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TESSA HAD WORKED TILL the wee hours of the morning on her essay, documenting a true story tearfully told to her by a distraught young woman aboard ship. Because the tale had touched Tessa so very deeply, she had decided last evening that if this poor woman's tale had moved her to tears, it would surely have the same effect on Lady Penwyck, and she, in turn, would tell her friends about it.
"Penny darling," Lady Penwyck exclaimed again, "our Miss Darby is quite imaginative! She has written a lovely story!"
Tessa winced as Lady Penwyck directed a bright smile at her. "Why, this is every bit as dramatical and entertaining as anything fabricated by Mrs. Radcliffe!"
Fabricated! Tessa cried to herself. She thought she'd made it perfectly clear that the story was true! That it was told to her by a young lady she and Mrs. Benton-Caldwell had met on the crossing from America.
The poor woman was returning to England because she'd received word that two of her three children, whom she'd been forced to give over to the parish authorities in England because she could not provide for them, had consequently been put to work in a local cotton mill and had died there.
The overset woman had told Tessa her small children, two boys and a girl, were required to be at their posts at five of the clock every morning and to work all day long, sometimes all night long, with only half an hour off twice a day to take their meals. Tessa thought it an abominable practice, and hoped by exposing the awful truth something could be done to stop it.
True, she'd begun her paper last evening in anger, a vengeful reaction against the unfair accusations Lord Penwyck had leveled at her. But as she wrote, her outrage quickly became aligned once again with those helpless victims of neglect and abuse whose own voices could not be heard, whose plaintive cries went unheeded.
Unless someone told their stories, unless someone stood up for them, nothing would be done to alleviate their misery and suffering. Tessa could not abide that. The truth had to come out, and despite the fact that Lord Penwyck thought her wrong to want to help these defenseless women and children, she still had to. She had to!
Until a scant second ago, she thought she'd made her first inroad with Lady Penwyck, but apparently not. Her spirits dipped lower when the countess assured her, "I have read every last one of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels."
Tessa's eyes darted to Lord Penwyck, who was standing before the sideboard helping himself to generous servings of kippers, creamed eggs, and hot buttered scones. When he took his place at the head of the table, a servant stepped forward, silver pot in hand, to fill his lordship's coffee cup.
"Of course," Lady Penwyck went on, carelessly pushing the sheaf of papers aside, "if you have any hope of getting your stories published, Tessa dear, you will have to do so anonymously. I do not believe young ladies can be authoresses. Is that not true, Penny dear?" She looked a question at her son who Tessa noted now wore a bemused expression upon his face.
With a flourish, he draped a fine linen napkin across his lap. "You are quite right, mother." He directed an innocent look at Tessa. "So you have literary aspirations, do you, Miss Darby?"
Tessa's lips tightened. She would not answer the odious man's question. Even if his mother did not know the story she'd penned was true, surely he did. He was simply goading her. He was contemptible, more contemptible than her stepfather.
She could not halt the pained look that settled on her face as she gazed imploringly at Lady Penwyck, only to cringe inwardly when she noted the countess had actually set her teacup down on the top page of her carefully penned essay. Already the damp cup had blurred the words beneath it beyond recognition.
" . . . mean to take Tessa shopping with me this morning," Lady Penwyck was saying, having already skittered off to another topic of conversation, "and then to accompany me on my round of calls this afternoon. I am so looking forward to our adventure!" she enthused. With a gay laugh, she reached blindly for her teacup, but instead of grasping it, she knocked it over entirely. "Oh, dear me!"
Tessa lunged for her essay, but it was too late. The pages were soaked clean through, every last one completely unreadable now.
"Oh, dear me!" Lady Penwyck laughed again. Tessa watched as a stone-faced servant scooped up the dripping pages and wadded them, along with Lady Penwyck's soaked napkin, into a soggy ball. With a clean cloth, a second footman hastily sopped up the ever-widening puddle of tea. Lady Penwyck, talking all the while, reseated herself across the table. "You must write another story, Tessa dear." She laughed. "I will make certain Penny reads it before I ruin it the next time!"
Her heart pounding in desperation, Tessa worked to keep her hurt feelings in check. It was beginning to appear that despite her best efforts to forward her Cause, she had a very long way to go.
She hadn't the heart now to listen to a single word Lady Penwyck was saying. Tessa had already surmised that the bulk of her conversation centered around ton doings . . . parties, routs, breakfasts, and the like . . . none of which interested her.
