"I can't wait to see Mama's face when you tell her," said Georgiana. "Let's do it now."
The Langley household dined that night on a simple but delicious meal. Trout, caught by Lizzie and the duke, was served with a delicate buttery lemon sauce, and the chickens, basted to perfection, were pronounced as tender as anyone at the table had ever tasted. The dessert, a delicious apple meringue confection, was served with a flourish.
Devereaux looked curiously at the flushed faces around his dinner table. "Have I missed out on anything?" he asked.
Feeling unusually charitable, the duchess raised her wineglass in a toast. "To Teresa Bradford," she said warmly, "a woman of unusual talents. Tess has saved us from a fate that would surely have resulted in complete mortification."
Devereaux's right eyebrow lifted in a questioning arc.
"Madame Rochelle was taken ill without finishing the gowns Georgiana and I commissioned for our dinner party," his mother continued. "The result of such negligence is that we would have had nothing at all to wear."
"Surely, nothing is an exaggeration, Mama," commented the duke dryly.
"There isn't one evening gown in my clothes press that wouldn't be remembered from last season," she returned. "Don't be difficult, James. Let me finish."
"I'm anxiously waiting for you to do so."
The duchess beamed at Tess. "It appears that our American guest is a skilled seamstress. Apparently Madame Rochelle has been charging us abominable rates for something that Tess assures us is quite simple. She has agreed to direct the maids in the fashioning of our gowns. Isn't that wonderful?"
Over the rim of his glass Devereaux's eyes met the wide grey ones of Daniel Bradford's wife. Something familiar and disturbing flashed between them, lingered briefly, and then disappeared.
"Is there anything you don't do?" he asked, regarding her thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?"
He checked off her accomplishments using his fingers. "In the few days since you arrived, you've redesigned my tower, caught more fish in a single day than Lizzie and I have in a week, saved my mother an embarrassment too great for words and," his eyes twinkled, "most unusual of all, you're my equal at chess."
"Don't be absurd." Tess laughed self-consciously.
"Is there anything else you haven't told us?"
"Nothing," she assured him, "nothing at all."
* * *
Remembering her reply several days later, he looked with amusement at her expert handling of what could have been a very awkward situation.
His mother's dinner party was an enormous success by everyone's standard. The most important men in English government circles attended with their wives. Political differences were ignored as Whigs and Tories chatted politely while drinking the duke's excellent champagne.
Among these were Lord and Lady Holland who arrived with the Prince Regent's sharp-eyed favorite, Lady Jersey. Viscount Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary who had single-handedly run England's affairs for years, was there with his lady, and even Lord Liverpool made an unprecedented appearance. To have assembled such a group together under one roof was a feat attributed directly to the tremendous power and influence of the Devereauxs of Langley.
Devereaux wasn't concerned that Tess would learn of the hostilities between his country and hers. In addition to their expertise in diplomacy, every one of his guests had impeccable breeding and wouldn't dream of embarrassing the lovely young American with talk of war.
He looked at the slim regal figure seated next to Lord Liverpool. She appeared to be listening intently. Suddenly her eyes widened. She shook her head and smiled. His heart constricted. He felt the pull of her, almost as if she'd called his name.
Casually, he extricated himself from the perfectly beautiful, perfectly cold Miss Davenport and made his way to the Prime Minister's side. He arrived in time to hear Lord Liverpool's question.
"What can you tell me about the War Hawks, Mrs. Bradford? Are they a political force in America?"
Her smile was dazzling. "Yes, sir. According to my father and Senator Bradford, there is a growing concern among the legislature that America isn't being taken seriously as a sovereign entity. We are surrounded on all sides by hostile nations whom we are trying to appease, the French to the North, the Spanish to the South, and of course, the Indian nations to the West. The War Hawks are young men, like Andrew Jackson, mostly from frontier states, who feel we should stand up and be noticed. They are moving in and taking votes away from the Federalists, who, I understand, have always been friendly with the Tories."
