Tessa's Touch (24 page)

As though feeling his eyes upon her, she looked
up and for a long moment their gazes locked across the room. Faint color stole
into her cheeks and a shy smile curved her lips before she turned back to the
group of gentlemen.

Tessa was the loveliest, liveliest, most
generous and most intelligent woman Anthony had ever known. The very idea of
her bound to a boor like Harold Emery was outrageous —a crime against nature
itself. How could Sir George even consider such a thing?

He moved over to Rush, who had just returned to
the room. "Have you discovered anything?" he asked in a low voice.

"I haven't had time for much," Rush
replied softly, "but it seems the decline of Wheatstone's productivity has
coincided precisely with Mr. Mercer's stewardship of the estate. Invalid or
not, Sir George can't be entirely blind to it. Emery must have some sort of
hold over him, and I suspect it is more than his relationship to the late Lady
Seaton."

Anthony nodded. "And the son?"

"I watched him ride up to the house,"
Rush said, "and he makes his father look a right Meltonian. Worst seat
I've ever seen. I'd guess he's as poor a horse-trainer as his father is a
steward. We'd be doing Sir George a real favor to rid him of those two, apart
from the threat they pose to Miss Seaton."

"I agree —and the sooner the better."
He wouldn't put it past young Emery to compromise Tessa in some way to make it
that much harder for her to cry off. The fellow might not even be above rape,
if he thought it would serve his interests.

"Will you come along when we take Sir
George home after the party?" he asked.

Rush nodded. "Of course. What do you have
in mind?"

Briefly, Anthony outlined his plan.

* *
*

Afternoon was creeping toward dusk when the
party began to break up, the gentlemen heading out to their lodgings to change
for dinner. Tessa was relieved, for the past hour had been one of the most
difficult of her life.

For her father's sake, she had continued to
accept congratulations on her upcoming marriage, though she was determined it
would never take place. If her father would not release her from the betrothal,
she would run away rather than marry Harold.

Then there was Anthony's disturbing presence,
though he had not so much as spoken to her for the duration of the party. The
occasional glances they'd exchanged, however, had heated her blood and turned
her thoughts into most improper channels.

Even when he was not looking at her, just
knowing he was in the room was so distracting that it was all she could do to
attend to whatever conversation she was a part of. She'd had to ask various
gentlemen to repeat themselves so many times that by now they probably all
thought her hard of hearing.

"Oh, are we not returning in the phaeton?"
Sir George asked when they reached the front door.

"I've asked Lady Killerby to let us use
the closed carriage, Papa, as it is turning colder," Tessa explained.
Also, as it was still light, she was hoping the enclosed vehicle might impede
her father's view of Wheatstone somewhat as they approached.

To her surprise, Lord Anthony, Lord Rushford
and Mr. Turpin all insisted upon accompanying them home.

"Yes, I'm sure you and your father are
quite capable of taking Sir George into the house," said Lord Rushford
when Harold protested, "but Lady Killerby has shooed us all away while she
has the detritus of her party cleared up. Stormy is only staying behind to keep
Killer amused. Besides, Anthony and Thor here are become quite adept at your
transfer, haven't they, Sir George?"

"Indeed they have," Sir George
agreed. "And once we reach Wheatstone, I insist you all come in for some
brandy, for your trouble."

They all declared that they would be quite
honored to do so, and Sir George was content. Tessa, however, was not. Now she
would have to ride home with both Anthony and Harold as escorts, which had the
potential to become most awkward.

On sudden inspiration, she turned to her uncle.
"I find myself a bit stiff. I believe I would prefer to ride in the
carriage with Papa. Will you lead my horse, Uncle Mercer?"

He agreed, but rather reluctantly.

"Not to worry, Emery," said Anthony.
"If you have difficulties, one of us can easily take Miss Seaton's mount
off of your hands."

Tessa hid a smile, knowing how that would chafe
her uncle —even though it was entirely possible that he really couldn't ride
and lead at the same time. Resolving to ignore any further byplay between the
men, she climbed into the carriage beside her father.

"It's good of you to keep me company, Tessa,
when I've no doubt you'd prefer to be on horseback," Sir George said once
they'd all started off. "Particularly after . . . Well, I'll just say
that perhaps I haven't treated you quite fairly over this matter with Harold. I
did mean it for the best, but—"

"I know you did, Papa, but really, we
won't suit at all. You must know that." She held her breath. Ending this
betrothal would not make a match with Anthony possible, but at least she
wouldn't be obliged to run away, abandoning her father.

He sighed deeply. "Lily— Lady Killerby,
that is— says the same. But I don't see that we have a choice. Harold and
Mercer will make things most unpleasant for you if we renege now— unpleasant
for us both."

"But how, Papa? Do you really think they
will go to the trouble of telling people that I was away from home Friday
night, simply for spite?"

"They might. And there are other things .
. . I dare not risk it, my dear. For your sake."

Tessa wanted to ask what other things he meant,
but it was clear from his expression that he would not tell her. Instead, she
turned the conversation to the party just past, hoping she'd be able to wear
him down before being forced to a terrible decision.

Soon, however, she lapsed into silence,
reliving those stolen moments in the upstairs hallway of Ivy Lodge. If only—

Not until her father gasped did she remember
why she should have continued to distract his attention.

"Tessa!" he exclaimed, staring out
the window of the carriage at Wheatstone as they drove up the long drive.
"What is wrong with the roof of the west wing? And that chimney —is it
leaning?"

"It is all under repair already,
Papa," she quickly assured him. "Uncle Mercer has engaged workers
to—"

"Mercer should never have allowed the
house to reach such a state in the first place," Sir George said severely.
"Why did he not tell me it was in need of such extensive repair? I know we
haven't quite the funds we used to, but—"

Tessa stared at her father. "You know—?
What do you mean?"

