The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke (24 page)

Chapter
21

T
he hours
seemed to stretch to last an eternity once Charlie left. Tessa longed to know what
he was doing, and she worried about Lord Worley’s reaction. She wished she could
forget his intimations about his devotion to Lady Worley, even though it drove
her wild with curiosity and uncertainty. Did he still love the lady? Would Lord
Worley call him out? Would he call Worley out? Images of Charlie, shot for any
reason at all, tormented her at all hours. And the resulting heartache made her
castigate herself for not telling him how deeply she cared for him before he
left.

To occupy her time she walked. It didn’t matter
where she went, or with whom. Eugenie strolled about Frome with her the first
day, but then begged off. Tessa apologized—she knew she was tense and
restless—but Eugenie just smiled.

“I quite understand why, dear,
quite
understand,” she said with a sympathetic pat on the hand. “I
was once young and bedeviled by a young man.”

Tessa laughed uncomfortably at that. “Bedeviled!
I’m sure you had Mr. Bates sorted out in no time. You’re a sly one, Eugenie, for
all you protest it.”

“Sly!” Eugenie blushed and looked prim. “I’m sure I
don’t know what you mean.” But she gave herself away with an impish smile. “But
my Henry did require a
bit
of encouragement!”

It was on her walk two days later that she gave in
to temptation and let her steps stray past Mill Cottage. Just walking past would
calm her, and, why, if Barnes happened to be out, and happened to spy her, he
might mention any word he’d had from his master. It was unlikely Charlie would
write to his valet, especially when he planned to be gone only a few days, but
Tessa shoved aside those annoyingly rational points. She missed him, and only
that mattered to her.

She was quite shocked to see a large coach on the
gravel drive beside the cottage. Imposing, lacquered in black with bright
red-trimmed wheels, it was as out of place in Frome as the King and Queen would
have been. Tessa stopped in her tracks, open-mouthed, and then caught sight of
the crest on the door. It was the same crest she’d seen across the Duke of
Durham’s papers, which meant this was Charlie’s town coach. Of course—he must
have gone through Bath after all and decided to travel back in comfort. She
distinctly remembered his grand arrival at the York Hotel in just such a
coach.

As she stood on the road, daring to hope he might
have just returned, she saw him. He sat out in the sunshine as he’d done that
first day she ventured this way, his dark head bent over as he read. Tessa’s
heart skipped, jumped, and soared. Impulsively, she turned across the grass and
hurried his way. The sun was behind him, and she squinted as she got closer,
close enough to see the light glint off his signet ring and to see that he had
cut his hair. She liked it longer, she decided, although this made him look very
ducal.

She slipped her arms around his shoulders and
rested her cheek against his temple. “You’re back,” she whispered. “I missed
you.”

He went utterly still at her touch. “Have you?” he
said after a pause.

Tessa blinked, then leaped back in horror. It
wasn’t Charlie, but a different man, rising from his seat and turning to face
her. He looked like Charlie—the same fine, long nose, the same arched brows—but
his eyes were gray, and there was no mischief in his expression. He was also a
bit leaner, and his hands were definitely different. Her brain seemed to be
cataloging differences all on its own as she stood and gawked at him like a
lunatic.

“I thought you were Charlie,” she said inanely.
“I—I apologize most humbly, sir.”

He smiled. Now he looked even more like his
brother, because of course this had to be another de Lacey. “So I gathered. I am
Edward de Lacey, his brother.”

Flushing to the roots of her hair, Tessa dipped a
curtsy and mumbled something polite.

“He is not at home at present,” said Lord Edward,
watching her. “No one seems to know precisely when he will return.”

She had to wet her lips. “No. He did not say,
before he left.”

“Ah.” He tilted his head. Tessa had to clamp her
jaw tight to keep from scowling at him; she didn’t like being studied so
brazenly. “Do you know where he has gone?”

“No.” She kept her head up. Instinctively she
thought Charlie would want privacy, and she had no business telling anyone what
he had confided in her. “Don’t you?”

Lord Edward’s brow creased thoughtfully. “No.”

