Nine
It was two days since Tessie had returned to her room, recovered what was left of her possessions, and changed into a respectable gown. It was a pearly mauve, not fashionable, but presentable nonetheless.
The grimy pink she discarded, along with the ruins of her nightrail and several laboriously written notes to Lord Cathgar. None, it seemed, could express the half of what she wanted to say, so she satisfied herself by calling up a hansom cab and referring the tab to his person.
Not, she knew, either prudent or virtuous, but she had no choice, with not a feather to fly with until she drew her pin money off Markham’s, the family banker.
She was fortunate that the innkeeper, remembering his tactical error of the day before, maintained his bowing and scraping demeanor all the while through her morning chocolate and cinnamon buns. It was he who vouchsafed for her to the hansom cab driver, indicating slyly that she was “under my lord’s protection.” She valiantly refrained from arguing the point, considering that since her reputation was in shreds, there was little to be gained.
London was bustling with traffic, with hackneys, with great crested carriages and market carts loaded full with fruit and breads. Despite her situation, it was exciting, for she had missed her first Season and consequently not seen the great buildings, the museums, the tower, for oh, such a long time. The cobbles resounded with the sound of hooves as matched bays and regal chestnuts drew phaetons and more cumbersome barouches.
“Where to, missy?”
But Tessie had no idea, no respectable address, and no maidservant. She hesitated as a cart of oranges nearly collided into the hansom cab. It was too late for the lawyers, so she murmured the only respectable name she could think of: The Colonnade. Thus it was that on the morning after her great adventure, Miss Theresa Hampstead, unchaperoned, checked into a hotel. Prudently, she did not tell the porter that she was the granddaughter to a viscount. In her faded dimity, he probably would have laughed.
 
Mr. Devonshire, when she was finally ushered into his presence, appeared grave. Theresa could not help but feel shabby in her olive half mourning, sprigged, as it was, in Mantua silk with only a whisper of white rosettes at the hems and sleeves. She had procured it from Madame Fanchon’s, a half block from the Colonnade, after presenting herself at the banker’s.
The gown had been the only item, ready made, that had fitted her. Madame Fanchon usually only made to order, but in this instance she had been lucky. Lady Pendergast had canceled at the last moment. Grown, according to the loquacious seamstress, “too fat.”
Still, save for the prospect of wandering through the Pantheon Bazaar unescorted, Miss Hampstead had had no alternative. If only Mr. Dobbins had not made off with her valise!
But she could not lament what she could not change, so she held out her hand to Mr. Devonshire and afforded him one of her calm smiles.
“Please excuse my attire, sir, my journey was more arduous than I expected.”
The lawyer waved away her excuses. In truth, she looked perfectly presentable to him, but he knew nothing of stylish modes. He fixed, therefore, on the second half of her utterance.
“I am sorry the journey was arduous. It was not one you should have undertaken! I would have made the trip myself; you must know that.”
“But I don’t, Mr. Devonshire.” Tessie hesitated, then, annoyed by feeling at such a disadvantage, continued firmly.
“Despite repeated correspondence to your office, I have not had the courtesy of a return word. Believe me, had matters not been . . . desperate, I should not have undertaken this troublesome venture for all the world.”
There was a pause as Mr. Devonshire polished a lens.
“Or at least,” Tessie more truthfully amended, “I might not have done it in so shimble-shamble a way.”
Again, there was that grave nod of silvery-white hair. She wondered if she had seen a glimmer of disapproval in his eyes. But no, his voice was gentle.
“Do take a seat, my dear. I shall ring for a fortifying cup of tea.”
Miss Hampstead had little desire for tea, but her natural good manners caused her to thank him most politely as she drew off her gloves and reached into her reticule.
To her profound horror, she was feeling vaporish. This was a foible she positively despised in other females. How many times had she abhorred quite roundly the use of sal volatile and other loathsome restoratives! Now she rather wished her reticule held more than two handkerchiefs, her purse of replenished guineas, and her pistol. Since none of these items were of any use to her at that moment, she satisfied herself with tangling her ribbons into a knot.
Mr. Devonshire, watching her keenly through rather beetling white brows, was surprised. His dealings with the gentler sex—fortunately they had not been common—had always led, somehow, to several maudlin fits of the hysterics.
