Tessa's Touch (20 page)

Tessa smiled uncertainly. "Perhaps you are
right, my lady."

Sir George certainly seemed pleased to see Lady
Killerby when they arrived at Wheatstone. "What a delightful
surprise!" he exclaimed, welcoming her into the parlor. "Tessa, see
if Cook can arrange for a little something extra on the tea tray, won't you?
Come in, my lady, come in, do, and make yourself comfortable."

While Tessa rang the bell, then stepped out of
the room to consult with Mrs. Bealls, Lady Killerby settled herself into the
chair by the parlor fire that Sir George indicated. Soon, the two of them were
deep in conversation, reminiscing about the days of their youth in
Leicestershire.

"Perhaps I've done wrong to shield him
from callers all these years," Tessa admitted in an undertone to Anthony,
observing the animation in her father's face. "I really thought—"

"I know. You thought you were acting for
the best. Perfectly understandable, as I said before. Now you see him doing so
well, though, might you be persuaded that he is not, perhaps, quite so
dependent upon you as you have believed?"

She looked at him to find him regarding her
tenderly— persuasively. Her very eagerness to believe him, however, warned her
that her motives were by no means pure. "Perhaps in time that will be
true, my lord, but I dare not put my own wishes above his health. Not when I am
all he has."

His frustration was evident in his sigh.
"I've realized I can't ask—" he began, when Lady Killerby interrupted
them.

"—don't you agree, Miss Seaton?" she
was saying.

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" Tessa
asked. What had Anthony been about to say? That he could not ask her to marry
him after all? Had he wisely reconsidered? Her heart twisted within her, though
she told herself that was what she wanted.

Lady Killerby explained, "I have just
invited your father to accompany me in my phaeton to the Belvoir meet tomorrow.
The Duke of Rutland was quite an admirer of mine once upon a time, you
know." She tittered. "But that is neither here nor there," she
said quickly when Sir George frowned.

"We can all stop here before leaving for
the meet in the morning," she continued. "It should be an easy enough
matter for Anthony and his hulking friends to help Sir George into my phaeton.
What a jolly time we will have!"

Tessa glanced at her father in alarm. Spend all
day outdoors, riding across rough country in an open carriage, in November?
That could not be good for his heart. Surely he would never—

"I believe I would quite enjoy it, truth
to tell," he said before she could express her reservations. "The
fresh air will surely do me good, so long as it doesn't rain."

Tessa seized upon that. "But suppose it
does rain, Papa? It often does this time of year, you know."

"Pish!" exclaimed Lady Killerby.
"It's clear as a bell outside right now, and like to stay that way for a
day or two more. If it looks like rain in the morning, I won't be going myself,
so there's no need to worry on that head."

"There, Tessa." Sir George seemed
pleased. "Lily has no more desire to get wet than I do, of course. We
shall be fine."

Though she still had grave misgivings, it was
not Tessa's place to give or withhold permission, though long habit had made it
seem so. "I hope so," was all she said. Perhaps later, when they were
alone, she would be able to dissuade him.

Once everything was settled, Lady Killerby
rose. "Come, Anthony, I promised my son I'd not be too long away. He gets
so restless, confined to his couch. I don't want him to attempt anything
foolish."

Tessa accompanied them out to the carriage,
trying to sound sincere in her thanks for Lady Killerby's kindness. Anthony
handed the older woman into the conveyance, then turned to Tessa. "I have
much more to say to you, but I suppose it must wait for a better opportunity —perhaps
during tomorrow's meet."

She nodded, trying to read the expression in
his eyes. "Anthony, I—" she began, then broke off. There seemed
nothing she could say that would not provoke another argument, and that was out
of the question with Lady Killerby waiting in the carriage. "Tomorrow,
then," she finally said.

He looked as though he wanted to kiss her—or
perhaps that was just her imagination? –but then he turned suddenly on his heel
and jumped into the carriage.

"Tomorrow," he said as the door was
closed, making it sound almost like a threat.

