She gathered up her courage and smiled at him. “I’d like that.”
Chapter 22
Teresa’s dress for dinner that evening was a subdued light blue — a color he was beginning to notice she favored — with a high neckline and simple detailing along the sleeves. The dress of a debutante, out for her first Season. Nothing at all like the red dress from the night before — which was perfectly logical. Indeed, it was illogical to expect her to wear the red dress again so soon.
That was why it made absolutely no sense for him to be disappointed that she hadn’t worn it again. Besides, he told himself, it was for his benefit. He’d made her a promise that afternoon. It would be much easier to keep that promise without the temptation that dress presented dangling in front of him. Anything that kept his need at a low simmer instead of an outright boil was something to be thankful for.
All good, solid reasons to ignore the pang of disappointment he couldn’t deny he felt at seeing the light blue. She still looked lovely — her eyes bright and the curls falling in a perfect cascade — but gone was the tempting siren from the night before.
In her place was a lively conversationalist who required his full attention to maintain his end of the dinner discussion. Still, the topics were all safe and light, the sort discussed among polite company over dinner. She was wearing her Society mask again, although minus the chilly reception she had given him that morning. He was impressed at just how good it was but it wasn’t the same woman who had intrigued and challenged him from the beginning. It wasn’t the real Teresa.
He’d almost given up hope, convinced that despite their earlier discussion he had irrevocably damaged his chances, until she followed him to the library after dinner instead of withdrawing to her sitting parlor — a good sign when it came to rebuilding her trust in him, he thought. He let her choose where she wanted to sit, figuring that having control over her surroundings might make her feel more comfortable. To his surprise, she chose to sit on the same couch they had sat on the night before.
He settled into the chair across from her, rather than risk crowding her, and pulled out one of the books he had picked up during his stay in London. A Summary of the Latest Advances in Farming Techniques As compiled By the London Society For Agricultural Advancement was not his first choice for after-dinner reading material but determining which changes to implement before next year’s planting required his time and attention.
Teresa peered at the book. “That seems rather dry reading.”
He let out a short laugh, although there was little humor in it. “Indeed. But as it might have something useful to say on how to improve the yield from the fields, I force myself to read it anyway.”
Teresa frowned at the book. “I don’t know why so many authors seem convinced that the more difficult it is to understand their meaning, the more important their work must be.”
Martin blinked, taken aback by her observation — true as it might be. “You’ve read scientific books?” In his experience, very few young ladies would even acknowledge reading as an activity, let alone read anything more challenging than the Ladies’ Journal or gossip columns.
Teresa looked up, her expression clearly saying she considered that a silly question. “My father wanted to be a scholar, remember? I don’t think he ever went a month without ordering new books for the library, on all sorts of subjects. There might have even been one or two about farming in there, although that wasn’t his interest. He was more focused on the natural landscape over what humans were doing to it — that was his passion.”
“Yes, but having a library isn’t the same as reading the books.” He’d suffered through enough conversations with gentlemen to know that very few actually read the books that filled the libraries every fashionable house sported.
“True, but my father believed firmly in education. Both he and my mother encouraged me to read as much as I wanted.” She wrinkled her nose at some memory. “Some of the books that focused on science were interesting, but most of them failed to clearly explain anything. I tried, especially after I’d read most of the others, but I kept running into the problem that so many of the authors couldn’t write very well.”
Having struggled through several dozens of books on various topics related to estate management, especially after he had inherited Moorhall, he couldn’t disagree. In several cases, he’d had to resort to writing the authors for clarification, thankful it was possible. He had been successful in learning enough to implement a wide range of improvements on the estate — improvements that had helped dig him out of the hole his father had left — but it had taken far more effort than he would have thought.
“That was one of the reasons my father wanted to write — he was convinced he could do better. He and my mother were working together on a catalogue of the local flora and fauna, to be published once they were satisfied with it. He wrote the text while she did the sketches.” Teresa fell silent, clearly lost in memories of her parents.
Martin shifted as the silence hung between them, unsure what to say. He’d never mourned his parents, not like she obviously did, and spending the majority of the year here at the estate meant that he had less practice with the small talk that most of the ton would use to fill the space. He grasped the first idea that came to mind. “What books did you enjoy reading?”
Teresa’s eyes focused back on his face, her brow furrowing with thought. After a moment, she said, “Travelogues, I think. My father didn’t buy many of them, but they were rarely dry and I liked the idea of seeing different places. Some of the writers made you feel like you were there.”
“I admit I was jealous when some of my peers traveled after Oxford.” The words slipped out before he realized what he was saying and Martin froze, wishing he could take them back. He’d never admitted to anyone how he’d felt trapped by the demands of the estate, angry at his father for dying just as freedom from obligations had been within reach.
