Chapter 5
After Saturday’s rain, Tessa considered staying home Sunday morning, though attending church was the bright spot on her week.
The choir was of the joyful kind and Mr. Pendleton, the vicar, was inclined to preach mercy and not drone on.
What she mostly looked forward to was the socializing after, a time to chat with other women, the one thing she missed from her former life.
“We’re going, Mam?” Robby gazed up hopefully. He enjoyed seeing school mates as much as she enjoyed chatting.
The sun shone and the lane outside her house appeared dry enough except in the worst ruts. She decided to make a go of it. “Yes. Your clean shirt is hanging in your room. Leave your boots by the door and I’ll get them ready.”
Tessa polished her half boots as well as can be, arranged her hair in a crown of plaits, and put on her Sunday dress—the same one she wore every week.
She wrapped herself in her woolen shawl.
It was one of her few nice things from home, and it still made her feel like a lady, though it had endured camp, survived marches, and held Robby as an infant. As had she.
Service proved to be as joyful as she hoped and fortifying for the week ahead. Robby pulled on her hand as they exited the church. He didn’t have to ask.
“Go visit with your friends, but don’t leave the church yard without telling me.”
Peering around the church yard, an unanticipated thought struck her.
Captain Moonlight could very well be one of these people she knew.
She blinked. Not one of them looked the part.
Still, no highwayman in it for greed or desperation takes time to give money to his neighbors. Moonlight has another agenda.
“Tessa!” Rachel Pendleton called. Rachel had become a friend, her kindness a boon to Tessa’s loneliness. “You look far away. Come and join us.”
Tessa approached the group that included Irene Foster.
“We’re discussing your absence from last night’s assembly.
Tell me you don’t plan to miss the Somerville’s ball.
It isn’t just for their fashionable guests.
They’ve invited the local gentry. You did get an invitation, didn’t you?
” Rachel demanded while Irene looked on sympathetically, thinking no doubt what Tessa was.
“I did but I sent regrets. I have nothing to wear, and I can’t leave Robby. It is impossible. Besides, I’m not sure how I qualify as ‘gentry.’” Tessa said.
“That, my dear, is, the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Rachel exclaimed. “If you aren’t gentry, I’ll—I’ll eat my best bonnet.”
Tessa had told Rachel about her parents in a moment of weakness. She held her breath, glaring at Rachel and praying she didn’t babble about the “Honorable” nonsense. Tessa was Mrs. Fleming. Period.
“Of course, she is. Anyone who listens to her speak knows that,” Irene said. “The rest is nonsense too. Robby can stay with me.”
“I still have no dress and it is in eight days,” Tessa replied.
“You can sew, can’t you? I could help,” Irene said, sounding hopeful.
The sight of Titus Brannock speaking with Sir Peter and Lady Somerville distracted her. He laughed at something Lady Penelope said, his eyes crinkling in the corners. A wave of longing came over her. If he was staying nearby, they would no doubt invite him.
“Tessa?” Rachel prodded.
“I’m sorry, I was woolgathering,” Tessa said.
“I can see that,” Irene responded with a sly smirk. “I said that you have time to sew.”
“Do you have some suitable fabric?” Rachel asked.
Tessa thought of the coins locked in a box in her kitchen.
She couldn’t afford to use it all, and certainly not for silk, but a decent muslin was possible.
“Yes,” she said with a note of defiance.
“I can manage it.” She could. She even had scraps of lace put away that would trim it, and a ribbon she had salvaged when her wedding dress had been irrevocably damaged in the mountains in Spain. She resolved to go.
The Danvers sisters wandered their way, all determination and avid curiosity.
Visitors at the Hall, they already had a reputation for spreading gossip and were rumored to be reporters for The Teatime Tattler, a notorious gossip rag.
Tessa couldn’t be certain whether they were bringing gossip or hoping to gather some.
Either way, she bowed to her friends and left, feeling more cheerful than she had in weeks.
She scanned the lingering crowd, telling herself she looked for Robby, but deep down she knew she hoped to see Titus Brannock, and wasn’t disappointed. He leaned against one of the yew trees that lined the church, deep in conversation with Justin Weatherall. She took a few steps in his direction.
I should speak with Justin about Robby’s schooling, shouldn’t I? He’s the schoolmaster.
She hadn’t gone far when a tall man stepped in front, blocking her path. Oswald Neale, intrusive man of business, unctuous would-be gentleman, and persistent rake, blocked her vision and revolted her senses. He smelled of an excess of bergamot and rum.
