His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish (13 page)

‘That is brilliant, Alex.’ Tess poured tea and passed him a cup. Her blushes had subsided, but her smile when she looked at him was still shy. He tried not to look at her mouth, pink and slightly swollen from his kisses. ‘You will organise the carriages? There are rather a lot of us, and the luggage and the Christmas presents and the food.’

‘Food?’

‘We can’t leave a goose, a turkey and a ham to rot, let alone all the puddings and the cakes. It will be less of a burden on your mother’s cook if we take it.’

‘Then, that’s both of my carriages and the wagon for the heavy luggage.’ Alex put down his cup, demolished a jam tartlet in one mouthful and stood up. Tess and her entourage were like an anchor, tethering him to safety. There were practical things to do, things involving a baby and a fat goose, things to keep his feet rooted in reality and the nightmares at bay. ‘Tess?’

‘Mmm?’ She looked up, blushed and dropped her gaze to her notebook, already open on her lap.

‘Thank you. Thank you for the comfort and the practicality. Thank you for that kiss.’

Alex locked away the thought of how much more he wanted than her lips as he pushed open the kitchen door. ‘We are going to Tempeston tomorrow, all of us,’ he announced. ‘We’re taking our perishable food, the Christmas presents, everything. Mrs Ellery will be down in a moment to give you instructions.’ He looked round at their expressions, confused, excited and, in Annie’s case, awestruck. ‘And when we leave this house you will kindly remember that I never had a housekeeper named Ellery and if I did, she has nothing to do with Miss Teresa Ellery. Is that clear?’

There was a moment while they all stared at him, taking in the enormity of what he was asking, then Dorcas said, ‘Annie, you run home and pack your bags then be back here, sharpish. I’ll pack for Mrs...
Miss
Ellery, then I’ll come down to help out here.’

Alex did not stop to give any orders. They were competent and Tess would take control. He went out to alert the grooms, then, as they hurried to check over harnesses and dust off the wagon they usually used for transporting the bigger pieces of statuary and furniture he dealt in, found himself alone in the stall with Trojan, his hunter.

The big chestnut, apparently delighted with the company, rested his shoulder against Alex’s and leaned his weight on him. ‘Daft fool.’ Alex rubbed him under the chin in the sweet spot that always reduced the animal to jelly and put up with having his palm dribbled into. It was peaceful here, smelt of warm horse and straw and saddle soap. Horses were an indulgence that still gave him a lot of pleasure. His father, having decided that his willowy elder son would never make a horseman, had lavished the best mounts on Alex’s brother, Matthew.

Strange that he had never felt jealous of his brother. His father’s opinion that Alex was a disappointment had hurt, but then, he had never known anything else. As a child he was the undersize one, the dreamer, the reader. He’d retreated back into his own head, his own company when punished or lectured, which must, he could see now, have made him even more infuriating to his noisy, energetic, utterly nonintellectual father.

His mother had worried and fussed—which had only made his father more dissatisfied and irritable. But the man hadn’t been a monster; he’d obviously wanted to be proud of his sons and yet he hadn’t been able to cope with one of them not fitting his mental image of the perfect heir. Were all parents like that, wanting perfection, expecting too much? Would he be like that in his turn if he was ever rash enough to contemplate a family? It was one of the unpleasant night thoughts that weighed against marriage.

Now his parents needed him; even Matthew needed him, although he was unlikely to admit it. Alex suspected he was going to be a bit of a shock to all of them. ‘That’s an interesting thought,’ he observed to Trojan, who merely snorted. ‘The power balance has shifted. What do I want now? An apology, but not for me. To be loved? Ridiculous. To be approved of? Now, there’s the rub. There’s some part of me that’s still seventeen and wants approval, that hasn’t learned that the only approval worth having comes from people whose opinion you value.’

And that was quite enough introspection for one evening. He slipped Trojan a carrot and shut the stable door. He had his mother to worry about—she’d sounded at her wits’ end—and Tess. Tess, who, for reasons he failed to understand, trusted him. Desire was one thing; he understood that. But what possessed the foolish chit to trust him? It was that quality of innocence about her, he suspected. She had decided that he was redeemable from his cynicism and his self-centred lifestyle. Seduce him into
happiness
of all the wild ideas. It was going to take more than a few wreaths of evergreens and a wassail bowl to do that.