Even though it had been years, the feelings rushed back, just as strong as they’d been during those first few months. The frustration at having to turn his back on all the plans he’d made with James and Edward, the need to put the funds his grandfather had given him for the trip towards the seed money for his investments, all as the ton watched him like a hawk, waiting for him to ‘conveniently’ fall in love with an heiress.
He’d refused to fall in line with their expectations of him, choosing instead to bring the estate back with hard work and careful investments. It was the best he’d been able to make of the situation, but he’d forgotten how much it had hurt.
“I never thought about traveling growing up, until I read my first travelogue. But even then, my parents weren’t fond of the idea. They were happy to stay at home — going to Norwich was a huge event, done only when necessary, and London seemed another world away.” Her voice was light, as if she hadn’t noticed his reaction, but Martin had the sensation that she was tactfully choosing not to push. “I didn’t mind it, really, although I loved to dream about what the world outside the estate was like and what it would be like to travel. Then I moved to London and my world felt a lot smaller.”
“Do you want to travel?” He was happy to encourage her to stay on safer topics.
Teresa bit her lip. He’d noticed she did that when she was thinking, a habit he found rather charming. Finally she answered, her words measured as if she was considering each one individually. “Two years ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. Even six months ago, I think.”
He picked up on the hesitation. “But now?”
“Now I don’t know. Being outside of London again, I wonder how much of that was because I was so anxious to leave the city in any way possible. Seeing the world seemed like the perfect escape.” She motioned to the windows, where the sunset colors were still painting the sky outside. “But I don’t know if I even really wanted to leave, not for long. My heart is here, in England.”
She paused for a moment, and then continued. “I can’t explain
it but when I saw Moorhall for the first time, it felt like coming home. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anywhere as beautiful.”
“I know what you mean.” He’d never spoken about it to anyone, but the estate had spoken to him the same way when he first arrived, shortly after his father’s death. He let his gaze wander around the library. “I’m told my grandfather the Earl spent most of his time here — rather like your father, I suspect — and near as I can tell, the enforced isolation didn’t sit well with my father. From everything I’ve heard, he left the estate shortly after he became the Earl and never returned. His only interaction with the estate was to send his demands for higher rents to his manager, who wasn’t the most competent of fellows. When I finally saw the estate, I couldn’t understand why he would do that.”
“When you finally saw the estate?” Teresa blinked and then understanding dawned before he had a chance to say anything. “Oh, right. If you grew up with your grandfather the Duke, it would have been on his estate.”
Martin nodded. “He made sure I was as familiar with the estate as I could be, having never seen it — I had all kinds of maps and local contacts to ask questions of — but he swore when my father abandoned my mother that he would never set foot on the estate while my father still lived, and later I was too busy with my schooling.”
“Do you wish you’d seen it sooner?” There was no judgment in her tone, only quiet inquiry. He shrugged.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. I had no authority to make changes while my father lived.” He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he wasn’t being completely honest. Part of him did wish he had seen it sooner — but the rest of him knew that it had been hard enough to see the damage his father’s negligence had caused when he had been able to do something about it.
It still hurt every time he saw signs of how close the estate had been to financial ruin — the older furniture and linens, the repairs put off in the rarely-used rooms of the house — but there were far, far fewer reminders now than there had been those first few years. With the money from his grandfather, he would be able to complete the restoration of the estate and move on to …what, exactly?
He frowned, realizing for the first time that he hadn’t given any thought to what he would do with his time after the estate no longer required such careful oversight. Allsworth was more than competent enough to oversee the normal business of the estate and deserved the freedom to do the job he’d been hired for, without constant meddling. Vetting prospective buyers for the horses and serving as a walking advertisement took up relatively little of his time.
Teresa leaned forward and touched her hand to his knee, misunderstanding the cause of his frown. “You’ve made a difference now though. What I heard yesterday was that you’ve done it all without making life harder for the tenants either.”
He waved this off. “The work isn’t finished, not yet.” Even with the money to finish it, there was enough work to occupy him for the next year. He had time to find a purpose.
Teresa settled back, looking dissatisfied with his response. He thought for a moment she might press him further on it but instead she picked up her book, leafing through the pages to find where she had apparently left off. He picked his up from where it sat in his lap and opened it again, staring blankly at the words.
His attention was definitely not on the chapter detailing the benefits observed with the use of a new fertilizer cycle, not with Teresa sitting across from him. He could feel the undercurrent of the physical attraction between them, an awareness he couldn’t ignore. As he watched her over the top of the book, she absently pulled her feet up underneath her, resting the book in her lap and propping her head on one hand as she continued to turn the pages with the other. Far from the proper posture for a lady and yet it was the most comfortable he’d ever seen her.
Focus. Allsworth is waiting on your opinions to discuss the changes for next year. Dry as it might be, this book came highly recommended and something has to be done for the fields if the yields are to improve. Besides, if Teresa could sit and ignore the connection between them, he should be able to as well.