Lord Liverpool, every inch a Tory, lifted his quizzing glass to one eye.
"Indeed," he replied. "And do you agree with them, Mrs. Bradford?"
"Yes." Her voice was filled with conviction. "I, too, would argue for war with England unless trade is resumed and impressment stopped."
"Now, see here, young lady," the Prime Minister protested. "You can't possibly know what you are proposing. Are you suggesting we give up everything and allow Bonaparte to succeed? It's preposterous."
"There must be another way. Your current policy is nothing more than pure piracy upon another nation's resources." Her eyes, the color of liquid silver, were fixed on his face.
Liverpool looked helplessly at his host. "Help me, James. I'm losing this argument. This woman is a radical."
Devereaux grinned. "You should have remembered her citizenship before you engaged in debate."
"Don't tell me you agree with her?"
"Not at all, but that doesn't stop me from appreciating the strength of her convictions."
"If you don't mind," Tess interrupted. "I would prefer not to be discussed as if I were some inanimate object. If America, a nation without the military might and naval power of England, can solve her problems using her own resources, surely England can as well."
"We have elections here," Lord Liverpool said defensively. "Traditions are not so easily changed."
"Is that what you call them?" She smiled sweetly. "Membership in the House of Lords is hereditary and your House of Commons is not elected by the people."
"Is that so dreadful?" asked Liverpool.
"I won't argue for impressment or infringing upon American rights," Devereaux broke in, "but I will stand up for our system of government. If you will think for a moment, the men Americans elect to office are those of enormous wealth, your very own untitled aristocracy, so to speak. Your leaders are men from the landholding class of Virginia. Men with the leisure time and intellect to undertake the business of government. Perhaps, in time, it will change. As it stands, the system is a good one."
"I think it will change," Tess said quietly. "My father believes that the man I spoke of, Andrew Jackson, will make his mark in American politics. He is as far from landed gentry as you are, m'lord, from a chambermaid."
Devereaux's clipped voice sounded annoyingly patronizing. "Perhaps you are right. However, although we have some inequities, our class system has worked quite well over the centuries. It is up to those with the ability to rule to manage the circumstances of government. Your own founding fathers agreed. After all the American Constitution is based on our Magna Carta."
The creamy curves of her breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath the blue velvet bodice and her eyes were very bright. "Let me rephrase to be sure I understand you correctly. The poor and working classes are incapable of rational judgment and therefore must rely on the wealthy, titled, and therefore more intelligent, to make their decisions for them?"
Devereaux thought for a moment. The Prime Minister waited with bated breath. How would James salvage this one? She had deliberately made him sound like a pompous bigot.
"An interesting interpretation," James said and smiled brilliantly, effectively disarming both Tess and the Prime Minister. "I wonder if dinner is ready."
Again, he had minimized the differences between them. Tess hadn't expected to be taken seriously. After all, she was a woman, and women, she reminded herself bitterly, wer
e disregarded in America as well as in Britain. But James had listened to her and so had Lord Liverpool.
The anger, which changed the golden color of her cheeks to a rich apricot, drained from her body. She knew from her friendship with Georgiana and Caroline, that the English temperament was not like an American's. It appeared that the duke, despite his sense of honor and considerable charm, ran true to form. Still, he was a duke and unlike anyone Tess had ever known. Because she was always completely honest with herself, she admitted that his air of noblesse oblige was a very large part of his personal appeal for her.
She placed her gloved hand on Liverpool's arm. "Forgive me, m'lord," she said, looking up through her lashes. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable?"
Liverpool looked at her with open admiration. "Not at all, my dear, not at all. Always glad to hear an intelligent opinion." He patted her hand. "This is a difficult time for you. Rest assured we'll do everything we can to right this unfortunate situation."
Devereaux smothered his laughter with a cough. The woman had the finesse of a diplomat. Without apologizing for her beliefs, she managed to convince the Prime Minister of England that he was the recipient of a very great honor.
