by Diane Gaston
The door opened and she braced herself.
But it was not Marc, nor his parents who entered. It was a young blonde beauty, so much Genna’s size and colouring that Tess ached to see her sister again. The girl, though, looked even younger than Genna’s nineteen.
Tess stood and Nancy popped up, as well.
‘Hello,’ the girl said. She had the same piercing blue eyes as Mr Glenville, complimented by a stylish day dress of nearly the same hue. ‘Staines told me my brother was here. And that we had visitors.’ She walked over to Tess and curtsied. ‘I am Amelie Glenville.’
Brother? Marc had not mentioned he had a younger sister.
Tess curtsied in return. ‘I am Miss Summerfield. Tess Summerfield.’ She gestured to Nancy. ‘This is my maid, Nancy.’
Nancy’s curtsy was deep. ‘Miss.’
‘You came with my brother, did you not?’ Miss Glenville asked, her tone hesitant.
She was shy, Tess guessed. ‘Yes. Yes, we did.’
‘I ordered some tea for you.’ Miss Glenville lowered her gaze. ‘Please do sit. Both of you.’
Tess lowered herself into the chair again.
Miss Glenville took a seat nearby. ‘Where is my brother now?’ she asked.
‘With your parents, I think.’ He’d seemed gone a long time. A bad sign.
Staines entered carrying a tea tray with some little cakes. Miss Glenville, with the deliberateness of an unpractised hostess, poured for them both. Nancy, still wide-eyed, but suddenly bashful and perhaps even more desirous of refreshment than Tess, retreated to a far chair along the wall to consume her tea and cakes.
‘You came in a carriage,’ Miss Glenville said timidly. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘From Lincolnshire, actually,’ Tess responded.
‘Lincolnshire!’ the girl exclaimed. ‘You must have travelled for days.’
‘Yes.’ Home was very far away.
Miss Glenville seemed to search for what else to say. ‘You must be very tired.’
They’d left with the morning’s first light and the clock in this room just chimed three times. ‘We stopped along the way.’
Miss Glenville fell silent, but she looked as if she were trying to decide something. She finally blurted out, ‘Are—are you a friend of my brother’s? Why did he leave you in the drawing room alone?’
Tess would not take it upon herself to explain why Glenville arrived at her home with a strange woman, luggage in tow. ‘He wished to speak with your parents first.’
Miss Glenville made a puzzled frown, then smiled shyly. ‘It is nice to have a visitor, in any event. We do not have many when we come to London.’
Tess very much wanted to put the girl at ease. ‘Then many people are missing a lovely house. This room looks the very height of fashion.’
‘It is.’ Miss Glenville brightened. ‘Maman likes very much to make a room pretty.’
‘She succeeds very well.’
There was another long silence. Tess felt the pain of Miss Glenville’s meekness. She had Genna’s beauty, but lacked Genna’s confident outspokenness.
Finally Miss Glenville stood. ‘Shall I see what is keeping my brother?’
Tess smiled. ‘Yes, please. I would so appreciate that.’
Miss Glenville curtsied again and fled the room.
When the door was closed, Nancy spoke in a hushed tone. ‘She is a beautiful lady!’
‘Very beautiful.’ Amelie Glenville was as beautiful as her brother was handsome, as fair-haired as he was dark.
Tess considered herself passable, but not a beauty like honey-blonde Genna or mahogany-haired Lorene. Or like their mother, who was renowned for her beauty, even though Tess could barely remember what she looked like.
Was the woman Marc wanted to marry a great beauty?
Tess sighed. There was no use dwelling on such matters. She would do what she must for Genna and Edmund. And Lorene.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Several footsteps. Tess stood again.
The door opened and Marc entered first. His gaze caught Tess’s right away, and she saw no reassurance in it. Behind him came an unsmiling but graceful lady whose white hair showed the vestiges of having been blonde like Miss Glenville. Next entered an equally sober grey-haired gentleman. Miss Glenville, who walked in last, was the only one smiling.
Mr Glenville came to Tess’s side. ‘Let me present you to my parents.’
