Chapter Twenty-Four
“You two look as if you’re full of the joys of spring,” Fenbridge said as he stood behind his mammoth desk and eyed them through
a pince-nez.
Dom stood next to Tess, their arms warming each other’s, hands clasped, as they allowed for the old man’s inspection.
The gold-framed lens dipped down as he examined the ring glinting on Tess’s finger. She stepped forward and proudly lifted
it for his perusal.
The old nobleman whistled. “Quite a gem that is. Convinced her quickly, Prince, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t require a great deal of convincing, my lord,” Tess told him pertly.
He lowered the handheld lens and squinted one eye at her. “Just courage, eh? Which I knew you had in abundance.”
Dom couldn’t help a swell of pride. “She is a lady of courage, and I’m the luckiest man in England.” He stepped forward because,
whether the grumpy nobleman knew it or not, he’d given them the perfect segue.
“What of your courage, Lord Fenbridge?”
The nobleman visibly bristled, then pulled at his cuffs. “What are you on about, Prince?” He locked gazes with Dom and then
Tess, his face pinched in a scowl as if that might cause them to cower.
Dom wondered if he’d tried it on the Van Arsdales.
“If this is regarding the Americans and how they—”
“Took over Fenbridge Hall as if it was their own?” Tess asked sharply.
“I took the path of least resistance to save my staff and myself. Do you know that half the staff and all the food for those
days was ordered in by them from Norwich or London?”
“And now they’re coming back,” Dom reminded him. “Will you allow them to take over again?”
Fenbridge grabbed a cane and stomped over until he was in front of Dom.
“You are in their employ, Mr. Prince. Are you suggesting I be less than courteous to your employers?”
“We’re suggesting precisely the opposite, Lord Fenbridge,” Tess told him. “We’re suggesting that you host a soiree to celebrate
their return.”
Fenbridge stared at her a moment and then burst into a chortle of laughter. “Do you not recall who you’re speaking to, Miss
Hawthorne? When have I ever wished to host a soiree?”
“What if we did all the planning?” Dom asked him. “We’ll handle the guest list, help the staff with the menu, even pay for
the expense, just as the Van Arsdales did before their departure.”
Fenbridge strode a few steps closer, glaring at each of them. “What nonsense are you two concocting?” He tipped his head at
Tess. “You’re an honest young woman, aren’t you, Miss Hawthorne? I’d hate to think the man you’ve promised yourself to has
drawn you into some deception.”
“It’s not nonsense,” she told him, notching up her chin an inch. “It’s a marvelous solution that will allow what’s found in
that mound to stay on the island where it lay for a millennium.”
Fenbridge shook his head and looked at her indulgently, as a parent might with a whimsical child. “It’s a very fine notion, but you’ve met Mr. Van Arsdale. He won’t retreat.” He stuck out a finger toward his desk. “And I signed the damnable contract.”
His shoulders slumped in his finely tailored coat. “I’m sorry, Miss Hawthorne.” He looked up, his gaze fixed on her face.
“Though I explained last time we talked, it wasn’t a sufficient excuse. I should have given you permission to dig.”
Tess let out a little gasp and pressed her lips together. “Thank you for acknowledging that, my lord.” She stepped a bit closer
to the old nobleman. “But if you truly have any regret, then help us with this.” For a moment, she hesitated.
“We know our plan may fail,” Dom admitted. “Please help us try.”
“This is a moment,” Tess told him quietly, “for courage.”
Fenbridge turned away from both of them and made his way back to the long window behind his desk. He stared out onto the garden
for a long moment.
Dom reached for Tess’s hand, and she squeezed his, then nodded slowly. She believed the nobleman would relent.
Then, after a stretch of silence, he did.
“When will this . . . event take place?”
“We’d like it to happen this evening,” Tess told him. “They’ll arrive any moment from London, and we think they’ll like the
notion of a dinner hosted to celebrate their return.”
“And we have a few important guests expecting to travel to Wiggenstow to attend,” Dom added.
Fenbridge spun, both brows arched high. “Out with it then, the two of you might as well tell me your plan.”
Dom and Tess exchanged a quick smile, savoring their success, if only this part of it.
And then they told him their plan.
“We couldn’t have pulled this off without you.” Tess approached Mrs. Wells and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Thank
you.”
Wellsy drew in a deep breath. “It’s not even begun yet, my dear.”
“No, but the food looks marvelous, and that will matter to the Van Arsdales.”
Mrs. Wells had returned to Foxdene, and Tristan had filled them in about the plan to host a party where the Van Arsdales might
be persuaded to be magnanimous.
