Macbeth's Niece (10 page)

“And the present Lord Brixton? What does he
think?”

“I daresay he finds it convenient having
someone to do his errands. To his credit, he never calls Master
Aidan anything but brother.”

Tessa was glad, for Aidan’s sake, that
William accepted him. It was not much, since he treated all three
brothers badly, but at least they were equals. Remembering a
comment from Jeffrey’s journal, she asked Mary, “Does Aidan drink
overmuch? I heard somewhere he did.”

Mary nodded, her eyes round. “Well, he did
in the past. I believe William spoke to him about it, and he’s
thought to be mending his ways. He were an awful one when he were
in his cups, I can tell you.”

“Is that why Jeffrey is your favorite then?
A miser, a monk and a drunkard. I suppose even young Master Brixton
must appear well next to those three.”

Mary was instantly defensive. “Jeffrey is
superior to all men, not just his brothers.”

“And how many men do you know?” Tessa
teased.

“As many as you, I’ll wager,” was Mary’s
laughing response, but then her face sobered. “It’s true, though. I
think poor Eleanor would have gone mad except for Jeffrey. He’s
always stood between her and Sir William, making the old stick
ashamed when he deprived his wife of small things while he lived in
London in this fine house. Not that Eleanor cares for finery. She’d
as lief plant a garden as attend a feast. Still, William was cruel
to her in small ways once he found he’d get no son from her.
Jeffrey has always protected her and been good to us, too, the poor
cousins.”

Tessa had an idea of what it must be like
for the three Brixton girls with little hope for a bright future.
William’s penny-pinching might leave them old maids, or at best
wives to younger sons of poor noblemen, working themselves to death
on five acres.

“Mary, this is our chance to see what London
offers in the way of husbands.”

“I’m not such a beauty as you—” Mary began,
touching her thin, mousy brown hair, but Tessa interrupted.

“Don’t be silly! You’re as pretty as one of
your English daisies, and men differ in their tastes in women.
After Eleanor’s instruction, I’m sure we will each succeed.” She
turned impish, taking on a lecturing tone. “You must get the
attention of two or three young men, and then set them each
thinking you might be interested in another. Nothing makes a man
more ardent than the thought you mightn’t want him.”

“Are you certain?” Mary said, wide-eyed.

Tessa wasn’t sure how she knew it to be
true, but she did. She’d seen men in the hills of Scotland who
chased only after the girls who ran away, or appeared to, and
figured men were the same in England despite fine clothes and
manners. The girls practiced flirting with their eyes until it
became too dark in the room to see. They pinched out the tallow
candle and went to sleep, each dreaming of the days to come and the
men they would conquer.

Chapter
Nine

The next week was a busy one. Once he saw
the chance to marry off his harem of female relatives, William
arranged with alacrity invitations to several parties. “It’s not
that he cares for anyone but himself,” Eleanor admitted to Tessa,
“but it works for our purposes. I’m guessing my thrifty husband is
plotting a mass wedding for the four of you.” Eleanor put on a
droll expression and spoke in imitation of William’s usual sonorous
tone. “One banquet, one priest, a great savings.”

“Perhaps we could share the dress too, if we
arrange the ceremony cleverly enough,” Tessa said with a
chuckle.

Eleanor laughed too, but then her face
tensed and she gripped her stomach. Tessa ran to a small bag they
had taken to having nearby and fetched a small bottle of painkiller
obtained discreetly from an apothecary. Beside it was an earthen
orb with a cork stopper, the one Tessa tried not to think about
very often. Eleanor drank the medicine and waited for the pain to
subside. Her color alarmed Tessa, and she was frustrated at her
helplessness.

“Are you sure—” Tessa began, but Eleanor put
up a hand, signaled she wanted no discussion.

“This is what I want, Tess. Don’t fret about
it.”

“Eleanor…” Tessa longed to say how much this
lovely woman meant to her. This whole trip was Eleanor’s attempt to
settle Tessa’s life, and though she had doubts about marrying a man
she didn’t love, she was realistic enough to see the necessity of
it. She’d heard it said a woman’s first marriage should be for
security. If fate decreed, she could look for love in the second
one.