Chapter Thirteen

‘T
ired?’ Tess stifled her own yawn and smiled at Dorcas, who perched, heavy-eyed, on the seat beside her. Opposite them Annie was already asleep again, one hand on little Daisy lying securely swaddled on the carriage’s plush upholstery.

‘Retiring at two and up at six is not my favourite choice of bedtime, Miss Ellery.’

‘Not following on from the evening we had, that is certain.’ Tess held on tight to the strap as the carriage rounded the corner on to the Edgware Road and headed north.

‘It feels like a dream, packing everything and everybody up and leaving in such a procession.’ Dorcas stroked the upholstery with the reverence she would accord fine silk as she peered out of the window into the gradually lightening morning gloom. ‘And his lordship looking so dashing.’

Now Dorcas had drawn her attention to their outrider Tess allowed herself to stare. It was the first time she had seen Alex on horseback, and she was not at all certain she was glad she had seen him now. He was magnificent, so at home on the big chestnut that it would only add to her store of delicious, and thoroughly uncomfortable, images to be taken out for daydreaming and then severely closed away again. Ever since that kiss yesterday it had been even more difficult to close the mental door on those fantasies.

‘I wonder why he chooses to ride. It is such a damp, chill day and I doubt it is going to get much more pleasant.’ How easy was riding? It had never occurred to her before, but Alex was controlling the big animal with no apparent effort at all.
Those muscles again, that deceptive strength.

‘Perhaps he does not want to be sitting with us because of the baby,’ Dorcas said, jerking Tess back from her reverie.

‘He could always tell Annie to take her to the other carriage if she became fractious,’ she pointed out.

‘I am sure he would not do that. He is such a gentleman and patient with her.’

Impossible man. He is nice to babies and kind to kittens, he looks wonderful on a horse. And he kisses like every sort of temptation I could imagine and more.

‘Do you think they’ll believe it, about me being a widow? Daisy’s so very young.’ Dorcas nibbled a fingernail as she looked at her daughter, fast asleep and blowing bubbles.

‘Of course they will. We worked it out that you’ll just be out of mourning. But you do need a wedding ring.’ Tess pulled the chain that hung around her neck out from her bodice and unfastened it. ‘Here, borrow this, it was my mother’s.’

‘But I can’t take something so precious.’ Dorcas put out her hand and then snatched it back.

‘Try it on.’ It was loose on the thin finger, but the knuckle was enough to hold it securely. ‘She would have been glad of you wearing it if it helped someone, and that is what we are doing, isn’t it?’
After all, it has never been a real wedding ring.
‘We are preserving my reputation and at the same time helping Lord Weybourn.’ That was what the thin gold band had represented, the appearance of respectability. The lie.

* * *

They reached the market town of Watford in the early afternoon and pressed on into rolling hills clad with the golden brown of beech trees that held their dead leaves into springtime. Finally, as the light hung at the edge of dusk, they halted outside an inn on a small village green.

Tess watched Alex dismount, hand his reins to one of the grooms and then go inside, followed by Byfleet carrying a portmanteau.

‘Strange,’ Tess mused, but Dorcas was feeding Daisy, and Annie tidying up all the paraphernalia from changing the baby, and both seemed to welcome the stop.

When the two men emerged again Alex was transformed. Gone was the rider in the low-crowned hat, the many-caped overcoat, the breeches and the long boots. In his place was a London swell, as exotic in the little village as a peacock in a barnyard.

Alex climbed into the carriage while Tess managed to close her mouth and stop goggling like a yokel.

‘Ladies.’ He settled onto the seat next to Annie, chucked Daisy under her fat chins with one exquisitely gloved forefinger and crossed his legs. Cream pantaloons. Skin-tight pantaloons. Tess shifted her gaze to the Hessian boots with silver tassels, then up to a waistcoat of cream moiré silk embroidered with lavender flowers. His coat was dark blue and his intricate, pale lavender neckcloth was secured by an amethyst stickpin. There was a gold seal ring on his left little finger, a quizzing glass hung around his neck and the subtle smell of his cologne filled the carriage.

He has shaved again, Tess realised, feeling travel-soiled and unkempt in contrast. ‘Lord Weybourn. Did you have an enjoyable ride?’

‘I did, thank you. Are you ladies comfortable?’ Annie giggled and he lifted his quizzing glass, reducing her to blushing confusion. ‘Miss Annie, chief nursemaid.’