Miss Hampstead, though agitated, did not succumb to a fit of feminine whining—or worse yet, weeping. When she’d finished mangling the ribbons of her reticule, she seemed to regain a great deal of composure, for she sat becomingly upright upon her upholstered seat and contemplated fiercely the portrait of Sir Francis Drake upon the far wall.
Mr. Devonshire could not help experiencing a fleeting satisfaction. An excellent rendition it was, having been purchased from Lord Marlborough for the quite hideous sum of forty-five newly minted sovereigns. Drake was dressed all in black with a short white ruff and an elegant ruby gleaming upon his finger. Well executed, but the oils, though rich, were somber in tone. The lawyer found this tasteful, but Miss Hampstead, sad to say, found it only depressing.
There was something in Drake’s dark hair and heroic stance that reminded her . . . but her mind wondered wickedly. She swallowed the ridiculous lump in her throat.
“I have been remiss, it appears, in not replying sooner to your letters. Very remiss, if it means you have traveled by stage.”
Miss Hampstead said nothing, for it would be impolite to agree, though she had railed at him several times privately for this omission.
“You must know, my dear, that I have only late returned to London. I formed part of Lord Castlereigh’s contingent in Vienna, and it has taken me some small while to catch up with a good deal of my clients. My foolish clerks held back some of my correspondence, you see, pending my return. I was greatly saddened by the Viscount of Hampstead’s death. I must offer you my condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“Ah, the tea. Set it there, Mary.” He poured punctiliously and handed Tessie a steaming porcelain cup. Though the drink was far too sweet, it was strong and delightfully aromatic. Miss Hampstead drank deeply and found her hands were trembling less, a fact for which she could only be grateful.
“Mr. Devonshire, might we come straight to the point? I am loath to appear mercenary, but I find myself quite at a stand. There are rumors in the village that I have been left without a feather to fly with, and though I am convinced this is quite untrue and contrary to Grandfather’s intent, I must ask you to clarify this.”
“Yes, quite.” Mr. Devonshire returned his spectacles to his nose and shuffled through some papers.
“I understood that I was my grandfather’s heiress.”
“And so you were, Miss Hampstead. Notwithstanding, of course, the title and the entailed land.”
“Of course. That is to go to the fifth viscount, some distant cousin, I apprehend.”
“Yes. He is proving difficult to trace, but doubtless he shall be found in due course. His father died in the colonies, so it is likely that he still resides in the Americas.”
“But Hampstead Oaks?”
“That not being the principal seat of the viscount and thus not covered by the entail, it belongs to you.”
“Oh!”
“However, I should mention that at present it is more of a burden than a boon. The capital invested to maintain it is all but gone, and you shall be reliant on the rents to maintain yourself. Not satisfactory, given the costs of running the estate.”
“I don’t understand. Hampstead Oaks is a thriving concern. Grandfather’s irrigation schemes have proven most successful, the breeding programs and stables alone . . .”
Mr. Devonshire’s face revealed he did not approve of young ladies, however respectable, knowing anything about breeding programs.
“Yes, well. All that is naturally true, but the investment was lost the night before his lordship’s death.”
“How so?”
“On a bet relating, I believe, to . . . but no! The exact details are rather irrelevant, are they not?”
“Are you saying Grandfather staked Hampstead Oaks on a card game?”
“Not a card game precisely, but the principle applies. And strictly speaking, it was not Hampstead Oaks he staked, but the principal of his capital. He drew on his banker on the morning of the seventeenth. Precisely, I believe, twenty hours before he died.”
“He said nothing to me of it!”
“My dear girl, a gentleman, however well heeled, never speaks to his relatives of such things.”
“Oh, but he did to me! I swear, half of Grandfather’s fortune was acquired through some bet or the other.”
“Yes, well, if it is any comfort to you, young lady, he fully expected to win it back on the night of the eighteenth. He boasted of it to Markham, the banker, who was shocked at having to disperse so large a sum.”
“I should imagine he was! Poor Grandfather. He was so wise, so canny, yet when it came to a simple game of hazard . . .”
“He was a fool.”
“You should not speak so of the dead.”
“No, especially not of one who was a client of mine. However, I take leave to inform you, Miss Hampstead, that his lordship’s actions were rash in the extreme.”
