Macbeth's Niece (36 page)

Mary was still talking, and Tessa came back
in time to hear the end of her sentence. “—so I mentioned to her I
happened to know you had recently returned to London and suggested
she invite you. If only to satisfy her curiosity, I’m sure you’ll
be asked to their celebration, possibly this afternoon.”

Tessa smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, Mary, but
I—” she couldn’t put her embarrassment into words, but she looked
down at the only dress she owned. It was clean, but that was about
all that could be said for it. Travel had left it forlorn, its
ribbons missing or frayed, the hem dirty beyond redemption.

“I am such a simpleton! How could I be so
thoughtless? You must come with me to my room and pick out some
gowns. I shan’t be needing them for, oh, seven months or so!” Mary
led the way to her chamber and there found Tessa three gowns that
could be altered to fit her, two for daily wear and one for
evening. “The green is most flattering to your coloring,” Mary
declared of the latter.

“But Mary, I’m not sure this is the right
thing to do.” Tessa for once was less confident than her
friend.

“Of course it is. You must re-enter society,
so when Aidan asks for your hand, you will be ready to take your
place as Lady Brixton. To Lord Acton and his mother you must be
gracious and make no comment on where you have been for the last
few months. I’m afraid Scotland is even less popular at the moment
than usual. Young Siward, the old general’s son, was killed in the
fighting with Macbeth, and of course others among the English as
well. Still, you have charm. Most people won’t remember who your
uncle was, and with your looks the men, at least, won’t care.”

“Mary, there is something I must tell you.
It’s true Aidan has asked me to marry him when I am free of Cedric,
but I have refused his offer.”

Mary’s face showed surprise, “But Aidan
said—”

“Aidan thinks I can be persuaded, but I tell
you, I will not marry him. I care too much for him and for all of
you to make a marriage where there is no love. In fact, I don’t
believe now that I can marry without love. I have learned things in
the past year, and I no longer believe that security at any price
is what I want from life.”

“I see.” Mary frowned thoughtfully. “He
seemed so sure. Perhaps he means to ask again when you are more
settled and have had time to think things over.”

Tessa knew what Mary was thinking. What
other prospects had she? Even with an annulment, her reputation
would be questionable after running away from her first husband,
she had no dowry to make a man overlook her odd past, and her
bloodline was not one that would win her many friends in England at
this time. Mary dropped the subject, but Tessa was sure her friend
thought her mad for not taking Aidan’s offer. Marriage to him would
be comfortable despite his lack of a title, and he would care for
her as Eleanor had intended.

She could not explain it to Mary any more
than she could to Aidan. Tessa simply knew she would never marry at
all unless it was to a man who’d won her heart. Rich or poor no
longer mattered.

When she returned to the inn that afternoon,
the invitation Mary had mentioned was there. The Ballards were
having a masque at their home to celebration the harvest. The
estate was near Oxford, close to Mary and Francis’ home. Tessa
would journey to Mary’s house, stay a few days there, and attend
the party with the young couple.

She and Mary had great fun making their
masks, which seldom concealed anyone’s identity for long but were
popular just the same. Tessa’s was silk of a deep green that
matched the dress Mary had lent her, and she added twists of
rose-colored ribbon as complements. The dress itself had sleeves
fitted to the elbow, which then flared into wide V’s with a filmy
white lining. The rounded neckline was cut low to reveal a gleaming
white shift with embroidered trim. The draping skirt was pulled up
in graceful scallops across the front to show an underskirt of the
same white fabric as the sleeve linings. The points at which the
skirt was gathered were adorned with ribbons that fell over the
white below them with charming effect. Tessa’s hair, which was
still quite short, was pinned back with combs and false curls added
to make her more presentable. Mary despaired of her tanned face,
adding powder to lighten it until Tessa sneezed repeatedly.

The manor was dazzling as they entered the
main hall. Candles everywhere cast light and shadow, making the
moving, masked figures seem mysterious at some times and colorful
at others. Ladies in elaborate gowns with trailing skirts and
bright trims moved smoothly across the hall, while gentlemen in
tight hose and velvet tunics watched appreciatively.

