Chapter Ten
When Tessa returned from her ride, Lady Gosforth was out, visiting friends as usual. It was a relief, as she sometimes found the old lady’s company exhausting. Her moods were so mercurial Tessa was never sure whether she was being attacked or complimented.
Her ride on the heath had been glorious.
A sunny day with a breeze just crisp enough to be refreshing and not too crisp to be chilly.
Most of the time Marcus had been quiet, apparently deep in thought, and she’d quite enjoyed knowing that he appreciated silence at times and that she needn’t exert herself to make polite conversation.
So she was free to let her own thoughts roam.
She still hadn’t had an answer from the woman in Yorkshire, but she wasn’t going to fret just yet. She’d continued scouring the newspapers for positions, and in the meantime was enjoying the treats of this new London life, chief among which was her almost daily rides.
She came down as usual for afternoon tea, and though everything had been laid out, there was no sign of Lady Gosforth.
“Milady said she might be late, but that you should start without her,” Peverill told her.
So she did, but she’d only drunk half a cup of tea and eaten two dainty cucumber sandwiches and one of cook’s wonderful wafer-thin almond biscuits, when Lady Gosforth entered the room like a tempest in full flow.
“Appalling!” she declared, ripping off her gloves and flinging them down on a chair. “Just appalling! Society is going to the dogs!” She took off her hat and sent it sailing across the room. “Peverill, brandy!”
“What is it, Lady Gosforth?” Tessa asked.
The old lady looked at her, pulled out her lorgnette and stared at Tessa for a long, unnerving moment. “My nephew didn’t say anything of interest when you were out riding this morning?”
Tessa shook her head. “Nothing of any significance.”
“Typical!” She sat down, seized the brandy and drained the glass. “Men are such asses! But he’s always been ridiculously protective.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll take all the blame for himself—he always did, even as a boy.”
“The blame for what?”
“You don’t know?”
Tessa shook her head.
Lady Gosforth explained about the gossip, and how everyone who mattered in London believed that Marcus had kidnapped Tessa and made her his mistress.
“But that’s not true,” Tessa exclaimed, horrified. “It’s so unfair. Your nephew has been nothing but honorable!”
“I know that.”
“Then how did such a rumor begin?”
“Who knows? Of course, my nephew knows all about it, but naturally he will pretend it never happened. It’s the Renfrew Way. He goes about looking cold and formal and reserved, as if nothing could pierce that ego of his, but underneath he’ll be mortified.”
“Mortified?” Tessa frowned.
“Yes of course. As you say, he’s always been the soul of honor. It would be different if he were a rake or a rascal, but that only makes it worse, don’t you see?”
Tessa didn’t respond. She was reeling from the knowledge that his gallant rescue of her from a third unwanted marriage had rebounded on him in such a dreadful way.
The old lady snorted. “Of course you don’t.
You’ve had no experience of men of honor, have you?
But take it from me, my nephew’s spotless reputation will make the gossips all the more gleeful and vindictive.
‘How the mighty have fallen’ kind of thing.
Ill-disposed wastrels will positively delight in dragging his reputation through the gutter.
But will he fight it? Never. His pride is too great. ”
She took a swig of the brandy Peverill had placed beside her, ate a slice of cake and eyed Tessa cynically. “I realize the gossip also concerns you, but since you hardly know anyone in society it will scarcely signify to you. Besides, you’re going to Yorkshire.”
“I don’t have the job yet.”
Lady Gosforth ignored that. “No, you’ll be well out of it, far away in Yorkshire, leaving my nephew to face the music, the scandal, the shame alone.”
“But—”
“Naturally I will support him, but the support of an aunt . . .” She shrugged. “Who would believe me?”
“But he didn’t steal me from my brother—he rescued me! You know that. And he’s been staying at his club the whole time.”
“And taking you riding most mornings, where anyone could see the two of you together.”
Tessa bit her lip. That his kindness should be so interpreted. “That’s true, but he was just being kind. In any case, who would believe that you would allow any impropriety while you’re living here?”
“Pfft! You would try to combat scurrilous gossip with the truth? How naive can you get? These people don’t care about the truth. A nasty story, fabricated or not, is much more entertaining than the truth. Especially if it destroys the reputation of an honorable man.”
Tessa sank back in her chair. This was dreadful. For Marcus’s gallantry to be repaid in this dreadful way . . . It was unbearable. “Is there nothing I can do?”
