Sari Robins

Two and a half years later

“T
here you are, Aunt Sophie!” Entering the drawing room of the Society for the Enrichment and Learning of Females, Tess Linowes, Lady Golding, smiled.

Lady Braxton looked up from the tome lying open on the desk before her. Her dove gray eyes were filled with delight. “Tess! What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”

“I went to your house and your butler directed me here,” Tess explained, setting a kiss on her aunt’s cheek.

“I find my house a bit too quiet for comfort these days.” Aunt Sophie’s moon-pale face was melancholy as she set her place with a band and closed the book. She’d lost her husband of twenty-five years to a lung ailment last summer, and Tess could hardly imagine her grief. Her aunt’s already graying hair had completely turned slate, as if washed in a cloud of her sorrow.

“I like it here.” Aunt Sophie sighed. “The Society for the Enrichment and Learning of Females has been a salvation for me. I wonder that you don’t utilize your membership at the society more frequently, since there is such a premium placed on books and learning.”

Tess busied herself with her gloves, unable to explain that if she associated much with the society’s members, she’d be duty bound to spy on them for her supervisor at the Foreign Office, Mr. Tristram Wheaton, a task she’d been putting off for months. Wheaton had insisted that Tess join the society since he was worried that it was a potential vessel for discord.

Tess had joined, but had quickly concluded that the members represented what was best about English society and were simply seeking a refuge to study and enjoy each other’s company. She could hardly imagine the founding members, Lady Janelle Blankett, Lady Edwina Devane, and Lady Genevieve Ensley, being traitorous in any way. Thus far, Tess had seen no reason to impose on their privacy, and she prayed that it remained so.

Adjusting her cambric blue gown, Aunt Sophie stood. “Shall I call for tea?”

“That would be wonderful.”

After speaking to the footman, Aunt Sophie reclined into one of the armchairs by the low-burning hearth, and Tess dropped into the seat facing her. Aunt Sophie’s eyes seemed sad and her lips were pinched.

Tess reached over and squeezed her aunt’s hand. “Are you having a difficult day?”

“A bit.”

“His birthday?”

“This is about the time when I would start planning the festivities.” Staring into the fire, her smile was bittersweet. “Chocolate layered cake. A pheasant. Fine brandy…”

“I think…”—Tess bit her lip.—“that we should still have the party.”

Aunt Sophie’s brow furrowed. “You do?”

“Uncle Jack liked nothing better than a good party. What better way to celebrate his wonderful life?”

Aunt Sophie’s eyes grew shiny with unshed tears. “A party for Jack.” After a long moment, she nodded. “He would like that.”

“Although we must make it smaller. No Uncle Hayden. Or Cousin Christopher. He’s a sweetheart but he always has the most atrocious flatulence.”

Aunt Sophie’s lips lifted. “You’re dreadful, Tess.”

She smiled, glad to see the light in her aunt’s gaze. “True or not?”

“True.”

“And he doesn’t seem embarrassed by it in the least.”

“True again.” Aunt Sophie sighed. “Thank you, Tess. I think it’s a brilliant idea. I’ll start planning right away. Will you help me?”

“Of course. Though I am dearly looking forward to that chocolate cake and brandy, I don’t give a fig about the rest.”

As she tilted her head, Aunt Sophie’s gaze was admiring. “You’re always so—oh, I don’t know—
industrious. You always have a plan or an idea. I’m so envious of your ability to strike out with such confidence, Tess.”

Tess thought about her nightmares, the sleepless nights, the days when her insides felt so twisted with anxiety that she feared being too far afield from a chamber pot. She stared into the fire. “I have my moments, just like everyone else.”

“From the way you act, one would never know it. You have this air of resiliency, of”—Aunt Sophie shrugged—“I don’t know…perseverance about you. And you’re always so cool. I remember when Jack died and my world was falling apart, you were like an anchor steadying me. I knew that if you were around I would be taken care of.”

Tess lifted a shoulder, uneasy with the praise. “I’m glad that I was able to help.”

“But it’s not supposed to be like that. I’m older. Your mother’s sister. I’m the one supposed to be helping you.”

“You do help me.”