Roger Ballard, a man of large proportions in
every way, bawled out greetings, kissing the ladies greedily and
slapping the men on their backs hard enough to make some of them
wince. Dame Ballard, her husband’s physical opposite, was as
small-boned and thin as Tessa remembered her, still looking as if
she were always cold, both inside and out. Her main topic of
conversation remained the divine Beatrice, the supposed twin to
Tessa whom she had yet to meet.

Having strong feelings of discomfort about
the whole evening, Tessa waited for Dame Ballard to launch into the
questions that were sure to be invasive and offensive.
Surprisingly, not a question was asked about where she had been for
the past months. When greetings were exchanged, the lady began at
once commenting on the resemblance between Tessa and her daughter.
In her high, nasal voice, few things sounded like compliments,
however. Something—or someone—had explained away Tessa’s past
misdeeds, it seemed, and she was spared explanations of her flight,
her absence, and her reappearance. Aidan’s work, she decided,
breathing a sigh of relief.

It was not to last, however, for though she
had no questions about Tessa’s recent travels, Dame Ballard had
news that shook Tessa to her very core. “And did you suspect when
you stayed with the Brixtons, my dear, that there was a criminal in
that very household?”

A lady who stood nearby tried to shut the
old woman up. “Barbara, you mustn’t say such things. They are only
rumors, after all. No one knows the truth of it yet.”

Dame Ballard was not to be silenced, as
usual. “I have had it from an excellent source that he has dealt
with an outlaw in Scotland for years, feeding the brute information
so he could rob and kill loyal Englishmen. He stole from his own
brother, too. It’s true, because as soon as his so-called drowning
occurred, the embezzlement stopped as well. I for one always
thought he was suspicious, a little too handsome, a little bit
above those around him. Pride goeth, as they say. He may pretend
all he likes. The man is a thief and as good as a murderer, and
he’ll never be allowed to take the title. Why, he’ll be lucky to
escape hanging. If he were before me at this moment, my best
recommendation would be he should return to Scotland, where they’re
all murdering heathens.” The woman’s pale face registered suddenly
the realization that she had gone too far, and she murmured in
Tessa’s direction, “Present company excepted, of course,” as if
that excused the deadly insult to Scots in general.

There was a shocked silence as Tessa tried
to make sense of what she’d heard. The dame’s insult had no effect
on her. The woman was a bigot of the worst kind and stupid to boot,
but the import of the rest struck her. Dame Ballard seemed to be
saying Jeffrey was the Englishman who’d plotted with Hawick.
Impossible!

Could anyone believe Jeffrey would do that?
You did, at least at times, her thoughts reminded her. But I
didn’t, never truly, she decided. Aware that those around her were
waiting to gauge her response to the dame’s tactless comment, she
stammered out a weak response. “I am sure you meant no
disrespect.”

In spite of her oblivious personality, the
lady sensed a change of subject was called for. “And here you are
back among us after months and months,” she whined. “Now you shall
meet Beatrice, and she shall understand what I have told her, that
you are her very double.”

She dragged Tessa across the room to meet a
lady of some forty years who, at least once upon a time, had hair
the color of Tessa’s and green eyes. There the resemblance ended,
but the doting mother made everyone nearby judge how exactly alike
the two were. They had to take off their masks and stand side by
side, which certainly did no favors for poor Beatrice. Once,
however, her eyes met Tessa’s and a light of amusement sparked in
them. Beatrice was used to humoring her mother. So, it appeared,
were many others, for murmurs of faint agreement were made,
placating the old lady and allowing Tessa to escape her clutches.
Dame Ballard wandered off to greet the newest arrivals.