“I know, my dear. Your face is like a book.
Now let us dress for tonight’s banquet. Perhaps you will capture
the heart of Hardecanute’s eldest son.” Eleanor was joking, of
course. Rumor had it the man was a boor, interested only in
falconry and racing horses.

Tessa joined in, keeping her voice light to
match Eleanor’s lead. “I’d as soon marry an ape as a Dane, and I
have my heart set on an Englishman, as you well know.”

The first party was a great success. For it
Tessa chose her gown of green and set it off with a small cap of
matching cloth sewn all over with small beads that caught the
light, showing her hair to advantage. Whispers began as she entered
the hall, eyes downcast and framed by Eleanor and William. Behind
them came the three cousins, also beautifully dressed and coifed.
The message was obvious: here are likely candidates for wives.
Within minutes, young men found ways to be presented, and though
Tessa was the obvious favorite, the other girls had their
attendants, too. This invasion of attractive country girls was not
popular with the local females, who clustered like threatened
chickens and mumbled among themselves. Tessa murmured polite
responses to queries and danced with men until she could no longer
keep track of names and titles but merely smiled and nodded as they
vied to impress her.

After an hour Tessa’s head spun from
unaccustomed stimulation. The room was warm with the press of
bodies and the heat of the torches necessary for light. The people
in attendance dazzled in the variety and sumptuousness of their
apparel, so that everywhere she looked there was color. The room
had been freshly decorated with cut flowers, branches of
sweet-scented woodruff, blossoms, and ribbons of every sort. The
room itself was grander than anything she had ever seen. Its
dimensions were huge, its walls covered with the finest of
tapestries. The high ceiling had been decorated with delicate
carvings, and in a corner of the room three musicians supplied a
sweet-sounding background for the buzz of conversation. There was
so much to take in, so much to remember, that she found herself at
a loss to notice details, could only register a sense of movement
and grandeur.

Remembering Eleanor’s teaching, Tessa
managed to ingratiate herself to several mothers in the room,
chatting about sewing and gardening, making sure to appear modest
but responsible, charming but chaste. She noticed two
formidable-looking ladies watching her critically, and eventually a
friend of Eleanor’s introduced her to them.

“Lady Acton, Dame Ballard, may I present
Tessa macFindlaech, late of Scotland but now here to visit her
sister, Eleanor Brixton.” The man, having obviously done as he was
told, now backed away, leaving Tessa with two very opposite
personalities.

Lady Acton was square and substantial. Her
expensive gown could not make up for the distinctly masculine shape
of her body and looked more like a disguise than a dress. Her hair
was completely hidden in an elaborate and unbecoming cap that
accentuated the size of her head with horns and veils and swinging
beads. Her face was flat and pugnacious, inviting no familiarity,
and the eyes swept over Tessa continuously, taking in her hair, her
clothes—everything about her—giving the impression she was judged
as never before.

“How nice for you to come to London before
everyone leaves for the summer.” Lady Acton’s voice was
surprisingly low and feminine. “Much better than Scotland, I’m
sure. I’m told it’s always damp there.”

Biting back the reply that begged to be
spoken, Tessa merely answered, “I find London most interesting. I
notice flowers I have never seen before, and they are quite
beautiful.” Having been tutored by Eleanor, Tessa knew Lady Acton
was inordinately proud of her gardens and would talk about them
forever if allowed to. For some minutes after that, all Tessa had
to do was listen, nod, and smile from time to time.

When Lady Acton finally finished her glowing
description of Mirabeau, the country estate to which she would soon
be retiring to avoid London’s summer heat and the dangers of
disease that accompanied it, Tessa murmured, “It sounds
breathtaking. I’m sure it is a great deal of work for you, but what
rewards you must reap when you survey your labors.” She doubted if
the woman ever got her hands dirty. Her “work” would consist of
telling servants and gardeners what to do each day. Even that was
probably unnecessary, since her servants were undoubtedly closer to
the earth than their mistress could ever hope to be, more able to
coax from it the finest blooms.

