by Diane Gaston
‘Yes,’ Tess said. ‘Marc told me of your brother and about his tragic loss.’
The young woman lowered her gaze. ‘He died at Ciudad Rodrigo.’
‘I am so sorry,’ Tess said honestly. ‘My brother is a soldier and I worry over him constantly.’
Miss Caldwell’s gaze shot up. One brow lifted. ‘Yes. Of course you do.’
Tess met her eye. ‘You have heard of my brother, I see.’ Her half-brother, that was. Tess could not remember a time when people did not talk about Lord Summerfield’s bastard growing up with them.
Miss Caldwell looked almost approving. It was not the reaction Tess expected.
‘Do you have any sisters?’ Tess asked, grasping for conversation.
Miss Caldwell seemed lost in her own thoughts for a moment. ‘Sisters? No. It was just my brother and me.’
At that moment two gentlemen appeared in the doorway, their faces not visible.
‘Excuse me. More guests.’ Miss Caldwell rose to greet them.
‘Mr Pemperton and Mr Welton,’ the butler announced.
Tess’s gaze snapped to the doorway. Mr Welton—her Mr Welton—stepped into the room to be greeted by Miss Caldwell and her father. Tess’s heart pounded. She’d heard that everyone knew everyone in Mayfair, but to encounter Mr Welton at her first party? Impossible.
But there he was.
She turned towards Lady Northdon again and pretended to listen to a conversation about sleeve length.
What was she to do? Walk up to him and say hello? Or avoid him?
She was saved from the decision by the dinner announcement.
* * *
Marc and his father came to escort Tess and Lady Northdon to the dining room. Amelie had a couple of gentlemen vying for her arm. Mr Welton disappeared somewhere behind Tess and she was certain he had not seen her.
As the group of about thirty people assembled, Miss Caldwell raised her voice. ‘We are not being strict about precedence at the table, you will notice. We sat people where they might find most enjoyment.’
Once inside the dining room, though, Lord and Lady Northdon earned places at the high end of the table. How very astute of Miss Caldwell. To have placed them anywhere else would have felt like a snub, even with the caveat of her announcement. Tess’s name was further down, but she was seated next to Marc. Again, Miss Caldwell had been exceedingly kind—and generous—to seat Tess next to Marc.
Luckily, Tess was not in Mr Welton’s direct line of sight. He sat on the other side of the table, but several seats away from her.
As the dinner progressed, Marc seemed to be doing his best to make conversation with her. He talked about the food and the wine and was solicitous of her needs. He also included her in conversations with the guests who sat next to them.
When those guests were occupied in other conversations, Tess leaned towards him. ‘Your mother seems to be doing well. I was worried for her.’
He nodded. ‘I was worried, too.’
Tess looked to where Marc’s parents sat. ‘Miss Caldwell has been kind to me and to your family. She seems to be a fine person.’
He glanced down at his plate. ‘Yes, she is.’
Tess gripped her fork. ‘Oh, Marc. I feel dreadful. She would make you a fine wife.’
Marc stabbed at a piece of meat. ‘Do not think about it, Tess.’
Tess attended to her own plate. How could she not think about it?
Another course was served and they fell into silence with each other, speaking only when the guests next to them required it.
After some time, Marc lightly touched her arm. ‘There is a gentleman who keeps looking at you.’
She knew whom he must mean. ‘Oh?’
‘Blond dandy-looking fellow on the other side of the table.’ He tilted his head in the man’s direction.
She glanced quickly. ‘Mr Welton.’ Welton’s fine tailoring did seem a bit excessive. Especially if compared to Marc’s ease in his clothes. ‘I am acquainted with him. He visited his aunt recently in Yardney.’
‘In Yardney.’ Marc frowned.
He made her feel as if she’d been caught in some indiscretion, which was ridiculous.
‘He might not recognise me,’ she said. ‘Your mother and Nancy have transformed me.’
His gaze pierced her. ‘You would not be so easy to forget.’