Aunt Sophie’s look was disbelieving. “I can’t recall the last time you allowed someone to help you. And I have no idea where this independence comes from, certainly not my side of the family.”

“Talking to you is an inordinate help to me. It keeps me sane when I’m feeling less than rational. Aunt, niece, it doesn’t matter, what I like about our relationship is that it transcends assumptions. The best of family.”

“Indeed we’re family, yet somehow I don’t feel to
ward any of my other nieces or nephews the way I feel about you. Perhaps it’s because none is nearly as nice to me as you are.”

Tess had nothing to say in her family members’ defense; often she understood them as well as she understood the whims of “fashion” that called for new colors and new lines every season. As if everyone had extra gold lying around just waiting to be spent on a new wardrobe.

Aunt Sophie’s lips pursed and her eyes were amused. “You’ve courted favor with the wrong aunt, Tess. Aunt Matilda is the one with the large bank account, not me. As your sister Vivian has made inordinately clear.”

Tess had some choice words for her opportunistic sister, but didn’t see the point in giving them air. “Vivian doesn’t mean to be so…”

“Calculating? Or obvious about it? Vivian could take a lesson or two from you in keeping her intentions close to her chest.” Picking a speck of thread from her blue skirts, Aunt Sophie straightened. “But I don’t wish to speak about Vivian, I want to talk about you. And your intentions.”

“My intentions?”

“Yes.” Aunt Sophie licked her lips. “Paul Rutherford came by to see me.”

Tess looked away. “Oh?”

“He wishes to know, well, he asked me if I thought you would ever be interested in marriage again.”

“Oh.” Tess exhaled. Rutherford was a sweet cousin, but she could never see him
that way
. But Tess had
sworn never to be swayed by passion again; that’s what had gotten her into so much trouble with Quentin. She had mistakenly thought that desire had equaled love. A very big miscalculation she would never make twice. Would she be better off settling down with a sweet but boring man like Rutherford?

Aunt Sophie bit her lip. “You are an independent woman, Tess. You don’t need a man as some women do. But I confess, I think that you are missing out on one of the greatest rewards in life, that of being a mother. Have you ever considered that your time for babies will soon be past? You are not as young as you used to be.”

Rearranging her skirts, Tess brushed away some imaginary dust. “Thanks to my mother, that is a fact that I am very well aware of.”

“I know you’re afflicted enough by my sister’s badgering that you don’t need me doing it. But all I’m saying is that if you wish to be a mother, and I know that you will make a wonderful one, then you need to consider the fact that your opportunity is waning.”

“I’m twenty-four, Aunt, certainly not decrepit.”

“You’re almost five-and-twenty, Tess. Your birthday’s after Jack’s. Rutherford is interested, available, and is a wonderful man…”

Was her time for children passing? Were her opportunities for a real life dwindling like grapes on a winter’s vine? Then there was Wheaton. Somehow Tess couldn’t imagine him just letting her stop working for the Foreign Office. Even if she was pregnant. But once she’d had a child? Tess had to withhold a snort. Even
if she had ten babes, Wheaton would try to keep his “asset” functioning.

Then there was the issue of the father of the child. Even though many women did it and Tess did not begrudge them their choices, she didn’t feel right about using a man for his seed.

And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have any choices left in life. Or perhaps she was so deluded, she didn’t realize that her prospects were bleak. The thought was depressing enough to make her belly ache.

“Did you call for any sweets?” Tess eyed the empty doorway.

“Don’t try to change the topic.”

She exhaled, trying not to wonder if fruit tarts or scones would be coming with the tea. And if they were scones, would they be accompanied by clotted cream or preserves. Strawberry or—

“Rutherford, Tess,” Aunt Sophie chided.

Lifting her hands, Tess tried to sound regretful. “Now is not a good time. It would stir up sleeping dogs better left quiet. The scandal business would gain a whole new life. I’m not quite ready to face it yet.”

Aunt Sophie scowled. “I still cannot believe that anyone in their right mind can blame you for Quentin’s descent into depravity. You certainly weren’t standing at his side, forcing him to toss the dice or cheat at cards.”

Tess could only imagine what she would have done if she’d been a front-row spectator to her husband’s throwing away her inheritance like yesterday’s trash.
“They don’t allow ladies like me in gaming halls,” she tried to quip, trying not to recall the painful time.

