Читать книгу His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish - Louise Allen - Страница 11

Chapter Four

‘How did I deduce that you were not married?’ Tess swallowed. She had strayed into dangerous personal territory and she could only hope he did not think she had been fishing...that she had any ulterior motive. She fought the blush and managed a bright smile. ‘It was easy from what you said about Christmas. If you were married, your wife would not allow you to spend it cosily beside the fire with your brandy and books. You would be out visiting your in-laws.’

‘So you imagine that if I were to be married I would live under the cat’s foot, do you?’ The relaxed, rather quizzical smile was back again.

‘Not at all. But visits to relatives are what happens in families.’

‘I wouldn’t know. I am out of practice with them.’

‘That is a shame.’ She dreamed about being part of a family, a real family, even if there would be bickering about whose turn it was to entertain the awkward relatives for the holiday season. It was a long time since she had experienced a Christmas like the ones she had enthused about in the carriage. A long time since she had known a family, and this man had that gift and was apparently happy to throw it away.

‘A shame? Not at all.’ Alex moved away as the landlord, followed by a maid, started to bring in their dinner. ‘It is freedom.’

They said no more until they were alone again. Tess ladled soup into bowls while Alex shredded roast chicken into a saucer and put it down for the kitten. ‘There you are. Now leave my boots alone. What are you going to call him?’

So I’m going to have to keep him, am I? Trust Alex to give me a kitten, not a bonnet. ‘Noel,’ she decided, adding a saucer of milk beside the chicken. ‘Because he is a Christmas present.’

‘You really are an exceedingly sentimental young woman.’ Alex passed her the bread rolls. ‘Butter?’

‘Thank you. And I am not sentimental, it is you who are cynical.’

‘Why, yes, I cry guilty to that. But what is wrong with a little healthy cynicism?’

‘Isn’t it lonely?’ Tess ventured. It was ridiculous, this instinct to hug a large, confident male. Perhaps that was how lust seized you, creeping up, pretending to be some sort of misguided, and unwanted, compassion.

‘What, forgoing gloomy evergreen swags, tuneless carol singers, bickering relatives and enforced jollity? I will enjoy a period of quiet tranquillity and then my friends return to town eager for company.’

Tess set her empty soup bowl to one side and waited in silence while Alex carved the capon. There was something very wrong within his family, obviously, if he did not give his mother and sisters presents and he preferred solitude in London to a festive reunion. She bit her lip and told herself not to probe. The atmosphere of plain speaking between the nuns that prevailed in the convent was not, she suspected, good training for polite conversation in society.

Alex passed her a plate of meat and she reciprocated with the vegetables, racking her brains for what might be suitable small talk. ‘I do not remember London at all well.’ Or at all. ‘Is your house in Mayfair?’ That was the most fashionable area, she knew.

‘Yes, in Half Moon Street, off Piccadilly. Just a small place because I travel so much.’

That appeared to have exhausted that topic. ‘Your valet does not travel with you?’

‘I sent him on ahead, along with my secretary and several carriages full of artworks. It was a most successful trip this time.’

Tess thought she detected a modest air of self-congratulation. Was that simply the pleasure at a successful chase or was Alex reliant on the income from his dealing? It seemed a precarious existence for a viscount. Maybe he could not afford lavish celebrations and entertainment at Christmas, she pondered, in which case she had been unforgivably tactless to have pressed him about it. Although he certainly seemed to spend money on his comforts without sign of stinting. Perhaps that was an essential facade, or he ran up large debts.

‘Have I dropped gravy on my neckcloth?’ he enquired, making her jump. ‘Only you have been staring at it for quite a while.’

‘I was thinking that your linen is immaculately kept,’ Tess admitted. ‘Your neckcloths and your shirts.’

Alex choked on a mouthful of wine. ‘Do you always say what you think?’

‘Certainly not. Should I not have mentioned it?’ But it had been a compliment...

‘Perhaps not comments about gentleman’s clothing?’ Alex suggested.

‘Goodness, yes, of course. The outside world is such a maze, full of pitfalls.’

‘Are you nervous of what you will find in London?’ He put the question in such a straightforward way, without any show of sympathy, yet she sensed he understood just how frightening this was. Mother Superior had certainly shown no such insight, only the expectation that Tess would obediently accept her lot in life despite the blow she had delivered.