She felt her cheeks flush with pleasure.
* * *
After dinner the ladies returned to the drawing room for tea. This time the ladies grouped themselves with their friends. Tess sat with Amelie and Lady Northdon.
Amelie was bursting with talk. ‘The people here are so kind. I’ve felt so very welcome.’
‘They ought to welcome you, chérie.’ Her mother patted her arm.
‘Some of the young men seem to enjoy your company,’ Tess added.
Amelie, as isolated as she was, must not be used to such attention. If only Genna were here to help her.
Amelie coloured and lowered her lashes. ‘I have been paid some pretty compliments, but surely the gentlemen are merely being polite.’
‘Pah!’ Her mother’s eyes flashed. ‘You are a beauty, but you must be on guard. If they are gentlemen, they will court you properly, no?’
‘Oh, no one has said anything untoward, I assure you, Maman,’ Amelie responded. ‘I do not think I have ever felt so much friendship.’
Was it genuine friendship or some goodwill manufactured by Miss Caldwell?
Tess turned to Lady Northdon. ‘You have been received with kindness, have you not?’
Lady Northdon lifted her teacup. ‘For the most part.’
Miss Caldwell joined them. ‘Is there anything you need, ladies?’
‘Non,’ answered Lady Northdon.
Good for Lady Northdon. She maintained her dignity.
Miss Caldwell smiled at Amelie. ‘You have been quite a success, have you not? My cousin assures me several of the gentlemen are smitten already.’
Amelie blushed again. ‘Surely you exaggerate.’
What man would not admire Amelie? The girl outshone all the other young ladies.
‘I assure you they were lovestruck.’ Miss Caldwell glanced at each of them. ‘In fact, the ladies are all impressed by your fashion. What is your secret, madame? A new modiste?’
‘Not new to me,’ Lady Northdon replied.
‘Well, you all look very lovely.’ Miss Caldwell pressed Lady Northdon’s hand and moved on to another group of ladies.
After she walked away, Lady Northdon took another sip of tea. With the cup next to her lips, she murmured, ‘Quelle horreur! She feels obliged to be kind to us.’
Amelie’s eyes widened. ‘Maman! What a horrid thing to say.’
Lady Northdon lifted a shoulder. ‘I do not like to feel someone needs to make an effort to be civil to me.’
Yes. There was an air of forced solicitude when Miss Caldwell spoke to them, now that Lady Northdon called her attention to it. Even so, Tess wondered if she could have forced herself to be as kind as Miss Caldwell had the tables been turned.
Amelie protested more and listed all the nice things Miss Caldwell and her friends had said or done this night. Tess could hear no more praise for this fine woman.
She rose. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’
Let them think she was in need of the lady’s retiring room, but all she truly wanted was a few moments alone. She peeked inside the room set aside for the ladies and found several others there. She tried another door and found a small library where she sank into a chair.
She must not think only of herself and the strain of this evening. She must also think of Marc. How much worse it must be for him. And for Miss Caldwell. Tess had ruined their plans.
The truth of it was, she could see a marriage between Marc and Miss Caldwell working very well. Miss Caldwell would never impetuously walk to the village when rain threatened. She would never become besotted by a gentleman from London visiting his aunt in Lincolnshire. Miss Caldwell could provi
de the serene, respectable married life Marc desired.
What could Tess offer him?
More scandal.
She heard men’s voices in the hallway. They must be rejoining the women. She waited until the voices died away to return to the drawing room. She tried to slip in unnoticed. As soon as she walked through the door, though, Mr Welton approached her.
‘Miss Summerfield?’ He bowed.
‘Mr Welton.’ She curtsied.
She’d once felt breathless at just the sight of him in Yardney; giddy when he spoke to her. She felt nothing now. His handsome face, blond hair and pale brown eyes were still striking, but she was unaffected.
He smiled. ‘I confess I did not know you at first.’
‘I am newly arrived in London,’ she said.
‘Did I not hear your sister married old Lord Tinmore?’ He gave her a knowing look. ‘Such a change of fortune for your family.’
