“You cannot even look me in the eyes,” Anne said. “It is not like you.”
“Anne, please.”
“I asked you what you were discussing that night. You said nothing of consequence, but you knew,” Anne said. “Why did you keep this from me?”
She met her friend’s troubled gaze. “I will admit this much. All I knew that night was that he wished to call on me.”
Anne drew in her breath. “Tessa, you have not developed tender feelings for him, have you?”
“I’m his matchmaker. Give me credit for discretion and sense.” Such as taking a rake’s hand and falling into his arms with nary a peep of protest.
Anne set her cup aside. “Dearest, I worry because of his reputation. I saw him gazing at you in an improper manner.”
“You worry for nothing.” But she would have let him kiss her if he’d not stopped. She decided her brain had gone on holiday.
“Tessa, we share everything,” Anne said. “You have never lied to me before.”
Her cup rattled as she set it on the saucer. “It was an omission, not a lie.” Out of necessity, she’d learned to prevaricate and reveal only part of the truth when necessary. She’d lied to Anne by omission for years because she’d had no choice.
“You are the sister I never had,” Anne said. “I cannot help being concerned about you.”
“There is nothing to worry about. He is only interested in my matchmaking services.” But she could not forget he’d almost kissed her, and she’d wanted him to do it. Had yearned for something that could destroy her reputation and her career.
“Tessa, I am worried. You knew his reputation and still you agreed to make him a match. Did you think of the young ladies? He is a rake.”
“I am satisfied his intentions are true and honorable,” she said. “And you must accept that this is all I can say about the matter. I swore confidentiality to him, and I will not break my promise.”
“I’m sure their mothers know his reputation. They don’t care about anything except his ducal title,” Anne said.
Tessa suspected the girls felt the same way. She could only hope under her guidance they would see beyond his title. No, she must do more than hope. She must encourage Shelbourne and the girls to become better acquainted.
“I need not worry about you,” Anne said. “Jane will be there to supervise and the girls will be present as well. So you are safe from him.”
Until yesterday, she would have agreed. She set her cup aside, vowing she would not fall for his teasing ever again. He was a skilled flirt with years of experience. She dared not let her guard down again.
Tessa turned to her friend. “Enough about Shelbourne. I wish to hear your news.”
“It is not news really, but I have hope for the first time in two years. Geoffrey is inquiring into my brother’s disappearance at the battle of Toulouse.”
Cold chills broke out on Tessa’s arms, despite the heat from the fire. She searched for something to say, but there was so much she could not say. All she could do was offer her sympathy. “I know how difficult it has been for you these past two years.”
Anne glanced down at her clasped hands. “Geoffrey realized I cannot reconcile my brother’s loss. All I have is a report stating he went missing in action. If I knew for certain what happened to Richard, perhaps I could rest easier.”
Tessa’s stomach lurched involuntarily. The guilt, buried deep inside, clawed its way to the surface. She’d tried to put those events behind her, but they would follow her all the days of her life.
Anne’s eyes misted as she gazed at Tessa. “If not for you, I never would have found the strength to go on. Your support meant the world to me.”
Anne’s father had died shortly after they had received the news about her brother. Tessa had wanted to help her indigent and grieving friend. Yet she could not deny guilt had played some part in her decision. She’d thought that offering her friend a home would lessen the burden of remorse. A thousand times, she’d asked herself if Anne deserved the truth, but a confession would destroy their friendship forever.
“I’m so sorry,” Tessa said with a heavy heart. No amount of apologies would ever change the past.
“Forgive me,” Anne said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Tessa’s words echoed in her brain as if she’d spoken in an empty room.
Anne folded her handkerchief. “It was so generous of your uncle to provide my brother’s commission. Poor Papa felt so guilty. He was a wonderful vicar, but he had no talent for finances.”
Thank heavens Anne knew nothing about the real circumstances behind that commission.
Anne glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I must go now. Geoffrey is expecting me.”
Tessa’s legs felt deadened as she accompanied Anne to the door. Once there, Anne halted. “There’s one more thing, Tessa. I discussed it with Geoffrey, and he suggested I speak to you.”
Tessa stiffened involuntarily. What had Anne told her husband?
“I worry that in helping me you sacrificed your own chance for marriage.”
Her face grew hot, imagining Anne discussing her spinster state with Lord Broughton. “I sacrifice nothing, thanks to my uncle’s generosity.”
“You deserve to make a happy marriage. Think of what you are missing. A husband and children.”
“In all the time you’ve known me, have you seen a single gentleman call for me?” she asked.
“You put my needs above your own. And I think in the process, you sent out signals that you were unavailable.”
Oh, yes, she’d sent those signals out, but Anne had nothing to do with it.
“Promise me you’ll consider what I’m about to say,” Anne said.
“So serious,” she said, a little too glibly.
“It’s not too late for you to marry, Tessa. It’s not.”
Tessa said nothing because there was nothing she could say. In truth, it was eight years too late.
Chapter Five
Tristan’s eyes watered at the overwhelming scents of roses, violets, and the devil only knew what other flowery perfumes.