He turned from the window to gaze at her sadly.
"Despite Mercer's assurances, I can see that things at Wheatstone are not
what they once were. How many servants do we have now? Less than a dozen, I'll
warrant. Though I knew he was not telling me all, I fear I saw less than I
should have."

Knowing that her uncle was bound to throw the
blame her way if her father confronted him, Tessa said, "I confess it is
not all Uncle Mercer's fault, Papa. I knew there were some problems, but I
asked him not to burden you with them."

"I appreciate your care and concern for me
all of these years, Tessa, but it was not for you to decide what I should know
about my own estate. As my steward, Mercer should answer to me, not to you, a
mere girl. He knows that."

"But you've been ill. Your heart—"

"Not so ill as that. I've been negligent,
however, and that must stop —at once."

Tessa let the matter drop, for Uncle Mercer had
said that the doctor thought it best that Sir George not be told the full truth
about the state of his health.

They pulled to a halt before the house and the
carriage door was opened. Anthony handed her down, then he and Mr. Turpin
efficiently whisked her father back into his chair and through the front door,
which the waiting Griffith held wide.

Following them up the stairs, flanked by
Harold, Uncle Mercer and Lord Rushford, Tessa could not help feeling that
control of her life was slipping inexorably away from her. A month ago, her
life had been routine, predictable, if not precisely happy, and had seemed
likely to remain so. Now she could not see her future at all, which frightened
her. She must find a way to regain her perspective, her control —her freedom.

Upon reaching the parlor, Tessa rang for tea
while her father told Griffith to pour brandy for all of the gentlemen. Harold
and Uncle Mercer stood to one side of the fireplace while Lord Anthony and his
friends stood on the other. Tessa thought it looked rather like a standoff
—though surely that was absurd.

She took the chair next to her father, in the
middle of the room. With a possessive air, Harold immediately moved to take the
chair on her other side. She couldn't resist a quick glance at Anthony, and
found him frowning at Harold, a small, enigmatic smile playing about his lips.

"It was very kind of Lady Killerby to have
a party on such short notice," Tessa said brightly, mostly to break the
silence.

"Indeed," her father agreed, so
heartily that she thought he must have noticed the growing awkwardness as well.
"And following the hunt in her phaeton went off far better than I
anticipated, I must say. I thought we'd be left behind at once, remembering the
breakneck pace of the rides of my youth, but there were gates in every hedge
and fence, and the checks and changes of direction allowed us to remain within
sight of the bulk of the field. I quite enjoyed myself."

"I am glad to hear it," said Lord
Anthony, coming suddenly to life. He glanced at each of his friends, who
responded with almost imperceptible nods, then stepped forward. "Sir
George, I must ask you a question."

Tessa tensed, but her father only looked up at
him with mild curiosity. "Of course, my boy, er, my lord. What is
it?"

Anthony flashed Tessa a quick look that only
increased her trepidation before saying, "What is the true reason for this
sudden betrothal between your daughter and Mr. Emery?"

Clearly startled, Sir George hesitated, while
on her other side, Harold jumped to his feet. "What kind of question is
that?" he demanded. "I offered, Tessa accepted, Sir George gave his
consent. That's all you need know."

Coolly, Anthony looked Harold up and down
before returning his attention to Sir George. Tessa could only watch in stunned
silence, wondering, fearing, where this might lead.

"My question was for Sir George," he
said. "Well, sir?"

"It . . . it is as Harold says," her
father answered unconvincingly. "Why do you ask?"

Again Anthony looked at Tessa, and this time
she saw a determination in his eyes that somehow chilled and warmed her at
once. "I have reason to believe this betrothal stems from Miss Seaton's
absence from home Friday night. Is this true?"

Tessa gasped. Surely he was not going to—?

Her father slowly nodded, his face anguished
and pale. "I don't know how you learned of it, but yes. It appears my
daughter was . . . less than wise, though no doubt she told me what she did to
spare me worry. Under the circumstances—"

"Tell me," Anthony interrupted,
"did Mr. Emery claim to know where she was, after informing you she was
not at the Hilltops' as you had believed?"

"Harold said that she was with him,"
replied Sir George, frowning, "though Tessa swears that nothing improper
occurred. Mercer said that they were seen, however —which must be true, as you
gentlemen seem to know of it. So marriage is clearly the only possible
option."

Harold, still standing, began to look smug, but
then Anthony turned his steely gaze upon him. "In that case, Mr. Emery, I
presume you can tell Sir George exactly
where
you and Miss Seaton spent the night?"

"That's none of your business,"
Harold blustered.

Anthony's mouth curved in a smile that did not
reach his eyes. "Oh, but I believe it is."

When Harold only glowered, Anthony turned back
to Sir George. "He will not say, sir, because he does not know. I believe
your nephew— persuaded, perhaps, by your brother-in-law— merely seized
opportunity in both hands when he learned of your daughter's truancy, using it
as a lever to force her into marriage. She did not spend Friday night with him
at all, though it was to his advantage to say she did."

Now Tessa was thoroughly alarmed, but Sir
George simply looked thoroughly confused. "To his advantage?" he
echoed.

"Of course," Anthony said.
"If—"

Harold stepped forward menacingly. "Now
see here, Northrup," he began, but Anthony's sudden glare made him
hesitate.

"Sit down, Harold," Sir George
advised. "You were saying, my lord?"

Anthony waited until Harold had resumed his
seat before continuing. "If I'm not mistaken, your daughter stands to
inherit Wheatstone. As her husband, Mr. Emery would have control of the estate
after your death— though of course we all hope that will be many, many years
delayed."