A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (11 page)

“It’s good for her. She’s not as invulnerable as she’d like to think. No one can build a wall that sturdy.”

Abruptly this conversation was becoming very interesting. Bartholomew settled himself into a seated position against the headboard. He could fish about, he supposed, but if Amelia was half as direct as her cousin, she would not appreciate being led all about the countryside. “What happened when Miss Weller was ten?” he asked.

Her lips tightened. “We were at a country party in Cheshire, about five miles from Weller Abbey. It was raining frightfully, and my aunt and uncle decided to stay the night. Tess wouldn’t have any of it, though. She’d left her favorite doll at home, and refused to stay. Threw an absolute tantrum. Michael and I remained at Reynolds House to spend the night with our friends, and she and her parents drove home. The river bank washed out beneath them, and the coach overturned into the water. The driver managed to
get Tess out, but my aunt and uncle didn’t…they drowned.”

Bartholomew looked down at his leg. A great deal of his last conversation with Tess made sense now. She did have a better sense of what he felt than most everyone else who’d attempted to hand him their sympathy and pity. And she’d called him sullen. She’d come close to accusing him of luxuriating in his self-imposed sulk. “What happened with the doll?” he asked after a moment.

“The doll?”

“The doll she refused to sleep without.”

Amelia gazed at him thoughtfully. “No one’s ever asked that question before.” She took a breath. “Two days after the funeral, Tess threw it into the fireplace. She hasn’t spoken of it since.”

And then she’d likely begun the process of becoming the diamond that everyone called her. Pretty, pleasant to be around, delightful in company, and surrounded in the hardest shell known to mankind. He cleared his throat. “Lackaby mentioned that Stephen wanted to purchase me a wheeled chair.”

“Yes. Your valet informed him of your dismay.”

“Well, I changed my mind. I’d like to be able to get about while my leg mends.”

She smiled, the expression warming her green eyes. “That is very good news.”

Yes, well, he had some apologizing to do, to a very outspoken chit who had clearly reached out to a kindred spirit only to have her hand slapped away. He didn’t like to use the word hope, since he didn’t believe in it any longer, but something was bumbling
and stumbling to life in his chest. And he only felt it when he thought about Tess.

As soon as Sally entered her bedchamber to throw open the curtains the next morning, Theresa rose. And thank goodness the night was done with; what a waste of time that had been. “Have you seen Michael?” she asked the maid as she pulled on her green and white sprigged muslin gown.

“No, miss. He made mention last night of going riding early.”

That made sense; Parliament began late this morning, and he wouldn’t have an opportunity later. “Thank you.”

“Will we be visiting Lady Gardner again today?” Sally questioned as she finished pinning up Theresa’s hair.

“No. Not this morning. I want to find a hair ribbon to match my new burgundy dress.” She actually didn’t care much about that at all, but if she stayed indoors she would only pace and wish herself elsewhere. “We’ll be going out in an hour or so.”

The maid curtsied. “Very good, Miss Tess.”

Halfway downstairs to the breakfast room, the butler caught her eye as he stood in the foyer. “Good morning, Miss Weller,” he said, inclining his head.

“Ramsey. I’ll be needing the coach after breakfast.”

“Very good, miss.”

“Thank you.” She paused on her way to the breakfast room as she spied a pretty spray of white carnations and daisies on the side table. Taking a step
closer, she leaned down to read the sentiment with them. Apparently Lord Wilcox
was
infatuated with Grandmama Agnes. The sight of the posies sparked an idea, and a flutter of nerves went through her. “Ramsey, if I wanted to send a bouquet of flowers to a sick friend, how would I go about doing that?”

“I would see to it, miss. If you wished to write your sentiment on a card, I would send that on to the florist along with the address for delivery, unless you wanted one of the household to carry it personally.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips. It would be easy enough to say that she was sending the flowers to Amelia, but it wouldn’t be her cousin’s name on the outside of the card. Whether a florist or one of the various households’ servants saw it, any ensuing scandal would be both her fault and out of her hands.

“Shall I make the arrangements?”

