by Nancy Yeager
James smiled, and was saved from more emotional expressions by Fairbank’s return. He brought with him a tall, broad man with closely-cropped dark hair and a clean-shaven face.
“Mercer, my manservant.” Fairbank motioned for the man to sit.
Mercer pulled a chair close to the desk and perched on the edge of it, then laid out a page of paper.
“Mercer will take notes and deliver them to a business associate of mine.” Fairbank took his seat behind the desk and tented his fingers in front of him. “Mr. Alcott, if you wouldn’t mind telling us what inquiries you’ve made, and of whom.”
James complied as Mercer scratched out notes on his sheet of paper.
“And what of the solicitor?” Mercer asked when James had finished.
“I beg your pardon?” James asked.
“You mentioned that the initial contact between this Mr. Pettibone and the Wrexham’s Trust committee was handled by a solicitor. Might you know his name?”
“Oh.” James shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
Percy cleared his throat and set his second empty glass on the edge of the desk. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance regarding that detail.” He looked directly at Mercer. “Despite the fact that – as a close friend of the duke – I wasn’t even here this afternoon.”
Mercer nodded again.
“It was Mr. Frederick White of Hampshire.” Percy shrugged when James widened his eyes at him. “When I was under consideration to be one of the contest judges, I might have noticed some of the paperwork.”
“That’s a fine detail, Captain Granville. Thank you.” Mercer stopped scratching his notes and glanced at Fairbank, who motioned for him to go. The man stood, acknowledged James and Percy, and hurried from the room so quickly, it was as though he’d never been there. The same way Fairbank tended to enter and leave a room.
James exhaled slowly, relaxing his shoulders for the first time in days. “I can’t thank you enough for helping in this delicate matter.”
Fairbank sighed. “I could hardly leave it alone when a young lady might be in danger, and one of my daughter’s dearest friends, no less.”
It occurred to James that Miss Wagner’s protection might have played a larger role in the viscount’s willingness to help than he was letting on, but James wasn’t fool enough to mention it. “Still, I can’t thank you enough, sir.”
“Perhaps you can. Someday.” Fairbank stood.
James followed suit, even as Fairbank’s words struck fear in him. Even if exaggerated three-fold, the rumors around Fairbank’s activities made owing him a favor a dubious and perhaps dangerous enterprise.
Percy leaped to his feet and grinned. “You couldn’t have a finer man than our Mr. Alcott.”
His friend’s words put James firmly in the camp of thinking Percy to be of no help. “We won’t take up any more of your time, then, sir.”
As they reached the study door, Fairbank made a sound. Nothing so loud or conspicuous as the clearing of his throat, but significant for a man who could move with the silent, predatory grace of a cat. “One more thing to consider, Mr. Alcott. If my associate uncovers something nefarious about this Mr. Pettibone, it will fall to me to inform Wrexham.”
James nodded. He knew it would have to be the case, but the way Fairbank said it shot a chill along his spine.
“A man in my position does not savor breaking bad news to a duke.”
James nodded again, understanding its meaning. He would owe Fairbank a huge favor, and he could count on the man to collect the debt.
When they were out of earshot, Percy dared to whisper. “There are easier ways to do it, you know.”
James scowled at his old friend. “To find Pettibone? Easier, perhaps, but certainly not faster.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Percy tilted his head. “You really don’t know, do you?”
James had nearly reached the end of his tether with his old friend. “Obviously, there’s something you’re dying to tell me, so out with it.”
Percy merely grinned while they collected their hats and walking sticks from the butler, then exited Fairbank’s house onto the neat, tree-lined street with cobblestones washed clean by yesterday’s rainstorm and gleaming in today’s afternoon sun. As they started walking, he finally spoke. “I like you, old man. If you want to protect the woman you love, I wish you’d have picked a less dangerous way then possibly putting yourself on the wrong side of a man like Fairbank.”
James halted mid-step, forcing Percy to stop walking and turn to face him. “Love? What on earth are you babbling about, Percy? This is about the contest, and the scholarship fund to send brilliant but disadvantaged young men to Harrow. And the respect of the Trust. And…”
It was about more, so much more, but all those things escaped James as his old friend stared at him and shook his head. Love. Love?
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill
Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.
Shakespeare again? Damn it all to hell. Despite what Percy or the Bard had to say about it, this irresistible urge to protect Lady Tessa couldn’t possibly be because of love.
Tessa put aside her empty cup and settled into the only comfortable chair in her forgotten study.
“Thank you, Thomas. That’s what I needed.”
Her younger brother sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, picking up random books from the stacks around him, then carefully and precisely replacing them. “I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been holed up here since Mr. Alcott left yesterday.”
“There’s no need to worry.” She forced a smile to convince him. “Besides, you saw me last night at dinner. And I slept in my bed after that.”
“Were you even there four hours?”
She sighed. Thomas, normally lost in his studies and theorems, could become keenly observant at the most inconvenient times. She stood and walked to the narrow desk along the wall, where bright sunlight poured in from the one small, square window in the room. She plucked up the small sheaf of papers that had given her so much trouble, then dropped to her knees beside her brother and read the opening paragraphs of her final-round submission for the competition.
