Tessa's Touch (9 page)

* *
*

After debating among themselves whether to wear
London evening dress or formal hunt attire, Anthony and his friends decided on
the latter. "Sir George made it clear he wanted to discuss hunting, so
this will better set the mood," Anthony had reasoned, and the others had
agreed.

The invitation had been for six o'clock, so the
early November darkness had already fallen as they rode up the long drive to
Wheatstone. Light glowed brightly from the windows of the lower stories, at
least in the central block of the house. Fewer candles appeared to be kindled
on the upper floors, and the two wings were nearly dark.

As the group neared the house, two grooms
appeared to take their horses, though Anthony suspected from their youth that
they were stable lads pressed into temporary service.

"Thankee, m'lord!" exclaimed the boy
who took Cinder's reins when Anthony handed him a shilling. His enthusiasm
implied that he was not accustomed to receiving vails for service.

The old butler, more polite this time, showed
them into the house and up the stairway, into a sumptuously appointed parlor on
the right. Sir George propelled his chair forward to greet them.

"Welcome, gentlemen, welcome indeed!"
he exclaimed, his speech very slightly slurred. "We have quite looked
forward to your visit, and hope we will make an enjoyable evening for you. Come
in, do, and seat yourselves. We have time for a drink and some conversation
before dinner."

As they all filled glasses from the decanters
on the sideboard and disposed themselves about the room, Anthony took note of
their surroundings, wondering if he'd been mistaken about the estate's lack of
money. Nothing in this room, at least, looked faded, worn or repaired.

"Will Miss Seaton be dining with us?"
Killer asked as he sat near the crackling fire, saving Anthony from voicing the
question.

"Indeed, she should be joining us at any
moment," Sir George replied, beaming. "Made an impression on you, has
my Tessa? Quite the rider, my daughter —much like her mother before her."

They all voiced agreement, and Rush said,
"Yes, she's the admiration of the Quorn, sir, and now the Mountsorrel as
well."

Sir George's smile dimmed slightly. "She's
not drawing too much attention to herself, is she? Improper attention, I
mean." He drained his wineglass and held it out for the hovering butler to
refill.

"She's done nothing the least
improper," Anthony hastened to assure him. "It's simply natural that
a woman riding to hunt would attract notice, rare as that is these days.
Particularly when the woman is as accomplished at the art as your daughter. She
takes fences better than nine-tenths of the men riding, from what I've
observed. You have every reason to be proud of her."

He was glad to see the worry leave Sir George's
face, which then brightened even further. "Ah, there you are, my dear.
Join us, do. You all know Tessa —or, I should say, Miss Seaton?"

Anthony and his friends jumped to their feet as
she entered, Anthony wondering how much of his praise she had overheard. Most
of it, judging by her heightened color.

She was most becomingly dressed in a low-cut
evening gown of rose silk cinched below her breasts by a wide ribbon of deeper
rose. Though her face was perhaps not as white as fashion preferred —not
surprising after two days riding outdoors —her shoulders and chest were as
creamy as any London debutante's. It was all Anthony could do to keep to his
place when every sense was urging him to go to her, to touch her smooth cheek,
the silkiness of her upswept hair, the curve of—

"My compliments, Miss Seaton," he
said aloud before his errant thoughts could progress any further. The others
echoed his words as she advanced into the room.

Her blush extended down to her cleavage,
Anthony noted with interest.

"Thank you," she murmured, clearly
nonplussed at so much blatant admiration. Not meeting Anthony's eyes —or anyone
else's —she moved to her father's side. "Are you warm enough, Papa?"
she asked, smoothing a fold of his cravat. "Would you like a lap
rug?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, waving
her away. "Don't fuss, Tessa. Have a seat, and we can all talk of the hunt
until dinner is ready. I understand the fox won today?" He smiled around
as Miss Seaton retreated with obvious reluctance to take the chair closest to
her father.

Anthony obliged his host by beginning a
blow-by-blow account of the morning's ride, supplemented by comments from his
friends. Sir George became animated, his expression more alert than Anthony had
yet seen it as he asked questions and offered his opinion on some of the older
sportsmen he had ridden with in years past.

Miss Seaton, Anthony noticed, said not a word,
casting frequent, worried glances at her father, though Anthony saw no
particular cause for her concern. If anything, the color in Sir George's cheeks
had improved, and the bleariness faded from his eyes as his refilled glass went
untouched.