Theresa closed her eyes for a heartbeat, unable to conjure any sort of rule that would allow her to send flowers to a man who wasn’t part of her immediate family. “No. Thank you,” she said aloud. “It was just a question.”

“Very good, miss.”

She ate a peach and some toast, then took a seat in the morning room and picked up her embroidery while she waited for Harriet to come by and join her for shopping. Tolly didn’t deserve flowers, anyway. He owed
her
an apology, the more she thought about it. After all, he had kissed her first.

“Who’s ill?” Michael asked, strolling into the room.

With a strangled yelp Theresa snapped the blue thread she was using. “Good heavens. I nearly jumped right out of my shoes.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He continued forward. “If you’re sending flowers, you should do it in the morning, before the day’s pick at the shops begins to wilt.”

“I told Ramsey I’d changed my mind.”

“Ah.” Abruptly his eyes narrowed. “You are
not
sending flowers to Colonel James.”

Damnation
. “I just finished saying that I wasn’t.”

“Good. Because you’re not.”

“I know I’m not.”

“You do not need those looks and those muttered conversations behind your back.”

Frowning, Theresa set down her embroidery. “I agreed with you, nick ninny. Stop arguing.”

Her brother blinked. “Oh. Well, I wanted to make certain you understood.”

“I do.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He rocked back on his heels. “Why were you considering sending Colonel James flowers, anyway?”

“I—”

“Are you setting your cap at him?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned.

“Because that’s what everyone wou—”

“Quite possibly,” she interrupted.

Her brother snapped his jaw closed. “Quite possibly what?”

“It’s quite possible that I’m setting my cap at him. He’s not like everyone else, and I find him rather…interesting.”

Michael fell backward into a chair. “I’m done for,” he groaned. “Send for Grandmama Agnes and Great Uncle Harry and recruit the pall bearers.”

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic,” she returned, twisting in the chair to face him. “And what, precisely, is your objection?”

“Have you considered why it is that you find him…interesting?”

Her humor began to retreat. “He’s quite handsome.”

“Tess. You know what I mean.”

He would never say it, of course. Neither he nor Amelia nor Grandmama Agnes had ever blamed her—at least not out loud—for anything regarding the death of her parents, because apparently she’d been a good child until that night. And ever since. She stood up. “Perhaps you have it backward. Perhaps it’s not that I see a kindred soul, but that I want to pursue where I can’t possibly be successful.”

“It’s a poor idea, either way. If you want a husband, marry Montrose. He’ll treat you well. You’re allowed to have a good husband.”

“Don’t counsel me, Michael. You know I always do what’s correct.”

“To this point.”

Theresa jabbed a finger toward the door. “Out. I’m occupied.”

Michael shoved to his feet again. “Very well. I’ll leave. But I’m going to tell Grandmama that you nearly sent flowers to a man and that you’re setting your cap at Colonel James. You’ll listen to her.”

With that threat, he left the room again. “Drat,” she muttered, sitting back at the desk.

That was all she needed, for Grandmama Agnes and Michael to lecture her on proper behavior. She knew what was proper. For once, though, she was
tempted to do just one improper thing. And that actually frightened her a little, because she hadn’t been tempted in thirteen years.

Someone knocked at the door. “Come in,” she called, scowling at the wall opposite. But instead of Grandmama Agnes or Harriet, the butler stepped into the room.

“Miss Tess, you have a caller.”

She didn’t have a drive or a walk or a brunch scheduled with anyone this morning, because she always checked her calendar in the evening before bed. “Harriet? She’s early.”

“A man. He didn’t give his name. In fact, all he did say was that he was here to see Miss Weller, and that he would be out on the drive.”

“Out on the drive?” she repeated. That was unusual. Generally they wanted to come in. Standing again, she headed for the curtains at the front of the morning room. With a breath she took hold of the edge of the material and pulled it back an inch. A man sat in a chair in the middle of the short, half-moon drive, another fellow standing directly behind him. “Goodness,” she whispered, loosing the curtain and striding for the foyer.

Bartholomew James had finally come to call on her.