Pushing himself away from the wall, he held out his arm to Tess. "Dinner is served. May I escort you?"
"Of course." She looked up at the lean handsome face. His emotions, as usual, were carefully held in check. Hesitating for an instant, she turned back to Lord Liverpool. "That is, if you don't mind, sir?"
"Not at all," he blustered, his strident voice carrying across the room. "James always did have a way of walking off with the loveliest lady around."
Devereaux's eyes glinted as he saw the look of outrage on Cynthia Davenport's narrow face. The evening was turning out much better than expected.
"I hope I didn't offend you with my liberal opinions," Tess's expression was carefully neutral as they made their way to the dining room.
"Would you mind if you had?"
"Yes," she replied. "I'm not totally lost to all propriety. Your family has been very kind to me."
"Does that appreciation extend to me? Have I been very kind to you, also?" His gaze carried a disturbing expression.
She stopped, oblivious to the others around them, and stared up at him. The censure in the clear grey depths of her eyes was unmistakable.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "That was unforgivable of me."
"Yes, it was," she agreed.
"Shall we continue, or have I gone past forgiveness?" He smiled, sure of his charm. "We are holding up dinner."
"I don't think the way these people do." The passion in her voice demanded an immediate answer.
"That's understandable. No one expects you to," he answered reasonably. "Your opinions are your own." Lifting her chin, he forced her eyes to meet his. "You are a credit to your country, Tess. It isn't necessary to apologize for that." The white line deepened around his mouth. "In the end it may be I who will ask for your pardon."
She said nothing, noting the air of confidence that emanated from him, the easy assured way he held his head, the pride, so unconscious it was close to arrogance. Taking a deep breath she turned, once again, toward the dining room.
"I hope your mother hasn't seated me near Lord Liverpool. The poor man has had enough discord to spoil his dinner already."
"You really are an innocent, aren't you?" The familiar note of amusement was back in his voice. "His lordship was utterly charmed by your novel ideas. He will be very disappointed to learn that Mother has seated you beside Lady Castlereagh and Lord Holland."
"Good Lord," Tess choked. "What a combination."
"You will find," he said seriously, "if you look past the trappings of Whig and Tory, they share similar philosophies."
The first course, a delicious cream soup, was already being served when Tess slipped into her chair. Sparkling crystal and silver reflected the light from a thousand candles and the food was served on the finest Sevres china.
Lady Castlereagh, a small birdlike woman with brown hair and eyes the color of sherry, smiled warmly. "I'm so glad we'll have this chance to talk. How are you enjoying England?" Holding her spoon poised at her lips, she waited for Tess's answer.
"It's unbelievably lovely," Tess replied, grateful that she could be honest about this aspect of English life. "I don't know if your husband has mentioned it, m'lady, but he is acquainted with my father-in-law. Lord Castlereagh stayed at Bradford House when he visited America. My father and Senator Bradford were very impressed with him. He is the single British official to seriously accept my country as a sovereign nation."
Lady Castlereagh looked fondly at her husband. "I wish it were so with his peers in England. Unfortunately, many can't see behind his natural reticence." Her eyes clouded. "They see him as cold and aloof when actually he's quite shy."
"My father believes him to be the greatest statesman in England," said Tess softly, moved by the obvious affection in Lady Castlereagh's eyes.
"I think history will eventually agree with your father, my dear. My husband's dream is to restructure Europe so no one will ever again feel the need to engage in war."
She turned glowing eyes toward Tess. "Please call me Emily." She nodded toward Langley. "That young man also has enormous potential. He thinks in terms of all of Europe, not just England. Mark my words," she lifted a napkin and dabbed her lips, "we'll hear a great deal of him in the future."
Tess looked with admiration at the small animated woman beside her. Here was no dimwitted female who did nothing but gossip, entertain, and await the attentions of gentlemen. Her razor-sharp mind was the equal of any man's there that evening. Lord Castlereagh had chosen his political hostess well. She was very deeply involved in her husband's career.