She raised her chin as his parents came to stand in front of her. They exchanged glances, their expressions grim.
‘May I present Miss Tess Summerfield.’ He gestured to his parents. ‘My parents, Lord and Lady Northdon.’
She curtsied. ‘I am honoured.’
‘Yes,’ uttered Lord Northdon.
Lady Northdon made a nervous laugh.
This was a horrible moment. Tess was desperate to survive it. ‘I realise I am a great surprise to you. For that I apologise. I assure you I will certainly endeavour not to be a problem—’
‘Problem?’ Lady Northdon responded in a French accent. ‘A surprise, yes, but we are quite able to accommodate a guest, even on short notice.’
‘Then I am to stay?’ she asked.
Lord Northdon cleared his throat. ‘We did not even expect our son, so you will forgive us if we need time to accustom ourselves to you.’
Or was she not to stay?
Tess glanced at them both. ‘Your son has told you of...me.’
To her surprise Marc took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I told them of our betrothal. That we wish to marry as soon as I can arrange it.’
Even though her senses flared at his touch, she knew the gesture had been a signal, nothing more. He was trying to tell her he’d not explained everything.
Miss Glenville’s eyes grew huge. ‘You are to be married?’
Tess smiled at her. ‘Yes. I could not tell you before your parents knew.’
‘Married.’ The girl’s voice turned dreamy.
Lord Northdon scowled.
Lady Northdon glanced at him and laughed. ‘My husband thought you were enceinte.’
‘What was I supposed to think?’ Lord Northdon snapped.
‘It would have explained much, would it not, sir?’ Tess mollified. ‘But, no, I am not enceinte.’
The word hung in the air until Lord Northdon said, ‘Well, are we going to sit or are we going to stand here all day?’
Lady Northdon swooped over. ‘That is no way to speak to a guest, John.’ She took Tess’s arm. ‘Come, sit with Amelie and me. Would you like some refreshment?’
Tess felt as if she’d fallen between two fighting cats. ‘Miss Glenville served us tea.’ She sat where Lady Northdon asked her to sit. ‘May I ask if my maid and I are to stay in this house?’
‘Oui.’ Lady Northdon pursed her lips. ‘If my son asks it, you must stay.’
That was not precisely a welcome. ‘Then may I request my maid be shown our rooms? And be introduced to the rest of the staff and to the customs of the house?’
Miss Glenville piped up. ‘I can take her to the housekeeper, Maman.’
Her mother waved her hand. ‘Yes. Do that, Amelie.’
Nancy sent Tess an anxious but excited look before following Miss Glenville out of the room.
‘Pour me some brandy,’ Lord Northdon demanded of his son.
Marc crossed the room to a cabinet. He turned. ‘Maman, some claret?’ He paused. ‘Tess?’
Tess waited for Lady Northdon to say yes before she agreed. ‘I would very much like some claret.’ A whole bottle of it, perhaps.
With glasses poured, Lady Northdon clapped her hands. ‘Now we must plan a wedding, no? What church? Grosvenor Chapel? I know the fashion is to marry at St George’s, but Grosvenor is closer.’
‘They do not want a church wedding, Ines,’ Lord Northdon shot back. ‘The fashion is to marry at home by special licence.’
‘I do not know such things.’ She pouted. ‘Marry at home. Pah! A wedding is for a church.’
‘A church wedding is for the country where there might be many guests,’ Lord Northdon countered. ‘There will be no guests here.’
Marc drained his brandy in one gulp. ‘Tess and I will decide, but we are not deciding now.’
Had Tess landed in Bedlam by mistake? ‘Perhaps I might retire to my room until dinnertime?’ she asked. ‘I am a little fatigued from the journey.’
‘Bien sûr,’ Lady Northdon said. ‘The room should be ready.’
Marc strode over to Tess. ‘I will take you.’
* * *
Marc nearly pulled her out of her seat and out of the room.
Once in the hall, he slowed. ‘I am so sorry, Tess. They were even worse than I feared.’
‘How could you expect them to approve of me?’ Tess asked.