“Well, of course they were! All gamblers are rash.”
The lawyer adjusted his lenses and frowned. Tessie could just see the hairs of his eyebrows raised above the rims.
His tone, when next he spoke, was more definitely disapproving. She could not tell whether it was of herself or of the late viscount. She did not suppose, really, that it mattered.
“You are remarkably sanguine, Miss Hampstead.” From which reproving comment she gathered it would be more fitting to either swoon or succumb to hysterics. She did neither, though the room swam a little and she felt hot for such a mild day. She grimly ignored both discomforts.
“Sanguine? I have to be, Mr. Devonshire. I could wish it otherwise, but Grandfather lived by gentleman’s rules. He gambled recklessly, but never so recklessly that he could not pay the stake.”
“But the stake was too high! It was your inheritance he dallied with!”
“No, sir. It was his fortune he staked. If I had expectations, that is all that they were. Expectations. I am glad Grandfather settled his debt.”
“Well, he did, at your expense, though of course, there is still your mother’s annuity. . . .”
“I had forgotten that.”
“Not surprising, as it is insignificant relative to the viscount’s estate. I have the papers just underneath these . . . let me see. Ah, yes. You are to receive two thousand pounds a year. . . .”
“From my nineteenth birthday. I remember now. Grandfather spoke of it when Mama died.”
“Yes, well, you will agree it is hardly a fortune. Even being cautious, you would need three thousand for a decent Season. I know several young ladies who spend double as much!”
“I don’t intend being fashionable, Mr. Devonshire. I could live on two thousand if only the rents could maintain the land. . . .”
“Nonsense, my dear. I have, on your behalf, requested the presence of Lord Alberkirky in my office at ten. I am certain that if I explain the circumstances . . .”
“Lord Alberkirky?”
“The gentleman to whom the wager was lost. I have made some inquiries on your behalf and find that there was no witness to any wager having taken place. That being the case, there is some legal question . . .”
Tessie choked on her scalding hot tea.
“Mr. Devonshire, I forbid you to go down this path!”
“You are overset, Miss Hampstead, you cannot quite understand . . . but here, have a nibble on these macaroons. I believe they are wonderfully tasty.”
“I am certain that they are. But it is not macaroons I want, sir, but your assurance that—”
“Ah, that must be Lord Alberkirky. Early, it is not yet quite the hour, but I daresay it does not matter. Do sit down again, Miss Hampstead, it does not do to be bobbing up and down like a cork . . . ah, your lordship!”
This as a rather gangly gentleman of, Miss Hampstead guessed, around four and twenty, was ushered into the room.
“Lord Alberkirky, might I present to you . . .”
But Tessie was standing up again. In her most regal manner, she made Lord Alberkirky a curtsy and extended her hand,
“De-de-delighted to m-m-m-m-m-m . . . meet you.”
Tessie could not help but smile. The gentleman reminded her almost exactly of the engaging young man of the curricle. So dashingly dressed she was hard-pressed not to laugh, for his boots shone like mirrors and his waist was so nipped in, she was certain he must have had difficulty breathing. Still, who was she, in her drab olive merino, to comment on a collar that was starched far too stiff, or on an attempt at the waterfall that would have had her grandfather in whoops?
No, Lord Alberkirky evidently aspired to be a gentleman of the first stare, and it would be unkind to view him as anything otherwise.
“I am sure you cannot possibly be delighted, if you know the reasons for your summons to these rooms.”
“B-but, then, I had no-no-no n-n-n-notion, Miss Hampstead, of . . . of . . .”
“Yes?”
“H-how pretty y-you are!”
“Well! It is very kind of you to say so, sir, but I take leave to tell you that that is Spanish coin! I am held to be tolerable, at best, though a little too frivolous to be pleasing. And though dark hair is currently rather modish, my curls are perfectly unmanageable and the despair of my abigail. Indeed, she frequently tells me to keep it all well tucked under a bonnet.”
“N-n-no! That is, I am certain—certain that if they were not all tucked up, they would be p-p-p-pretty.”
“There you go, then!” Mr. Devonshire sounded suddenly hearty and indulgent. “Lord Alberkirky, please meet Miss Hampstead.”
Miss Hampstead retrieved her gloves from the desk.