Dinner was announced a short time later and
they repaired to the dining room across the hall, Miss Seaton accompanying her
father despite his looks and nods that were clearly meant to encourage her to
take one of their guests' arms instead. At the table, however, she was obliged
to take her place at the opposite end from her father, while the five guests
and Mr. Emery, who joined them at the last moment, filled in along the sides.

Anthony was not the only one who moved to sit
by Miss Seaton, but after some subtle jockeying for position, he managed to
take the chair on her right, while Killer sat opposite him on her left. Rush
and Thor sat by Sir George, with Stormy between Killer and Rush and Mr. Emery
between Anthony and Thor. This suited Anthony quite well, as he hoped to
discover a bit more about Mr. Emery this evening.

Accordingly, as the soup was served, he turned
to the older man and said, "It must take most of your time to manage an
estate the size of Wheatstone, and the stables as well. It is good of you to
take time away from such duties to chaperone Miss Seaton on the hunting field,
and to dine with us tonight."

Mr. Emery's glance slid around the table, then
back to Anthony before he answered. "I am able to delegate some of my
responsibilities, of course, my lord, as any good manager must do. I try not to
neglect the demands of family —or society —for the sake of business."

"Speaking of the estate, Mercer, did I
hear some sort of work going on in the west wing earlier today?" Sir
George asked from the other end of the table. "What—?

"Some painting, Papa, that is all,"
Miss Seaton said before her uncle could respond. "It was my suggestion
that we have it done."

Sir George nodded. "I suppose it is due,
as were the chimneys you mentioned having cleaned. You will take admirable care
of a house of your own someday, Tessa." He winked, then smiled around at
the gentlemen.

Remembering the sagging roof on the west end of
the house and the leaning chimney he had noticed on his first visit, Anthony
raised his brows but asked no questions, instead changing the subject to
alleviate Miss Seaton's obvious embarrassment at her father's comment.

"Sir George, did you perhaps know my
great-uncle, Alden Trowbridge? He was a deal older than you, of course, but he
was quite the avid foxhunter in his day."

"Trowbridge? Why yes, I remember old
Trowbridge well," Sir George exclaimed. "Never saw him refuse a
fence, even in his sixties. He was your uncle?"

Anthony nodded. "On my mother's side. He
left Ivy Lodge to me, and it now houses the Odd Sock Club."

"So you are all members of the Odd Sock? I
recall when it formed, a year or two before my accident, and the furor it
caused at the Old Club. They needed the shakeup, in my opinion —and the
competition. Some of them were far too full of themselves, too sure that their
way was the only way. No flexibility."

"Exactly," Stormy said. "We
didn't care for the way they did things at the Old Club, so we started our own.
In fact we five are the founding members."

Stormy tactfully did not mention the specific
incident that had led to the formation of the Odd Sock, to Anthony's relief.
Killer was already feeling put-upon about his purchase of that bay. On that
thought, while Stormy and Rush gave Sir George a few more details about their
hunt club, Anthony turned again to Mr. Emery, though his question was really
for Miss Seaton.

"That horse Lord Killerby bought, Nimbus
—have you any tips on how to get the best out of him? He seems a bit, ah,
resistant to the change of ownership."

"I, er—" Mr. Emery began, glancing
across Anthony at Miss Seaton, who responded, as Anthony had hoped she might.
She'd been silent far too long for his liking.

"Nimbus was gelded quite late," she
said, "so he still thinks like a stallion in many ways. That's why he dislikes
being near other horses, particularly males. I'd recommend stabling him next to
a mare, if possible, and keeping him away from other horses until he's had time
to get well used to his new surroundings."

Again, Anthony was struck by her intelligence, her
insight about horses —and her beauty. "Anything else?" he asked,
holding her gaze for a long moment and enjoying the way her cheeks pinkened. He
felt an answering response stir within him, but then she glanced away.

"He's a big horse, so you'd think it would
take exceptional strength to control him, but that's not necessarily the
case," she said. "I've observed that gentleness and confidence
generally get better results than brute force." She sent a significant
look toward her uncle.

Anthony wondered if her words were aimed at Mr.
Emery himself or toward his absent son, the trainer. He wondered why the
prickly younger Mr. Emery had not joined them for dinner, as he was also
family, but before he could think of a discreet way to ask, Killer joined the conversation.

"Thank you, Miss Seaton," he said
warmly. "That's just what I've been telling these fellows. Clearly you
were able to handle Nimbus and you're even smaller than I. But, tall chaps that
they are, they insist on seeing my lack of inches as a handicap."