T
he front door opened, and Bartholomew held his breath. The odds were fairly even as to whether Tess would emerge or it would be the butler telling him to go away.

But it was Theresa. She appeared in the doorway and without hesitation descended the shallow front steps. “This is a surprise,” she said, lifting an eyebrow as he let out the breath he’d been holding. “Does Dr. Prentiss know you’re prowling the streets again?”

He liked the description; “prowling” sounded much better than “completely relying on one’s valet and unable to stand.” Bartholomew shifted. “No. He doesn’t know I’m out of bed,” he said aloud. “I wanted to apologize.”

“I see. Lackaby, there are fresh-baked biscuits in the kitchen. Please tell Cook you are to have as many as you like.”

The valet saluted. “I’ll see to it at once.” Before Bartholomew could protest, Lackaby vanished into the house.

“Damned sapskull,” Bartholomew muttered.

Her lips twitched. “Ramsey,” she called toward the front door, “I’ll be out in the garden.”

The butler continued to stand in the doorway. “Shall I fetch Sally?”

“No need.”

With a nod and a last suspicious glance at Bartholomew, the butler shut the door. The front drive wasn’t precisely private, but at least she hadn’t refused to see him at all. Because he’d discovered something over the past day; previously he’d found Tess Weller intriguing, amusing, and not a little baffling. After what he’d learned about her yesterday, he also admired her.

Clearly she blamed herself for the death of her parents, and just as clearly she viewed herself and Society differently because of that. No one viewed their own behavior more seriously than someone who’d broken the rules once and paid for it.

“Do I have dirt on my face?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then why are you staring at me?”

For a moment he contemplated telling her that he knew about her parents and that he thought he had the key now to her behavior. That hardly seemed fair, though, given that she knew only the barest details of what had happened to him and he’d refused to tell
her more. “You’re pretty,” he finally stated, his voice more brusque than he liked, especially since he’d told her he was there to apologize.

“So are you.” Sending him a quick smile, Tess stepped around to the back of the chair.

Bartholomew scowled. “Don’t push me about.”

“I’ve sent Lackaby away, and I don’t want to stand here on the drive to be gawped at by everyone passing by.”

With a lurch the chair rolled into motion, bumping across the cobblestone drive. The pace jolted his knee, but he clenched his jaw and kept his silence. The entire morning had literally been torture, both with the pain of descending the stairs at James House and with someone he couldn’t see pushing him from behind and dictating where and how far he was able to go.

Once they reached the small Weller House garden, Theresa rolled him beneath a wide-reaching oak tree and then sat on the small stone bench facing him. Folding her hands together in her lap, she gazed at him expectantly. “Well?” she prompted after a moment.

“Well, what?”

“Apologize to me. It’s why you came here, I believe.”

“I did apologize.”

“No, you didn’t. You said you
wanted
to apologize. You haven’t actually done it yet.”

With anyone but her, he would have changed his mind right then, stated that fact and wheeled himself the devil home to James House. As usual, however, where Theresa appeared everything else went
by the wayside. “I apologize, then, for being sullen and cross.”

“I accept your apology.”

“Thank you.”

She tilted her head. “And I apologize to you, for being nosy.”

And there he sat, guilty of the same damned thing. “I don’t—”

“In fact, I was considering sending you a bouquet of flowers to apologize,” she continued, smiling brightly. “You may have saved me from scandal.”

Bartholomew looked at her. “What game are you playing, Theresa?” he finally asked.

“Well, if I haven’t already made my intentions apparent to you, then I apologize again,” she said primly. “I want to better our acquaintance, Tolly.”

He cleared his throat. “I haven’t precisely gone about kissing random women over the past months,” he ventured slowly, fighting against the very strong feeling that he didn’t deserve to be having this conversation, or to be in this circumstance. But her lovely gray-green eyes held his, and he continued. “I would like to better our acquaintance, as well.”

Her shoulders lowered. “Thank goodness. Because I couldn’t sleep at all last night, wondering how I would announce that I wish to court you.” Abruptly she blanched. “If you were thinking about courtship. Which I don’t expect, of course, because we only met a short time ago, but—”

“Do you always talk this much?”