The assembled guests were an interesting assortment, decided Tess. Lady Holland, a notorious philanthropist, was debating land reform with Lord Liverpool. Leonie Devereaux had Lord Castlereagh's undivided attention and, although Tess was too far away to hear their conversation, she was sure from the serious expressions on their faces that it was political in nature. At the far end of the table James Devereaux was sharing conversation with Miss Davenport and her mother, who had been placed on either side of him. He looked bored.
Lady Castlereagh whispered softly. "James will be making a dreadful mistake with that one." She tasted the buttered crab and smiled with pleasure.
"What do you mean?" Tess asked.
"Rumor has it that Cynthia Davenport will be the next Duchess of Langley. She has Leonie's approval, although I must admit, that usually doesn't weigh much with James."
An unexpected pang pierced Tess's heart. "Is it settled then?"
"Not at all." Emily smiled. "If I know Devereaux, he may surprise us yet."
She couldn't keep from staring, James and the classically beautiful blonde made an appealing couple.
Unexpectedly, he turned and looked directly at her. For a brief moment he searched her face, then looked away. For the length of that look, she held her breath until the ache in her chest was almost painful. Good Lord, what was happening to her?
She needed to go home, away from everything English, especially the man at the far end of the table. There was something about him, something elemental and dangerous that set him apart from every other man she had ever known. Perhaps it was his arrogant assurance that frightened her, or his air of command, or the sharp lean planes of his face. His hair, shining and black as a crow's wing, was a sharp contrast to the brilliance of his eyes, the clear impossible blue of the Maryland sky on the cusp of summer.
Tess took a shuddering breath. If Daniel wasn't found soon and she didn't return to America, her husband would find himself married to a very different woman than the one he left behind on his wedding day.
She wondered what it would be like to live a quiet predictable life again, filled with nothing more exciting than neighbors for dinner or a country barbeque, her world defined by green fields and blue water, by the Ches
apeake tides lapping against the harsh red soil of the tidewater. It sounded incredibly dull.
Devereaux couldn't keep his mind on Cynthia Davenport's insipid conversation. How could his mother possibly imagine he could endure a lifetime of this woman's sanctimonious prattle? Against his will, his eyes were drawn to the far end of the table where Tess and Lady Castlereagh were deep in discussion.
Teresa Bradford was everything that was lovely and honest and alive. It was more than her undeniable beauty that fascinated him. It was her loyalty, her clear-thinking mind and, oddly enough, that quality that made her different from everyone in his world, her all-encompassing enthusiasm. Tess Bradford did not know the meaning of the word bored. The sheer warmth of her personality drew everyone to her, from all stations of life. For the first time James realized that because of Tess he was embarrassed by the class-consciousness of the English aristocracy. He also knew, with a frightening sense of inevitability, that he would never meet another woman like Teresa Bradford.
Later, in the drawing room where the ladies gathered after dinner, Tess took a seat apart from everyone else. The men were in another room lingering over glasses of port. For the last interminable minutes she wished she were in the dining room with them. In America, the antiquated custom of separating men and women after dinner was no longer practiced. With the exception of Lady Castlereagh and Georgiana, Tess felt stifled by the conversation of English women. She tensed as the elder Mrs. Davenport crossed the room and sat by her side.
"Are you looking forward to London?" the woman asked, determined to be kindly condescending to this chit of an American.
"Of course," Tess replied graciously. "London is renowned in America. I'm eager to see the sights."
"I fear it will be overwhelming at first," she said with a vapid smile. "You must ask Cynthia how to go about."
Tess managed to control her amusement. The woman really was impossible. Nathanial Harrington's daughter had never in her life needed such assistance.
"You needn't concern yourself, Mrs. Davenport. Annapolis isn't exactly a small town."
"Really?" The older woman's double chin quivered. "We hear so very little about America, you know."
Tuesday's Child Page 7