“And for good reason, we’re too
damned
smart.”

“Aunt!”

Aunt Sophie lifted her chin. “I can blaspheme when I wish to. I’m a widow now. There must be some small benefit.”

“If there isn’t, there
bloody
well should be!”

They laughed.

Aunt Sophie raised a brow. “Rutherford is exceedingly interested, and with the right encouragement…”

Tess stood and walked over to the window. She crossed her arms, staring out into the sunlit street. “Cousin or no, I find it hard to fathom that Rutherford has somehow forgotten that I was supposedly the cause of Lord Berber’s death and consequently my husband losing his will to live.”

“You and I both know that it’s all stuff and nonsense. Lord Berber never should have engaged in that dangerous race, and he was drunk, no less. You
saved
Quentin’s life by not letting him sail that boat that day. He would have joined his best friend in death when it capsized, and no amount of seamanship could have saved them.”

“Tell that to Lord Berber’s family, Quentin’s, all of society, for that matter. According to them, had I not had Quentin tied so tightly by my apron stings, Berber would have lived, he and Quentin would have won the race, and Quentin would not have turned to drinking and gambling to make up for the loss of his
dearest friend. They attribute the duel to me as well, for not giving my husband solace during his grief.”

Sophie made a noise of disgust. “Every boat went down that day. That channel was too hazardous to traverse in those conditions and Berber was drunk, for goodness’ sake! Quentin was caught cheating at cards! Cheating! And the duel was your fault? Those people are disregarding the real facts.”

Tess pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the pain. “Facts are hard to discern when there is so much rumor and innuendo.” She laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. “I never told you the other twist on the tale. That Berber and Quentin had been lovers, and after Berber perished, Quentin engaged in the duel as a fancy bit of suicide.”

Shaking her head, Tess looked down. “There’s no truth to any of it, but that doesn’t stop some people from talking. I just can’t allow it to make me cease caring or stop trying to protect those I love.”

Aunt Sophie stood. “I think you should consider Rutherford’s interest.”

“Why? Because he’s the only one
with
any interest?”

“Not at all. He’s simply willing to overlook your past. He says that a respectable marriage will go a long way toward helping with your tarnished reputation.”

Tess gritted her teeth and held her tongue. No matter that she knew it for truth; she resented the implication that she was a charity case.

“As you are well aware, many gentlemen wouldn’t be so forgiving…”

“Don’t deign to do me favors,” Tess muttered.

Aunt Sophie sighed as if greatly put out. “I know it’s not ideal. Certainly not a love match. But see how you fared with love the last time around?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“And think of the children. Your children. I know you want them. You always have. This is your best chance.”

A war was waging inside Tess. On the one hand, there was nothing more appealing than the idea of being a mother, having babies, and making a life somewhat akin to what she’d always envisioned as a girl. On the other, she had too much pride, too much self-respect, to submit herself to Rutherford’s ideas about a wife and mother, and if she made one wrong move, she’d be hearing about her “tarnished” reputation or her “overlooked” past.

Then again, would marrying a respectable man actually help her reputation? Wouldn’t it be lovely to move out from under the shadow of her past? Would Wheaton ever let her go? Did she
want
to stop her intelligence activities for the Foreign Office? She took great pride in being useful and in helping her country. Would she have to give up the book business that Wheaton had set her up in, but that she’d come to love?

Part of her loathed the idea of being dependent once more. She’d grown accustomed to being an independent lady, to some extent anyway. The other part of her longed for a time when she wasn’t obsessed with bills, accounts, making ends meet, and answering to Wheaton.

It was all too messy, too complicated, and too many emotions were involved for her to grasp.

Tess pushed it all aside and turned. “I’ll think about it.” She realized that it was a lie as soon as the words had left her mouth. She had no intention of ever letting Rutherford within a mile of her bed. Whether for children, her reputation, or anything else, she simply couldn’t do it.

Aunt Sophie clapped her hands. “I’m so glad to hear it. I think that I should have both you and Rutherford over for dinner. How’s next Tuesday?”

Tess bit her lip. “Ah…Tuesday?”