‘There is no reason they should not approve of you.’
Did he truly think that?
He led her up the stairs. ‘My father knows of your parents, of course, but he is not in a position to object on that score.’ He stopped at the first landing and faced her, holding her arms almost as if she were a true fiancée. ‘I did not tell them the whole story. I said only that we were betrothed and will be married as soon as possible.’
She gave him an ironic smile. ‘And that I am not enceinte.’
He rolled his eyes, but flashed a smile. ‘That, as well.’
She could feel the tension in him even after he released her. He was trying so very hard to ease matters for her. Marc Glenville was a kind man.
‘Come. I’ll show you to the room.’ They continued to the third floor. ‘Your room is likely to be rather plain, I’m afraid. I do not think my mother’s interest in decorating reached this floor.’
‘I need nothing fancy.’ Her room at Summerfield House had been very pleasant, but had not approached the opulence of the one Lord Tinmore allotted to her. ‘Am I alone on this floor?’ she asked.
‘My room is here, too.’
Her insides fluttered.
As they approached the door, they heard voices. Nancy talking happily to someone.
When they opened the door, Nancy looked up. She and another maid were making the bed. A third girl was wiping the furniture.
‘Goodness, miss!’ Nancy exclaimed. ‘We are almost done with the room, if you do not mind.’
Passing the time watching two cheerful maids doing their work seemed the best the day had to offer. ‘I do not mind. I just wish to rest from the trip.’
‘I will leave you.’ Marc merely nodded and walked away.
Tess lowered herself into a chair by the window and rubbed her brow and wished she could be back in Lincolnshire.
* * *
Marc left Tess and went in search of Staines to help him change into fresh clothes. Clean linen and a coat and waistcoat not covered with the dirt of the road were almost reviving, but he was too stirred up to savour the experience. He wanted fresh air. A quick turn in the park would calm him enough to face the rest of the day.
On his way out, he met Amelie on the stairs. He embraced her. ‘I did not have a chance to say a proper hello, little sister.’
‘I am so glad you are here,’ she answered, hugging him back so tightly his guilt at leaving her alone with their parents rushed back at him.
‘I was away too long, I know.’ He held on to her.
‘I understand, Marc. Really, I do.’
She did not know any of it. His reasons for leaving his family, usually without a word, were hidden from them.
He released her, but held her at arm’s length. ‘By God, I believe I’ve been gone longer than I thought. You have turned into a beautiful woman while I was away.’
She blushed. ‘Do not say such silly things.’
‘I mean it.’ He examined her again. How could she miss attracting suitors with a face like that? ‘You should have a Season.’
Her smile turned sad. ‘Maman and Papa do not receive many invitations.’
None, she meant.
‘I’ll do something about that, I promise.’ He was filled with resolve.
Doria Caldwell, the woman he’d planned to marry, would have opened doors for Amelie. The Caldwells were not in the highest circles, but they received plenty of invitations. What he could do for Amelie now, he did not know. He’d brought on more scandal, not less.
Amelie pulled on his arm. ‘Come. Talk to me a little. Tell me about Miss Summerfield. How you met her. Everything.’
He glanced away. ‘There is little to tell. We met in Lincolnshire and I decided to marry her.’
Her pretty mouth opened, as if she were going to ask another question, but she shut it again. After a moment or two, she smiled again. ‘Tell me about Scotland and anywhere else you’ve been.’
He put an arm around her. ‘I have a better idea. Fetch a warm cloak. Let us take a walk in the park. Who knows? Perhaps you will catch the eye of some handsome young man.’
She pushed him away. ‘I do not care about that, but I would love to walk in the park with you.’
It was the fashionable hour, but too early in the year for a turn in the park to be considered a social event. Too bad, maybe all she needed was to be seen in the park.
Marc resolved to think of some way for Amelie to be introduced to society. In the meantime, he would merely enjoy a walk with her.
Chapter Seven
When it was time for dinner, Marc knocked on Tess’s door. The least he could do was save her from having to walk to the drawing room and face his parents alone.