She stopped when she saw her brother’s furrowed brow. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Just as she’d feared, or more precisely, had known. And she couldn’t even say which number draft this was.
“It’s not so bad.” Thomas patted her hand. “It just lacks…” He shrugged. “Your first submission had such a… a joie de vivre. It was inspired.” He shook his head. “It’s not that this is bad. It’s just not—”
“Inspired.” She dropped her hands and the papers into her lap. “I know it, Thomas. For some reason, I can’t capture what I want so desperately to say.”
Her brother moved his mouth as though to speak, then stopped.
“What is it?” she asked.
But he shook his head. Whether he couldn’t find the words to express himself – an affliction that often assailed him – or was keeping his own counsel on something, she couldn’t be sure.
“It will come to you, I’m sure of it,” he offered.
“Well, it had better do so soon. It has to be delivered to the solicitor by tomorrow night, which leaves me with twenty-four hours.”
“Well, less than that, with the luncheon tomorrow.”
Tessa groaned. “The luncheon! How could I have forgotten?”
After creating the cover story of being at her family’s home to court her, Mr. Alcott had lent authenticity to the claim by inviting Tessa and her parents to Baron Stockton’s home for luncheon with his brother and sister-in-law. Lady Stockton had sent a hand-written invitation hours later. Tessa’s mother had wondered at the earnestness of her new suitor, while Tessa had agonized over keeping up the charade under the watchful eyes of four chaperones – her parents as well as the baron and baron
ess. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. The timing was awful, of course, but Mr. Alcott had proven himself a charming and witty companion when they’d passed a stormy afternoon talking over tea. The memory of it gave her a sense of calm, of peace. And of something else. A frisson, a restlessness. A desire for him to finally kiss her, as he’d started to less than a week ago, and to mean it.
“Tessa, did you hear me?” Thomas laid his hand on her shoulder.
She was startled to find him standing beside her. “I’m sorry. I must have been pondering my uninspiring treatise. What did you say?”
He grinned at her. “I said I’ll leave you to it, spinning gold from the chaff of your current words.”
She gave him an appreciative nod. “A literary reference.”
When he’d come back from boarding school, his head bursting with formulae and scientific theories and postulates, he’d never have been able to make such a connection. She had done that. She had helped him expand his mental horizons. And now that he was finishing his studies and would soon no longer need her, she could help others move past their own limitations, especially those of society’s rigidly enforced gender confines. That was why this final entry to the Trust was so bloody important, why she had to spin it into gold, indeed.
She took Thomas’s hands and kissed his cheek. “I’ll make you proud of me.”
He cocked his head. “I’m always proud of you. But I still worry. You’ll need a good night’s sleep tonight, ahead of your visit with Mr. Alcott and his family.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” It would hardly do for her to show up on his doorstep pale and hollow-eyed. What would he think of her? How embarrassed would he be to make her first presentation to his family with her looking like something a beleaguered cat had dragged in and spit out all over Cook’s freshly polished kitchen floor?
“You’ll need to have your wits about you to go toe to toe with Mr. Alcott. Especially if he’s still fixated on Pettibone.”
She widened her eyes. “Oh, of course.” How foolish of her not to have thought of that. How ridiculous to be distracted by the hope of a kiss and the memory of a pleasantly-spent afternoon.
She closed the study door behind her brother and sagged against it. Foolish and distracted described how she’d been for days. It simply would not do! Her brother, her friends, even women she’d never met were counting on her win this prize. Perhaps when the contest was over, she could think of him as a friend. But today he was her foe, tomorrow he would be her sly opponent, and two days after that, at the award ceremony, he would be her vanquished competitor.
She shook out her skirts, sat at her desk, took up her pen and uncapped the ink bottle, ready for the battle of words that would defeat the often diabolical and sometimes delightful Mr. Alcott.
James would never get over how lovely Lady Tessa looked in pink, and just when he’d thought to see her in sky blue was his heart’s fondest desire. As she perched on the edge of an upholstered chair in his brother’s parlor and seemed ever on the verge of tipping over from the pull of the voluminous skirt, he thought a less fluffy and ruffled shape might be in order. But the color of the gown – reminiscent of some of the pale roses his sister-in-law so prized in her garden, where he hoped to walk with Tessa any minute – caught the color of her cheeks and underscored the sparkle of her eyes. Ah, the poetry that could – that should – be written about Lady Tessa’s eyes.
“James.” His brother Henry’s voice startled him out of a reverie he hadn’t realized had overtaken him.
Henry smiled politely at the ladies and looked at his wife. “I beg your pardon, but I have need of my brother’s attention for a moment.”
James’s sister-in-law smiled sweetly at her husband, which usually meant Louisa was about to gently upbraid him. Strangely, Henry always seemed to revel in her admonishments. “My lord, is that truly necessary?”
True to form, Henry smiled at his wife. “It will be but a moment.” He glanced at James. “I seem to have misplaced some of the research you gathered for me regarding the Debtor’s Act, and now find myself in need of referencing it to explain our position to Lord Brooking.”