No one would guess he was within miles of a reunion he was dreading and a meeting with a dying father, Tess thought. Although his manner was...strange. Almost artificial. The young ladies at the convent had once been allowed to attend the theatre to see an improving play. Tess, who had tagged on to the party, found her way backstage and watched from a corner, fascinated, as the actors transformed themselves from ordinary people into creatures of fiction.

And that was what Alex was doing, transforming himself. He was becoming more mannered; his accent carried a subtle affectation. He wore his beautiful clothes like a mask, she realised. Or armour.

She knew before he spoke when they were nearing their destination. Alex sat up straighter against the squabs and his eyes followed the line of the high wall to their left. The carriage turned between a pair of lodge cottages and began to follow a winding road through parkland. Tess watched Alex, saw the mildly bored expression on his face and saw, too, the way his hand tightened on the strap, the white knuckles.

‘Have we arrived?’ It was an inane question, but she could stand the silence no longer.

‘Yes. Welcome to Tempeston.’ Alex was looking through the misted glass with an intensity that was a kind of hunger.

She glanced at the other two women, engrossed with the baby. ‘You love it.’ It was not a question.

‘The river and the streams are my blood, the soil is my flesh, the stones of the house are my bones as they have been for generations of Tempests.’ He stopped. ‘And you have just caught me out in ludicrous sentimentality expressed in the most purple of prose. Forget it.’

Tess bit her lip to keep herself silent and leaned forward to rub her cuff across the window. Before her was the sprawling bulk of a house that formed a rough arc around a paved forecourt. The central block was lit, but the flanking wings were two dark arms waiting to close on them. She shivered as their carriage pulled up at the foot of the double flight of steps.

‘Yes, it takes me like that,’ Alex said, then smiled at Annie, who was visibly overawed. ‘Nothing to worry about, it is only a house.’

The stones are my bones... And what waits inside? His soul?
Tess tied her bonnet ribbons and collected up her reticule. ‘Come along, Annie, make sure Miss Daisy is well wrapped up and stay close behind Mrs White all the time.’

‘Yes, Mrs...Miss Ellery.’

The baby, mercifully, seemed settled and not inclined to grizzle. Tess imagined Alex’s reception if he arrived with not only a strange young woman but an entourage that included a wailing babe in arms.

Light spilled down the steps as the double doors opened and two footmen ran down and opened the carriage door. Alex stepped out. ‘Lord Weybourn and party. My mother is expecting us.’ The second carriage drew up. ‘My people.’ Alex waved one hand in the general direction. ‘A wagon is also following. See to it that everything is unloaded.’

‘My... Yes, my lord. At once.’

One footman stood by to hand down the other occupants of the coach; the other doubled away and up the steps. By the time Tess reached the top, her hand on Alex’s arm, a butler and two other footmen had appeared. The butler, she noted, had his expression perfectly under control; the two footmen were having trouble keeping the avid interest off their faces.

‘My lord, it is a pleasure to see you at Tempeston once more.’ The butler bowed.

‘Garnett, good to see you. Mrs Garnett well?’ Alex might have been away for a month, not ten years.

‘Very well, my lord, thank you for asking. James, his lordship’s coat. William, the ladies. John, see to his lordship’s people.’ Daisy woke up and produced a loud gurgle. ‘I see we must have the nursery readied. I will—’

‘
Weybourn.
Alexander, you came.’ A tall woman, slender and grey haired, came down the stairs, her hands outstretched. ‘My dear boy, I knew you would not fail me.’

Alex stepped forward and caught her as she almost stumbled on the bottom step. ‘Mother, take care.’ He steadied her, then withdrew his hand. ‘Fortunately I was in the country.’

It seemed to Tess that Lady Moreland made a conscious effort to control all emotion. She was more than slender, she was thin—her wrists seemed too fragile to support the weight of the rings that sparkled on both hands. The older woman looked past her son. ‘We have guests, how delightful.’ Tess could only admire the implacable mask of courtesy that enabled her to sound genuinely welcoming in the face of unexpected strangers at such a time. ‘Alexander, you did not tell me you were—’

‘Escorting Miss Ellery. Yes, indeed. I assured her that she could rely on your hospitality. This is Miss Ellery and her companion, Mrs White. I brought them from Ghent on behalf of a mutual friend. Unfortunately the arrangements in London fell through.’