At length, Lord Penwyck laid his napkin aside and rose from the table. His dark eyes pinned Tessa. "I should like to see you in my study this morning, Miss Darby." He directed a fairly pleasant look at his mother. "There is a matter of some urgency I must take up with the young lady before the two of you take the ton by storm." His aristocratic features relaxed into a half smile.
"Oh, dear me." His mother laughed again. "I daresay I have been nattering on a bit, haven't I?" She turned to address Tessa. "Do you go along with Penny now, dear; I must speak with the housekeeper, Mrs. Hipley, before we set out and I must also speak with . . . " she gazed about, "now where has Jenkins got to?" She, too, pushed up from the table. "I declare, I cannot stay abreast of those two." She scampered off, chattering distractedly to herself as she did so.
"Miss Darby." Lord Penwyck stood at the top of the table, an expectant look on his face.
Her lips tight, Tessa rose and again followed the earl down the corridor and into his private study. Apparently she was in for another royal setdown this morning.
With a self-righteous sniff, Tessa lifted her chin and leveled a contemptuous gaze at his lordship. But there was something about his demeanor today that disarmed her. He looked . . . well, almost handsome in a forest-green coat with brass buttons, a biscuit-coloured waistcoat, and buckskin trousers. Walking beside him in the corridor, Tessa was again assailed by distracting whiffs of the pleasant woodsy aroma he wore, but she thrust aside the arresting memory of that and fixed her attention on the present moment.
Now, the same as last evening, the aristocratic gentleman was standing with his back to the large kneehole desk in the center of the room, his arms folded across his massive chest. Tessa noted a somewhat odd look on his face as he gazed at her and could not help wondering what the look meant.
Finally, he said, "It has suddenly occurred to me, Miss Darby, that I have yet to see a genuine smile upon those pretty pink lips of yours."
Tessa started.
"Well?"
She sniffed again. "Perhaps I have not yet found anything to smile about, sir."
A brow quirked. "This is your first trip to England, is it not? One would think that would be reason enough to cause a young lady to smile." A glint of humor shone from his dark eyes.
Growing uncomfortable beneath what she perceived to be the gentleman's mocking gaze, Tessa lowered her lashes. "I am . . . quite pleased to be in London, sir."
"Ah." He nodded, then, with a dismissive shrug, said, "Well, perhaps browsing in the shops this morning will serve to lift your spirits, which is the reason I wished to speak with you just now."
Tessa glanced back up.
Lord Penwyck walked around the desk and pulled open a drawer. "I received this missive from your father a few days back, and . . . "
"My stepfather," Tessa corrected him.
"Yes, well, your stepfather. At any rate, Senator Darby has authorized me to deposit quite a generous sum of money in a London bank expressly for your use whilst here." Penwyck unfolded the letter. "Per your stepfather's instructions, I am also to set aside an amount sufficient for your return passage to America."
Tessa's blue gaze became defiant. "I will not be returning to America, sir."
"Well, in the event that you change your mind, Miss Darby, I will be most happy to handle the arrangements for you." The earl dropped the packet onto the desk. "In the interim, you have leave to purchase whatever fripperies strike your fancy . . . new bonnets, gowns, ribbands, gloves, whatever." He cast an appraising look at Tessa, his eyes roaming from the top of her auburn head (today her long hair was pulled into a tight knot and pinned at the nape of her neck) and on down the length of the rather plain blue merino frock she wore.
"It appears," he muttered with some distaste, "that young ladies in America get themselves up a bit differently than do young ladies in London."
Tessa's eyes widened. Was he now telling her that she looked unpresentable? On impulse, she decided to toy with him a bit. "I haven't the least notion what you mean, your lordship."
A sudden scowl of disapproval crossed his face. "It is entirely inappropriate for you to address me as 'your lordship,' Miss Darby," he stated firmly. "You are neither a servant nor a housemaid."
"And how would you have me address you, sir?"
The earl considered a moment, then said, "Since we share a common roof and are likely to bump into one another quite frequently in the weeks to come, you have my permission to use my given name, which is . . . "
"Penny, darling?" Tessa parried innocently.
Penwyck's eyes narrowed. Then, upon noting the veriest hint of amusement playing about the young lady's lips, he smiled.
It was the first outright smile Tessa had beheld on the uppity man's face, and it completely transformed his features. He was, indeed, a handsome man.
