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Authors: Hayley A. Solomon

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“Undoubtedly. There must be a way. . . .” Nicholas murmured this quietly, and the wicked gleam returned to a sapphire-blue eye. He took Tessie's hand and kissed her palm, but she withdrew it immediately, a troubled frown upon her brow.
“If you do not behave with decorum, I shall be forced to leave.”
“You have vanished once without trace. Do not, I pray you, do so a second time. I shall, with reluctance, forbear to kiss you.”
“Good. For if you compromise me any further, you might get all noble again. Very inconvenient.”
“I apologize. Now, are you going to tell me your plan, or am I going to shake you till your teeth rattle?”
“They will not rattle. All my teeth, thankfully, are my own. But I will satisfy your curiosity and tell you what I mean to do. I am going to—no, don't look shocked—I am going to trim ladies' bonnets. You know, create subtle effects with ermine and gauze and peacock feathers. . . . Don't gape, my lord, it is very bad form.”
“Yes, added to my undoubted crime, I am going to supplement my income by becoming a milliner's model! My abigail once told me—she is frightfully chatty, you know—that you can make a fortune on Bond Street selling hats.”
Tessie took a breath and smiled radiantly at Nicholas. The notion had only just crystallized in her mind, but it seemed to her to be rather perfect. Her ten thousand pounds could be sent home to make improvements on the estate and supply the tenants. With any luck, the land could be self-sufficient, carefully managed, in six months.
He smiled as he scribbled his note of hand. “Novel, if idiotic. I look forward to viewing your progress.”
“You shan't, for gentlemen are not permitted to such establishments.”
“And a very good thing too.”
Tessie did not raise her brows at this cryptic comment. She merely reviewed his note and remarked that the sum was incorrect.
“No, for if you compound it with interest, you will find I have made the calculation perfectly.”
“It is apparently an extortionate interest rate.”
“Your grandfather was as shrewd as they come.”
“Very well, I shall accept your word. And your note. You have been most obliging over this matter, my lord.”
“I am
always
most obliging.”
Tessie chuckled. Now that the interview she'd dreaded was over, she felt singularly relieved. Tomorrow's worries—that of finding an employer—were not upon her today. Today she held in her hand a sum that would satisfy her bankers and buy her a sherbet at Gunthers. She could not, she supposed, ask for more.
“Will you come to me for help if you need it?”
“No, for we have no claim of kinship. Are the Luddites arrested?”
“All but one. But they have Grange—he went up before the magistrate at Stipend and is currently awaiting trial. If we have stopped his activities, it was worth the wound. I fear I might have another scar, though, to mar my comely countenance.”
Tessie wanted to ask how he acquired the other, but for once she was silent. He was staring at her strangely, so that her pulses raced again, and she nearly—very nearly—disgraced herself by flinging herself into his arms.
“The Prince of Wales wishes to convey his compliments to you.”
“Pardon?”
“He has been apprised of your no small role in the affair.”
“It was a foolish role! Oh, you should not have said a thing!”
“I did not, though it seems the same could not be said of Lord Christopher Lambert. It appears, dear delight, that you have stolen his heart, too.”
“I have not stolen your heart, my lord.”
“No?” Nick looked whimsical for a moment but did not pursue or contradict the matter. Tessie, holding her breath again, told herself not to be such a clodpole. Of course she had not stolen his heart. How could she, when she had acted foolishly, churlishly, hoydenishly . . . oh, she could think of dozens of uncomplimentary phrases!
“He is holding a ball at Carlton House. He would like you to attend.”
“I cannot, my lord, I am not yet out.”
“Perhaps the occasion can rectify that. Queen Charlotte will be attending. His highness might present you to her himself.”
“No! I have not a thing to wear and I doubt that he—or the queen—could wish to consort with milliners' models.”
Nick's eyes twinkled.
“Au contraire,
but I shall spare your blushes. Further, I have a mind to have you safely wed before you make any curtsies to his highness. His reputation, sadly, is more ruinous than your own.”
“Let us not argue the matter again, my lord. You have had my answer.”
“But, sadly, I do not accept it. I always get my own way, Tessie.”
“Not with me, you don't!”
Nick's eyes narrowed. “Is that a challenge? I am singularly fond of challenges!”
“You lost to Grandfather!”
“All the more reason to repair my losses.”