‘Terrified,’ she admitted baldly. ‘But there is no point in giving way to it—that will only make it worse. I will soon find my way around my new world. I did with convent life after all.’

Alex watched her over the rim of his goblet, his hazel eyes intelligent, and not, for a change, mocking. ‘It must have been a shock to find yourself there. Wine? This is very good.’ He refilled his own glass from the decanter.

‘Thank you, but, no. I’ve hardly ever had it before and I do not think I should start now.’ Tess scrutinised her conscience and admitted, ‘You are offering me too much temptation as it is.’

The air went still, as though someone had taken a deep breath and not let it out. ‘Temptation?’ Alex said with care, as he set down his knife and fork.

‘Food, servants, luxury,’ she explained.

‘Ah. The temptations of comfort, you mean.’ He picked up his glass again and turned it slowly between long fingers. The heavy signet ring on his left hand caught red highlights from the claret. ‘This is not luxury, although it is very civilised. You are tempted by luxury?’

‘I do not know. I obviously have no concept of it if this is merely comfort.’

‘What are your expectations of your new employment then?’

‘Simplicity, I have no doubt. After all, I will be somewhere between a poor relation and an upper servant in the scheme of things. Mother Superior explained that very clearly.’ Along with everything else. ‘But I will be in a home and that is the important thing.’

‘It is? I would have thought that salary and security would be the highest priority for someone in, forgive me, your position.’

‘No, not for me. Being able to earn my own living and to have some security is essential, obviously. But being within a family is what is most important. If I am caring for children that is assured, but an elderly lady or an invalid will have family, too, people who care for them.’

There was movement around her skirts and Noel climbed up, claws pricking her thigh, before he settled down into a small, warm ball on her lap. Tess cupped one hand over him, felt his little belly tight as a drum with chicken and milk. The vibration of his purrs was soothing. ‘Warmth. I want warmth.’

The maid came in with an apple tart and cleared the used dishes. Alex watched in silence while Tess served them both, then took the cream with a murmur of thanks. ‘You will miss that from the convent, I suppose. The close community.’

She stared at him, almost confused that he could understand so little. How to explain? Impossible. ‘No. I will not miss it.’ Ever. That cool, detached, ruthless honesty that seems not to care how it hurt. ‘You are a bastard, Teresa. That is the fact of the matter and you must adjust your expectations accordingly.’ Horrid old woman...

Tess felt stupid with weariness and carefully suppressed worry. The tart was delicious, but it was an effort to eat now. She pushed back her chair and stood, the kitten nestled in one hand. ‘I must take Noel out into the yard or we will be dealing with an accident.’

‘Give him to me.’ Alex stood as she did. ‘You can hardly hop out there with your bad ankle and your hands full of kitten.’

‘What are you going to do with him?’ Tess asked, suspicious. Perhaps he was regretting his impulse to saddle them with a demanding baby animal. She steadied herself with her free hand on the table.

‘I will take him out to investigate a nice patch of earth, then I will put down yesterday’s news-sheets near the hearth, add a saucer of milk and upend the basket over the top. Will that do?’

‘Very well. I hope he will not miss his mother.’ She worried as she tipped the kitten into Alex’s waiting palm where it snuggled down, obviously feeling safe in the cage of his fingers. Who could blame it?

‘If he cries I will take him into my bed, give him one of my best silk stockings to play with and ring down to the kitchen for some lightly poached salmon,’ Alex assured her, his expression serious.

‘I wouldn’t want to put you to so much trouble. Perhaps I should have him in my room—’ Then she saw the crease at the corner of his mouth and the wicked look in his eyes. Tess drew herself up to her full five feet five inches. ‘You, my lord, are unkind to make a jest of me. Thank you for a delightful supper.’

She took a step to sweep past him in a dignified manner, forgot her sore ankle and twisted sideways with a yelp of pain.

‘Definitely best not to drink the wine. You are quite unsteady enough as it is.’ Alex caught her one-handed.

Her hip was against the table, her nose was buried in the V of his waistcoat and her hands, she discovered, were clenched around his upper arms. All she had to do was let go and straighten up, use the table as a support to make her way to the door. Let go. He felt so good, so warm and solid and...expensive. Fine broadcloth coat against her cheek, silk waistcoat against her chin, fine linen under her nose. Tess wanted to burrow into the luxurious softness with all that masculine hardness beneath it. His chest, those biceps, that big hand pressed against her back, the tantalisingly faint edge of musk.