*
Teresa gave up on making progress in the book the third time she had to reread the same paragraph. She’d had no trouble focusing at first, absorbed in the tales of Miss Juliana Wychbold’s journeys through Egypt. The book was a new one, one of several she’d purchased in a last stop at her favorite bookstore in London before the wedding. She was trying to savor it, all too aware that she was unlikely to return anytime soon.
Ironically, when his gaze had finally left her to settle on the book in front of him, it seemed to have taken her focus with it. Her mind kept drifting back to their conversation, considering both what he’d revealed and what he’d left unsaid.
In light of what he’d been told about his parents’ relationship and his experiences growing up, his reluctance to consider even the possibility of love made logical sense. Teresa wanted to rage at his parents, to make them face what their thoughtless cruelty had done. She wanted to rage at his grandfather, who could have pointed out that not all relationships turned out like his parents’ had instead of maintaining his distance and reinforcing the lesson of his parents’ cruelty. Impossible now, but the rage remained.
She didn’t understand the ton’s notion of family as it was completely alien from how her parents had raised her. She’d had a nurse when she was younger, followed by a governess as she’d grown older, but both had been given plenty of time off to allow Teresa to spend time with her parents. Dinners were a family affair, unless there was company — but even then, if it was friends of the family, she had been invited to join them once she turned 13. Her mother had always laughed and said it was good practice for when she finally made her debut.
Love and affection had been shared freely, not hidden behind closed doors, and she never doubted that her parents loved not only her but also each other. Until she arrived in London, she had thought her childhood normal.
Her aunt’s reaction quickly convinced her otherwise. Teresa learned quickly that she wasn’t to talk about her upbringing in polite society unless she wanted to be labeled a rustic. Not that I succeeded, to my aunt’s chagrin. I didn’t realize then just how much Society disdained any talk of love.
In that sense, Martin was much more typical of the ton than she was. She’d kept her mouth shut as the other debutantes had talked about time spent with nurses and governesses but that hadn’t been enough to undo the damage her vow had made. She couldn’t regret it. Society might have laughed at what her parents had, but they had truly loved each other and she had dreamed of finding that for herself.
And to Martin’s credit, he had been honest with her from the beginning. He had married her because he needed a bride to satisfy the conditions of a will — and because it was the honorable thing to do after they’d been discovered together. A less ethical man could have walked away, or wooed her with pretty words and flowers, merely acting the part during the courtship, brief as it was, all to convince her to join him in his bed. Martin hadn’t done that, despite his clear physical attraction to her. His attitude might make her want to scream at times, but it was at least his honest reaction.
Her rational side argued that it was foolish to keep holding onto her dream of love. She was married now, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. Martin had made his attitude clear. She couldn’t change his past and she was being naive to think she could change him now, with so much standing against her. Continuing to hope and dream merely set herself up for heartbreak.
And yet he’s listened to what you’ve said. The little voice in the back of her head refused to yield. He agreed to give you time and space even though he could by rights take what he wants — and that’s clearly you. That’s more than you would have expected from any gentleman of the ton, even before he acknowledge that he should trust you as his wife.
Hope was dangerous. She tried to squelch it, holding on to her outrage from the night before, bu
t it was insidious, slipping into the cracks in her heart and lodging itself there.
Her eyes wandered back to where Martin was sitting, his attention absorbed by the book in his hand. He occasionally reached out and folded down a page corner, something that would have made her father livid. He always insisted that books were to be treated with the utmost respect. Martin’s attitude was far more casual, the book clearly a tool and nothing more.
She was pleased to note that he didn’t mouth the words as he read. It had been a shock to realize just how common that was among the ton. Instead, his lips were slightly parted, calling to mind memories of how they had felt against hers the night before, supple and strong and demanding.
Teresa clenched her hands into a fist, keeping herself from reaching out to trace the curve of his mouth and see if it felt like she remembered. Her body still ached with the memory of what he had done, the pleasure a drug to her system. She wanted, needed more.
But if she gave in now, she reminded herself, she’d never know if they could have something more than merely physical attraction between them. That was reason enough to wait, even if she did ache for him to touch her again.
Martin shifted and closed his book, the movement interrupting her thoughts. “The hour’s late and I have an early obligation in the stables tomorrow morning, but perhaps we can eat breakfast together after that?”
“I’d like that.” The day might have started with frustration and irritation, but Teresa couldn’t recall the last time she’d enjoyed an evening like this. “I hope you enjoyed tonight as much as I did.”
“It’s hard to say, since I can’t know exactly how much you enjoyed it, but I think I would be happy to do it again.” He seemed almost surprised by this as he pushed himself up from his chair. “Until tomorrow, then?”
Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1) Page 20