If anyone was going to lie to Alex’s mother it was going to be her, not him. Tess stepped forward, hand outstretched.
She thought I was his wife, or at the very least, his betrothed. That mask slipped a little just then.
‘I do beg your forgiveness for my intrusion at a difficult time, Lady Moreland, but I found myself quite abandoned in a strange city with no hope of resolving my problems until the New Year. I hope I may be of assistance to you, and my companion, Mrs White, also. I am experienced in sickroom nursing.’

Good breeding was obviously enough to prevent Lady Moreland demanding why Tess found herself in such a predicament. ‘Not at all,’ she murmured, darting a glance at Alex. ‘I thought for a moment that you were... Oh, and a baby, too?’ There was the briefest betraying flicker of pain and hope in the fine hazel eyes.
Alex’s eyes.

‘Mrs White’s child, ma’am.’ The hope died, leaving only the pain. ‘I trust she will not disturb anyone. We have her nursemaid with us.’

‘I have ordered the nursery to be put in order and the fires lit, my lady,’ Garnett murmured. ‘Young woman, if you follow John he will show you the way. His lordship’s rooms are readied as you ordered, my lady. I thought the Chinese Bedchamber and the adjoining Rose Chamber for the ladies?’

‘Excellent. If you and Mrs...er...White would like to go with Garnett, Miss Ellery? Alexander, I must speak with you in my boudoir.’ She turned back up the stairs with a distracted smile in Tess’s direction.

Alex turned to Tess, a perfectly pleasant, perfectly judged expression on his face. ‘Do ask Garnett for whatever you require, Miss Ellery. I will see you both before dinner.’

‘Thank you, Lord Weybourn.’ Tess dropped the ghost of a curtsy and turned to the butler rather than watch Alex’s erect back as he climbed the stairs behind his mother.
He’s a grown man, he can cope.
But at what cost?

* * *

‘Alexander.’ His mother sank down on a chaise and pressed a scrap of lace and lawn to her lips. ‘I hardly dared hope you would come.’ She looked as though only the boning of her stays and sheer willpower were keeping her upright. ‘I missed you so much, my son. Your letters have been a godsend, but I so longed to write back.’

His mother was fifty years old, he knew that, but looking at her now he could believe she was ten, twenty, years older. Her hair was almost entirely grey, she looked fragile to the point of breaking and the skin around her eyes was papery with a strain that was caused by something deeper and longer-lived than her husband’s recent illness. He had missed her with a deep ache he had learned to ignore as best he could, as he would an amputated limb. The realisation that she had been hurting, too, was a stab to his conscience.

He had written to her once a month, knowing his father would have forbidden her to correspond with him and that he could expect no answer to his letters. It was desperation that had made her disobey now.

‘You look tired, Mother.’

‘I look old, you mean.’ Her chin came up. ‘And you look well. More than well. How you have grown, matured. Who is that young woman? I thought, no, I hoped, you were going to introduce her as your wife or your betrothed.’

‘Really? After what my father says about me?’ She winced and he bit his lip. She was not the one who deserved to be punished.

‘Your father can be a great fool,’ his mother said. It was the first time he had ever heard her utter a word of criticism of her husband.

‘And a stubborn one. But, no, Miss Ellery is just what I told you, a young lady adrift in London because the arrangements made for her reception went awry.’ He shrugged. ‘At any other time of the year I could have found half a dozen ladies of my acquaintance to look after her, but you know what London is like before Christmas. And I could hardly deposit her in a hotel. And before you ask, no, the baby is not hers and most certainly not mine. The child is Daisy White. Now tell me what is wrong with my father.’

His mother sagged a little, then straightened her spine. ‘The doctors say your father has a disease of the blood, one they cannot cure. He is deteriorating steadily.’

‘Has he asked for me?’ He kept the hope out of his voice, ashamed of the weakness.

‘No.’ She did not seem to realise that she was shredding the fragile Honiton lace of her handkerchief.

‘And Matthew?’ His brother, the perfect Tempest. Big, strong, physical. A hard rider, a hard drinker, a hard gambler, a hearty philistine. A man’s man and always the apple of their father’s eye.

‘Matthew drinks, gambles, whores,’ his mother said, her lips stiff with distaste for the words. ‘He was never an intellectual.’ Her raised brow dared Alex to comment. ‘Now it is obvious that he incapable of taking up the work of the earldom. The agents do their best, but your father was always a man who kept his hand and his eyes on every aspect of all the estates, the business interests, the finances. He thought that Matthew took after him.’