Tessa watched the carriage drive away and
sighed. Surely a night of reflection would convince Anthony how ill-advised a
union between them would be. Or perhaps he already realized it, and planned
tomorrow to retract his offer as gently as possible. Either way, it would be
for the best, for both of them.

Wouldn't it?

Sir George was still in high spirits when Tessa
returned to the parlor, and seemed more inclined to talk about tomorrow's
outing than to return to his study and his memoirs, which he'd been neglecting
of late.

"Would you like me to help you get your
notes in better order, Papa?" Tessa asked after a while, trying to steer
the conversation away from a topic she couldn't help finding distressing.

"No need," he replied cheerfully.
"Take a peep into my study and see what I've done already."

Curious, she stepped across the hall. To her
astonishment, her father's study was the cleanest she'd ever seen it, with
papers —far fewer than before —neatly stacked, and every book in its proper
place on the shelves. "Did you have Griffith do that while I was gone this
morning?" she asked, returning to the parlor.

Sir George shook his head. "He put away a
few of the books for me, but I did the rest myself. Amazing how little time it
took, once I set my mind to it and simply started. I disposed of all of my
out-of-date notes and duplicates and filed and organized the rest."

"That's . . . wonderful. I'm proud of you,
Papa," said Tessa, still amazed. It seemed today was her day to be
surprised by men— first Lord Anthony, and now her father.

"I'm rather proud of myself,
actually," he said, beaming. "Now it will be much easier to write—
should I find the time to do so," he added, an unfamiliar twinkle in his
eye.

Tessa wasn't sure what to make of the
transformation in her father over the past two weeks, but she was reluctantly
coming to the conclusion that it was a good thing for him. He was drinking far
less, for one thing, and—

A knock at the front door interrupted her
bemused thoughts.

She rose, smoothing her hair with her fingers.
Had Anthony returned to speak privately with her—or perhaps with her father?
she wondered with a flutter. No, he wouldn't have had time to take Lady
Killerby to Ivy Lodge and ride back to Wheatstone yet.

Griffith appeared in the parlor doorway.
"Mrs. Hilltop and Miss Hilltop, sir," he announced. "Shall I
send them up?"

Tessa, caught wholly off-guard, could only
gasp. She began shaking her head, groping for a plausible excuse to deny them,
when her father said, "Of course, man. Don't leave them standing below.
And have Cook send up a fresh tea tray."

"But Papa," she protested weakly,
then subsided, unable to think of a single thing that might dissuade him. She
would simply have to do her best to brazen out this visit, and hope against
hope that somehow her secret would not come out.

A moment later, stout Mrs. Hilltop came puffing
into the room, the single flight of stairs apparently having taxed her. Behind
her came Cynthia Hilltop, whom Tessa had once described to herself as
ferret-faced. Alas, the description still fit. The girl's thin face and narrow,
rapidly shifting eyes looked as though they meant to discover every possible
discreditable detail.

"Welcome, Mrs. Hilltop, Miss
Hilltop," said Sir George before Mrs. Hilltop regained her breath.
"We are most honored to have you come visit us."

The matron dropped into the nearest chair and
fanned herself with a handkerchief. "I was delighted to find you at home,
Sir George, and you, too, of course, dear Miss Seaton!" She motioned to
her daughter to sit next to her.

Cynthia complied, glancing quickly from Tessa
to Sir George to the ornaments on the mantelpiece, then back to her mother.

"I confess, sir, I did not know what to
think at first when I read your note thanking us for our kindness," Mrs.
Hilltop continued, her breath no longer coming in gasps. "But at last I
realized that it must be a sort of irony, and a good joke it was, too, for we
have been dreadfully neglectful neighbors of late."

Tessa pinned a bright smile on her face.
"Not at all, ma'am! I haven't found you neglectful in the slightest, nor
Miss Hilltop, either."

Sir George nodded. "Indeed no, madam. Why,
your calling today is quite a kindness in itself, for you must be fairly on
your way to London."