Theresa blinked. “I hadn’t really considered. I’m very good at idle conversation, though.”

Surreptitiously Bartholomew wriggled his toes. It
hurt, so he wasn’t dreaming. That didn’t rule out possible delirium, but any fever-induced fantasies would have featured the two of them naked—not her offhandedly declaring that she perhaps wanted to court him. “I have to ask, what in the world makes you think of me as marriageable? I’m something of a wreck.”

“I find it rather troubling myself,” she returned, “because I’ve never even considered setting my cap at anyone. It’s not at all proper, really. But I find you very…compelling, and I would like to understand why that is.”

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. His luck had failed him months ago, along with any hope for happiness. And yet she seemed as interested in him as he was in her. He cleared his throat. “I have to agree that I would seem to be an ill choice for a courtship, Theresa. Especially for you.”

“I don’t—”

“That said,” he pressed, wondering when heavenly lightning was going to strike him dead for having the audacity to want her, “I am here. Calling on you. You seem more tolerable than most other chits of my acquaintance. Especially now.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I suppose.” She smiled.

A return grin touched his own mouth; he couldn’t help it. “You really should run, Theresa.”

She tilted her head at him. “Are your attentions not honorable, then?”

“I don’t know yet.” Grabbing the edge of the bench with his fingers, he hauled himself closer to her. “Kiss me again, and perhaps that will help.”

“Not so fast. I’ve been asking you to call on me for weeks, and this is the first time you’ve done so.”

“You can’t count the days where I was unconscious.”

“Even so.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Bartholomew reminded her. “I can’t escort you to a dance, and I don’t enjoy gabbing about the weather, but I’m here.”

She sent him a thoughtful glance. “All of my other suitors say they want to become better acquainted with me. To see if we would be compatible. They invite me to the theater, take me for drives, and stand about smiling while I shop for silly little knickknacks I don’t even need. And of course they want to chat as much as possible, and dance.” She gazed at him, her expression an alluring mix of amusement, excitement, and genuine nervousness. “What do you offer?”

He’d thought himself finished with risk and adventure—and with life in general. Fate and Theresa Weller clearly had other plans for him. “I can sit with you in a damned carriage,” he finally said, his voice lowering as he realized how little he did have to offer at the moment.

“Then I think you should take me driving tomorrow,” she said.

He nodded. Pragmatically, the only way she would realize they would never suit was to spend more time with him. He might even be able to make himself believe this was for her benefit, if he could make his heart stop pounding so hard for a damned minute.

That afternoon, Theresa sat forward on the curricle’s leather-covered seat to wave at Mariana Hop
kins. “That’s a very nice color on Mariana, don’t you think?”

Alexander, the Marquis of Montrose, glanced across the edge of Green Park. “Yes, lovely.” He expertly tooled them around a stopped barouche. “Parliament doesn’t meet until two o’clock tomorrow. Allow me to take you out to brunch. Eleven o’clock, say.”

“I’m engaged tomorrow,” she returned, her stomach turning butterflies as she thought for the hundredth time about the look in Bartholomew’s eyes when he’d appeared on her front drive only a few short hours ago.

“Beg off. You know you prefer spending time with me.”

“Don’t ask me to be rude, Alexander.”

“Who is it, then? Not Lionel.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not playing this game. Talk about something else, or please take me home.”

He subsided, but continued sending her sideways glances. “If it was Henning or Daltrey you would tell me, because they’re nothing but your silly friends. It’s someone you fancy, isn’t it? Now you have to tell me.”

“It’s a family to-do,” she stated, crossing the fingers of the hand he couldn’t see. “I simply don’t like the way you demand to know every detail of my every day.”

“Consider me chastised, then,” the marquis said easily. “But don’t expect me to stop being jealous. Not when you’ve received at least nine other offers of marriage.”

“All of which I’ve turned down.”

“You turned me down, as well. And yet here we are.”

“Tess!”

Starting, Theresa glanced up the pathway to see Lord and Lady Gardner riding toward her. “Stephen, Amelia,” she exclaimed, smiling. “I daresay I underestimated you, my lord, if you’ve managed to get my cousin on horseback.”

