But Eugenie was looking at her with stricken eyes, and it took real effort to keep her smile fixed in place. “Come,” Tessa said to encourage her companion, “we knew we would go to London. As you said, it is likely we will meet him there, if we’re meant to meet again.”
“Are you running away from him, Tessa?” asked Eugenie sadly. “Oh, my dear, it’s because of that vile man, isn’t it?”
She took a deep breath. Richard had never once crossed her mind. “It has nothing to do with Mr. Wilbur. I am not running away. I am keeping to my plan, which I told you weeks ago in Wiltshire. The travel chaise is engaged, and I hope to leave in the morning.”
And so they did. Eugenie went and supervised Mary’s packing, but with a somber air that strained Tessa’s forced cheer. By the morning both moods had all worn away, though. After a sleepless night, Tessa admitted to herself that she was running away. She was glad she’d already arranged for the chaise; if there had been any delay she might have lost her head and run back to Mill Cottage, because . . . because she was in love with him, and her heart was breaking because she didn’t know if she would see him again.
Would Charlie come to her in London? She had worried at that question for most of the night, staring up at the lines in the plaster ceiling. There was a chance, she granted. But there was also a chance, a very good one, that he would wonder what he’d ever seen in her, once he was back among the glittering elegance of town. How could she compete with the woman he’d been in love with for years? How would she look compared to the beautiful and sophisticated ladies of London? Not well, Tessa thought—or rather, she would look like what she was, a country woman of no great wealth or fashion, who was nearing thirty years old.
She had weathered her first broken heart because she’d been filled with rage. Richard had lied to her, taken advantage of her, and seduced her, and she couldn’t think of any fate too cruel for him. She couldn’t hate Charlie for anything, though. She didn’t know how she would ever forget him, nor how she would ever think of him without wanting to weep.
Eugenie, on the other hand, had recovered hope by the morning. She took one look at Tessa’s expression at breakfast and said in her comforting way, “It shall be such a pleasure to see Lady Woodall again, and the children! And Lord and Lady Marchmont will be there as well. You are right to return to your family, dear, and I am certain Lord Gresham will waste no time in calling upon us.”
Tessa managed only a thin smile. “Perhaps you are right, Eugenie.”
They reached London late in the afternoon after two long, dusty days of travel. For once Eugenie hadn’t said a word of complaint during the journey, not that Tessa would have heard her anyway. She was sunk too deep in her own gloomy thoughts to be companionable, and Eugenie seemed to realize it. “He’ll call,” she’d said confidently at random intervals. “I know he will, Tessa dear.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Perhaps? That he might come, if he had time to spare? Should she laugh and say she hoped he would come but they mustn’t get their hopes up? Or should she just agree with Eugenie and let it go at that, with no mention of all the reasons he might well never come to see them?
Her head ached by the time they reached St. James’s Square, where Louise had taken a house. Eugenie murmured something about how pleasant the square itself was, but Tessa didn’t even look. She climbed down from the carriage, as exhausted and sore as if she’d walked from Frome.
Louise was in high spirits when they went inside the house. “I’ve been expecting you for days now,” she cried, pressing her cheek to Tessa’s and then embracing Eugenie. “Well, my dears, haven’t we got a very pretty arrangement here? I’m so glad to have you both, now it feels like home!”
Tessa managed a lackluster smile as she pulled loose the ribbons on her bonnet and handed it to the waiting footman. “Thank you, Louise. It is good to be here at last.” But it wasn’t. She would much rather have stayed in Frome, or even better, hidden away at Mill Cottage for another few decades, with Charlie all to herself. Even Rushwood would have been better.
Louise frowned, inspecting her. “What’s wrong? You don’t look well. Good heavens, Tessa, have you caught some wretched canal-worker illness? I told you it was foolishness—”
“Louise dear, how are the children?” Eugenie asked quickly. “I’ve missed them! I’m sure they’ve grown so in the last month, I shall hardly recognize them.”
“They’re perfectly well. I can’t think why they aren’t down here already,” Louise said, still watching Tessa sharply. “I’m sure they heard you arrive . . .” Even as she spoke, there came the sound of running feet, and with a chorus of happy cries, Louise’s children burst into the hall.
Tessa turned at once to embrace her nieces, Pippa and Helen, and greet her nephew Thomas, now taller than she was. She was unquestionably glad to see them; her nieces and nephew were lovely children and she adored them all. As they chattered excitedly about their trip to London, and Pippa’s finger getting smashed in the carriage door and the goose that chased Thomas and the very elegant people who lived all around them now, Tessa dimly heard Louise scolding Eugenie. The older lady’s reply was too soft to hear, but Tessa knew from her sister’s gasp what Eugenie had told her. A gentleman. An attachment. An indiscretion. But no betrothal. Poor, poor Tessa.