"I daresay you are larking with me, Miss Darby," the earl exclaimed with high satisfaction. "That is quite a good sign."
Tessa stared at him as if dumbstruck. A good sign of what, she wondered, but chose not to question his oblique remark. To say truth, she didn't care a fig what he thought of her. She continued to gaze steadily at the irritating earl, who had turned his attention to straightening the few items on his desk . . . an inkstand, a crow-quill pen, three or four fresh sheets of cream-coloured paper, a ledger, and a lead pencil.
Presently, he glanced back up. "I have nothing further to take up with you this morning, Miss Darby. I merely wished you to know I had received your fath . . . your stepfather's missive and that your financial needs have been provided for. You may purchase whatever you like. Mother will help you select the appropriate items." He paused, but continued to gaze at her. Presently, his brow furrowed. "If you will forgive my boldness, Miss Darby, I was wondering, what is your age?"
"I am nineteen," Tessa replied warily.
"Ah, I had thought you were a good bit older."
Tessa's outrage came again to the fore. "Are you now saying I look old?" she cried.
A small smile played at his lips. "That was not my meaning at all, Miss Darby. Due to your . . . ah, serious nature, you simply seemed more mature than your years, that is all. The trace of humor I detected in you a bit ago was quite refreshing. If I may give you a bit of advice, Miss Darby . . .” he paused before continuing on, "what I mean to say is, if it is your desire to attract the notice of a gentleman whilst you are in London, with an eye to matrimony, you would do well to cultivate that lighter attitude. Honey will draw a good many more flies than vinegar."
Tessa's stomach churned. She fought the impulse to make another angry retort, and in the end was unable to entirely quell her tongue. "You presume a great deal, sir," she finally said.
He glanced up again, a fresh glint of interest shining from his dark eyes. "I presume since you have no intention of returning home to America to be married, you mean to find a husband here and live in England. Are you saying that is untrue?"
"Indeed, I am," Tessa replied smartly. "I have no intention of marrying, at least, I am in no hurry to do so."
Lord Penwyck's lips pursed as he reached absently to pick up the ledger from atop his desk. "Of course you will marry, Miss Darby. All young ladies marry. What would you do with your time otherwise?"
Tessa inhaled sharply. It was on the tip of her tongue to enlighten this thick-skulled man as to precisely what her true purpose was in coming to England, but another part of her mind told her there wasn't a shred of merit to the idea. The toplofty earl disliked her as much as she disliked him. He would simply poke fun at her ideals and limit her freedom to the point where she'd be unable to accomplish a thing.
In an effort to forestall further censure from him, she tried to soften her tone when she said, "I simply do not feel I am ready yet to become a wife or a mother," she replied, a good deal more contritely than she'd intended.
Fresh interest shone from Lord Penwyck's dark eyes. After a pause, he put down his ledger and, in a thoughtful tone, said, "I am beginning to understand what you are trying to tell me, Miss Darby." A considerably kinder look replaced the hardened gaze in his eyes. "If you will sit down, please." He gestured to a comfortable-looking leather chair opposite the desk.
Lord Penwyck watched with satisfaction as Miss Darby obediently perched on the edge of it. Perhaps he had been hasty in his judgment of the young lady. She was as English as he, but the truth was she had not been nearly so fortunate. Instead, she had had the distinct misfortune to be raised in a foreign country, a country populated with the dregs of every society in the world . . . criminals, half-wits, lowlifes, and naked savages wielding tomahawks and bows and arrows. The obvious trouble between Miss Darby and her stepfather explained why she was so vehemently opposed to returning to America.
He suddenly beheld the young lady in a new light. In truth, she was dashed courageous to come here alone. She did not need his censure, she needed his help.
"Miss Darby," he began magnanimously, "I see you are in a quandary. You have come to England with the idea of making a fresh start, and yet. . ." He stepped from behind the desk and casually seated himself on a corner of it, his expression now quite warm as he gazed down upon her. "It is perfectly clear to me you haven't the least notion what is expected of young ladies in England. Although I fear Mother may not be of the greatest help to you in that quarter . . . as she raised only sons . . . as it happens, I can be of service to you. I am well versed in the intricate rules and regulations that govern young ladies in London. I will be most happy to help you, Miss Darby, and to answer any questions you may have." He regarded her expectantly. "Have you any questions, Miss Darby?" he asked in a patient tone.
The blank look he beheld on Miss Darby's face puzzled him.