“Ah the delicious widow has left her cave,” he drawled.
She frowned. “I’m here every Sunday.”
“Perhaps I shall find religion again, in that case,” he said leaning toward her.
She took a step back. “I need to fetch my son and go home.”
“Really?” He glanced over his shoulder at Brannock and the schoolmaster. “I thought perhaps one of those two gentlemen had caught your fancy and made it through that impenetrable wooden door of yours,” he said, studying her from neck to knees with unseemly attention.
Tessa shivered. Neale was one of the reasons she kept her door barred.
He had trapped her against it once, and she’d avoided him ever since.
She had met him in Portsmouth when she needed a place to stay, and he arranged the rental of her cabin.
Thankfully he wasn’t the owner, and she had hoped he would stay away.
Unfortunately, he did business throughout the county and was occasionally in Normanton.
“Good day, Mr. Neale,” she said turning to walk away.
“Farewell for now, but we’ll meet soon, I am sure. I am a guest at the Somerville’s house party,” he said smugly. “Society hereabouts is close knit, is it not? I don’t mind, of course, but one is surprised they socialize with a woman who followed the drum.”
She spun around, just out of his reach.
His smile, slow and smug with no amusement whatsoever, shook her. “After all, some people know such women existed for the ease of the troops.”
His twisting of “ease” made his meaning clear. He didn’t mean laundry. He meant—It is a threat, Tessa. He means to ruin you.
“My friends know better,” she said. “I’ve made a life here.”
“Rachel Pendleton? Na?ve. She’d be shocked by what I could tell her. What would her father have to say? Or the very social Somervilles?”
Tessa tightened her spine. It took every bit of effort. “No one would believe you.” She turned her back and departed.
* * *
Tessa walked Robby to school on Monday morning, eager to get what she needed for her new gown.
Miss Margaret Martin kept an unpretentious establishment in Normanton, stocked with fabric and copies of La Belle Assemblée only slightly out of date.
Those with more money and a taste for fashion took their business to the better shops in Brighton or London.
The seamstress greeted Tessa with a wide grin. “Mrs. Fleming! What a joy to see you here at last. How may I help you?
“I need fabric for a new gown,” Tessa replied.
“For the Somerville Ball, I suspect,” Miss Martin said, drawing her brows together in thought. Soon they were clucking over bolts of cloth of various kinds and price points.
Tessa settled on a pretty flocked muslin ornamented with long blue stripes.
She would make it up with the stripes running vertically from hem to bodice.
Her bits and pieces at home would finish it off nicely.
She described her plans and asked for enough to accommodate a ruffle for the bottom and long sleeves as protection from the inclement weather.
“I wish I had enough coin to ask you to make it up,” Tessa said.
Miss Martin patted her hand. “It is just as well. I have plenty of work between now and that ball.” She bundled Tessa’s purchase in brown paper.
Tessa was handing over her coins when a sound behind her made her skin crawl.
“The lovely Mrs. Fleming. How fortunate to find you in town.”
Oswald Neale! He has no business in this shop. Tessa kept her back to the man and refused to answer.
Margaret Martin frowned, her eyes darting to Tessa. “May I help you, sir?” she asked. Butter wouldn’t melt on the ice in her voice.
Tessa gripped her purchase, still facing the proprietress, visualizing the path to the door in her mind.
“You have nothing I would want,” Neale said. The arrogance in his voice made the hair on Tessa’s nape rise. “I am here to escort Mrs. Fleming home.”
Tessa turned slowly. It took courage to meet his eyes. “I fear you are mistaken, Sir. My son Robby is awaiting me. We have plans.”
Forgive me Robby for using you.
She swallowed hard and raised her chin. “I neither need nor want your escort.” She attempted to step around him.
Neale blocked her way. “Tessa, don’t play demure with me. We both know better, don’t we?” He glanced slyly at Miss Martin. “Camp followers can’t pretend to be shy.” It was an insult, and also a sample of how he threatened to smear her name if she didn’t accept his advances.
“You are very much mistaken in me, Mr. Neale. Kindly move aside,” Tessa demanded, grateful her voice didn’t shake. She side-stepped one way and then went the other.
She managed to slip past him and out the door. His footsteps followed, and she could feel his heat as she stepped out. Tessa swallowed panic, determined not to show fear. She would not run.