His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish Read online

  ‘I was a brute. An animal.’

  ‘Alex, don’t—’

  ‘I won’t, don’t be afraid that after that I would touch you. No, don’t try to tell me it is all right, you are too forgiving, Tess.’

  I will come over there and show you the opposite of forgiveness if you won’t let me get a word in, Alex Tempest! She opened her mouth to override him, shout him into being forgiven for whatever male sin he thought he had committed, if that was what it took to wipe that look from his eyes.

  ‘I meant to say this after Christmas, but it is best now. Tess, I can’t have you going back, dragging round agencies, finding yourself a position as some sort of drudge to a cantankerous old lady or a house full of screaming brats.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I will find you a house somewhere, a pleasant market town, perhaps. Somewhere you and Dorcas can settle down respectably. I’ll give you an allowance. You won’t have to see me again. My man of business will handle it all discreetly.’

  You won’t have to see me again. At first her brain could not make sense of what he was saying, then it was as though her body realised at some deeper level. She began to shiver. ‘You are paying me off? A house and an allowance is very generous in exchange for two nights in my bed, especially considering my complete lack of skill or experience. My goodness, what might I ask for if I acquire some more tricks?’

  ‘Tess, it is not like that.’ Alex swung off the bed and stood up, over six feet of naked, angry male. ‘You didn’t expect me to marry you. We talked about that. And don’t flinch. Do you think I am going to hit you next?’

  ‘I am not flinching. I am recoiling from a man I thought I knew and now find I do not. How dare you treat me like a whore! How dare you offer me money!’ She scrambled from the bed in an ungainly lurch, picked up his robe and threw it at him. ‘How dare you suggest that I am angling for a marriage so far above my station!’

  Alex caught the bundle of red silk one-handed. ‘Tess.’

  ‘Miss Ellery to you, my lord.’ The shivering had stopped, replaced by a strong desire to be sick. ‘Now get out of my bedchamber.’

  At least he had the sensitivity to go without saying another word. It was difficult to move after the door closed behind him. After a while she became conscious that she was cold, so she moved round to the side of the bed nearest the fire and stood there, watching the dull glow of the coals. Then it occurred to her that she would like to wash, so she did, all over, in the water that had cooled almost to the temperature of the room.

  There were marks on her body, red pressure marks where Alex’s weight had lain on her, a roughness on her shoulder that his evening beard must have left. Yesterday the slight soreness and stiffness that lovemaking had created had been exciting, welcome. Now she moved gingerly as though she were ill, trying not to send those aftershocks of pleasure through her belly, through her limbs.

  When she was sure she had scrubbed the scent of his body from hers she turned to the bed, pulled on her nightgown, flapped the sheets, found several brown-gold hairs that she threw on the fire. Then she climbed back into bed on the far side from the one they had made love on and curled into a tight ball while she waited for sleep.

  *

  ‘Miss Ellery, are we overworking you?’ Lady Moreland put down the teapot and looked at Tess in a way that made it quite clear that her mirror had not lied. She did have dark circles under her eyes and she was pale and, try as she might, her cheerful expression looked as though she had cut it out of a print and pasted it on.

  ‘No, not at all. I simply had one of those inexplicable sleepless nights. You know, I am sure, the kind where you toss and turn and can’t drop off.’

  ‘Oh, dear, that is so annoying when it happens. I wouldn’t mention your looks if any of the men were down to breakfast of course, but Alexander and Matthew have gone out with the workers from the Home Farm to cut evergreens and my husband is staying in his room.’

  ‘Alex—Lord Weybourn has gone out to cut evergreens?’

  ‘Yes, and I hope some fresh air and exercise will put him in a better mood,’ Maria said as she heaped eggs on her plate. ‘He looked positively grim this morning. I thought he and Matthew had been arguing again, but they seem perfectly in charity with each other.’

  ‘I think perhaps he is a little low because of having to give up his art business,’ Tess suggested. ‘It must be making a great deal of correspondence.’ She wanted to throw the entire contents of an art gallery, preferably one full of marble busts, at his head, but it would be unfair on the rest of his family if she let her misery show. They had to live with Alex and she did not want their reconciliation spoilt by a sordid squabble.

