Chapter 7 #2
His mouth opened, but Alexander could not think of an answer.
Why had he not? It seemed a simple enough task for the day: go and see Teresa, and tell her that you love her.
Tell her that you want her to marry you.
Tell her that your life would be incomplete without her.
What was holding him back – this fear of losing his reputation, a reputation he barely had?
“You are an idiot for leaving a woman like that,” Luke said firmly. “If she is truly all you say she is, then she is more than you could have ever hoped to gain before you lost that precious reputation of yours.”
Alexander swallowed. Suddenly his throat felt very dry. “But that is exactly it, do you not see? I have spent the last twelvemonth attempting to repair my reputation, to restore it to something approximating what it was before – before Mark’s indiscretion. If I were to wed Teresa – ”
“Restore it? Restore it?”
Luke’s raised voice was starting to attract attention, and Alexander smiled nervously and nodded at the faces which had turned towards them.
But Luke showed no sign of quietening. “By God, you are dreaming, Caershire, if you think you can turn back the clock. Your reputation before your brother’s request was nothing!
You were the younger son of a Duke, with no real title of your own, and you were to be a lawyer.
You really think that it is worth your effort returning to that? ”
“No, of course not,” Alexander said stiffly, “but – ”
“Ye gods, man, you are worried about your reputation?” Luke stared at him, and laughed. “Caershire, you do not have a reputation to lose! That disappeared, months ago – and now do you not see what wonderful position that leaves you in?”
Alexander felt hot, a searing irritation growing from his stomach and spreading through his limbs. How could Luke say such things?
“No,” he said stiffly.
Luke smiled, and shook his head. “Why, you are free. Free of all society’s constraints. What are they going to do? How could they possibly punish you any further?”
Alexander stared at him. “What?”
Luke leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Say you propose marriage to this courtesan – to Teresa. Say that she says yes, and you marry, and the news of her . . . previous profession gets out. What then?”
Alexander blinked. “Well, then I am ruined!”
“You are already ruined!” Luke hissed, still smiling. “So, you will lose your voucher for Almacks: you will be married, what does it signify? So, you will lose your invitation to court: you hate it there anyway! Your true friends will stand beside you, no matter what.”
“The few that I have,” said Alexander bitterly.
Luke reached out and gripped his friend’s shoulder. “They are all you need.”
In an instant, Alexander’s heart softened as he saw the loyalty and friendship in his companion. Even after admitting that he wished to marry a courtesan, a woman far accustomed to other men than himself, Luke was still on his side.
“Now then, the real question is: what are you still doing here?” Luke smiled as he leaned back into his chair.
Alexander shrugged. “I left about fifty pounds for her, to send to her family – I think they will be fine for a few more days while I get things ready at Loxwich – ”
For the second time in that meal, Luke spat out his claret. “You – you told me that no money changed hands!”
“No, it did not,” said Alexander reassuringly. “It was nothing like that; it was a gift, I left it there for her to send to her family. Her sister, Helena – ”
“You honestly think that she is going to understand that?” Luke stared at him as though he were a madman. “What do you think Teresa thought when she found that money? You gone, money left on the side . . .”
A look of horror crept over Alexander’s face as he realised just what he had done.
“I have to go,” he said, and without saying another word, he threw back the chair he was sitting on so that it toppled over on the floor, and ran out of the club.
Luke poured himself another glass of claret. “What a fool,” he murmured. “I just hope to God he will end up a married fool.”
Teresa had never noticed how small and empty her rooms were, until she sat there, in the growing darkness, thinking about Alexander.
She shook herself, and tried to busy her fingers by lighting a fire, but despite his relatively short visit but two days before, there did not seem to be anything that she could do to remove him from her mind.
This fire was where she had dried his clothes, after he had dived into the Thames to rescue her.
This armchair which she brushed past was where he had sat, looking at her with such an intensity that she had felt naked long before she had removed her clothes.
This screen had hidden her – just about – when she had changed, hidden her from his seeking eyes.
Perhaps she should have allowed him to see even more than she had done. Perhaps if she had done that, he would be here, instead of lost to her forever. A small tear rolled down her cheeks.
Teresa folded her arms, and sank onto the bed in the corner of the room: her bed, the bed where she slept. Her only refuge.
This idiocy could not continue: was she the sort of woman to sit and pine for a man that evidently had no concern for her? Was she to waste away over a gentleman whom she had known for what; twelve hours?
But what did time matter, a small part of her heart cried out. They had connected, she had been sure of it; they had been vulnerable together, shared their secrets, shared their bodies. Was there much more to love than that?
She could feel the pain washing through her body.
It was just as physical as emotional, and it was cutting into her soul.
Now that the tears had started, it felt almost impossible to stop them.
Slowly but steadily, they coursed down her cheeks as salty reminders of the service that he had done her – and the loss of him that she would never recover from.
A loud rap on the door broke the silence, and broke the painful thread of her thoughts.
Teresa rose, smoothing down her silken skirts, and strode over to the door. She had had a peephole made, after a favour to a local carpenter, and when she peered out to see just who her visitor was, she blanched.
It was Harold. Was throwing her into the Thames not enough for him?
Her heart was beating faster, and her hands shook slightly as she brought them together. What should she do? Pretend that she was not there? He would only return, and later at night. Ask him to go away? What would she do if he refused?
The slow smile that she knew so well crawled over his face. “Miss Teresa? Miss Teresa, I am here for our weekly . . . appointment.”
Even his voice sullied her through the door, Teresa thought. My, but he is a disgusting man.
“I am afraid that I am unwell,” she said with a heavy cough, a flash of inspiration striking her. “I will need to rearrange our . . . appointment.”
Picking up a shawl and drawing it around her, Teresa coughed again. “My dear Harold, I would not wish for you to suffer from this terrible cold, I beg that you leave me to recover – and I shall contact you when I am ready for you.”
It was fortunate, Teresa thought wryly, that she had just been crying over Alexander; the stuffed nose and scratchy throat was more than enough to convince Harold, even without seeing her.
“Very well,” he said, and she could see that he took a step back from the door with his nose curled. “I shall return when you send for me, you know my address.”
She watched him all the way down the street, to ensure that he was really gone, and then the tension in her shoulders lessened. Well, she could not expect that excuse to last long. She would have to start thinking of a new way to get rid of him.
Teresa pushed back a curl of hair, and felt something missing: her earbobs. No, one earbob; the left one was there, but the other had fallen out.
Another pang hit her heart. Those earbobs had been given to her by her mother; to lose them now, when she felt so lost and alone, it was too much to bear. How could she have lost it?
She glanced round the room, but she could not see it. The fire in the grate had grown now, but it threw no light through sparkling diamonds. There was not a glint to be seen anywhere on the floor, the bed, or the armchair.
Teresa tried to slow her breathing. Had she even placed both earbobs through her ears that morning?
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. No; no, she could only remember putting one earbob on. Perhaps the other was where she had left it; by Alexander’s money on the side table.
Her heart clenched to allow her mind to wander back to him, but she pushed him firmly out of her thoughts, and strode through the curtain to the side table.
There lay the Duke of Caershire’s money, but no diamond earbob.
Teresa tried not stem the disappointment. Perhaps it had fallen; perhaps it had slipped between the table and the wall. Reaching down, she pulled it out gently and saw a sparkle of light.