Over the rim of his teacup, he surveyed the twenty misses who sat preening like plumed and ruffled peacocks in Miss Mansfield’s drawing room. Their giggles and whispers made him feel ancient. Of course the age difference was customary. Women were expected to marry young.
“More tea?” Miss Mansfield asked. She was seated beside him near the hearth.
“No, thank you.” Tristan set his cup aside and observed Miss Mansfield while she refilled her cup. He’d never paid much attention to women’s fashions before and probably wouldn’t have noticed her gown if not for the gauzelike fabric trimming her bodice. The filmy material drew his gaze to the shadowy hollow between her ivory breasts. They seemed to strain against the confines of her bodice. Heat simmered in his groin as he imagined their soft weight in his palms.
“Your Grace? Is something the matter?”
He jerked his gaze to her eyes. The heat in parts down south leaped to his face. The devil. She’d caught him ogling her. This cursed celibacy was starting to interfere with his mental faculties. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was thinking.”
She frowned. “Your face is flushed. Are you feverish?”
“Only a little warm. From the fire.” The one in his groin. He’d best change the subject. “We should begin.”
“Very well.” Then she clapped her hands. “Ladies, your attention, please,” she called out.
The feminine chatter died.
After a moment of silence, Miss Mansfield said, “Thank you all for coming today and congratulations on being selected to continue in the competition.”
The lively blonde, Lady Georgette, wrinkled her slim nose. “Competition?” she said. “Is this a contest?”
Several of the young ladies giggled.
“Make no mistake,” Miss Mansfield said. “You are all competing for the duke’s hand. His Grace
has agreed to take an entire two hours out of his busy schedule to interview you.”
She’d made him sound like a pompous ass. He scowled to get her attention, but she rose and walked over to a closed door near the hearth. “The interviews,” she said, opening the door, “will be conducted in the yellow drawing room under my supervision.”
A brunette with slanting green eyes raised her hand.
“Do you have a question, Lady Elizabeth?” Miss Mansfield asked.
“No, an observation,” Lady Elizabeth said. “By my calculation, there is no possible way to conduct individual interviews with all twenty of us in two hours.”
Tristan nodded. Lady Elizabeth’s astute assessment ratcheted her up a notch in his estimation. He meant to explain that he would select a handful of candidates to interview after a general thirty-minute conversation, but Miss Mansfield intervened.
“I have devised a plan to stay within the time frame,” she said. “At five minutes per interview, we will finish twenty minutes ahead of schedule.” She favored him with a sugary smile. “Think of it as speedy courting.”
The young ladies giggled.
He started to argue, but an idea occurred to him that could well save him from having to interview all twenty. He allowed his gaze to travel over the candidates. Their smiles disappeared and several fidgeted. “Each of you should keep in mind that I am unable to give you the consideration you deserve. That is why I plan to eliminate at least half of you today.”
The drawing room rang with horrified gasps.
Their stricken faces bothered him, but he had to remain firm. “I know that sounds harsh, but keep in mind that sooner or later nineteen of you will be eliminated.”
They looked stunned, as if the possibility had never occurred to them. He figured their parents were pressuring them to participate. Regardless, he must ensure they understood the odds were stacked against them.
“The season is well under way, and all twenty of you are ineligible to court other gentlemen. If you stay much beyond today, you are likely giving up the chance to marry this season. That is why I am giving you a choice. You can withdraw now, so that you may court other gentlemen. Or you can choose to stay. If you decide to leave, I will understand.”
At first none of them moved. Then the plain, red-haired girl stood, revealing a crumpled pink gown that hung sacklike on her spare frame.
Tristan stood. Poor girl, he thought, watching her awkward attempts to retrieve her reticule while keeping her eyes downcast. Honestly, what had Miss Mansfield been thinking to include this painfully shy young woman in the courtship?
Miss Mansfield rushed forward. “Miss Hardwick, how wonderful of you to volunteer for the first interview.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes. Didn’t Miss Mansfield understand she’d only drawn unwanted attention to the girl? Why prolong Miss Hardwick’s misery when she obviously did not wish to participate?
Miss Mansfield scanned the room and called out to her companion. “Jane, please have the candidates form a queue. We’ll need to be quick.”
Miss Powell hurried forward, but she wasn’t fast enough.
The bridal candidates leaped out of their chairs and made a mad dash for the adjoining drawing room door. As they jostled one another, a chorus of complaints arose.
“I was here first.”
“Stop pushing.”
“She stepped on my toes.”
Tristan gaped at them. So much for genteel deportment.
Miss Mansfield had to clap her hands three times to get their attention. “Ladies, remember your manners. Have you forgotten His Grace is watching you?”
That question only set them off blaming one another.
“She pinched me.”
“It’s her fault.”
“She called me a cow.”
Miss Mansfield clapped her hands again. “Enough! The next person who utters a single word will automatically be dismissed from the competition.”
A tall brunette with stormy eyes objected. “This is unfair, making everyone fight for a position.”