He waited, and still she said nothing.
"Well, there are times," he began, his tone kindlier still, "when one is so very unaware of what one does not know that to formulate a question seems a formidable task."
He returned to stand before his desk again and withdrew a crisp sheet of cream-coloured linen paper from a drawer. "As it happens, I recently compiled a list of traits and qualities that I believe will be of benefit to you. I call it 'Acceptable Behaviours for a Young Lady.' " He glanced over the top of the page at her. "I will be most happy to read it to you."
Deciding that the deepening blue of her eyes signaled her eagerness to learn what she could from him, the earl drew in a long breath and proceeded to read.
"A proper young lady always conducts herself in a quiet and ladylike fashion. She is not given to loud talking or laughter. She is virtuous in both public and private, is of a cheerful disposition, and displays a generous sensibility . . . meaning she places the welfare of others before herself," he explained.
"She passes her time well and does not exhibit herself unseemly, nor does she . . .” he could not refrain from glancing up and pinning Miss Darby's round blue eyes with quite a stern look this time, ". . . make a spectacle of herself." Although he did not wish to destroy the element of commonality that had sprung up between them by bringing up the unfortunate incident in the park yesterday, the infraction was still quite fresh in his mind.
His eyes scanned the balance of the list. "The remainder deals with items such as mastery of certain feminine skills . . . sewing, playing the pianoforte, dancing, the like . . . all of which I presume you to be adequately schooled in, Miss Darby. Some things are the same the world over, are they not?" He laid the page aside and fastened a look of genuine approval upon her. "I heartily commend you for your desire to improve yourself, Miss Darby. Have you any further questions?"
Tessa stared at him. At length, she murmured, "N-no, sir."
"Well, then." Penwyck drew in another breath. "I shall have my secretary make a copy of this list for you. I carry a copy with me at all times. Perhaps you might like to do the same." Again, he gazed at her with expectation.
"T-that will not be necessary, sir. I have quite a good memory."
"By jove!" There were times when the young lady's astuteness quite astonished him. "A good memory, eh?" He reached to dip the crow-quill pen into the inkwell and hurriedly scratched an item at the end of the list.
"I wonder I did not think of that myself, Miss Darby. A gentleman carries such a lot on his mind these days; it would be an invaluable help for a woman to assist him in such a fashion. Thank you, indeed." He blotted the notation, then dusted the page with powder.
Wearing a very pleased expression on his face, Lord Penwyck glanced up again. "I feel quite gratified after our talk, Miss Darby, but if you will excuse me now, I have an important business matter to attend to."
Tessa rose to her feet. "Thank you, sir."
"In future, you must not hesitate to come to me whenever you find yourself in a quandary." He watched as the young lady made her way across the room, shyly casting one or two backward glances at him before she disappeared into the corridor.
She was an odd one, he decided. A curious mixture of pride and stubbornness, and yet there was a vulnerability about her that was . . . well, quite appealing.
And she was really very pretty, he allowed. He had never seen such creamy, flawless skin and shiny auburn hair. He trusted his mother would take her to a reputable salon to have those overlong tresses cut into a more becoming style. He supposed it was fortunate she did not wear her long hair in a single braid down the middle of her back as did the squaws of American Indians.
As Mr. Ashburn had noted yesterday in the park, Miss Darby also had a handsome figure . . . a full bosom and shapely hips . . . although she was a bit tall for Penwyck's taste. Still, her features were quite attractive. She had a beautifully shaped mouth and a small nose. Her most striking feature, however, were those incredible cobalt blue eyes, prettily framed by thick dark lashes and delicately arched eyebrows. Penwyck nodded thoughtfully to himself. Properly rigged out, she would be a very appealing young lady.
She merely required direction; that was all.
It had been unfair of him to judge her in the same way he did those young ladies whose names appeared on his list of prospective marriage partners. They had had the benefit of the best tutors in the land, whereas the unfortunate Miss Darby had not . . . although her table manners last night at dinner had been astonishingly correct. Even in her present state, Penwyck concluded Miss Darby already knew enough to be able to conduct herself in a seemly fashion whilst taking tea with his mother's friends.
Still, Penwyck decided it best to keep a close watch on her, not with an eye to punishing or censuring her, but to guide and to help. After all, when all was said and done . . . meaning when Miss Darby had made a sensible match and was provided for . . . the effort would, indeed, be well worth it.