“I am pleased to meet you, Lord Alberkirky. My felicitations. It must have been quite an extraordinary wager to have so high a stake.”
“Indeed, yes, Miss—Miss—Miss Hamp-Hamp . . .”
“Hampstead.”
“Thank you.” Lord Alberkirky smiled shyly.
“Well, as to that . . .” Mr. Devonshire grew brisk again.
“Lord Alberkirky, I have corresponded with you on this matter. You know my views and I am prepared to test them in the courts if need be.”
“N-n-n-no need, Mr. Devonshire. Miss Hampstead c-can draw funds off my account. And by the b-b-bye, the wager was all legal, you know!”
“Then you merely regard me as an object of pity!”
“Nonsense, Miss Hampstead, you are overwrought. I am sure Lord Alberkirky is showing all the proper feeling—”
“Well, I think the suggestion is most improper! And, Lord Alberkirky, might I say, since this is my business, that I have no intention of pursuing any matter in the courts whatsoever. You won the wager fair and square. Let us leave matters as they stand.”
“Young lady, you cannot know what you say! Just think . . .”
“I always think. If Grandfather had wished to challenge the matter, he would have done so at the time. He would not have boasted in the clubs that he would win the whole of it back the following day.”
“But, Miss Hampstead, he would have!” Lord Alberkirky sounded anguished. “I have the most damnable luck! Never won so m-m-m-much in all of my life, I haven’t. B-b-bound to lose it the next night . . . all the c-c-clubs were b-betting on it.”
Lord Alberkirky blinked at the length of his sentence and the exertion of it all. He was amazingly likable despite looking like a small boy caught with half a plum pie in his hands.
There was a moment’s silence. Tessie would have giggled if the matter were not so serious.
“Very likely you would have lost, my lord, for Grandfather almost always recouped his excesses. But he died. That fact is unanswerable. Therefore, my good sir, possibly in spite of yourself you have won fair and square.”
“What is this nonsense?” Mr. Devonshire frowned.
“Pay her no heed, Lord Alberkirky. I shall call on you tomorrow, perhaps, to settle the matter.”
Lord Alberkirky nodded doubtfully.
“You shall do no such thing! If you think I will have Lord Alberkirky—who I am sure is a very decent young gentleman—fund me into society, you are far out! There is no reason for me to accept gifts from him—any help must be construed as such. I cannot do it!”
“By George, she is r-r-r-right, sir! I will dashed well b-b-b-b-be compromising her if sh-sh-she draws off my b-b-b-banker.”
“Not if the money is rightfully hers.”
“But it isn’t, Mr. Devonshire. You told me so but half an hour since!”
“Yes, but technically speaking . . .”
“I do not wish to speak technically, Mr. Devonshire.” Tessie drew on her gloves. Her hands were trembling again, and the need for sal volatile seemed greater than ever, but she refused to acknowledge any of this.
“Farewell, Lord Alberkirky. Mr. Devonshire, you must pardon me, I am very tired. If you need me to sign any papers, you shall find me at the Colonnade on Upper Wimpole Street. Good day to you both.”
“Stop!”
Tessie sighed. “What is it, my lord?”
“Mmmmm . . . mmmm.”
Lord Alberkirky, in great agitation, fumbled with his neckerchief.
Tessie regarded him with patience.
“What I mean to-to—what I mean to say is . . .”
“Yes?” The patterns of the carpet seemed to be swimming in swirls above Tessie’s head. She steadied herself and focused on the uppermost corners of dear Lord Alberkirky’s stammering lips. They were framed by the whisper of a blond moustache.
“Marry m-m-m-me, Miss Ham-Ham-Ham . . .”
“Well, well, what an outstanding outcome to this little interview.” Mr. Devonshire rang his golden bell once more. It tinkled in Tessie’s ears as she heard champagne called for in a hearty tone.
“I don’t deny I had hoped for something of this sort . . . such a sweet little slip of a thing, excellent lineage, you know, mother was . . .”
Lord Alberkirky, already severely tested, looked bewildered under this sudden barrage.
Miss Hampstead, herself entirely ignored by the august gentleman before them, could hardly blame him. Mr. Devonshire, it seemed, was in an expansive mood, quite relieved to have settled the matter so expeditiously.