“Thank you for your time today, Lady Beatrice,” Miss Mansfield said. “A footman will show you out.”
Lady Beatrice shot a venomous glare at Miss Mansfield and then quit the room with her head held high.
The other candidates looked frightened as Miss Mansfield walked the length of the queue, inspecting them. They ought to be ashamed of their childish behavior, but Miss Mansfield had stood up to them. She was entirely too soft-hearted where Miss Hardwick was concerned, but she had an iron backbone. Nevertheless, he meant to call her on the carpet for manipulating him again.
“Jane,” she said to her companion. “Cut up strips of paper and number them from one to nineteen. The girls will draw the order of their interviews.”
Tristan stepped forward. “Miss Mansfield, may I have a private word with you?”
She nodded and led him into the adjoining room while Miss Powell conducted the drawing.
He shut the door. “I thought we had an understanding. No more tricks. Instead, you chose to mock me with another one of your nonsensical ideas.”
“I did my best to ensure all the girls have an equal chance,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes. “You embarrassed Miss Hardwick when she tried to leave.”
“Promise me one thing,” she said, her voice low and urging.
“What?” His gruff tone startled her, but he had to resist her. And he found it difficult when she stood so near, her lush lips parted and her eyes pleading.
“Please don’t eliminate Amy Hardwick yet,” she said.
He took a step closer, looming over her. “You should have allowed her to withdraw.”
Miss Mansfield’s eyes filled with misery. “She hasn’t taken well with the ton. Others mock her. You saw the other girls looking at her with disgust during the test. Her self-esteem is so battered she probably thought you directed your speech solely to her.”
He wondered if her concern for Miss Hardwick was based on her own spinster state. But Miss Mansfield was no wallflower. “You did her no favor. She is too bashful to ever fit into my world.”
“Please do not eliminate her yet. She will benefit from the courtship. Others will regard her with respect when they realize you have taken notice of her.”
“Ridiculous,” he muttered.
“All I ask is that you keep her one more week. Then when you release her, she will be free to court other gentlemen. If you keep her an extra week, others will conclude she has special qualities.”
“I will judge her based on her responses to the interview, the same as the others.” When she started to protest, he held up his hand. “To treat her any differently would be tantamount to pity and a dishonor to her.”
An hour later, Tessa cringed as she escorted yet another weeping young lady out of the yellow drawing room. The duke had extended eight invitations so far. Now there were four remaining candidates to interview and only two invitations. Worse, there was no guarantee he would extend both of them.
She took a deep breath and called out, “Next.”
Lady Georgette glided inside the yellow drawing room with a poised smile on her face. Her confidence irked Tessa. No doubt the duke would give an invitation to the pretty blonde. Men were slaves around beautiful women.
After they had taken seats, the duke asked the same question he’d posed to all the other candidates. “Lady Georgette, if we wed, what is it you expect from marriage?”
Tessa held her breath, certain Georgette would say she wanted to do her duty and give him an heir. He had eliminated the candidates who had responded in that fashion.
Georgette twirled the curl by her ear. “Well, I hardly know you, so it’s difficult to answer. We may not suit at all.”
What conceit, Tessa thought.
The duke looked amused. “Let’s try it another way. What do you expect from marriage in general?”
“I am very close to my family,” she said. “We have many tra
ditions. When I marry, I hope to see my parents and brothers often.”
“You will be creating a new family and learning your husband’s traditions,” he said.
“I know there will be changes, but I hope to blend both families as often as possible,” she said.
“Anything else?”
She twirled her curl again. “What do you want from marriage?”
He handed her an invitation. “Perhaps you will find out.”
Ugly jealousy clawed at Tessa. She averted her gaze, ashamed by her petty reaction. Why did she care that he was attracted to the blond beauty?
She pushed it all out of her mind. For now, Tessa had more important concerns than Georgette. The next two candidates made the fatal mistake of swearing they only wanted to give the duke an heir. Both fled the yellow drawing room empty-handed and in tears.
Amy Hardwick had drawn the last number. As she shuffled inside, Tessa sent Shelbourne a pleading look. His expression remained stoic, alarming her. After Tessa sat, she couldn’t take her eyes off the last invitation. He’d said there was no assurance he would extend all ten. Tessa bit her lip. Just once, couldn’t the girl least likely win?
Amy clutched her trembling hands and gazed at her lap.
“Miss Hardwick?” Shelbourne said.
When she didn’t respond, he waited. Several anxious seconds ticked off. Finally, Amy peeped up at him.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice gentle. “Now, I will ask you the same question I’ve posed to everyone else. And I want you to be honest.”
His kind tone gave Tessa hope. Perhaps he would relent and keep Amy in the competition for another round.
After he asked the question, Amy lowered her gaze once more. “I have no expectations,” she mumbled.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Miss Hardwick, do you have an objection to me?”
She lifted her gaze. “Oh, no, Your Grace.”
“Earlier you tried to leave. Can you tell me why?”
Her lashes lowered again. “I no longer wished to be in the courtship.”
How to Marry a Duke Page 6