  ‘That will be it,’ Lady Moreland agreed as she passed a cup of tea to Tess. ‘It must be very difficult, and I never expected him to make as much of an effort to be civil to his father.’ Tess’s expression must have betrayed something of her feelings for she added, ‘I do not scruple to mention the estrangement in front of you, Miss Ellery. I can tell you will be most discreet.’

  Tess mumbled something that she hoped conveyed discretion, sympathy and a total disinclination to hear more. Lady Moreland steered the conversation on to London fashions and plans for Maria’s wardrobe for the Season and Tess was left to make interested noises and look out of the window onto the carriage sweep at the front of the house for the return of the brothers.

  *

  When they did come back it was on a wave of cold air and a bustle of servants all loaded with branches to heap in the entrance hall. Matthew was in high spirits and Alex’s unsmiling face was a healthy pink from the chill. He glanced at Tess and then looked back again, a long stare while, she supposed, he took in just how dreadful she looked. She nodded politely, then joined Maria and Matthew in a discussion of what needed to go where. Alex stalked off.

  ‘Don’t know what the matter is with Alex,’ Matthew commented as soon as the sound of boot heels on stone had died away. ‘Like a bear with a sore head.’

  Maria offered Tess’s suggestion about the heavy workload with the art business and Tess was able to retreat into a corner with a pile of holly, stout scissors and wire to fashion some wreaths. She wanted to think calmly about Alex, but she was so tired that the same hurtful, jangling thoughts just kept circling and knotting in her head until all she was conscious of was pain and a deep sense of loss. Which is irrational, she told herself. He was never yours. You know there never was any hope of that.

  *

  At luncheon she managed to sit between Maria and Dorcas and listened to Maria’s anxieties about Almack’s, her hopes that she would make friends easily and her despair of ever winning her dancing master’s approval. On the far side of the table Alex endured his father’s trenchant views of the government’s foreign policy and then politely demolished them.

  Tess, conscious that the four women at the table were all holding their breath, expected that outright opposition would send the earl into an apoplexy, but he grunted, ‘You don’t toad-eat, I’ll say that for you, Weybourn. You’re a damn fool Whig, of course, but at least you can construct an argument.’

  Alex took the backhanded compliment with a wry smile and began to discuss felling some of the Home Wood. Across the table Lady Moreland exchanged a knowing look with her daughter.

  Last night had apparently made no impact on Alex’s thought processes or his intellectual alertness. He obviously had slept perfectly soundly, Tess thought resentfully. A touch on her arm drew her attention to the fact that Matthew was speaking to her. ‘Shall we put up the mistletoe after luncheon, Miss Ellery?’

  ‘Why, yes. That would be fun.’ She managed a bright smile and was rewarded by a cold look from Alex. If he thinks I’m going to flirt with his brother under the mistletoe, then more fool he, she thought. Although it might be soothing to her bruised heart if Matthew wanted to flirt with her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alex told himself he was far too busy to waste time strewing greenery about
the place, releasing spiders and earwigs and making every corner prickly with pine needles and holly.

  If Tess wanted to giggle under the mistletoe with Matthew, then she was welcome to him. His brother was unlikely to offer her assistance that she could then wilfully misunderstand and throw back in his face, leaving him feeling like some kind of unsavoury rakehell preying on innocent young women and then buying them off.

  Righteous indignation could only get him so far. Alex stopped halfway along the Upper Gallery and slammed his fist down on to a fragile side table, sending a vase rocking wildly. ‘Hell and damnation!’

  Tess had been an innocent young woman and, in virtually every way, she still was. Thanks to her gossipy schoolgirl friends she might have knowledge of some things that society thought were kept from unmarried ladies, but her understanding of the big, dangerous wide world was virtually nonexistent. He had surrendered to temptation and had taken her virginity, and now he had made that world far more perilous for her.

