Shining Threads (30 page)

‘Someone I am likely to know?’

‘No, not really, Mother.’

‘Is he likely to call again, d’you think?’Jenny Harrison was intrigued by her daughter’s capriciousness. As far as she knew, Tessa had shown an interest in no man beyond
a willingness to engage in flirtation of the very lightest kind with her cousins’ friends, and here she was fidgeting about the room, restless as a colt and with a flush on her cheeks to
shame the almost overbearing show of roses which stood in the hallway.

‘Heavens, how am I to know? Why do you ask?’

‘Charlie and I are to go to London for a week or so. There is to be an exhibition and Charlie is eager to see this new combing machine designed by James Noble. We are off first thing in
the morning. It is said to be . . . but there, you are not interested in that, I’m sure. I did tell you we were to go several days ago,’ she added gently, for she could see her daughter
was not really listening.

Tessa was not. Already she was dreaming against the window, gazing down the dusk-filled garden with the air of someone who has been transported to another world, one in which less fortunate
mortals such as her mother were certainly not included.

Jenny smiled.

They had met a bare two weeks ago and when he moved urgently towards her as she entered the Squire’s ballroom she was touched with an almost unimaginable terror. It was too soon; it had
happened too quickly. Then he smiled and her terror fled away as though it had never been. She was dizzy and bemused with love for him. She adored him. There was nothing she would not give him, or
do for him. Nothing.

‘Come into the garden with me. The moon is shining and if you promise not to scream I shall kiss you,’ he teased, but their desire tightened the air about them with such force they
were both overwhelmed by it.

Her eyes were twin stars, brilliant, the expression in them letting him know how very willing she was. She had waited for him for so long, since when one was deep in love an hour is forever.
Each time they were apart she was in turmoil until she saw him again. Had she imagined him, she agonised, endowed him with graces which existed only in her mind? But as she took her hand from the
Squire’s and put it in his, he was exactly as she remembered him, knew him, wanted him to be, his eyes were almost black with his love for her, his mouth smiling, not just at her, but at
himself and his own eagerness to take her in his arms before the whole company, for what else could it be but a declaration of his intent?

And they had not spoken a word as they glided away from the suddenly silent group of watchers for they had been dazzled, mesmerised by the enchantment of being in one another’s arms.

‘Why, Mr Atherton, you are no gentleman to say such a thing to a lady. If he were here I would inform my uncle who would certainly take his whip to you, but since he is not I may be forced
to . . . to allow it.’

‘It would be worth it if he took the skin from my back.’

‘And if he did I would . . . soothe it with . . . salve.’

‘Tessa.’ His breath was sweet on her upturned face. ‘You really are . . . you must be a witch. Before you left home this evening admit you brewed some potion which you have
slipped into the champagne I drank, for I believe . . . yes, I believe . . .’

‘What do you believe?’ Her lips were no more than an inch from his and the Squire’s lady declared to her husband that she really meant it when she said she would
never
allow that hussy in her home again. Her husband pointed out drily that she would have to ban the whole Atherton family who had been landed gentlemen for as long as his own, for if he was any judge
young Atherton would be making an announcement before the week was out, if he had not already done so with his behaviour tonight.

‘That I am falling in love with you.’ Robby Atherton told Tessa Harrison.

‘Mr Atherton, how you do go on . . .’

‘Stop it, Tessa.’ His voice was sharp suddenly and his face had lost its smiling impudence and for a strange moment she was struck by a feeling of familiarity, a feeling that she had
seen that expression somewhere before, a likeness to someone she knew. But the sensation passed in the bewildering, overwhelming emotion which fevered her skin and prickled her spine. His hand was
hard on her back and the one in which hers rested gripped it cruelly.

‘Robby . . .’

‘Go to the ladies’ room . . . for God’s sake, make some excuse. Dammit woman, can you not see I am serious? I will meet you . . .’

He bowed her off the ballroom floor, evading politely the hand of the Squire’s lady, the beckoning finger of Nicky Longworth, the restraining clasp of old friends and over-enthusiastic
mamas with daughters in tow.