Tessa hesitated, but he seemed in no hurry to
speak. She deeply regretted coming over; even if it had been Charlie, back from
his private mission, she should have waited for him to seek her out. Had she
learned nothing from Louise? “I should be going,” she announced. “I am sure
he’ll return soon, and be delighted to see you.”

“Will he be?” Lord Edward had a way of looking at
people as if he knew what they meant to say, regardless of what they did say. “I
daresay he won’t be very glad. I have come to bring him back to London.”

Her heart seized up. “Have you?” she said, striving
for disinterest. “I believe he was about to return to town anyway.”

He nodded, growing grave. “That is fortunate, for
he must come now, whether he wills it or not.”

She shouldn’t say anything, but Tessa suddenly
remembered that he would have the same vital interest in Mr. Thomas’s letter
that Charlie himself had. “He found it,” she blurted out. “The proof he was
looking for, about Dorothy Cope.”

Lord Edward’s eyes blazed and he tensed. “Proof?”
he demanded. “Legal proof?”

She nodded. “A record of death from the church at
Nunney. We saw her gravestone.” She noticed then what he’d been reading: those
impenetrable marriage registers. “Look in the one with the stain shaped like a
pig,” she said with a nod toward the registers. “About one-third of the way
through. Her true name was Dorothy Swynne, and she was buried in the Nunney
churchyard in December of 1773.”

Lord Edward regarded her with narrowed eyes. “We,”
he repeated with emphasis.

Tessa nodded even though her face warmed again. “I
offered my assistance. It was a tedious job, but Ch—Lord Gresham would not be
deterred.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Thank you,” he
said finally. “I am deeply grateful for your assistance. That is excellent news
for my family.”

Tessa bowed her head in acknowledgment. She hadn’t
done anything for him or his family, excepting one member. “I really should be
going,” she said for the second time. “And I do apologize for my ill
manners.”

“On the contrary,” he replied with a ghost of a
smile. “It was a pleasure, Mrs. . . . ?”

“Neville,” she said. “Teresa Neville.” She bobbed a
quick curtsy. “Good day, my lord.”

“Good day, Mrs. Neville,” Edward de Lacey murmured,
watching her hurry away without looking back, her hands in fists at her sides.
What an intriguing visit that had been, he thought. “Who is that woman, Barnes?”
he asked the valet, who had come out with the paper, pen, and ink he’d
requested.

Barnes looked after the departing visitor. “Mrs.
Neville,” he said after a pause. “A widowed lady.”

“Indeed.” She’d called him Charlie. She’d thrown
her arms around him and all but kissed him when she thought he was Charlie. “Has
she visited often?” Edward asked.

“I couldn’t say, sir.” The valet’s face was
blank.

“I see. Did my brother by any chance meet her in
Bath, before he came to Frome?”

Barnes hesitated again. “I believe she and her
companion were staying in Bath at the same hotel as His Lordship, sir.”

“Ah.” Edward recalled the curious story his brother
Gerard had told him, about Charlie’s fascination with a woman who allegedly
despised him. “That will be all, Barnes.”

He settled himself at the table once more, picking
up the register Mrs. Neville had indicated, the one with a large watermark in
the shape of a pig. Edward regarded it for a moment with a small smile. “And
Charlie laughed at
me
for falling in love,” he
murmured. “Oh, how fate has repaid him!”

T
essa
had a stitch in her side by the time she reached The Golden Hind, walking as
fast as one could walk without breaking into a run. “Eugenie,” she called as she
hurried into their rooms. “Eugenie!”

“What is it, dear?” Eugenie came out of her room,
little bits of thread on her skirt from her embroidery. “Is something
wrong?”

“Why would you think that?” Tessa took off her
bonnet and inhaled a deep breath. “We leave for London tomorrow. Mary, finish
packing,” she said to the maid who popped out of the other room. Mary nodded and
disappeared again.

“Tomorrow!” Eugenie’s mouth dropped open.