Lady Acton was sure her own toil was
exhaustive, and she warmed to Tessa due to the girl’s interest in
her garden. “Oh, yes, my dear, but it is such a joy to see one’s
labors come to fruition. I hope to leave the world a more beautiful
place than I found it, and therefore I am willing to sacrifice as
needs be.” Leaving the world might indeed make it more beautiful,
Tessa reflected, for Lady Acton was no beauty. Her strong chin was
mirrored in her son Cedric, with whom she had danced earlier. On
him it was manly and somewhat attractive, but on his mother it
predicted strong opinions, rather like a bulldog.

Dame Ballard, the woman with Lady Acton, had
been patient as long as she could, and now began what could only be
termed an interrogation, delving into every area of Tessa’s
past.

As Lady Acton’s opposite, one could hardly
have found a more perfect choice. Everything about Dame Ballard was
tentative and frail, or at least appeared so. She was very slight
and hunched herself together in such a way that she seemed even
less than she was. Her tiny face was all bones, with deep-set eyes
and pale skin that added to the wraithlike impression. It was
somewhat surprising, therefore, that this lady had no qualms about
voicing her curiosity and no restraints on what she considered was
within her right to know. Asking questions Tessa found both
invasive and rude, the old lady proceeded to what must have been a
mental list of questions designed to satisfy herself as to Tessa’s
suitability as a candidate for marriage. The old desire to speak
out threatened to emerge, but she remembered Eleanor’s caution that
it was the mothers who were her most critical challenge in securing
a favorable match.

The dame’s youngest child, Bolton, was
eligible, as was Cedric Acton. Their mothers obviously had an
interest in her, so Tessa swallowed her objections and answered
Dame Ballard’s queries. Soon Lady Acton joined in, and the two
women poked into Tessa’s life until she struggled to keep up with
her manufactured past. Lying was against her nature, so she and
Eleanor had kept to the truth when possible, simply leaving out
facts that would mar her prospects. One such fact was her
relationship to Macbeth, to whom the English were naturally
antagonistic.

“Your mother was of good blood?” Dame
Ballard asked.

Tessa felt a slight flush of anger but
answered calmly, “My mother’s father was a thane—what you would
call a lord—in the Highlands. He was well respected as a leader,
and our people are known for their metalwork. If your son owns a
long-sword, it may have been made by my grandfather’s craftsmen.
They also make excellent targes—what you call shields—of wood
studded with iron.”

“I know little of such things,” Dame Ballard
admitted. “Does your line run to sons or daughters?”

Tessa knew this was an important question,
and she chose to omit mention of her father’s six daughters. “My
father had but one sibling, a brother, and my mother is one of
three children, she the only female.” Both ladies nodded their
heads in satisfaction, the effect comedic as the absurd fripperies
on their headpieces bobbed and swung in response. Both looked at
Tessa speculatively, and she felt like a ham in a butcher shop. As
soon as was polite, she excused herself and returned to the much
easier task of charming the young men who flocked to her.

Cecilia was faring well, having the most
self-confidence of the three cousins. Mary listened wide-eyed to a
young man who had a terrible stammer. She never blinked an eye as
he struggled to speak, and his gratitude showed in his face. Alice,
the quietest cousin, stood against a wall, looking near to tears.
Tessa managed to maneuver two of the nearest gentlemen over to
where Alice stood, chatting animatedly for a few minutes. Finally,
she turned to one (either Alex or Alan, she didn’t remember which)
and said, “I would be pleased, sir, if you would teach me the form
they’re dancing now.” Inclining her head toward the dance floor,
she begged, “Alice, please you and Walter—” she hoped that was his
name “—join us or I shall feel quite foolish.” The men, well
trained in courtesy, did as asked, and soon Alice, an excellent
dancer, was laughing up at her partner, face pink with success,
quite changed from the terror-stricken creature of a few minutes
before.

Eleanor caught Tessa alone for a brief
moment and whispered in her ear. “I overheard Lady Acton telling
Dame Ballard you are quite the most charming girl she’s met this
year. Her son is the one in the scarlet cap, there on the right.”
Tessa nodded. “Dame Ballard says she’s never seen such a beauty
since her own daughter Beatrice was young. The Dame holds her
daughter to be the standard of womanly perfection against which all
others are measured. Being mentioned in the same sentence with the
lovely Beatrice is a great compliment.”