“You are bullying me!”
“Nonsense! I am merely being forceful. I happen to want to wed you, Tessie, and I will.”
“You can't without my consent.”
“I will make you consent.”
“How?”
“How?” Nicholas took two paces forward and pulled Tessie into his arms. He was too quick for her to struggle, and he pinned her hands against his chest so she could not move. Tessie opened her mouth to protest, though she was trembling so much she could hardly do more than murmur. Besides, his mouth was upon hers before she could think of anything sobering or witty to say. And, oh, it was so, so luxurious! He was gentle, but just firm enough to stop any nonsensical protest.
Soon Tessie was not protesting in the least but losing herself deep in the jade green of his morning coat, until he pushed her from him so that he could kiss her lashes, her temple, her throat . . . but she wanted his warmth again, so she drew her fingers up his starched white shirt, silky thin against his skin.
“You appear to convince rather easily.”
The voice from above was lazy and amused. He pushed her from him, teasing.
Tessie's throat constricted. Oh! However could she have let matters get to such a stand? Now she could add “wanton” to her rapidly compounding list of sins, and what was more, if she did not extricate herself soon, she would lose all her resolve. She would simply melt and give in to Lord Cathgar's very pleasurable demands. It would be no hardship marrying him, more like an absurd dream come true.
She would do it, if only she were convinced that the dream would not turn into a nightmare for either of them. She rather thought it would when Nick finally did meet someone he wanted to marry . . . someone who was not troublesome and meddlesome, who was not inclined to be trigger happy, who behaved with fashionable decorum. . . who was beautiful . . . oh, the list went on, and Tessie's hands flew to her mouth in horror at what she had done, was doing. . . . She could not permit a few moments of wicked pleasure to cloud her judgment.
Grandfather Hampstead had always taught her to think with her head, not her silly, wayward heart. She
must
convince Nicholas to alter course. If she did not, he would live to regret his reckless chivalry. Tessie did not think she could ever live with herself—or him—if he did.
But how in the world to convince him? After her enthusiastic response, he appeared more determined than ever, the arches of his brows testament to a certain smug satisfaction. He seemed so certain she was going to meekly do his bidding.
It was clear, despite her note of hand, that he did not take her plans seriously. If she became a milliner's model, heaven and earth would not then allow her to become a countess. He was not so stupid not to realize this, yet still he persisted with the confounded notion that she was to be his wife.
Something had to be done to shatter his composure once and for all. He needed to know, as she did, that a marriage between them could not take place. Tessie bit her lip at the irony of finally loving when it was quite impossible. She would be viewed by the world—viewed by him, with time—as no more than a fortune hunter. She could not, somehow, bear that.
She swallowed, and lunged a sword into his heart. It hurt more surely than as if it had been her own. “You are not the
only
eligible offer I have had, my lord.”
“But the only one you are going to accept.” The words were faintly possessive. Tessie ignored the sudden hope that he really
did
want to marry her—for herself, not simply as a means out of an impossible scrape. She took a deep breath and threw caution to the winds.
“My lord, your offer was kind but misguided. Understand that I am grateful for the ten thousand pounds, but I shall not wed you. You hardly know me, nor I you.”
“That can be rectified.”
“No, it cannot. You forget the other offer.”
Nicholas's eyes narrowed, his mind suddenly keen and alert. “Good God, if I didn't know any better, I would say that that puppy Christopher Lambert beat me to the post!”
“This is not a race, my lord! And I doubt whether the dose of cod liver oil endeared me to him quite as much as you think! No, indeed . . .”
“Then, who . . .”
“Another peer of the realm, Nick. Someone kind . . . and gentle . . .” Tessie guiltily ignored poor Lord Alberkirky's stammer, and his patent relief at being freed from her obvious clutches. She suspected, though, that nothing would deter Nick from his course but this. He was used, sadly, to getting his own way. Several sisters had not cured him of this fault. If he decided for whatever insane reasons—all of them hopelessly wrong, of course—to marry her, then marry her he would, unless he had very strong provocation to the contrary.
It appeared the absent Lord Alberkirky was provocation enough. Tessie felt a great pain at her triumph.
Lord Cathgar turned his back and picked up his drink. Tessie waited in silence.