The old lady sank back wearily. “No, no, my dear, you just run away, prepare for your new life in Yorkshire. Don’t give us a thought.”
“I won’t go. Besides, I don’t even have a reply to my letter yet.”
Lady Gosforth waved that off. “I will stand by my nephew. Don’t worry about us. You go and pack. My nephew and I will face down this atrocious scandal together. I just need a little rest first.” She rose and tottered from the room.
Tessa watched her go, appalled at what she had learned No wonder Marcus had been so silent during their ride. She’d assumed it was some business or political matter that he’d been thinking about, but instead, it was a dreadful scandal she’d inadvertently dragged him into.
#
AT ELEVEN THE FOLLOWING morning Marcus stood outside Alverleigh house.
He was absurdly nervous. He was never nervous.
He was carefully but informally dressed, in immaculate buckskins, a starched white shirt—no frills—and a gray waistcoat and navy coat.
His boots gleamed with polish and he’d shaved twice.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have sent that note to his aunt, asking her to be out when he called.
He didn’t want her sticking her nose in—which she would, of course.
She couldn’t help herself. But what if, forewarned of his intentions, Tessa had taken the opportunity to slip out to avoid him? He rang the doorbell.
“Is Lady Hewitt at home, Peverill?” he asked his butler.
Peverill stood back to let him enter. “She is, m’lord. If you will wait in the front drawing room, I will inform her of your arrival.”
Tessa came downstairs a few minutes later, dressed in yet another plain dress, this one in dark blue, but it only served to highlight her natural beauty; her silken complexion, the silver-gilt color of her hair, which clustered in feathery curls around her face, the soft rose-pink mouth and those glorious violet-blue eyes.
After the usual greetings had been exchanged, he asked her the question that had been worrying him. “Has my aunt been treating you well?”
She hesitated and he tensed. Aunt Maude had a caustic tongue when she was displeased. Her family knew it often hid a kind heart, but Tessa wouldn’t realize that.
“I can’t work her out,” Tessa said. “On the one hand she insists I meet her visitors, telling me I need to see if I could work for any of them as a hired companion—but then she introduces me as an honored guest.”
“Which you are.”
She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “And yet in private, she heaps scorn on the idea of my finding a position as a companion, listing all kinds of reasons why I would not be at all suitable for that kind of employment.”
“What does she suggest you should do, then?”
A blush colored her pale cheeks and she looked away. The silence stretched.
“Lady Hewitt?” he prompted.
She just shook her head again and looked away. “It’s nothing.”
He took a deep breath. “I gather she’s told you about our little problem.”
She looked up, frowning. “Problem?”
“The unfortunate gossip?”
She bit her lip.
“About you and me—all nonsense of course, but I’m afraid it’s quite widespread.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble for you.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “You didn’t cause any trouble and, if anything ,it was my impetuous actions that caused the gossip. We both know the gossip is untrue, and quite ridiculous. But . . .”
“It affects your reputation.”
He blinked. “What? Mine? No, not at all.”
“But you’re an earl, and a member of the House of Lords.”
He shook his head. “Makes no difference. It’s your reputation I’m concerned about.”
“Mine? But I have no reputation—at least, not one that needs protecting. It’s too late for me. You, on the other hand—”
“It’s not too late at all, don’t talk nonsense. Now, I have a solution, and while I don’t think you’ll like it, there is very little choice for either of us if we want to scotch the scandal.”
“There’s no need. I intend to take a position in Yorkshire.”
“Won’t make any difference. People—especially women—write letters all the time. The gossip will follow you.”
“But—”
“No, we need to marry.” Curses. It came out blunt and bossy, not at all like the proposal he’d planned during the night and on the way here.
Startled, she looked up. “Marry? I couldn’t. I’ve already told you—and your aunt, numerous times—I have no wish to marry again.”
“I understand, but there is a scandal to be quashed, and if the choice is for you to look for employment in some menial position, with no security—I have to say, marriage will solve both problems.”
“But I thought you didn’t want to get married.”
He shrugged. “Neither did you, but the situation has changed.”
She frowned.
“At the risk of sounding like a conceited coxcomb—” he began.
“It’s not that at all. You must know I am very grateful for all you’ve—”
“Gratitude makes a poor bedfellow,” he said. Bedfellow? He swore silently at himself again. He was making a right mess of this, his first proper proposal.