Marry Lord Alberkirky! Tessie almost laughed aloud. The contrast between him and Nicholas Cathgar could not have been greater. And, though she could not now, in all conscience, encourage Lord Cathgar, neither could she engage herself to anyone else. Not the least a charming—but excessively foolish—greenhorn who was hardly out of short coats. The idea was ludicrous.
“No!”
“No?” Lord Alberkirky looked anxious again.
“No, Lord Alberkirky, I am afraid we should not suit. I am by far too managing.”
Mr. Devonshire waved away the tray of champagne just as it was placed on an occasional table to his right. He looked suddenly most grave, all his jocularity fleeing.
“Miss Hampstead, if you refuse this most . . . most . . . generous offer, I shall have to withdraw my stewardship of your affairs . . .”
“Very well, I shall seek someone else. Lord Alberkirky, you are very handsome indeed to have made this offer. But I am very much afraid your mother should not like the match at all.”
“N-n-n-no . . .”
“There, you see. I have saved you a good deal of trouble and doubtless a scolding.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“There are no buts about it, I am perfectly firm on the matter.” But Tessie did not feel firm. She was shaking, and despised herself for such weakness.
“May I have the folder with my affairs?”
“If you are determined on this course, I shall, of course, continue to represent you despite my reservations.”
“Thank you, sir.” For once, Tessie was humble. Both men, she knew, were trying to be kind.
“Matters are not good, but neither are they entirely hopeless. There are still two debts of honor to be recovered and . . . let me see . . .”
The spectacles went on again. “Yes, the stables are still intact . . .”
“But the horses need feed. . . .”
“Sell them.” Two voices this time, and nary a stutter between them.
Tessie nodded. “I shall.”
“Now the debts . . . hmmm . . . the Duke of Portland. Not good news, I am afraid.”
“Why ever not?”
“The man is notorious for his debts. Never pays them. Or not on time, at all events. Don’t know how he gets away with it.”
“Royal blood. Mmmm . . . Mama says if it wasn’t ss-s-s-s-so, he would never be received.”
“I shall sue him in the courts!”
“. . . and drag Miss Ham—Hampstead’s name through The Tatler and The M-M-M-Morning Post?”
“If that is what it takes.”
“Gentlemen.” Tessie had had quite enough of being talked about as though she did not exist. “I believe I shall decide, thank you. The second debt?”
Mr. Devonshire shuffled some papers. “The sum of . . . let me see . . . oh! Yes! Now, this is more suitable. Oh, indeed.”
Tessie felt herself relax. It was terribly difficult to think of oneself as an heiress, then a pauper, then a lady of substance again in the space of a single interview. Also, to be proposed to . . . though the proposal—her second in as many days—bore no resemblance to that of her childish dreams. . . .
“Yes, the sum owing is ten thousand pounds. Not much, my dear, but sufficient to see you through the next six months . . . if I invest this carefully. . . .” Mr. Devonshire muttered a little under his breath and wrote down several figures in a large ledger blotted all over with ink. “Yes, I believe here will be some little capital to invest and Lord Cathgar always pays his debts. . . .”
“Beg pardon?”
“What, m’dear?” Mr. Devonshire did not look up.
“Did you say Lord Cathgar?”
“Yes, yes, nephew to old Sir John . . .”
“Lord Nicholas Cathgar?”
“Yes, indeed. There is only one. As I was saying . . .”
But Tessie did not hear. She was too busy concentrating on not swooning like a regular flibbertigibbet. Oblivious to their stares, she fumbled with her reticule, executed some kind of curtsy, and begged both men’s pardons.
“You know my direction, Mr. Devonshire. I shall doubtless seek another interview with you tomorrow. You will forgive me now, I hope.” Then, concentrating fiercely on the tassels, she stepped across the Axminster carpet.
Lord Alberkirky muttered some protest, but she was too tired to listen. Right past Sir Francis Drake she trod, down two flights of imposing stairs and out, at last, into daylight.
Her life had never been in such dizzy disorder, and this, despite all of her best efforts. Grandfather, invested with a wicked sense of the ridiculous, would probably have chuckled. Tessie, after a vigorous ride in a hackney cab, could hardly share his sentiments. She was never closer to those loathsome tears she despised.