“So! I am a fool. You did not
need
all my knight-errant behavior.” A wry, self-deprecating smile as some of the Madeira was tossed from his glass into the fire. It blazed dangerously for a moment, then settled.
He continued, his voice light but unmistakably brittle.
“Doubtless your reputation shall be spared by someone far more suitable than myself. I am relieved. You have spared me much trouble, though I rather wish, when I asked you upon two occasions earlier whether your heart was engaged, you had told me the truth.”
The lightness in his tone changed, suddenly, to become as hard as granite, and though an elegant back was turned to the window, Tessie could hear the grinding of clenched teeth, see the smooth lines of his gloves fold into a tight white ball. She would have run to him then but for the fact that it was not his heart but his ego that was engaged. He would recover, and one day he would—might, if ever their paths crossed again—thank her for it.
Tessie wondered if they would ever meet again. The cupcakes looked miserable on their silver dish.
“Good-bye Nick. You have been very, very kind.”
If her heart ached more than she either liked or owned, it was her own silly fault.
Nicholas strode back to her and tilted her chin in his hand. For an instant—for a glorious instant—she thought she might be kissed again. But she was not. The Earl of Cathgar merely touched her cheek, and regretfully rang for Amesbury.
Amesbury, closing the door behind the earl, did not seem to notice Miss Hampstead's tear-filled eyes or hesitant walk as she followed him through the maze of passages and hallways. He could not know that she was memorizing every last feature of the gracious establishment, or reflecting on the unlikelihood of ever seeing good Lord Nick again. The sunshine, when the second footman opened the great oak door, flooded across the steps and into her eyes.
Thirteen
“Nicholas Cathgar, did I hear you right?”
“Yes, you did, Mama.”
“Then you are a fool.”
“Yes, for falling in love with a scheming little hussy!”
“Did she tell you she was betrothed before or after you persisted in your bullying?”
“I did not bully!”
“Of course you did. You always do when you don't get your own way. And how, pray, is she scheming? I collect that if she had accepted your offer, she might be placed in that category!”
“Mother, if you have nothing useful to say, do pray leave me to the sanctuary of my library!”
“The sanctuary of your precious Madeira, you mean. Not on your life, my son. I have a mind to meet this girl.”
“To what purpose? She is probably happily cooing at some aging marquis . . .”
“Nonsense and tommyrot!”
“What do you know of the matter?”
“I am a female. I know how females think. They do
not
prefer aging marquis to godlike earls.”
“I am not godlike.”
“Ho, ho! Indeed, not! But you
are
blindingly good-looking despite your battle scar, and you would be a fool if you did not own it!”
“Perhaps she is not moved by good looks.”
“A sensible chit, then, for I already see the silver peeping through your splendid head of hair. You shall doubtless be as white-haired as your father before you.”
“How comforting.”
“Indeed, for he was a wickedly handsome fellow, but I digress. . . .”
“Indeed you do.” But the twinkle was back in Nicholas's eye. He could be very indulgent with his mama, whom he loved dearly, despite their frequent tête-à-têtes.
The Countess of Cathgar smiled and dug deep into her reticule for a sugarplum.
“What
did you say she was going to do? Draperies or some . . .”
“Millinery. She is going to become a milliner's model.”
“There you go, then! I knew it was all a hum!”
“Mother, must you talk in riddles?”
“Nicholas, I declare I have never known your wits to be so addled! If she had such a scheme, she could not be betrothed to any peer. Not even a baron would permit such an outrage!”
“You don't know Tessie. I doubt if she has ever waited for permission in her life! She tumbles into scrapes like I—”
“—dip into the bottles of French port your father laid down. A very bad habit. We must try to cure you both. I wonder which milliner she will be likely to approach?”
“Bond Street, I think she said. What does it matter?”
“I would prefer, Nicholas, that your future wife is above reproach!”
“Good God! Then don't, I pray you, look to Tessie!”
“Well, I shall, for I have taken an unaccountable liking to this little lady. We shall deal famously together, for if there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it is a milk-and-water miss. I have always had the liveliest dread you might wed such a one, for there are times, Nick, when you are most preposterously stuffy.”
Nicholas ignored this last admonition, his attention, at last, arrested.
“What are you going to do?”
“I am going to buy myself bonnets, Nick! It is high time my wardrobe was refurbished. Yes, I shall purchase myself several. And crimson feathers, I think. Oh, yes, indeed.”