She thought she would have a fight on her hands, not certain whether it was to be between herself and them, or just between the two enraged young men themselves as her cousins accosted her,
surrounded her it felt like, in the quiet passage which led from the main hallway to the ladies’ retiring room.

‘What the hell d’you think you’re up to?’ Drew hissed menacingly, his hand hot and vicious on her arm.

‘Making a bloody show of yourself.’ Pearce was just as violent and for a moment she felt the ominous shadow of something cold and icy pass through her, then her heart reminded her
that her love waited and she had no time to bother with her cousins’ tantrums. God only knew what had got into them now, and she really didn’t care. She only knew she must get rid of
them as carefully as she could before their ugly mood erupted into the ballroom and stopped her escaping.

She made her voice aggrieved. ‘Drew, Pearce. Where have you been all evening?’ And before they could answer, taken aback by her tone, she hurried on to the room set aside for the
ladies and where they could not follow, calling over her shoulder, ‘Wait for me at the entrance to the ballroom. I’ll be about five minutes. The hem of my dress is torn.’

She left them and when they had gone, slipped back to the side door, fleeing beyond the lights of the Hall, beyond the formal garden and across the smooth lawn to the summer house, led there by
the absolute certainty that that was where he would be, and she was not surprised when she found him waiting there for her.

‘Tessa . . .’ He seemed uncertain now, no longer the hard and masterful man who had ordered her to meet him here.

‘Robby, perhaps we should go back?’ In her new-found maturity and bountiful love, since she
did
love him, she gave him the opportunity to draw back while there was still time
from this confrontation which he had demanded.

‘Tessa, you look so beautiful. The moon has taken your colour and made you into a silver maiden.’

‘I don’t quite know what that means.’

He took her hands in his and with a simplicity which was astonishing to her in a man of his years, his experience and knowledge of life, he told her, ‘I’m so much in love with
you.’

‘Robby . . .’ She could not speak for the tears in her throat.

‘Could you love me, d’you think?’ It was so different from what she had expected she could not answer. His words were quiet with a gentle sincerity in them she could not have
believed existed in this mature, complex, quite dazzling man. She had thought he would sweep her off her feet, run with her exhilaratingly across the dewed grass, perhaps barefoot, plying her with
champagne. Kiss her until her head spun, demand, take, his masculinity assertive, but he was trembling with need, his hands lifting to her shoulders. She was a lady, his manner said, and he was a
gentleman. He had been made as he was by traditions which told him a gentleman treated a lady with respect, courtesy, chivalry, gallantry. Beneath his well-bred, well-polished shell was a virility
which was without question; which seethed to escape and crush her to him, to take her since she was so lovely, so willing, so exactly what he had always wanted, yet he would not. Ladies such as
she, despite her wicked humour which delighted him, had a purity not just of the flesh but of the mind, an innocence which must be protected from the coarseness of the male until her husband, the
man who loved her, himself in fact, taught her with gentleness the meaning of desire.

‘We’ll go back now, my darling,’ he said quite sternly, holding out his arm to her. ‘I will call on your mother next weekend, if she will allow it, but until then I think
it best that you be returned to where the Squire’s lady, and your cousins, can see you.’

Blindly, her will for the first time submissive to another, she took his arm but at her touch he trembled violently. She heard his breath rasp in his throat and he groaned.

‘Bloody hell . . .’ Then, ‘Forgive me, my love, but I just can’t do it. I meant to take you back to them. You’re so sweet, so lovely. I only wanted to hold you for
a moment. Just one kiss, but then I was afraid . . . of you . . . and what I might do to you. You’re young, inexperienced,’ he laughed shakily, ‘and have no idea what I’m
talking about or what you’re doing to me but I’m damned if I’m going to let you go in without one kiss to . . . to mark the . . . we will be married soon . . .’

He put his arms about her, crossing them at her back and drew her softly against him, his love so strong and glorious she would have gladly died for him then and there, if he had asked it of
her.

He placed his lips against hers, their first kiss, and liquid honey ran hot and fierce and sweet along her veins and into every part of her awakened woman’s body. They breathed their
longing into one another’s mouth, tongues touching, lips clinging, then parting reluctantly.

‘I love you.’

‘Oh God, and I love you.’