‘Tess?’ His mouth was close to her ear—he must have bent down. His breath tickled, his lips were so near.

‘Yes.’ Whatever the question is—yes.

From the region of her diaphragm there was an outraged yowl, a wriggle and a small paw reached up and fastened onto the front of Alex’s waistcoat.

‘You little devil, that’s Jermyn Street’s best.’ He stepped back, the kitten hooked to the fabric.

‘I will leave you to deal with your kind present, my lord.’ It was not easy to exit with dignity, not hobbling, pink in the face and with ginger hairs clinging to her drab grey skirts, but at least Alex had the more difficult task of extricating tiny claws from intricate, hideously expensive embroidery. ‘Goodnight.’

Tess closed the door behind her, then cracked it open again at the sound of muttered curses. She’d wished she knew some swear words: now she did.

* * *

‘Did you sleep well?’ Alex enquired. His little nun was decidedly wan as they stood at the foot of the gangplank of the Ramsgate Rose. Come to think of it, he was feeling a trifle wan himself, what with kitten herding and a night spent fighting inappropriate arousal and an unfamiliar guilty conscience. Although quite what he was feeling guilty about he was not certain. He might be feeling an unexpected physical attraction to an innocent young lady, but he was perfectly well able to resist it. He’d come across enough of them in the past and simply diverted any physical needs to the mistress of the moment. It was just that he had never spent so much time with one of the innocents before.

‘Thank you, yes.’ Tess was tight-lipped, her knuckles showing white on the handle of the wicker basket. They had eaten in their own rooms that morning and this was the first good look that he’d had of her in broad daylight.

‘Nervous?’ Alex ventured. A sharp shake of the head. ‘Do you get seasick?’ Oh, well done, Tempest, now she’s gone green. If not green, then certainly an unhealthy shade of mushroom.

‘I was when we came over to the Continent, but that was years ago. I am sure I will be fine. It is simply a matter of willpower, is it not?’

Not in Alex’s experience, not after seeing any number of strong-willed friends casting up their accounts over a ship’s rail. ‘Not so much strength of will, more a question of tactics,’ he offered, taking her elbow to guide her up the steep planks. ‘We stay on deck as much as possible, eat dry bread, drink plenty of mild ale.

‘And don’t try to read,’ he added. Even with his own cast-iron stomach the recollection of trying to study the Racing Chronicle in a crowded, overheated cabin brought back unpleasant memories. Grant’s appropriately named filly Stormy Waters—by Millpond out of Gale Force—had romped home by a head without any of Alex’s guineas on it that week at Newmarket.

Most of the passengers were making for the companionway down to the first-and second-class saloons. Alex steered Tess to a slatted bench under the mainmast and settled her on it with the cat basket, her portmanteau and his boat cloak. ‘I’ll go and see to my luggage, you set the kitten on anyone who tries to take my seat.’

At least that produced a smile, he thought, intercepting an icy glare from a beak-nosed matron as he made his way to the rail to watch his luggage being swung on board. Obviously she didn’t like the look of his face. He shrugged mentally. He hadn’t liked hers much, either.

At first it was easy to keep Tess’s mind off her stomach. The harbour was full of things to look at, the kitten needed tending to and, even when they cast off, the view was entertaining enough, the water sufficiently sheltered. Alex was rewarded with smiles and the colour in her cheeks and found himself experiencing a warm glow of satisfaction.

The chit would have him as sentimental as she was, he thought with an inward grimace, but if thinking avuncular thoughts was sufficient to stop him recalling that she was a grown woman only a few years younger than he was, then so be it. Tess Ellery was an innocent and he was not, which left him back exactly where he started—as an escort to a respectable lady.

She had fallen silent while he brooded. Alex glanced sideways and saw that the greenish tinge was back, the roses had gone and, from the set of her mouth, the smiles with them. ‘It is quite rough, isn’t it?’ Tess ventured.