“Doubtless you shall be sending the reckoning on to me?”
Despite an incipient headache, Lord Cathgar's thinking was still clear. “But naturally! It is a small price, my dear son, to pay. And
I
shall have the satisfaction of being in turbans and tippets—I do hope they sell those glorious swansdown tippets—for the remainder of the season.”
“Doubtless a strong inducement!”
“But naturally! I am so delighted Miss Hampstead did not decide to become a baker, or . . . or . . .”
“Blacksmith?” Nicholas provided helpfully.
His mama rewarded him with a peal of laughter at such an outrageous suggestion.
“Oh, you are absurd! But she shows great good sense, the little one, to think of hats. Hats are always so delightful.”
“And costly.”
“Tut, tut, Nicholas! Remove, if you please, that frown from your countenance. I swear, you grow more like your father each day.”
“You fell in love with my father.”
“Indeed, but that is no reason to gloat. Now,
do
be a good boy and call me up a coach. And you might as well send a notice into
The Gazette.
If that girl does not marry you within a fortnight, I shall eat every damn bonnet that I procure!”
The Earl of Cathgar was still chuckling over this unlikely image when his beloved mother, inclined to think his answer might be biting, disappeared from the room.
It was not fifteen minutes later, however, that she could be viewed from the gallery window. She was being helped into a crested carriage and was wearing the most hideous muff Nick had ever laid eyes upon. When she glanced upward, her eyes danced with youthful mischief. Nick, caught in the act of staring, could only bow ruefully and wave.
 
Milliners, Tessie learned very quickly, were a breed apart. She was treated reverentially upon her arrival at Millicent Dorsom's fashionable enterprise. Indeed, she was seated upon a velvet chair and treated to a chorus of compliments regarding her height, her build, and, naturally, her abundant but curly shock of dark hair. It was quickly agreed that she was sadly—sadly—in need of a bonnet, for her own, though fashionable, was lackluster and needed the enhancement of several ostrich plumes, or possibly even a quilling of blond about the edge.
Tessie wholeheartedly agreed but went on to explain that she had precious little money for quilling, never mind plumes, though indeed, Miss Dorsom's was famous enough. This compliment fell on deaf ears, for the smiles quickly froze on the faces of her listeners.
“No money? Then why, pray, are you here? We do not extend credit, except, of course, to a few of our more
select
young ladies. . . .”
“No, no, it is not credit I want!” Tessie could not help smiling at the notion. “No, I would like very much, Miss Dorsom, to apply for a post with you. I know it is unusual, but I assure you I would apply myself most diligently, and I am not unskilled, you must understand, with a needle. I have trimmed many of my own bonnets—some with gros de Naples, which is hideously expensive, but it was worth the risk, for they came up perfectly. . . .”
“My
dear,”
Miss Dorsom herself twittered, “we cannot
possibly
hire you! Why, we are overstaffed as it is, and what with the Prince Regent canceling the royal regatta at Clyde, we are positively having hats returned! Yes, I do assure you, it is mortifying! Petra here has no wage but only her board paid, and even
that,
I tell you, is a hardship. Now, if you were to be interested in another line of work . . .”
“Like what?” Tessie, determined to be positive, clutched eagerly at this crumb.
The girl called Petra laughed. “She 'as the looks for it, proper lady an all.”
“Yes, and excellent lines, though a trifle on the voluptuous side . . .”
“No gennelman has ever complained about
that. . . .”
A series of friendly chortles followed this incomprehensible dialogue. Tessie, looking around her at the hats, felt uncomfortable.
“Are you talking of my being a milliner's model? That would suit me perfectly! I am quite accomplished at hemming silks and net, but if you thought I could learn . . .”
Again the twitter of high-pitched giggles and a couple of whispers behind large bolts of milliner's lace. Tessie started to feel annoyed.
“I
am
a trifle clumsy but . . .”
The annoying chuckles deepened. Tessie had to school herself not to lose her famous temper. “I don't see what is funny about my proposal. I will naturally prove myself before you need feel obliged to pay me. . . .”
Miss Dorsom looked at her little circle of stitchers. They all had an assortment of kerseymere, velvet, and sarcenets on their laps, half-finished bonnets and tippets and bandeau with feathers. No one, however, seemed to be in any hurry to sew, though some intricate beading caught Tessie's interested eye.