His tone was polite and conversational. And utterly indifferent, such a contrast to his flirtation and pretty words in Yardney.
‘I understand you are betrothed to Mr Glenville,’ he continued in that uninterested manner. ‘My very best wishes to you.’
‘Thank you,’ she managed to say.
He glanced over to Amelie. ‘Is Miss Glenville out, I wonder? She is a lovely young lady. If only—’ He cut himself off. ‘Well, never mind that. Is your sister in town? Your younger sister?’
Genna. Beautiful Genna. ‘No, she is not.’
‘Tinmore has been generous to your family, I hear.’ He meant Tinmore had restored Genna’s dowry, she’d wager. ‘I heard he planned to break his exile and come to town for the Season. Your sister will come as well, will she not?’
‘Yes,’ she answered through gritted teeth. ‘But, I assure you, Mr Welton, my sister will be looking so much higher than you. After all, Lorene married an earl and I will be a viscountess some day. I believe Genna has hopes to best us with a marquess.’
He was the mere younger son of a baronet.
She curtsied again. ‘If you will excuse me, sir. I must return to Lady Northdon.’
She turned away and crossed the room, taking her seat next to Lady Northdon again and attempting to look as unaffected by the interview as possible.
Mr Welton was nothing but a fortune hunter. He’d been toying with her in Yardney. It all had meant nothing to him. How could she have been so fooled?
* * *
Across the room Marc sat with Doria Caldwell, watching the scene between Tess and Welton.
‘They appear to know each other,’ Doria said, as impassive as always.
‘She is acquainted with him.’ Marc felt consumed with jealousy. ‘They met in Lincolnshire.’
‘Did they?’ She turned to him. ‘My father told me about her mother and father. And of her sister’s recent marriage.’
He nodded. ‘Both our families have scandal in them. I’ll not fault her for the sins of her mother and father if she does not fault me for mine.’
She placed her hand on his arm. ‘You are quite right.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Our family has always loved you for yourself.’
The truth of that felt like a stab in the heart.
He wanted to apologise to her, but that would imply that he’d made her a promise and he had not, not when he’d known he’d be riding into danger at any moment. He’d been careful not to make any promises, although he’d wanted to when Charles died.
He averted his gaze from her and saw Tess return to sit next to his mother.
From the moment Tess said she’d met Welton in Yardney, Marc realised who the man was. Welton was the man Tess had wanted to marry, the man who needed her to have a big dowry to make it worth his while. Marc disliked Welton on sight—well—as soon as he’d seen the man looking at Tess.
Marc’s father, standing across the room, gestured for Marc to come.
He rose. ‘You’ll have to pardon me, Doria. I believe my father wishes to leave.’
‘So soon?’ She stood, as well. ‘I am glad you and your family came. And Miss Summerfield, too, of course. I wish you happiness.’
He took her hand. ‘You are a fine lady, Doria. Charles would be proud of the woman you’ve become.’
Tears filled her eyes. ‘Say no more.’
He squeezed her hand and turned away from her.
His father reached him before he’d taken more than a few steps. ‘Your mother is ready to leave.’
Marc would bet it was his father who’d tired of the party, who’d tired of pretending the guests weren’t forcing themselves to be civil to him. His mother was made of sterner stuff.
‘I will say goodnight to Mr Caldwell and arrange for the footman to get our coats.’
* * *
A few minutes later they stood outside the town house in the chilly February air, waiting for their carriage. Marc’s father was pacing the street, impatient for its arrival. Amelie was excitedly talking with their mother about all the people she’d met—all the young men who’d noticed her.
Marc’s thoughts were with Tess, though. It was all he could do not to demand she tell him what she and Welton spoke about.
‘How was it for you?’ he asked instead.
‘The party?’ she responded. ‘Quite splendid for my first town entertainment.’ She did not sound as if it were so splendid. ‘How was it for you? It must not have been so easy.’