“Of course.” James smiled at Tessa and was rewarded by the appearance of her dimple. “When I return, perhaps you’d like to take a turn around the garden. My sister-in-law has quite the eye for flowers, roses in particular.”
“I would like that very much.”
James followed his brother to the study, going quickly to keep up with Henry’s hurried stride. “I know exactly the pages you need. I spotted them out of order this morning and wondered if it was for some purpose.”
“Only my own zeal to get through the pile of information you’d prepared for me. Ever so grateful, James.” Henry lowered his voice and stopped outside the study. “So sorry to take you away from that charming creature who has you so smitten.”
James opened his mouth to protest the characterization, but Henry had already swept ahead of him into the study with promises to the earl that James would save the day. His brother was always full of kind words and never hesitated to credit James for the work he did, but somedays it did cut that Henry’s thoughts and needs and requests were to supersede anything James might be doing at the moment. At least in response to James’s impassioned pleas, his brother gotten better about not summoning him away from Harrow during important meetings to help parse through the obscure language of proposed legislation that didn’t need to be completed for weeks or months. Perhaps he would need to ask his brother to respect some boundaries around his courting schedule as well.
He shook his head as he sorted through a pile of papers on his brother’s desk. This was ridiculous. Why should he think about courting when this was but a ruse? In a few days’ time, for better or worse, the Wrexham’s Charitable Trust prize would be awarded, and while Lady Tessa would be deeply disappointed, her family need be none the wiser about her and Mr. Pettibone’s plans. He supposed that would mean an end to their feigned courtship and felt a sting of disappointment.
He handed his brother the misplaced papers. Henry grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s obvious I’m keeping you from something much more important, young James. I’ll make sense of all this on my own.”
His brother meant well. He always meant well, James had no doubt. But the easy dismissal in front of someone who, as far as Henry knew, James hoped would be his father-in-law, rankled even more than the years of thoughtless interruptions that had gone before it. He left the two men to their important task of running the British Empire, stopping outside in the hall to adjust his cufflinks and smooth the edges of his hair. Silly and vain, perhaps, but he hoped Lady Tessa would find him at least half as presentable as he found her fetching.
“He seems a fine man, your brother,” Tessa’s father was saying to Henry. “I had my doubts, but having met you and seeing what a fine family the Alcotts are, I’m less inclined to object.”
James stood rooted to the spot, appalled and yet compelled to eavesdrop on the conversation about himself.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Henry answered. “If they suit, I’m sure we’ll easily come to agreeable terms.”
James tightened his jaw. He’d been settled with his own inheritance and managing his own life for the past five years. How dare his brother play the role of a father, and speak as though James were his child?
With great effort, he tamped his anger, reminding himself that it hardly mattered anyway. This was a ruse he and Lady Tessa had set up to protect her secret. Despite what Percy believed about his motives, despite what he was beginning to suspect about his underlying emotions, the lady had given no indication that he was anything more than a means to an end, or that she’d shared his interest in a kiss, which they should both attribute to his temporary madness. It had merely been the poet in him getting the upper hand. Better he should take a page from Lady Tessa’s book and treat their situation with the cold, careful analysis that governed her.
Tessa was surprised by
how pensive Mr. Alcott—James, as he’d asked her to call him now—was upon his return from helping his brother, although he’d yet to mention what had changed his mood. As they made their way along the rose-lined path in the garden, with her mother and the baroness keeping vague track of them from somewhere behind them, he took her arm to help her step onto an uneven flagstone. To her satisfaction, he kept her arm wrapped in his as they continued.
As they walked, he told her about his time at Harrow, how much he enjoyed his work there, and how he hoped he to help talented, worthy boys reach their potential. His passion for the students and the rueful admission that his own position would be lost touched her. She was struck by the knowledge that his need was as personal as her own.
James listened as carefully to her own tale of the women she’d met who wanted to learn. She told him how she took every opportunity to encourage girls to explore the sciences, and that even though the women recently admitted to Edinburgh’s medical school wouldn’t be awarded a degree, it gave them all hope for the future.
They were so engrossed in their conversation, they almost missed the flowers they’d come to see.
“Ah, just here,” he told her. “These are the roses I wanted you to see.”
“They’re as beautiful as you promised.”
Now as far from his brother’s house as the fenced garden would allow them to go, James finally relaxed his shoulders and smiled. The tension went out of Tessa’s own shoulders, and only then did she realize how much his mood had affected her. He stopped beside one of the largest rosebushes, now in full bloom.
“This is what I wanted most to show you.” He pulled a small knife from his pocket and cut off one long, perfect-stemmed flower, taking care to snip off the thorns. Then he held it out to her. “Perfect.”
She took the flower from him, letting her fingers linger against his for a moment, then smelled the bloom. “I think it’s the most perfect rose I’ve ever seen.”
“The flower is lovely but…” He tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and she turned into his palm. “It’s a perfect match for the pink of your cheeks. Sadly for the flower, it could never hope to match the beauty of the woman carrying it.”