Chapter 8
Irene Foster whisked Tessa’s gown, carefully wrapped in sheeting, upstairs to her cozy apartment over the tea shop.
She laid it across the bed in her room, and exclaimed over it.
“Oh well done, Tessa! That sprigged muslin is lovely and the lace at the neckline precious. I know you make your own lace but that embroidered blue ribbon you used at the bodice to set off the vertical blue strips must have cost the moon.”
“It cost me nothing. I salvaged it from my wedding dress after it was all but destroyed in a river crossing,” Tessa murmured.
One of the few bits of my former life. Baron Wolfecliff’s daughter may as well have died in that river.
“Well done, my girl. You will look a treat tonight,” Irene enthused, oblivious to Tessa’s emotional reaction.
Tessa shrugged. “It will do, but it won’t hold a candle to the ones the London guests are wearing.”
“Your lace is exquisite. Where ever did you learn to make it?” Irene asked.
“In Lisbon.” Tessa smiled. “It was good to learn something useful.”
“Come have tea, Tessa. We have an hour or so before you have to leave.”
Robby was already happily into a game of cards with Carrey, Irene’s niece.
He would be content here for the night, and Tessa would return to sleep whatever was left of it on Irene’s floor.
Tobias Hooper had put together transport up to the manor for those who had none of their own, sparing Tessa the need to spoil her slippers walking.
All was in order; she felt her anxiety ease.
It was one night, and she would enjoy the music and the dancing.
Later, entering the candlelit ballroom behind Rachel and her father, tension rose again.
This glittering world had not been hers for five years.
She felt like an interloper, especially as a single woman, even though Sir Peter and Lady Penelope welcomed her warmly.
Whatever were they thinking to invite her on her own?
She peered around the room, hoping, she was forced to admit, to see Titus. She didn’t. Perhaps he was late.
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Fleming have you heard?” Prudence Danvers had swanned up to her.
I’m sure you will tell me. Tessa gritted her teeth.
“It is about that young major of yours.”
Titus? Her attention sharpened. He isn’t my major. “Is there a problem?”
“No, dear. Well hardly, unless you include deceiving the shire about his identity.” Prudence gazed at Tessa’s face as if she could dig out some nugget of truth. “Please don’t claim you didn’t know.”
“Know what?” Tessa’s shock had to show at this point.
Prudence leaned in confidentially. “Why, his brother is the Earl Astlough. And him staying at the Duck and Spoon! Lady Penelope must be mortified. That Robin Somerville knew, but never thought to mention it. She put Mr. Brannock in the guest wing as soon as she knew. Imagine!” The old gossip studied Tessa avidly.
Tessa’s heart sank. Astlough! Their family seat is on the coast in Norfolk, twenty miles from my father’s. How could I have failed to recognize his family name?
Hope she hardly realized she harbored shriveled inside her. An earl’s son wouldn’t look at a poor widow with anything but pity—or lust—and she knew him to be too kind to act on the latter.
“Did you?” Prudence prodded.
Tessa, confused, didn’t respond.
“Did you know he was an earl’s son?” Prudence repeated.
“I had no idea,” Tessa murmured. More fool me.
Prudence bustled off, no doubt to describe Tessa’s reaction in any listening ear. They would laugh at her expense. She stood rooted to the spot battling temptation to turn around and trudge back to Normanton.
The receiving line must have finished because Lady Penelope approached, smiling kindly. “It can be a bit daunting, I know,” she said. “Let me introduce you to my guests.” She swept Tessa along with her, introducing her as Mrs. Fleming and subtly let it be known that she was a “heroic war widow.”
Tessa bowed to so many well-dressed folks, some curious, some skeptical, some kind, she feared she’d never remember one from another. A few gentlemen signed her dance card. Mr. Smallwood, the rotund, avuncular squire who lived near her asked for the opening set.
A burst of hushed conversation behind them caught her hostess’s attention. “Ah. There he is at last,” she said.
Tessa turned and her breath caught. As much attraction as she felt for Titus Brannock in travel clothes and dust paled when compared to the sight of him in formal dress.
Though it must certainly be borrowed, his dinner coat fit him to perfection, and his trousers clung to muscular legs. Tessa’s face heated.
He walked toward them, and her eyes fixated on a jeweled pin gleaming in the bright white folds of his cravat, made all the more noticeable by the severe black of the rest of his ensemble. He looked every inch an earl’s son tonight.
“Mrs. Fleming, may I present the Honorable Mr. Titus Brannock, a friend of Robin’s.” Lady Penelope’s delight in this new guest resonated in her voice.
His answering smile warmed Tessa to her toes. “Mrs. Fleming and I are acquainted. We met in Spain.”
His deep voice reverberated through Tessa. She couldn’t help but return the smile in kind, her eyes held by his.
Lady Penelope gazed from one to the other shrewdly. “I’m neglecting my duties; I must speak to the musicians. I’ll leave you to get reacquainted.”