When she smiled at Killer, Anthony experienced
the first twinge of jealousy he'd ever felt toward the man. "Most men see
being female as a far more severe handicap, I assure you, Lord Killerby. But we
all have our own strengths and talents. We need only discover them and make our
best use of them."

Glancing down the table at Sir George, who was
still in animated conversation with the others, Anthony leaned toward her.
"And when one talent is taken away, others should be developed, should
they not? Your father has a keen mind."

She frowned at him, clearly startled. "Of
course he does. He uses it to study, and to write his memoirs. The bits I've
read are remarkably good."

"But is that all he does? What of the
estate? The stables? Surely—"

Now she glanced down the table, alarm evident
in her expression. "I'll not have him worried by such matters," she
said in a lowered tone. "His heart—"

"Seems equal to mental exertion, if not
physical." He kept his voice low, as well. "I fear you do Sir George
no favors by coddling him, Miss Seaton."

Her cheeks pinkened again, but this time with
anger. "I believe you forget yourself, my lord. That is surely none of
your concern."

"Perhaps not," he replied with a
shrug, "but I like Sir George and would see him happy —as he seems to be
this evening. What say you, sir?" he asked then, turning to Mr. Emery, who
had been listening but rather obviously pretending not to. "Would you like
to see Sir George take more of a hand in the estate? It would lighten your
load, I should think."

Mr. Emery blinked, then frowned. "I fear
Miss Seaton is right, my lord, that Sir George is not up to the task. His heart
is not strong. He is easily wearied, and often falls into melancholy,
reminiscing about the past." His voice sank to a whisper. "I'm afraid
his mind is not always as sharp as it appears tonight."

Anthony suspected much of that could be
attributed to boredom —and, perhaps, to drink —but did not say so, sensing that
he had antagonized Miss Seaton enough already.

"So the entire management of the estate is
in your hands?" he asked, to clarify things. "Sir George has no input
at all?"

"I occasionally consult with Miss Seaton,
who has an interest in the estate, and who can be trusted to have her father's
best interests at heart," Emery replied stiffly.

"Of course she does," Killer chimed
in from across the table, though Anthony was sure he could not have heard
everything they'd said. "You've no need to mollycoddle Sir George the way
you try to do me, Anthony. Leave that to Miss Seaton."

* *
*

CHAPTER 6

Tessa swallowed, glancing quickly at her
father's animated face at the other end of the table. No, clearly he had not
heard Lord Killerby's comment. Not that it was true, of course. She did not
mollycoddle
her father! She simply took care of him, which
was surely her responsibility as his only daughter.

For six years, she'd never doubted for a moment
that she was doing the right thing by allowing her father to live in the past,
free from the worries that might sap his strength. Papa seemed perfectly
content to putter about his study, secure in the belief that the estate was as
rich as it used to be, that the stables were still the envy of all the Shires.
How could it be better to dispell those illusions?

She rose. "If you gentlemen will excuse
me, I will retire to the parlor so that you may have your cigars, or brandy, or
whatever it is gentlemen do when they are alone at the end of a meal."

Every man but her father scrambled to his feet,
clearly caught off-guard. Not surprising, as the sweetmeats had not even been
served yet, but she felt a distinct need to get away from Lord Anthony's
unsettling presence. Dropping a half-curtsey, she turned and left the dining
room.

What was it about that man that made her rethink
every aspect of her life? It was most uncomfortable, she decided, and she
didn't care for it at all. Or for him. She was tempted to go upstairs to bed,
but knew her father would be disappointed if she did so. With a sigh, she
entered the parlor instead.

"Finished entertaining all them swells
Uncle George invited to court you?" Cousin Harold greeted her
unpleasantly, making her instantly regret her decision.

"They're not courting, they're talking
horses and hunting," she replied tartly, taking a seat as far from Harold
as possible. "I only hope they do not tire him too much."

Her cousin snorted. "So them fine gents
haven't been throwing pretty compliments your way? Maybe I should have come to
dinner, whether I had the clothes for it or not, to make sure none of 'em said
anything they shouldn't to you."

Tessa had noticed with discomfort Harold's
increasing possessiveness toward her over the past month or two. Now seemed as
good a time as any to put a stop to it. "You may trust my father to
protect me from any unwanted advances, Harold. For that matter, I can protect
myself. It is in no way
your
responsibility to do so, in any event."

"It could become my responsibility."
He got up and moved across the room to stand next to her, one hand brushing her
bare shoulder. "You used to follow me about like a puppy, Tessa. You
idolized me. Did you think I didn't know?"