Nancy opened the door and greeted him with a smile. ‘Mr Glenville! Have you come to collect Miss Summerfield for dinner? She is ready.’ She stepped away and revealed Tess. ‘I tried to dress her hair like your mother’s and your sister’s, but different. And did we select the right dress?’
The maid had succeeded very well. Tess was a vision. Her hair was pulled high on her head and cascaded around her face in shiny chestnut curls. Her gown was simple and unembellished, a pale pink that might have been worn many times, but it flattered her. In fact, it made him all too aware she was a woman and that he soon would share a wedding night with her.
‘You look...nice, Tess,’ he managed.
She looked down at herself. ‘This was one of the dresses I intended to alter with that lamentable lace and ribbon.’
The lace and ribbon she’d purchased on the day of the storm.
‘I could alter your dress!’ Nancy piped up. ‘If I had lace, I could put it around the neckline and perhaps at the sleeves and maybe around the skirt in some way. Beading would look wonderful sewn into the lace. If I had beading.’
Bless this maid. Her diversion interrupted Marc’s too-carnal thoughts. ‘I will ask my sister. I suspect there is plenty of lace and ribbon and beading in this house.’
‘That would be wonderful!’ Nancy beamed.
‘I will ask her tonight.’ Marc offered Tess his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
She nodded, her expression a cross between tense and sad. He could not make this right for her, no matter how hard he tried.
When they entered the corridor, Tess sighed. ‘She is so effortlessly happy.’
‘Nancy, you mean?’
She nodded.
Unlike the two of them, he thought.
They reached the stairs and she hesitated. ‘Are you certain I will not be underdressed? Your mother’s and sister’s day dresses were finer than this.’
He gazed at her and again was stirred into baser urges that turned his voice raw. ‘It flatters you.’
Her eyes grew wide.
Finally she moved forward. ‘I do not know why I asked. It was my only choice.’
They walked down the stairs.
‘If it pleases you, buy as many new dresses as you desire. I am well able to pay for them.’ His father provided an allowance made even more generous because of his brother’s death but, even without that, he had money of his own.
She stopped and stared at him again. ‘Thank you, Marc,’ she murmured.
She looked so vulnerable at this moment all he wished was to hold her in his arms. At this moment she could ask him for anything and he would provide it for her.
She affected him. Strongly.
He pulled away. ‘It is the least I can do since we are to marry.’
She lowered her lashes and continued to walk down the stairs.
* * *
Tess entered the drawing room with emotions disordered. She’d felt drawn to Marc in those few moments together, almost as though they’d regained the camaraderie they’d shared in the cabin, but, inexplicably, he withdrew from her again.
She might have spent the entire evening disturbed by his manner, but, as soon as Marc’s mother discovered Tess needed a new wardrobe, there was no chance to think of anything besides fabrics, modistes and the latest fashions, which Lady Northdon was determined Tess should have. Fashion, it turned out, was Lady Northdon’s consuming interest.
She said, ‘My father was—what is the word in English—’
‘A linen-draper, Maman,’ her daughter responded.
‘Oui. A linen-draper.’ She made a sound of disgust. ‘Before he entered politics, that is.’ Her expression brightened again. ‘I grew up around the most marvellous fabrics and I knew all the best modistes in Paris, because they purchased only from my father, you know. I always wore dresses that were au courant.’
* * *
During the meal Lady Northdon and her daughter talked of nothing else but Tess’s new wardrobe. Marc and his father held their own conversation and Tess could almost forget he was there.
Almost.
After dinner when the men remained in the dining room with their brandy, Lady Northdon sent tea up to her private sitting room where she pulled out a collection of fashion prints that would put Yardney’s lending library to shame. She had the latest issues of La Belle Assemblée, and The Ladies’ Fashionable Repository, as well as the Journal des Dames et des Modes from France.
Marc and his father never joined them. Tess told herself it was easier that way. She could almost pretend she was with her sisters, planning their next gowns, talking of what hats and shoes would go with them. Unlike discussing fashion with her sisters, however, this time no one ever discussed how much it would cost.