And several miles away, in a candle-lit cottage, a man lifted his head from the book he was reading and shivered.

They saw each other every day. He took rooms at the brand new Station Hotel, built to accommodate those who now rushed about the country by the comparatively new method of travel, the railway,
whilst he awaited her mother’s return.

‘I cannot impose on the Squire, my darling, not without telling him of my intention towards you and I must speak to your mother first. You cannot, of course, come into the hotel but I can
hire a carriage and take you driving. Your reputation may be somewhat damaged, I’m afraid, but as we shall be engaged by the end of the month and married by the end of the year it can hardly
matter.’

She wore her most elegant gowns and extravagant French bonnets, brought at great cost from London, lovely colours of pale amber, peach, apple green, cream and cornflower blue, white lace and
white silk rosebuds on her parasol, as dainty, perfumed and feminine as she had ever been in her life. A female, submissive and obedient to male dominance, catching her breath at the almost
primitive, animal-like docility she knew.

They left the carriage and walked, moving slowly, dream-like, smiling at her strange awkwardness in her cumbersome petticoats and wide skirts, her high-heeled white kid boots, Tessa Harrison who
had strode these moors in breeches and a man’s shirt, hands clasped, hearts clasped.

He kissed her many times, each one becoming sweeter and more difficult to end, hurting her sometimes in his passion for her. His body trembled against hers, and hers responded and when he stood
away from her his breath would be short and harsh, his eyes a deep, deep glazing of brown.

‘Dear God, I cannot . . . I shall do something damnable if I do not take you home,’ he whispered against her throat, and she could barely stop herself from pulling him down into the
waist-high, sweet-smelling fern. Only the awareness that he would be appalled, much as he wanted it, stopped her since she knew that to him she was as white and virginal, as untouched and innocent
as a newly budded snowdrop.

On the day before her mother was to return he had business to attend to in Manchester. Restless and impatient without him she called for her mare and rode over the moor to see Annie.

14

‘’As tha told Will?’

‘I have not seen him.’

‘Tha owes it to ’im, Tessa.’

‘Dear God, Annie, are you my keeper? It does not matter what I do or don’t do, there you are, an expression of disapproval on your face, telling me where my duties lie.’ Her
guilt made her sharp. ‘What have I to tell Will? What is there I can tell him?’

‘Eeh lass, I knew thi ter be ’eartless at times but never cruel. This is cruel and well yer know it especially after what’s bin between yer. D’yer love this chap? If tha
does, yer mun tell Will. Are thi ter wed this chap? If tha is, tell Will an’ let ’im gerron wi’ ’is life . . .’

‘Don’t keep calling him
this chap
. He is named Robby Atherton. You speak of him as though he was some fortune hunter who is merely after my wealth. He has money and land and .
. . and he wants to marry me. He is to speak to Mother tomorrow.’

‘Tha’s in a rush, the pair o’ yer. I thought you said you met ’im at Whit walks. Tis only a month since . . .’

‘I know, oh Annie, I know, but we love each other so.’

Tessa stretched her tall, slender body in an ecstacy of joy, her arms above her head, ready to soar up to the ceiling and beyond, away from the earth which bound her, dipping and swaying the
full skirt this new Tessa Harrison felt the need to wear, about Annie’s stone-floored kitchen, rapturous as Annie had never seen her, her face lit in a way Will Broadbent had not, it seemed,
been able to achieve. Poor Will, and yet what a pitiful word to apply to the quite devastated strength, the clench-jawed, savage-eyed pain of the man who had snarled his way about her kitchen only
last night, very much as Tessa was doing now, but for a very different reason.

‘What the hell’s she playing at, Annie? Christ, it’s been weeks and she’s not been near me. Oh, I know I told her not to come back until she was ready for marriage but I
thought she would realise . . . I was convinced she loved me, you see. That given time . . . she is so young . . . I stayed away from her . . . Dear God, Annie, I love her. That is all there is to
me . . .’

‘Give over, Will Broadbent . . .’

‘It’s true. She’s had me in a thrall since the very first time. I wouldn’t have her unless she married me, I told her,’ he laughed harshly, ‘so she came to my
house and made short work of that statement. You understand what I’m saying?’