Amelia grinned back at her, eyes dancing. “Stephen has amazing powers of persuasion.”

“Clearly.”

Stephen chuckled. “She didn’t resist at all. By the way, your patient has allowed me to purchase him a wheeled chair. He actually went outside this morning.”

Theresa’s cheeks warmed. She knew quite well where Tolly had gone this morning. “That’s excellent,” she said aloud. “I’m so glad his leg is healing.”

“Do you think your brother would make me a loan of his barouche?” the viscount continued. “Tolly mentioned wishing to take some air when his leg improves.”

So Bartholomew hadn’t informed his family about their odd arrangement, either. “I’m certain he will. I’ll mention it to him.”

After another few minutes of conversation, Lord and Lady Gardner rode off through the park. On the outside, Lord Gardner and his younger brother looked very similar. On the inside, Stephen was a true gentleman in every sense, whereas Bartholomew was rough as the sea on a stormy day. Stormy weather had never much appealed to her—until now.

When she realized she was daydreaming again, Theresa shook herself and looked at Alexander. He
was gazing at her, an unreadable expression on his face. “What is it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Let’s look at the bonnets for sale on Bond Street, shall we?” With a cluck he sent the team forward again.

She flashed him another smile, rather relieved that he’d decided against another argument over her various other appointments. Of all her suitors, Montrose was the most persistent, and the one she took most seriously. If Tolly did mean to take her driving, and if he was serious about seeing her, she would eventually have to tell Alexander that her affections had been engaged elsewhere.

A low uneasiness stirred through her. Montrose was definitely the safer, more reliable proposition. But she’d had better than two years to accept his suit, and five years since she’d had her debut, and she remained unmarried. Was Bartholomew then a new path, or a last lesson for herself on the perils of impropriety?

By the time she returned home, she was more than ready for an hour or two of solitude before she had to dress for an evening at the theater with Michael and Grandmama Agnes. As soon as she stepped through the front door, however, she noticed her grandmother standing at the top of the stairs.

“Come see me, Tess,” she said, and vanished toward the back of the house.

With a frown Theresa followed the family’s matriarch into feline-occupied territory. She found her grandmother in the large upstairs sitting room that had been converted into a cat heaven. Dodging the strands of yarn hanging from floor to ceiling and
the faux mice made of ox hide and the tufts of tied-together feathers on the floor, she made her way to the back of the room. Grandmama Agnes sat on the settee beneath the window. On her lap, on either side of her, and curling up on her feet, were cats.

“What is it, Grandmama?”

“I was quite the minx when I was your age, you know,” Lady Weller said, stroking the gray and black cat, Pebbles, that sat on her lap.

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard your stories many times.”

“I’ve never told you the tale of how I once sent flowers to a man, have I?”

Theresa blinked. “No, you haven’t.”

Agnes set Pebbles aside. “That is because I would never do such a scandalous thing!” she exclaimed. “There is a difference between skirting rules and putting musket balls through them. And while I’m pleased you’re finally…stretching your boundaries, I do not—”

“But Grandm—”

“You will not do such a thing, either, Theresa Catherine. And stomping your feet and pouting won’t do you any good.”

“I do not pout or stomp my feet, Grandmama.” Not since she’d been ten. And she would never do so again, no matter the provocation. “And I told Michael I’d decided against it. It was only a passing whimsy. I don’t know why the two of you think I’ve suddenly gone mad.”

The older woman’s expression softened. “Perhaps it was hope,” she said so quietly Tess wasn’t certain she heard it correctly.

“Beg pardon?”

“I know you don’t throw tantrums, dearest,” Agnes said more clearly. “It was only an expression.”

“There’s no need for sending flowers any longer, anyway. He came by, and I spoke to him in person. We’re going driving tomorrow.” She had no intention of saying any more than that. Not until or unless she and Tolly came to an understanding or she came to her senses again. Above everything else, her family deserved proper, correct behavior from her. A cold wave of guilt washed over her. She shouldn’t be embarking on this trail. But seeing Tolly again…