He gazed down at her, her lovely face illuminated by the rushlights mounted outside the town-house door. ‘Not so easy for you, either.’
She glanced away. ‘I assure you. It was a lovely party.’ Her eyes darted back. ‘Not nearly as difficult as a freezing cabin with dwindling firewood.’
He laughed softly and his heart warmed to her. ‘I believe I would have preferred the cabin.’
Her brows rose. ‘Would you?’
He took a breath. ‘There is something to be said about shutting out the rest of the world for a brief time.’
She seemed to search his face. ‘Especially when the world outside is so cold.’
Was she talking about the party or the cabin?
‘I shall always remember the cabin. It was the place you brought me after saving my life.’ She held his gaze. ‘Although your life might have been better if you had ridden right by me.’
‘I could not have done so.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. That would not be in your character, would it? And look how I thank you for it.’
‘We are both in this fix.’ He touched her arm. ‘Do you wish to marry him?’
‘Who?’
‘Mr Welton.’ He spat out the name.
She blinked in surprise. ‘Mr Welton? Not at all.’ She paused, then lowered her voice. ‘What of you? Your attachment to Miss Caldwell was the stronger.’
Truth was, he could not imagine marrying Doria now. He was sensible that he’d broken a promise to her, though, even if it was a promise unspoken.
‘Do you wish me to cry off?’ she asked, her voice no more than a whisper. ‘Because I will, if you wish it.’
He closed the short distance between them and gently touched her face. ‘I am marrying you, Tess.’
She looked up at him, her eyes dark, her breath quickening.
‘Where the devil is the carriage?’ his father bellowed.
Tess jumped back.
Chapter Nine
Marc could not sleep.
He was on fire for her.
Tess had looked so beautiful this night, like a jewel cut and polished to perfection. His eyes kept straying to her and it had been all he could do to remain composed. He’d wanted to take her by the arm and leave the Caldwell town house, return here and make love to her. When that dandified Welton approached her, he’d wanted to plant the man a facer. He’d managed to hide his runaway emotions until they were waiting for the carriage. Then he’d almost kissed her.
How would it have felt, to seize the woman to whom he was betrothed and take possession of her mouth?
His father’s
words pounded in his head—Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure...
Did any good come from so totally losing one’s head and acting out of passion?
Not for his father, certainly.
Nor his brother.
Nor Charles.
How could this work to marry her? She did not wish to marry him, after all. She had been forced into it. She’d wanted a husband to love her.
Marc knew this consuming desire for her was not love, but something more primal, something that had robbed his father and mother of happiness and robbed his brother and friend of their lives.
He must conquer this, control it before it controlled him.
He glanced out the window into the starless night. If it were dawn, he’d dress and take Apollo for a long run in the park. Dawn was a few hours away, however.
He paced in his room.
He’d wanted a peaceful and scandal-free life, hadn’t he? He’d wanted to marry Doria. They each had an esteem for the other, an admiration. Marriage to her would have been calm and sane, without this churning lust that did him no credit at all.
The memory of Tess’s hazel eyes flew into his head. Her eyes were so beautifully expressive. How might those eyes appear in the heat of passion?
He went to the window again and opened the sash. The cool air rushed in like a good slap on the face.
This was madness. Stop thinking, for God’s sake.
Marc shut the window again and strode to the door. He left his bedchamber and made his way to the drawing room. A decanter of brandy might quiet his insanity. Make him sleep. He opened the cabinet. The decanter was full. He poured a glass and downed it right there. He grabbed the decanter and glass and returned to his room. Two glasses later, he was only more restless.
He remembered the reflection of her lithe body in the glass of the cabin’s window as she had donned her shift. He remembered her creamy, smooth skin, her full breasts and narrow waist.
He poured another glass and downed it in one gulp.
Damnation!
There was only one way out of this. Call off the wedding. So what if Tinmore withheld funds from her sister and her brother? Marc could make up for that. He could support Tess, if she so desired. He could give her an income and a dowry. Enable her to marry a man she could love.