“You are beautiful,” he breathed, swallowing before adding in a clearer voice, “tonight. The dress is a treasure.”
His words broke Tessa’s spell. “Now you talk nonsense. It is well enough, but kindly look around you.” She gestured at the sea of well-dressed guests.
“Now you talk nonsense. I know I am late, and you must have been inundated with invitations. Did you save a dance for me as you promised?” he asked.
She glanced at her dance card with its few scattered names. He took it and scribbled his name once, and then again, before handing it back. He had taken the supper dance. A waltz! His name had also been added to the final dance of the evening.
They smiled at each other in silence—like a pair of lunatics, she thought later. A commanding chord from the musicians’ gallery broke the spell.
Titus bowed. “I’m meant to dance the opening set with Lady Beatrix Sandrow. We’ll talk later.”
Tessa stared after him. She would have his company, if only for tonight. She let Mr. Smallwood lead her out. Something magical about the ball filled her with hope.
* * *
The gossip, the choreography of precedence, the preening feathers—Titus had never much enjoyed society. Tonight, however, the promise of a waltz with Tessa gave him every incentive to throw himself into the spirit of the thing.
No matter his partner, no matter his own whereabouts, however, he never lost sight of Tessa.
She danced with Major Kellborn, with Lord Meade, and with Robin Somerville.
The first were strangers to him, and a fierce protective urge overcame him.
He had to remind the sharp clawed falcon in him to let the lady make her own decisions.
He felt better when she sat out a dance with Rachel Pendleton, the two deep in some feminine sharing.
Sometime later that falcon took flight again, claws out.
Oswald Neale had been slithering around the perimeter of the dance floor all evening.
Once Titus saw Tessa change direction to avoid the worm.
It put Titus on alert, but the Somervilles kept him busy with introductions and partners, and the ladies in their circle seemed all too happy to oblige. He lost sight of her.
He bowed over Mrs. Kellborn’s hand and led her back to the major. “Thank you Major Brannock,” she said, endearing him by the use of his rank rather than the honorific.
The man smiled at his wife. “Just in time for the supper dance!”
At last! Titus left them, eager to find Tessa, but his quick glance showed she was not nearby. A vague sense of alarm came to life
He circled the floor as people milled about locating partners; she had disappeared. His alarm grew, and he strode out to the terrace, afraid some miscreant had escorted her there with ill intentions. She wasn’t there. Nor was she in the card room.
He encountered his hostess being led out as the first notes of the waltz began. “Have you seen Mrs. Fleming? We’re to have the supper dance.”
Lady Penelope smiled at him. “Patience, Mr. Brannock. I believe she stepped out to the ladies’ withdrawing room. She’ll be here momentarily.” She floated off with her partner, and Titus circled back around the room.
He paced by the door to the interior hallway, but impatience soon got the better of him. He went out and collared a passing footman carrying a tray to ask the direction of the ladies’ withdrawing room. He earned a disapproving scowl, but the man gave him the information, however reluctantly.
Titus climbed the stairs and located the closed door to the room the footman had indicated. A maid came out carrying towels.
“Is Mrs. Fleming well?” he asked, unable to keep worry from his voice.
“Why yes, Sir. She left a few minutes ago.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and moved on.
Titus ran a hand through the hair Robin’s valet had so carefully brushed hours ago. Where can she be? He couldn’t shake a bad feeling. He decided to go down the second stairs at the other end of the hall.
He hadn’t gone far when the sounds of a scuffle behind one of the doors caught his attention. A man’s angry growl impelled him to act, flinging open the door.
The sight of Tessa, pinned against a wall by Neale’s bulky torso made his blood run cold. Oswald Neale had one hand clamped over her mouth while his other groped her. “You’ll learn soon enough not to defy me,” the beast growled.
With a full-throated cry that had terrified French infantrymen, Titus attacked.
He clasped the villain’s face with the splayed fingers of one hand and yanked his head back, while his arm went around the man’s throat.
Titus pulled the snake off her and threw him to the ground, knocking him against a heavy table. Neale rolled to one side, dazed.
A wracking sob drew Titus’s attention to Tessa, bent double, still leaning against the wall for support. He reached for her, every instinct telling him to grab her into his arms, but an inkling of wisdom slowed him. She’d just endured one beast mauling her; she didn’t need another.
He touched her elbow with a shaking hand, and lifted her chin with two fingers of the other. “You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe,” he whispered.
“He…” her eyes, wide and agonized bore into him.
“Shh. I saw.”
Panic gripped her, and she screamed when a scuffling sound rose behind him. He pushed her to his back and turned to face her attacker. There was no need. The coward scrambled to his feet and ran to the door.
When he turned back, Tessa melted into his arms and clung like a limpet, while sobs wracked her.
He lifted her gently and carried her to a nearby sofa, cradling her in his lap while she wept against his shoulder.
“Shh,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’m here.
I will always protect you.” Always. He knew the truth of that to the depth of his very soul.