“Deary,”
Miss Dorsom said. “We are not talking about high pokes or cambric biggins. We are talking about . . . gentlemen, and their singular preferences for . . . novelty.”
Tessie understood at last! “You mean you are all . . .”
“Not all . . . some of us. The pretty ones.” Again the laughter and the sly glances here and there.
Tessie thought rather irreverently that it was then unlikely that Miss Dorsom was impure, for she was as ugly as she was twittery. But she sobered up sharply when Miss Dorsom set down her stitchery and pointed a long, manicured fingernail in her face. Her polished accent slipped a little with every breath she took. “You ‘ave the makings, lass. If you are interested, you may 'ave the room upstairs and full board. Two hours in the mornin' beautifying and the afternoon's yer own. Can't say better' n that. Terms of ‘alf an' ‘alf, of course. Only fair with lodgin' an' all.”
Tessie did not dare ask what the evenings were for. She was not as green as Nick accused her of being.
“I am not interested in that kind of work.”
“Oh, la di da, ain't yer?” Miss Dorsom's smile faded. She directed her attention at an opera hood lined in moss silk and ornamented with lilies of the valley. Her needle flew in and out with perfect precision. “Well, ye'll find many a lady ‘ard on 'er luck wot ‘as taken that road, and none complainin'—or none of my ken. If you change yer mind, come back. If not, you can let yourself out by the back—there, the bell is tinkling—hush—oh,
dear
Lady Salisbury, what a
pleasant
surprise, how
wonderful
you look in that white tiffany tunic—dear, dear, is that a lozenge front I detect? Yes, I see you must be employing Paris designers, how naughty of you, though naturally you must look your best. Now, you have come about bonnets, have you not? And, oh, what a
delicious
sampling I have for you. Yes . . . saved especially. Oh, you must see what we have prepared for you. Elsie, fetch the Ionian cork bonnet. Ma'am, it is a dream . . . composed of twelve thousand—twelve thousand, mark you—pieces of Ionian cork. We've arranged the pieces in the same manner as mosaic gems . . . oh, do sit down . . .”
The milliners had dropped everything—beads scattered all over the shiny parquet flooring—as if on cue. Tessie could see bonnets of all sorts—silk and straw, the velvet gypsy, the Spanish hats of satin, all appearing as if by magic, practically from nowhere. The woman named Elsie modeled upon her head an enormous cork confection lined in strawberry satin. There was a twittering again, but this time all over
dear
Lady Salisbury and her plentiful purse. Tessie, forgotten, slipped past Petra and the other ladies.
She had come up a marble stairway with banisters curled and gilded in gold. The back way was slate, and covered largely in grime. Tessie grimaced. It would be better, she thought, at someone more reputable. Madame Fanchon's perhaps. She, surely, was everything that was respectable! Tessie refused to let her spirits sink. Further, she refused defeat.
Madame Fanchon's was not a milliner precisely, but she was a premiere seamstress. Tessie was a trifle disappointed, for she was certain the wages of a novice seamstress would not match that of a milliner's model, but she was game nonetheless. She only needed, after all, to keep herself for a six month.
Tessie had no qualms about applying for a post, for though she had never fashioned any gowns before, she was positive she could set her mind to stitching up mantles at the very least. Indeed, when she was younger, she had fashioned for herself a blue levantine pelisse edged with blond floss silk of which she had been most proud. It was sitting up in the attics, out of the way of Grandfather Hampstead and his pistol cloths, but was doubtless still as good as new. Tessie sighed for it a little, for though she knew she was being foolish, she did so love fashion! Madame Fanchon could surely use an extra pair of hands—she'd purchased her present drab olive from her and could see at once how busy she was.
It was a considerable walk to Madame Fanchon's, for Tessie did not think she could spare the money for a hack. She meant to start as she intended to go on. She would not whittle away at her precious ten thousand pounds while there was still life in her feet and the morning, though mild, was not as cold as it might have been. Her toes might curl up in her half boots, but they would not actually freeze. She comforted herself with this thought as she walked past a vendor selling hot apples off a charcoal stove. She shook her head at the baker, calling out, “Hot loaves,” and selling rolls at two a penny. No, indeed. She ignored steadfastly the fact that she was hungry, and her mouth watered from the warm, freshly baked smell.

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