Tying her mask on again, Tessa stood among
strangers, making polite conversation and discreetly searching for
Mary in the crowd. Her eye lit upon a man standing aside, his black
silk mask extremely plain. The clothes he wore were also black, and
though finely cut, quite nondescript, as if he wanted to call no
attention to himself. She had the feeling he was staring at her,
even though she couldn’t see his eyes. His head tilted an inch, and
she recognized the movement. Jeffrey! Looking directly at him she
bowed her head slightly, acknowledging him. In answer, he made a
slight movement of his head toward a hallway at his back, then
turned and disappeared down it. Glancing around, Tessa saw that no
one paid heed to her at the moment. She hurried after him.

Down the passage were three rooms. The first
was empty. The second was locked, and she went on to the third. As
soon as she stepped into the room, the door closed behind her. It
was a small office. A desk with writing materials neatly arranged
on it stood near the window, a cabinet set into the left wall had a
key protruding from the lock, two chairs sat against the far wall
on either side of a cold fireplace. That was all, except that
Jeffrey Brixton stood behind her, leaning against the door he had
just locked.

“Tessa.” He had removed the mask, and his
face was serious, even haggard.

“Jeffrey, you should not have come. I have
just heard the most ridiculous—”

He threw up a hand to stop her. “I know. I
have been accused of monstrous crimes, and I must defend myself.
There are rumors I will be arrested if I show my face. I have been
staying with friends, trying to work out a plan to clear my name.
But I had to come. I must speak to someone who will surely be here,
to find out why this is happening.” His face tensed. “Although I
have deduced it.”

So he had not come to see her. It had been a
silly thought. If he’d wanted to talk to her, he could have come to
the inn. “I did not know you would be here,” he said.

“It’s Mary’s doing. She is determined I
shall be accepted in society.”

“And what of Cedric?”

“That was a mistake, as I tried to tell you.
There is to be an annulment.” Tessa could not help herself. Her
pride did not matter at this moment. “Jeffrey—I thought you were
dead. Eleanor died. I had no one, nowhere to go! I—” His fingers
touched her lips, and she stopped as he took her in his arms, his
head bent over hers.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “As soon as I
left you that night, I knew in my heart you had done what you had
to do. Only it was such a blow to believe you were lost to me. Just
when I had decided that nothing mattered except—I mean, I had
intended—”

Suddenly he was kissing her, and she was
lost in the press of his lips on hers. The world stopped and
nothing mattered, not the accusations against him or worry about
the future—nothing. When he finally released her she stood mute,
flooded with a thousand emotions, relief and happiness among them,
but strongest was love, the love she had felt almost from the
first, the love she now knew Jeffrey felt too.

Voices in the passageway brought them both
back to their present situation. Jeffrey replaced his mask
hurriedly and moved toward the window, pushing it open. “I must go.
If I am successful tonight, my name will be cleared and I will come
to you a free man. If not, I do not know when we shall meet
again.”

“Jeffrey, what will you do?”

His face hardened. “I will put a stop to
these lies about me. I know who is behind them and will deal with
him tonight.”

“Be careful. If someone wants to harm
you—”

“Then someone should understand I do not
take such things lightly.” He spoke grimly, and he was gone.

Tessa left the room in confusion. Jeffrey
did love her, but he was in grave trouble. He seemed driven, almost
murderous in his intent to stop whoever had slandered him. And why
would anyone say those things about Jeffrey? He was no thief, and
he was not Hawick’s ally, she was sure. Who would want the world to
believe such things?

Chapter Thirty

Tessa wandered through the crowd, the joy of
the evening gone for her. The room was hot with the crush of
people, and a nearby door stood ajar a few inches, letting in fresh
air. Needing to escape the laughter and merriment, she stepped out
the door and found herself in the garden. Cool air immediately
chilled her flushed skin, but she welcomed it. To her chagrin, she
came face to face with Cedric Acton, mask in hand as he attempted
to rethread the ribbon that had come untied from one side.

His discomfort was as great as hers, it
seemed. “Well, well, my lady wife. How goes it?”

Tessa turned to go, but Cedric grabbed her
arm in a tight grip. His eyes were hard, but he smiled and tried
for a light tone. “I was most distressed by your unannounced
departure from our wedding. It has taken some explaining,
especially to my mother, to quiet the questions that arose from
your disappearance.”