Tessa nodded. “We’ve delayed too long as it is.
Louise is expecting us, and it’s wrong of me to dally. Your packing is almost
finished, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, nearly, but Tessa dear . . .”
Eugenie wrung her hands. “What about Lord Gresham?” To say Eugenie’s hopes
regarding Lord Gresham’s intentions had risen was an understatement. After Tessa
returned from her overnight escapade, swathed in blankets to bolster the lie
that she’d taken ill in the rain, Eugenie had fussed over her as much as if she
had been sick, but with such a bright, knowing smile that Tessa wondered if
she’d already sent a wedding notice to the newspapers.

“Well, it’s interesting you mention him.” Tessa
smiled brightly. “He’s also going to London soon. On my walk I happened to meet
his brother, who’s come to fetch him back to town.” That was literally true.

What Tessa didn’t say was what she had thought
about after leaving Mill Cottage. Lord Edward had asked if they’d found legal
proof; he had been in charge of the legal filings regarding Durham, and now said
Charlie must come back to London whether he wished to or not. Tessa thought that
probably meant the Committee for Privileges was about to consider the case,
including the contesting claim from Charlie’s cousin. In her mind, that led to
three inescapable conclusions.

First, that Charlie would be occupied for some time
in London with this hearing. He had the proof he needed, but there was no way to
know how easily or quickly the committee would accept it.

Second, that meant he would have little time for
her. How could he, when he must fight for his birthright and everything he’d
been raised to become? Tessa wouldn’t have wanted to distract him even though
her heart quailed from facing it. And then he would be a duke, blessed by God
and the King, and much too high above the likes of her.

So thirdly, she should go to London now. She was
only delaying the inevitable by lingering. As hard as it was to leave without a
farewell, she preferred it this way. If she left before he returned to Frome,
there would be no need for promises that might be regretted later. There would
also be no chance that he would return only to tell her he was still in love
with Lady Worley, or regretted taking up with her, or had just remembered that
he was a duke and would be expected to marry a proper duchess once he reached
London. There would be no unpleasant scene of any sort. And what had she
expected, anyway? That he would escort her and Eugenie to London? She remembered
the shiny black coach at Mill Cottage, and almost shook her head at her
foolishness.

She told herself this was the best way. If by some
chance he wished to see her again, she would be in London, too. If he didn’t
wish to see her again, well, London was a large place. They had parted on good
terms, with no trace of scandal or unseemly behavior, for which Tessa was deeply
grateful. This way, she couldn’t possibly make a fool of herself again.

But Eugenie was looking at her with stricken eyes,
and it took real effort to keep her smile fixed in place. “Come,” Tessa said to
encourage her companion, “we knew we would go to London. As you said, it is
likely we will meet him there, if we’re meant to meet again.”

“Are you running away from him, Tessa?” asked
Eugenie sadly. “Oh, my dear, it’s because of
that vile
man
, isn’t it?”

She took a deep breath. Richard had never once
crossed her mind. “It has nothing to do with Mr. Wilbur. I am not running away.
I am keeping to my plan, which I told you weeks ago in Wiltshire. The travel
chaise is engaged, and I hope to leave in the morning.”

And so they did. Eugenie went and supervised Mary’s
packing, but with a somber air that strained Tessa’s forced cheer. By the
morning both moods had all worn away, though. After a sleepless night, Tessa
admitted to herself that she was running away. She was glad she’d already
arranged for the chaise; if there had been any delay she might have lost her
head and run back to Mill Cottage, because . . . because she was in
love with him, and her heart was breaking because she didn’t know if she would
see him again.

Would Charlie come to her in London? She had
worried at that question for most of the night, staring up at the lines in the
plaster ceiling. There was a chance, she granted. But there was also a chance, a
very good one, that he would wonder what he’d ever seen in her, once he was back
among the glittering elegance of town. How could she compete with the woman he’d
been in love with for years? How would she look compared to the beautiful and
sophisticated ladies of London? Not well, Tessa thought—or rather, she would
look like what she was, a country woman of no great wealth or fashion, who was
nearing thirty years old.

She had weathered her first broken heart because
she’d been filled with rage. Richard had lied to her, taken advantage of her,
and seduced her, and she couldn’t think of any fate too cruel for him. She
couldn’t hate Charlie for anything, though. She didn’t know how she would ever
forget him, nor how she would ever think of him without wanting to weep.