"Oh, did I not tell you, Papa?" Tessa
interjected rather loudly before Mrs. Hilltop could give voice to her surprise.
"It turns out I was quite mistaken on that point. I completely
misunderstood what I heard."

Mrs. Hilltop gave a jarringly artificial laugh.
"Yes, rumor does have a way of becoming distorted, does it not? Which
reminds me—is it true, as my husband says, that you have actually ridden to
hunt this season, Miss Seaton?"

Grateful for the change of topic, hoping that
Papa would not think it odd that the Hilltops wouldn't know this after an
evening supposedly spent in their company, Tessa nodded.

"Yes, quite true. Papa agreed to allow it,
so long as Uncle Mercer rides with me to preserve propriety. I rather hope
other ladies might follow my example eventually." She glanced at Cynthia,
who looked as though she'd eaten something nasty.

"You see, Mama?" she began, but her
mother gave a quick shake of her head before continuing.

"Yes, it was Mr. Emery my husband spoke to
last night, at the Swan. He was sur—er, pleased to see him hobnobbing with some
of the young aristocrats who come here to hunt. I understand you've dined with
some of them?"

Suddenly Tessa understood the real reason for
this visit: Mrs. Hilltop was hoping that by cultivating a friendship, she might
throw Cynthia in the way of some of those gentlemen. It appeared that Lady
Killerby had been right, she thought with a small smile. But, she remembered
abruptly, that motive did not make her own danger any less.

"Yes," Sir George replied with obvious
pride, "we had several members of the Odd Sock Club to dine here, and they
returned the favor on Sunday. Lady Killerby, Lord Killerby's mother, is staying
at Ivy Lodge, you see, which made Tessa's visit there perfectly proper. She was
invited again for tea this morning, in fact."

Tessa prayed that her father's fond illusions
about her would not be shattered before this visit ended. "Yes, Lady
Killerby and all of the gentlemen have been most kind," she said, noticing
that Cynthia was now regarding her with surprise, and something like respect.
"Lord Rushford and Lord Anthony Northrup, among others, have expressed a
desire to spend more time with Papa in future."

At mention of those illustrious names, Mrs.
Hilltop's eyes widened, as did her daughter's. Smiling more broadly than ever,
she exclaimed, "Well, that is lovely, I must say! We must have you to dine
soon, and I will be certain to extend an invitation to those gentlemen as well,
as they are particular friends of yours."

Suddenly they were back on dangerous ground,
which became even more treacherous when Sir George responded, "Oh, but we
should first have you here, as we are quite a dinner in your debt."

Mrs. Hilltop blinked. "In our debt? Oh!
From when we had Miss Seaton to dine three years since, do you mean? Nonsense.
But now, we really must be going." She and her daughter rose, to Tessa's
intense relief.

Papa would certainly question her after they
left, but she was now confident that she could manufacture some sort of
plausible explanation for Mrs. Hilltop's odd-seeming comments.

"Thank you so much for coming," she
said, rising to see them out, her relief giving her words added warmth.

The ladies smiled upon her, then Mrs. Hilltop
said, "Not at all, my dear. Indeed, we would have called earlier, but we
only returned from London yesterday afternoon, after spending all of September
and October there. Much as I adore Town, it is nice to be back in the country
—and among friends."

With a nod to Sir George, who, after an alarmed
glance at Tessa, nodded back mechanically, she and her daughter swept from the
room. Tessa followed only to the top of the stairs before turning reluctantly
back to the parlor. As she'd feared, her father greeted her with a scandalized
frown.

"Tessa, perhaps you can explain to me how
you were able to dine with the Hilltops Friday night —to stay overnight at
their house —when they were not even in the country?" he asked ominously.

Her heart sank. She knew how important
propriety was to Papa, what store he set on her being accepted by the
neighborhood. The truth would devastate him. Perhaps, if she made no mention of
Lord Anthony . . .