The Fenbridge staff had panicked a bit when Tess went to the kitchen to explain what they hoped to accomplish. It was very
short notice, and Mrs. Wells’s oversight helped them greatly. They’d settled on a somewhat simple menu, but with rich flourishes
and a sumptuous dessert, which the Van Arsdales had favored earlier in the week.
Now, they’d secured the Van Arsdales’ agreement to attend the meal and the staff had put the finishing touches on the dining
room setup.
The Van Arsdales were out at the dig site with their chairs and umbrellas. Dom had been out with them part of the morning,
then made his excuses, claiming he had to speak to Fenbridge. Tristan had promised to keep them there in the afternoon following
a lavish lunch to prevent them from interfering with the dinner arrangements.
Tess looked up when she heard the thud of footsteps in the hallway and let out a big exhale of relief when Dominic appeared
in the doorway.
“I’ve met with our guests. They’re gathered at the inn. I’ve offered to put them all up for the evening, and the Randalls were happy to accommodate them,” he told her and Mrs. Wells.
“Even the guest? The most important one,” Tess asked him.
Dominic swallowed and shook his head. “He won’t be coming.”
Tess’s heart fell.
“But,” Dominic said as he strode toward her and handed her a slip of paper, “he sent this.”
Tess looked down at the telegram and grinned. It was perfect. Not quite as perfect as the powerful nobleman banker’s appearance
in Wiggenstow would have been. But Lord Rothschild’s influence couldn’t be dimmed by his absence. His words on the telegram
would make an impact on Van Arsdale. The only question was whether it would be enough.
“We should change,” Dom reminded her.
They’d both brought clothing appropriate for a formal dinner, though for Tess that meant she was donning the same purple gown
she’d worn to Priscilla Walcott’s again. Lord Fenbridge had insisted they take one of the guest rooms to make their preparations.
After giving their dear housekeeper Mrs. Wells a peck on the cheek, Tess made her way with Dominic upstairs to their borrowed
room.
As soon as they stepped inside, Dominic took her in his arms and kissed her. He tasted her deeply, licking into her mouth,
tangling his tongue with hers as he lifted her off her toes and backed her against the closed door.
Tess pushed his coat from his shoulders, and when he broke the kiss, she turned so that her back was to him.
“Help me with my buttons?” she said breathlessly.
He did, and she could feel his breath coming fast against her nape, then his lips were there as he kissed and nipped at her
skin.
When his hand came around to cup her breast through the fabric of her corset and chemise, she bucked back against him.
“The fact that I don’t have time to make love to you properly right now is criminal.”
Tess laughed as she turned and twined her arms around his neck. “We’ll have time afterwards.”
“You make it sound as if I am a patient man.”
She chuckled again. “The anticipation, though”—she arched up onto her tiptoes and drew her lips along his sharp jaw—“is delicious.”
“You, love, are delicious.” He started to inch her gown up, and she wanted him to taste her and make her shatter as much as
he clearly wanted to. But they didn’t have time.
“I want to,” she told him, then bit her lip. “But I want to savor it.”
He bent until his forehead rested against hers. “Good God, I’ve found myself a logical wife.”
After pressing a kiss to her forehead, he stepped back and then went to retrieve her purple gown.
“This reminds me of our first kiss, so you’ll be driving me mad all evening in it.”
Tess approached and reached up to stroke her fingers through his thick, dark hair. “We’ll be driving each other mad.” She
drew in a breath. “I just hope this works.”
“Me too, love.”
They got busy dressing then, Dom in his formal evening suit and Tess in her old violet gown. The dress accentuated her waist and décolletage, and she smiled when she noticed Dominic watching her wolfishly. Then voices below stilled both their movements. Loud, boisterous voices.
“They’re here,” he said, and they strode toward each other, clasped hands, nodded, and made their way downstairs.
By the time they reached the ground floor, the Van Arsdales had headed up to their own borrowed rooms to wash and change,
just as they’d anticipated they would.
The Fenbridge staff had been instructed not to breathe a word to the Van Arsdales about the plan unfolding. They only knew
that a dinner was being prepared to celebrate their return.
Right on time, the guests that Dominic had invited began to arrive.
First, the Duchess of Norberry, who had donated an enormous collection of historic ceramics to the British Museum ten years
ago. Next came Lord Julius Montague, Marquess of Ashbourne, a trustee of the museum, and the man who most often met with,
or even persuaded, prospective donors to part with their collections. Finally, Richard Wrothley, an American steel magnate