings of London came into view. Tess recognised the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral from engravings of the church in books. She’d imagined this moment, her first sight of London, many times, but her actual arrival brought trepidation.
Not that Nancy noticed. Nancy leaned out the window and remarked on everything she saw. A building with a red door! A street vendor selling ginger cakes! A man dressed in purple livery!
Tess glimpsed Marc from time to time as he led the coachman to his parents’ house. It was located in Mayfair, he’d told her. An excellent address on Grosvenor Street near the square.
She was nervous about meeting his parents. Perhaps it would be better to leave her at a hotel, or even at a bench in the park to wait while he explained to his parents that he was forced to marry the daughter of the infamous Sir Hollis and Lady Summerfield.
The rows of shops turned into rows of town houses with doors painted bright red, green or blue. The carriages on these streets were of finer make. Fashionable phaetons were driven by elegantly dressed men, a young boy perched on the back, ready to attend to the horses.
‘Have you ever seen the like!’ exclaimed Nancy.
‘I never have,’ Tess answered truthfully. The genteel people who called upon her family were neighbours or friends of her father’s passing through and they wore travelling clothes. Lord Tinmore’s carriages came from another age—nothing she�
��d ever seen outside of books or fashion plates was as sporting and new as what passed them.
‘We must be in Mayfair,’ Tess said.
They were close to the end of her journey and the beginning of a life of unknowns. Would Lord and Lady Northdon accept her or would they be furious that their son was forced to marry her?
The carriage came to a stop by a row of town houses.
They had arrived.
Marc dismounted from Apollo and opened the door of the carriage. ‘We are here,’ he said.
He looked as grim as she felt.
She nodded and gave him her hand so he could assist her from the carriage. Could he feel how her hand shook?
He gazed directly into her eyes, a silent communication that might have been intended to reassure her, but merely revealed he was as uncertain of their reception here as she was. It was a scant second of intimacy, though, and that in itself heartened her a little.
‘Wait here,’ he said before he walked up to the door and pounded the wrought-iron knocker.
A footman answered. ‘Mr Glenville! Welcome. Were his lordship and her ladyship expecting you?’
‘Not at all,’ Glenville said. ‘Good to see you, Staines.’
Why had he not written his parents that he was coming? He could have sent a letter from any of the inns where they’d stayed. He could have prevented making her presence such a surprise.
‘Are they at home?’ he asked.
‘They are, sir.’ He opened the door wider for Marc to enter.
‘I am not alone.’ He gestured to Tess and Nancy and to the coachman who was lowering trunks and travelling bags on to the pavement. ‘I will discharge the carriage, but I need someone to bring in the luggage and tend to my horse.’
‘Indeed, sir.’ Staines stared wide-eyed at them before disappearing inside the house. Soon two other footmen hurried out. One took Apollo’s reins and the other picked up one of the trunks and headed for a servants’ entrance below street level.
Marc returned to Tess. ‘Come inside.’ He turned to Staines again. ‘Do you know where in the house my parents are?’
‘I cannot say for certain, sir, but your father is likely in the library and your mother in her sitting room.’ Staines picked up two of the smaller bags. ‘Shall I announce you?’
‘No,’ Marc replied. ‘I’ll find them.’
He took Tess’s elbow and escorted her inside. He helped her off with her cloak and laid it on a chair in the hall. ‘Come this way to the drawing room. I should not be long.’
Nancy stared up at the painted-and-plasterwork ceiling as she followed.
They entered an elegant drawing room that looked straight out of Ackermann’s prints of the latest furnishings. Not the worn but genteel furniture of Summerfield House, nor the opulence of a bygone era in Tinmore Hall.
‘I’ll return soon.’ He hurried out the door before Tess could say a word.
She closed her eyes and tried to quiet her nerves.
‘This room is so grand!’ Nancy twirled around. ‘And it is so big.’ She walked around, peering at everything. ‘Look! Little porcelain people.’
There were Meissen figurines on a side table.
Tess only half-listened to her inventory of items in the room.
‘I cannot believe I will live in this house!’ Nancy exclaimed.
‘Do not be hasty,’ Tess said. ‘We may not be able to stay. Remember Lord and Lady Northdon know nothing of us.’
Nancy spun around to face the door, as if Lord and Lady Northdon might enter at any moment. ‘I wonder what Mr Glenville is saying to them.’
Chapter Six
Marc knocked on his mother’s sitting-room door.
‘Qui est là?’
The familiarity of her voice warmed him. ‘C’est moi, Maman.’
‘Marc?’
She was already on her feet when he opened the door. Still thin, still white-haired, still beautifully fine-boned. As lovely a woman as ever.
‘Marc!’ She threw her arms around him.
Her embrace was strong and firm, the embrace of the woman who had soothed all his childhood hurts, the woman who valiantly did not complain of having no friends and few social contacts.
She continued to speak in French. ‘We did not expect you. Come. Sit with me and tell me all about where you have been and what you have been doing. You spent Christmas in Scotland, no?’
He answered in French. ‘Oui.’ That was about as much as he could tell her of his doings. ‘Come with me to Papa. He is in the library. I have something to tell you.’