  He steadied the vase, ran his thumbs over the fragile white purity of the Wedgwood medallions that decorated it. Tess had rocked his life, unsettled his certainties. She had taught him a tolerance and forgiveness that made this painful reconciliation with his family negotiable. She had burrowed into his affections and curled up there, trusting and straightforward, just like that accursed kitten.

  His offer of financial support had shocked her in a way that his uncontrolled lovemaking had not, he realised as he paced down the Gallery. She had told him the truth when she came to his bed. She had wanted, and asked for, the right simply to be with him for a short while, to share whatever it was between them.

  The portrait he was staring at came into focus. Lucinda, wife of the second earl. Beautiful, the daughter of a duke, well dowered and, by all accounts, a profligate little madam who had brought her besotted husband to the brink of financial ruin. He walked on a few paces to Wilhelmina, the first countess. Impeccable breeding, the face of a horse and the temper of a cornered cobra, so legend said.

  For all their blue blood, what had those two carefully selected brides done for the Tempests, other than bring unhappiness? ‘Damn it,’ Alex said in the face of Wilhelmina’s haughty disapproval. ‘I’ll marry the girl, bring in some affection and honesty and caring, and society can damn well think what it likes.’ She might not think much of him any longer, but with good fortune he would give her children to love and, God willing, she’d stop him being such a disastrous parent as his own father had proved.

  The prospect should have filled him with satisfaction, not a faint feeling of queasy foreboding. Nerves. He turned on his heel and strode towards the double doors. A man proposing marriage had a right to feel a degree of anxiety. He would sweep her off, down to the stables, take her up in front of him and ride off to the old castle, propose there. Tess would like that, enjoy the romance of it.

  He diverted to his room, shrugged into his greatcoat and took his hat and a heavy cloak for Tess.

  ‘My lord?’ Byfleet hurried out of the dressing room. ‘I’m sorry, I did not hear you ring.’ He stopped at Alex’s gesture of dismissal. ‘Are you quite well, my lord? Only you seem a trifle pale.’

  ‘Need some fresh air.’ Was he coming down with something? Alex caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, dark under the eyes, white around the mouth. He hadn’t looked as bad as this, or felt as bad, before his one and only duel, an affair involving an Italian contessa, a dubious Old Master drawing and a jealous husband.

  Then his life had been at stake, reason enough to feel a cold lump in the pit of his stomach and an encroaching sensation of dread. Now there was no excuse. All he had to do was make his peace with an intelligent, sweet and forgiving young lady who would be swept off her feet with joy at the thought of finding herself a future countess.

  *

  Tess was in the dining room, filling vases with holly and trails of ivy. No servants, he was pleased to see and, thankfully, no sign of Matthew, either.

  She dropped the ball of twine from which she was cutting lengths when he marched up to her and stopped in a swirl of coat-skirts and cloak. ‘My lord.’

  No one who did not know her as well as he did now could have told that she was unhappy. Her self-control was as impeccable as ever, and it gave him no pleasure to see the tension in the way she held herself, the slight droop of her mouth. ‘Tess, come riding with me.’

  ‘I cannot ride.’

  ‘I’ll take you up in front of me. Tess, I am sorry, I should not have offered you what I did. I should have offered you marriage.’ So much for a romantic interlude on horseback, a gallant knight making a powerful declaration to his lady in the castle ruins.

  Her eyes were huge and dark and deep. A man could drown in those eyes. She was amazed that he had offered marriage; she was in shock. At any moment a smile would dawn and she would be in his arms.

  ‘No,’ Tess said. ‘No.’ She backed away from him, her hands clenched tight by her sides. ‘You must not. No.’

  Alex made no move to stop her when she ran from the room. From him. So that was that. He had disgusted her with his violent rutting and insulted her with his crass offer and she had punished him in a far more effective way than she could ever have dreamed, leaving him unable to do the honourable thing.

  *

  I can’t. I mustn’t. Tess ran blindly away from temptation, ran as though all the devils in hell followed after her whispering inducements and false promises. She pushed open panelled double doors and found herself in a long gallery. It was mercifully empty, so she sat in one of the window seats and uncurled her cramped fingers. There was blood in her right palm where the nails had bitten in. She had wanted to say yes so much. Had wanted to reach for him, be held close, kiss that tight unhappiness from his face. She wanted to have her Alex back, her knight in slightly tarnished armour, her cynic with a soft heart, her lover with magic at his fingertips.