She resisted the urge to turn around and dispute it. She was a grown woman, supposedly a widow, and her life was her own. She had never expected a proposal from Charlie. It was nothing like when she’d been so foolish over Richard Wilbur. Even before she knew about the dukedom, Tessa had known Charlie wouldn’t marry someone like her. She might be a viscount’s daughter, but her papa was a countrified, rather ordinary viscount, more at home walking his fields with the dogs than in a drawing room. Her mother had been a banker’s granddaughter, with the dowry and head for business to make the family comfortable but certainly not fashionable. Louise was the closest member of the family to good society, and even that was rather tenuous; Viscount Woodall had hardly moved in the first circles. The Marchmonts were simply not good ton, and Tessa was well aware that her family’s lack of status was only the first of her personal deficiencies.
Her affair with Charlie had been a pleasant diversion, nothing more; once he was back among his own set, he’d wonder what he ever saw in her. And if by some chance he did care to see her again, he would have to seek her out. Even she knew ladies in London didn’t chase after gentlemen, no matter how well acquainted they were. She could hardly explain to everyone that he was her lover, or that she had utterly lost her heart to him. The first would scandalize her family, and the second . . . the second was no one’s concern but her own.
As soon as the housekeeper offered to show her to her room, Tessa said she was tired and wanted to rest, hurrying upstairs to the room prepared for her. She even turned the key in the lock, but it was no match for Louise. Her sister knocked and knocked and threatened to send for a physician if Tessa didn’t let her in, so finally she opened the door.
“What happened in Frome?” Louise demanded at once. “Eugenie said something occurred.”
“Yes,” said Tessa without looking at her. “The canal was a sad disappointment. William will have to find another investment, for I wouldn’t let him send ten shillings to Mr. Scott. The man’s a charlatan.”
“Pooh on the canal,” said Louise crossly. “You know I don’t care about that. What else?”
Tessa steeled herself. “Eugenie made
the acquaintance of a gentleman, Lord Gresham. Did she not tell you? It was the crowning glory of her trip.”
Louise’s eyes narrowed. “Lord Gresham,” she repeated. “Lord Gresham, the heir to the Duke of Durham, who was the most eligible man in all England until a few months ago, when the greatest scandal in living memory engulfed him?”
“In living memory?” Tessa said, striving for disinterest. “I thought that fuss over the Duke of York and Mrs. Clarke selling army commissions was only last year . . .”
“You know what I mean.” Louise waved her hand impatiently. “What happened in Frome? And how on earth does it involve the Earl of Gresham?”
Tessa went to the window and stared out. The lovely green of St. James’s Square was visible, barely, if she looked far to the right. Through the ripples of the glass, it had an unreal, fairy look about it, a distant oasis of lush, peaceful green. She thought of the refuge behind Mill Cottage, where the willows grew in the ruined old mill and the brook ran past and where Charlie had called her darling, then had to close her eyes for a moment. “Lord Gresham was there to look at the canal. He called on me and Eugenie a few times, which was very kind of him; Frome is possibly the quietest town on earth, Louise. It was terribly inconsiderate of you to make Eugenie go along just because you wanted her out of your way.”
Louise put her hands on her hips. “Tessa, tell me now,” she said through her teeth. She made no effort at all to deny the charge about Eugenie, which indicated how serious she was.
Tessa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Eugenie thought he paid me some interest,” she said at last. “But I am convinced he meant nothing by it.” Her heart hurt as she said it, even though she told herself it was factually correct. The only sort of interest Louise would be interested in was a proposal of marriage, and Charlie hadn’t made one.
“The new Duke of Durham paid you attention,” said Louise as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “The Duke of Durham.”
“Well, he isn’t the duke,” Tessa pointed out. “He is still Lord Gresham. Eugenie and I didn’t even know about the Durham Dilemma until . . . later.”
“When did you know?” Louise caught her hesitation. “After what?”
After he kissed her. After he made love to her. After he made her feel justified for her actions to Richard Wilbur, not like a half-mad betrayed spinster. After she lost her heart to him. “After we knew him a bit,” she said. “You know I never pay attention to gossip.”
“Never pay . . . ?” Louise gaped at her. “Tessa! The Durham Dilemma? How could you not remark that? Everyone is talking of it!”
“Eugenie didn’t know of it, either,” Tessa defended herself. “No one in Frome was speaking of it, I assure you.”
Louise put her fingertips to her temples. “Very well,” she said, her voice gone higher with strain. “You didn’t know. With you, it might be true. But then—” She inhaled and exhaled loudly. “Then how acquainted were you with him?”
Tessa turned back to the window. “He was there to see the canal,” she said quietly. “That’s what he told us. He assisted Eugenie when she felt unwell, and then he continued his kindness. He drove me to see Mr. Scott once or twice, as he also had business with the man.” She gave a slight shrug. “Then he left to return to London.”
“Yes,” said Louise. “He must come back to London for the trial before Parliament on whether he shall inherit or not!”
“It’s not a trial,” said Tessa without thinking. “It’s a hearing before a committee.”