She shifted in her chair so that his hand fell
from her shoulder. "I was a child then. I didn't know any better. Now, I
do."

His thick lips twisted in a sudden sneer.
"Oh, think you're too good for me, do you, now all these fine gentlemen
and lordlings are dancing attendance on you? If they knew you were
granddaughter to a horse-trainer, their intentions wouldn't be honorable ones,
you know."

"As I told you, they came to see Papa, not
me. And I've made no secret of who I am, so don't think to hold that over my
head."

"So they know, do they?" He gave a
knowing nod. "Now I get it. Word is, your precious Lord Anthony has a new
mistress every year— usually gifts her with a horse, in fact. You'd like that,
wouldn't you?"

Tessa glared at his leering face. "You
have a nice job here, Harold, training my father's horses. I doubt you want to
jeopardize that."

He laughed at her. "Who do you think
you're fooling? Uncle George does whatever Father tells him to, and my own
father's not about to turn me off. Especially now that we're getting such good
prices for some of the horses I've trained."

"
You've
—?" she began, torn between outrage and
amusement. Did he really think his training had anything to do with it? Yes, he
probably did. "I have influence with my father as well, Harold —rather
more than Uncle Mercer does, I imagine."

He leaned over her, and she realized
uncomfortably that he could probably see right down her low bodice. "We're
all family, Tessa. No need to wrangle over influence —or for you to be missish.
I never said I meant to tell anyone about Grandfather, now, did I? Let's be
friends, as we used."

Again he put his hand on her shoulder, then
slid it lower, beneath her collarbone. She twisted away from him and stood up.
"Stop it, Harold. We are cousins, nothing more, and that's all we will
ever be." It was almost a relief to finally have it out in the open.

He blinked, clearly surprised, though she
couldn't imagine why, as it had been a decade or more since she'd shown him
anything but distant politeness. In fact, she thought she'd made it fairly
clear of late that she didn't even
like
him. Remembering the snippet of conversation she'd overheard out
at the stables last week, she wondered what Uncle Mercer had been telling him.

"I'm sorry, Harold, but—"

Abruptly, his face took on the bullying
expression he wore so often when "training" the horses, and he moved
close to her again. "Oh, you'll be sorry, that's certain. I'll—"

"Is there a problem, Miss Seaton?"
came Lord Anthony's voice from the parlor door.

Stepping away from Harold, she turned with a
distinct sense of relief —and embarrassment at being seen in so awkward a
position. "No, my lord. My cousin and I were simply debating our different
views on horse training."

As he'd done during his first visit to the
house, Lord Anthony looked Harold up and down, consideringly. "I
see," he said, in a tone that implied he saw far more than she'd
explained. Then, to Harold, "Having observed Miss Seaton's excellent
horsemanship, I'd recommend you heed whatever advice she might deign to give
you, Emery."

Harold scowled, clearly ready to argue, but
just then a commotion in the hallway heralded the arrival of the others. Tessa
took the opportunity to put more distance between Harold and herself, though
she was careful not to move too near Lord Anthony, either.

Why had she felt such relief at his entrance,
she wondered as she took a seat near the fire. Harold would never have harmed
her, for all he'd tried to bully her with words. She should instead have been
annoyed that she had not been able to finish her confrontation with her cousin
on the spot, for now they would doubtless end up having this conversation
again.

Sir George and the rest of his guests entered
the parlor, deep in a discussion of famous foxhunts of the past. Tessa looked
searchingly at her father as he wheeled himself in, alert for any sign of
fatigue, but at the moment he seemed animated and happy— though of course that
could be a mere facade. Even if it wasn't, she was certain that once their
guests were gone, he would realize how much the evening had tired him.

"Papa," she said when he paused in
his recounting of one hunt he recalled, "come join me by the fire, do.
You'll be more comfortable here, I'm sure."

For a moment his face lost its eagerness and
she thought he would do as she asked, but then he shook his head.
"Nonsense. This whole room is quite warm. In fact, I was just going to
suggest some whist, as we have enough for two tables. It's been ages since
we've played, and you know how I enjoy it."

He glanced around the room, clearly counting up
those present. "Ah, Harold, I see you've decided to join us at last.
Gentlemen, most of you have met my nephew, Harold Emery, who does such a
splendid job with the horses."

Tessa waited until greetings were exchanged
before saying, "I'm sure these gentlemen have other things to do than to
play whist with us, Papa." If once they sat down to cards, they might be
here till midnight!