  ‘No,’ she told herself again. ‘You will not take advantage of his honour.’ She was being watched. The uneasy feeling stole over her as she sat there and she sat upright, got her face under control. How shameful to be found huddled miserably in a corner by the servants, or worse, her hosts.

  When she looked around her the long chamber seemed empty, peopled only by the ranks of portraits with their guarded, careful expressions. It was foolish to imagine they were all staring with disapproval at her.

  Chin up, back straight, Tess walked over to confront one particularly haughty dame. ‘Wilhelmina, Countess Moreland’, the gilded label on the frame read. ‘Daughter of Hugo de Vane, Third Marquess Peterborough’. Wilhelmina stared down at Tess as though she was a junior housemaid who had upended a chamber pot on the best Wilton carpet.

  Her bloodlines would be traceable back to some uncouth and sweaty Norman baron who had come over at the Conqueror’s heels, Tess had no doubt. The countess would have been the culmination of centuries of dynastic breeding, careful alliances, political manoeuvring. There could have been no blots on her escutcheon or the earl would not have wed her. She was not illegitimate, let alone the product of a scandalous union.

  Tess wondered rather drearily if she was ever going to find a place where she actually fitted, belonged. Everyone else knew their place, it seemed. She only wished Alex would let her find hers and stop filling her full of hopeless dreams.

  She pulled a face at Wilhelmina. It was juvenile, but it relieved her even more childish desire to fling herself down and have a tantrum about the sheer unfairness of life. She had experienced what she had wished for—to lie in the arms of the man she loved and to share physical passion with him. Now she had to live with the consequences.

  ‘What I need,’ she informed Wilhelmina, ‘is a baby to cuddle and a kitten to play with. I will wager you never said that in your life. And I know where I can find both of those things.’

  *

  Baby Daisy was in the nursery with Dorcas and Annie. She had just been fed and changed and was at her adorable best, all gummy s
miles and tiny waving fists. Ten minutes of cuddles and cooing restored Tess’s spirits enough to pay some attention to her companions. Dorcas looked plumper, healthier, happier than Tess had ever seen her and little Annie was acquiring quite alarming confidence with her new role of nursery maid.

  Tess cradled Daisy and watched the other two women together. Annie had the rudiments of reading and writing, but Dorcas was encouraging her to read the newspaper and to keep basic nursery accounts. What was going to happen to them when the new year came? It would be a criminal waste for Annie to go back to her role as Alex’s scullery maid and Dorcas, with no references and the baby depending on her, could never hope for respectable employment.

  ‘Dorcas, may I tell Lady Moreland about your circumstances? I hope she may give you both a reference, and I will ask Lord Weybourn if you may both stay at the Half Moon Street house until you find employment.’

  They both shot her startled glances. ‘But, Miss Ellery, won’t you be staying here? So can’t we stay, too?’ Annie said and was promptly nudged in the ribs by Dorcas. ‘What?’ she demanded inelegantly. ‘Miss Ellery and his lordship are all April and May, anyone can see there’s a wedding coming.’

  ‘I cannot marry Lord Weybourn.’ Annie opened her mouth so Tess snapped, ‘Because I am not eligible. I am illegitimate.’

  ‘But you love him,’ Annie protested. Little Daisy began to grizzle and she scooped her out of Tess’s arms. ‘And he loves you.’

  ‘He doesn’t and my feelings have got nothing to do with it,’ Tess stood up, the good effects of cuddling Daisy vanishing. All she could think of now was the children she could never have with Alex. ‘Lord Weybourn has his duty and he is perfectly well aware of it.’ He would be, and be relieved, once he had got over his momentary fit of gallantry. And as for the suggestion that he loved her, why, that was simply Annie’s romantic nonsense.

  ‘I am going down to the kitchens and then to find Noel. I will see you at dinner, Dorcas.’ She was running away, she knew that.