‘Must we, Marc?’ Her mouth pursed. ‘Tell me here, s’il vous plaît. I do not wish to leave this room.’
‘No. I want to speak with you and Papa together, Maman.’ Here he was, in the middle of them again.
‘He does not like to be disturbed, cher.’ She frowned.
She meant they spent their days apart as much as possible.
‘I insist, Maman.’ He extended his hand to the door. ‘Come with me. It is important.’
‘Very well. If it is important.’ She sighed, taking his arm.
When they reached the library, she walked in first.
‘John!’ she snapped, switching to English. ‘Look who is here.’
Her father scowled at her sharp tone, but broke into a smile when he saw Marc. ‘My boy! What a pleasant surprise. A pleasant surprise.’
Again Marc was engulfed in a hug. ‘Papa.’
His father seemed smaller than Marc remembered. Marc embraced him back, but the old resentments nagged at him.
‘What brings you here? Are you staying? You have not been home in a very long time.’ His tone, of course, turned to a scold. ‘You should stay awhile.’
He’d been in his father’s presence for less than a minute and already the man was scolding and issuing orders and reminding Marc he was not his brother who could do no wrong in their father’s eyes.
Marc moved out of his father’s embrace and tried to keep the rancour out of his voice. ‘I might extend my visit.’ He gestured to the sofa nearby. ‘Please, both of you sit. I have something to tell you.’
They sat—in separate chairs.
Marc sat on the sofa. He’d had nearly three days to prepare for this conversation and still had not decided what to say.
Better to lunge than parry. ‘I have brought a lady with me, a lady I will marry...’
Both his parents stared back in shock.
‘Marry!’ his mother cried, but her eyes kindled with excitement.
His father frowned. ‘Who is this lady?’
Marc took a breath and began his explanation. His father would know who Tess’s parents were, so there was no sense withholding that information. He would withhold the reason he and Tess were marrying, though. Eventually, when Lord Tinmore’s guests made their way to London, the story might come out, but telling it now would only make Tess’s introduction to his parents more difficult for her.
‘She is Sir Hollis and Lady Summerfield’s daughter?’ his father cried when Marc finished.
‘Who is this Sir Hollis and Lady Summerfield?’ his mother demanded.
His father gave her a peeved look. ‘Sir Hollis was a fool who threw away a fortune on bad investments, but not before marrying a wife who cuckolded him repeatedly before she finally ran away with one of her lovers. She had so many lovers, no one knows who fathered her children.’
‘Pfft!’ Marc’s mother waved away her husband’s words. ‘Lovers. What does that matter?’
‘Fidelity matters very much to some people,’ he countered.
‘Does it?’ His mother glared at his father.
Good God. Was one of them—or both—taking lovers now?
His father cleared his throat. ‘In this situation, however, it matters that we don’t know what blood flows in this young lady’s veins.’
‘Yes!’ His mother nearly bounded from her seat. ‘She might have common blood in her. Would that not be très tragique!’
H
is father’s face turned red. ‘I did not mean that and you know it. I meant there could be insanity in the family. Or deformity.’
Marc stood. ‘Silence!’
They both looked at him as if surprised he was there.
‘It does not matter who her parents were or what blood is in her, I am marrying Miss Summerfield, not her parents.’ He glared at them both.
‘Good God.’ His father rubbed his face. ‘It is bad enough your brother—’ He broke off and it took a moment for him to renew his attack on Marc. ‘What is the urgency of this marriage? Is she increasing?’
‘Increasing? Say what you mean.’ His mother turned to him. ‘Is she enceinte?’
‘No!’ Marc responded. ‘There is no child. She is a virtuous, respectable young lady and I have treated her as such.’
‘Well, her family is not respectable.’ His father huffed. ‘Her mother. Her father. And did I not read that a sister married old Tinmore? That could not be respectable.’
‘Pah.’ His mother’s eyes flashed at his father. ‘You put too much on respectable. You always did.’
He glared back at her. ‘Not always.’
They stared at each other and Marc felt he might as well not be in the room.
‘You could have stopped Lucien,’ she whispered.
This again. Were they still battling over his brother’s death? This was the most painful of all.
His mother, though, returned to the topic at hand. ‘What is it with this Tinmore? Is he not respectable?’
His father’s tone turned almost civil. ‘He is eighty, if he’s a day, and he’s been a recluse for years.’ He glanced away in thought. ‘I wonder if he is in his right mind. Must not be if some chit duped him into marriage.’
‘You think it is the woman who is at fault?’ his mother countered. ‘More likely this Tinmore forced her to marry him.’
Marc broke in. ‘Never mind Tinmore! Will you welcome Miss Summerfield into this house or must I put her up in a hotel some place until I can arrange to marry her? I need to know this minute because she is waiting in the drawing room.’
* * *
Nancy finally settled in a chair against the wall and Tess sat where she could view the drawing-room door. From the window she’d seen the last of their luggage carried away and the carriage driving off. It was disconcerting to not know precisely where she was or how to get anywhere. If she were on the streets of Mayfair, she’d be as lost as she’d been in the storm.