"Not at all, Miss Seaton," Sir
Charles protested. "I think I speak for all of us when I say we'd be glad
to oblige Sir George in a rubber or two."

The others gave a chorus of agreement and
Tessa's heart sank. It was true that her father had used to enjoy the game.
During the first year or so after his accident, Harold and Uncle Mercer had
frequently been pressed into service to make up a table, though neither of them
particularly excelled at whist. In recent years, however, Sir George had been
too tired and withdrawn in the evenings to suggest it.

"We have nine, so we can take turns at one
table, or two can play as one," Lord Rushford suggested.

But Uncle Mercer headed for the door, saying,
"No need, for I can't stay. I have several matters to attend to after
taking most of the evening for pleasure. No, Harold, you stay and play,"
he added when his son made as if to join him.

"We have just eight, then, which is
perfect," Sir George exclaimed, motioning for Griffith and young Jonas,
who was playing footman tonight, to set up the tables. A few minutes later,
they all settled down to play.

Sir George had insisted that he and Tessa play
at different tables, much to her frustration, as that would prevent her keeping
as close an eye on her father as she'd have liked. Even worse, she was now
trapped in close proximity with both Lord Anthony and her cousin Harold, the
imposing Mr. Turpin making up their fourth.

Anthony, on the other hand, was perfectly
content with the grouping, as it would give him an opportunity to learn more
about this rather intriguing family.

"How long have you worked as trainer for
Sir George?" he asked young Mr. Emery as the first hand was dealt.

The fellow shot him a suspicious glance before
answering, reinforcing his opinion that the man bore watching. "Just over
two years," he said. "I took over when my— when the old trainer
died." He glanced quickly at Miss Seaton, then away.

Anthony remembered what Porrington had claimed,
so was able to divine what Harold Emery had almost said. "I take it your
father oversees your efforts?" he asked then, not wishing to pursue a
topic that might make Miss Seaton uneasy.

The other man shrugged. "He oversees the
whole estate, but he lets me handle the horses as I see fit."

"Will you be riding in the hunt this
season, Mr. Emery?" Thor asked, arranging the cards in his hand.

Emery shook his head. "I haven't time for
such nonsense. That is—I'm very busy with the stables." Anthony thought he
looked distinctly uncomfortable, but whether from his rude slip or because he
wished to avoid the topic of the hunt, he couldn't say.

They settled down to play then, but after a few
tricks, Anthony tried another tack. "Much as he enjoyed the hunt, and
clearly still enjoys hearing about it, I'm surprised Sir George hasn't found a
way to watch it occasionally," he said to Miss Seaton.

Frowning, she missed her turn, realized it,
apologized, then said, "Pray do not put such an idea into my father's
head, my lord. I fear an evening such as this will be tiring enough for him."

"Do you mean to say he never leaves the
house at all?" Anthony asked in surprise.

She shook her head. "Never since his
accident. How would he, after all? Stairs alone are a barrier to him, as you
can see."

A barrier she had learned to make use of, Anthony
suspected, remembering the evidences of financial hardship he had seen on the
ground floor that were lacking on this one. "The wings of the house —do
they require navigating stairs for access from this floor?" he asked to
test his theory.

"Well, yes," she replied with evident
surprise. "There is a half-flight up to the west wing and a half-flight
down to the east. Why?"

He sent her what he hoped was a disarming smile
as he shrugged. "I merely wondered how limited Sir George's world had
become since the accident. It must be hard for a man who was once so active to
be confined to one section of one floor."

"Oh, he's a great reader, is Sir
George," Harold Emery put in cheerfully when Miss Seaton did not at once
respond. "He seems happy enough puttering about with his books and papers,
don't he, Tessa?"

Anthony thought her smile seemed forced.
"Yes. Yes, he does. I fear they have bested us this hand, Mr.
Turpin," she said, gathering up the cards as the next deal was hers.
"I will strive to pay better attention to the next."

"That is our rubber," she said an
hour later. She had indeed paid more attention to the cards— helped, no doubt,
by Anthony staying clear of topics that flustered her—and had played much
better as a result.

For himself, Anthony wasn't sure any level of
play on his part could have compensated for Harold Emery's inferior
understanding of the game. As they were playing for points rather than pounds,
he'd stifled his frustration with his partner by watching the delectable Miss
Seaton at her play and by listening carefully to what little conversation went
forth.

There was a tension between Miss Seaton and her
cousin that he was certain went beyond different theories on horse training
—but then, he'd surmised as much when he'd interrupted them just after dinner.
Young Emery had been threatening her in some way, he was almost sure of it.