Not as rough as it is going to get was the honest answer. ‘A little lively, yes,’ Alex agreed. ‘Tell me about your ideal employment. A cosy old lady or a pair of charming children?’ Some must be charming, not that he had ever encountered any for any length of time, other than his own younger siblings. He and Matthew had scrapped and bickered, and his sisters had been, by definition, girls, which meant they were as irritating and mystifying to a youth as females could be. He supposed he’d felt affection for them, he just didn’t feel he knew them.

‘I do not mind.’ Tess showed some signs of animation. ‘Just so long as it is a family.’

‘Otherwise you will miss the convent life too much?’ he suggested as he shook out his boat cloak and put it around her shoulders. Spray was beginning to blow back from the prow. It might be unusual to find himself acting responsibly, but at least he wasn’t being treated to the kind of spoiled tantrums his most recent mistress would have thrown under these circumstances. Which, come to think of it, was why she was no longer in his keeping.

‘Thank you.’ Tess snuggled into the heavy wool with a wriggle that reminded him of that dratted kitten making itself comfortable. ‘Miss the convent? Oh, no. It is worse being lonely in a crowd than by yourself, don’t you think?’

Alex tried to remember when, if, he had ever felt lonely. Alone, yes, but he was comfortable in his own company and always had been. When he wanted human contact he had a wide social circle; when he needed close friends he had them, the other three members of what the dean of his Oxford college had referred to bitterly as the Four Disgraces.

‘I suppose so,’ he agreed. ‘But in the convent, all those Sisters must have been like sisters, as it were.’

Tess gave a little shrug as though the cloak had developed uncomfortable creases. ‘Friendships are not encouraged. The sisters treat everyone the same and the boarders go home for holidays and they make friends within their own group. They all come from very good families.’

‘And you do not?’

‘I am an...orphan with no connections. But everyone was very kind,’ she added brightly.

Alex was conscious of a sudden and startling urge to box the ears of the unknown Mother Superior. He had no trouble translating very kind into impersonal, remote, efficient, cool. Tess had been fed, clothed, educated, kept healthy and respectable. Her body and her morals had been cared for; her heart and her happiness, it seemed, could look after themselves if she did not choose to become a nun. Although that was not so very different from a child’s upbringing in any aristocratic family. He was sure his mother had loved him, but it had never occurred to her to play with him, let alone talk to him outside the hour before she changed for dinner.

‘I’m sure they were kind.’ And now she was heading for a life of respectable drudgery, neither a member of a family nor an upper servant. But she seemed to realise already what her position was, even if she had rose-coloured ideas about the joys of family life. It would be no kindness to tell her that and, he supposed, a miracle might happen and she would find herself in the household of her dreams. He looked at the cloudy sky, then fished out his watch. ‘Have some bread and ale, best to eat a little, often.’

‘Thank you. In a minute.’ Tess got up and folded his cloak one-handed, clutching at the mast with the other. ‘I need...I mean, I assume that the...’

‘Ladies’ retiring room?’ Alex suggested. ‘Yes, that will be down below.’ He stood and gave her his arm as far as the entrance to the companionway. ‘Can you manage the stairs with your ankle? Sure? Hold on tight as you go.’

* * *

The smell hit Tess halfway down the steps. Hot, crowded humanity, food, alcohol, an unpleasantness that she guessed was the ship’s bilges and a clear intimation that several people had already been unwell.

Only urgent personal need made her fight her way through the crowded first-class cabin and whisper in the ear of an amiable-looking lady.

‘Over there, my dear. Wait a moment.’ She dug in her reticule and handed a small object to Tess. ‘Take my smelling salts.’

Five minutes later Tess hobbled back, returning the bottle with sincere thanks and a mental resolution to hang on, however long the rest of the voyage proved to be.

She picked her way back to the stairs and encountered a frigid stare from a middle-aged matron in a large bonnet. She looked vaguely familiar. She probably thinks I am an intruder from second class, Tess thought, avoiding her eyes. She certainly would have been if it were not for Alex’s insistence.

How easily things can change, she thought as she stumbled with the motion and caught hold of a handrail. If Alex hadn’t been in a hurry on icy cobbles I would have caught a boat yesterday, I wouldn’t have a sore ankle, I’d have been packed into the second-class cabin feeling ill, I wouldn’t own a ginger kitten and my life wouldn’t be complicated by proximity to a large, infuriating—and devastatingly attractive—male.

On the whole, even with the ankle, she rather thought she preferred things this way, an adventure before life became worthy and serious again.