“You knew!” Louise screeched in triumph. “I knew you knew more than you let on! How well did you become acquainted? My heavens, Tessa, he’s the most talked about man in England! Do you realize what this could mean for us? Assuming he wins this trial or whatever it is, he’ll be the Duke of Durham! Do you understand what that means, Tessa?”
It meant he could have his pick of all the women in England. Charlie would have been hard for any woman to refuse even as a penniless scoundrel with no assets but his charm and his looks; possessed of an ancient, illustrious title and all the wealth that went with it . . . He would forget her name within a week. Tessa laid her palms against the cold windowpanes and bit down hard on her lip, trying not to betray any sign of her feelings.
“We must be delicate about this,” Louise was saying, although her voice brimmed with joy. She started pacing, wringing her hands. “We must arrange a public meeting, where he can acknowledge you—oh, I’m so glad you’ve come to town, dear, darling Tessa! This will establish us in the very best circles! And once we’re publicly acquainted, we shall invite him to dine—”
“No,” Tessa said harshly, rounding on her sister. “You will not. If you try to push me into his path, I will leave London and never return, even if I have to walk all the way to Rushwood.”
Louise blinked in astonishment. “What happened, dear?” Comprehension finally seemed to be emerging from the haze of delight over the prospect of a ducal acquaintance. “Did he lead you on?”
Her breath seemed to have caught on something in her chest. It hurt to inhale, and her throat burned. “No.”
Her sister frowned. “Did he trifle with you?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?” cried Louise, frenzied with curiosity.
Tessa opened her mouth to reply, but no words would come. I fell in love, she wanted to say. I fell in love with him but even if he loved me, it’s not meant to be. But her throat tightened up and she snapped her mouth shut.
Louise’s face changed. “Oh, my dear.” She looked as though she might burst into tears, and then she opened her arms. Louise loved nothing more than a tragic drama, Tessa told herself, but somehow she went into her older sister’s arms and took the comfort they offered.
Chapter 22
Charlie left Uppercombe in a somber but turbulent mood. He rode aimlessly at first, needing some peace to absorb the news. Eventually he realized he had wandered far from the road home, too far to return that day. A small inn provided a perfect haven as he tried to think of what he should do next. It was a hard blow to learn he might have a son who would always belong to another man—and a man like Worley at that. He didn’t get much sleep, kept awake by that thought and by remembrances of his own father. Durham had been stern and demanding, but Charlie had known he cared for all three of his children. He’d been exacting, but never cruel. Charlie hadn’t always thought the duke’s punishments were merited, but he also acknowledged that he got into the most trouble of the Durham boys. And of course, his father’s greatest sin—denying him Maria—turned out to be no sin at all, but a mercy.
There was something very humbling in the realization that his father had been more like him than he knew. Charlie wondered how he would have reacted if Durham had confided in him, when he was deep in the throes of his passion for Maria, about Dorothy. If that admission of weakness and foolishness would have knocked some sense into him, and at least kept him from succumbing to momentary madness three years ago with Maria. It could have prevented all this scandal and upheaval, and allowed his father to die in peace. He had been as impulsive and shortsighted as any young man, and even more so under the influence of infatuation, but there was no question that his father’s heavy-handed discipline had also spurred him to rebellion many times, before and after Maria. It was uncomfortable to peer into his own juvenile mind and examine his motives. How many of his actions had been driven purely by the desire to prove himself independent of his father’s whim?
He delayed an extra day at the inn, excoriating himself for being petulant and obs
tinate. If he had only humbled himself to return home, even years after the break, to ask his father for an explanation, this all might have been avoided. It was lowering to admit he had been just as bad as his father in clinging to his pride, each determined not to concede to the other. Charlie realized he had no trouble doing this before other people; in fact, he had deprecated himself many times in his pursuit of Tessa, and not found it galling at all. Edward always insisted their father was fair-minded, and he’d explicitly told him that Durham wished to see him. It was the hardest realization of all: that his father might have wished to remedy the breach, to apologize or at least to explain, and he had ignored it. What was the discomfort of traveling with a broken leg, after all, compared to the reconciliation and peace he might have granted his father at the end? He could barely stand to think of how Edward had said the duke called for him in his last hours.
And what would Tessa think of him now? The whole scandal had been his fault, because of his recklessness. Gerard was liable to punch him in the face, and Edward would castigate him for being so idiotic, and he would deserve both. But if Tessa looked at him with disgust and loathing when she heard the full story . . . he didn’t know how he would bear it.
He reached Mill Cottage late in the day, dismounting and handing his horse to the boy who came running. He trudged toward the house, his heart and mind still heavy with the results of his journey. He had to tell his brothers that everything had been his fault, however unintentionally. He had to tell Tessa—God above, he needed to see Tessa. He told himself she would understand. Everything else seemed to make more sense after he talked it over with her, and he hoped desperately this would be the same.
“Welcome home, my lord,” said Barnes, waiting for him in the doorway.
The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke Page 26