A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (23 page)

“Then I still have a great deal of work to do. But it will all end the same.” Picking up his cane, he limped up in front of her. “With you and me together.”

Theresa stood, sliding her arms up his chest and then around his neck. “Then I’ll just begin hoping now, after all,” she whispered, and kissed him.

He kissed her back, the warmth, the life of her, sinking into him. “You’ve even got me hoping, now.”

She grinned against his mouth. “Good. And Tolly?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t forget your cravat.”

He blinked. Thank God it had been Lackaby barging in, after all. Using his cane to scoop up the cloth, he continued toward the door. “And by the way, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be back shortly. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“I will.”

He met Lackaby climbing the stairs again, and tossed him the neck cloth. “Where did you learn to tie a knot?” he asked, stopping to let the valet fix the garment.

“You said I’m to mind my manners, Colonel, so I’ll
only smile and ask if ye want any company, wherever it is you’re going.”

“No. Just keep an eye on our friend outside. Hopefully he’ll follow me, in which case I may have a bit of a delay losing him. But I think we both know I can manage that.”

“I’ve seen you ride, Colonel. What about Miss Weller?”

“She’s staying here. Keep your other eye on her.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he expected, the moment he left the James House drive, the watchful fellow outside stopped sketching whatever he was pretending to draw and swung up on his own horse. Good. The further this mess stayed from his Tess, the better.

“Go, Meru,” he urged, leaning lower in the saddle and surreptitiously touching the satchel slung over his shoulder. Tess had a less scratched-out copy, but he damned well didn’t want this one getting loose and flying about Mayfair. Not until he was ready for it to do so.

Immediately the gray broke into a gallop. In the crowded streets the pace was nearly impossible to maintain, but he didn’t mean to have to keep it up for long. Swiftly they dodged around a milk wagon and whipped around a corner, then fell in ahead of a half dozen coaches and turned the other direction.

In ten minutes he would have found himself hopelessly lost, if not for the fact that he’d spent every summer of his youth in Mayfair and its environs. Finally he slowed Meru to a more respectable pace, cut through St. James’s Park to put another dozen riders
between him and the fellow he hadn’t caught sight of in two twisted miles, and then headed off to Grosvenor Square and Ainsley House.

If the fellow had any wits he would return to James House. Lackaby would keep watch, and as long as Tess and the other ladies were inside, there was nothing to worry over.

He trotted onto South Audley Street, and pulled Meru to an abrupt halt. A half dozen riders stood ranged across the narrow boulevard, blocking him. Behind him another four riders closed in, his original pursuer badly out of breath, but among them.

Well. This was one thing he hadn’t considered—that they already knew where he was going. His last thought as something hard cracked across the back of his head was that Tess would be waiting for him, and that he hoped she wouldn’t blame herself for his death.

M
ichael and Lord Gardner arrived at James House together. Theresa looked up from reading Tolly’s account of the Thuggee attack as her brother and the viscount entered the sitting room. “What is it?” she asked, reading the tense look on her brother’s face.

“Some daft bastard proposed a resolution condemning any soldier who claimed to have been attacked by the Thuggee,” he said, glancing about the room. “Which is apparently one soldier in all of England.”

“Where’s Tolly?” Stephen asked, his expression
even more angry. “We put the issue down for now, but it’s bound to arise again. I thought he should know.”

“He’s gone out to see someone,” she stated, feeling a bit self-conscious sitting in the room Tolly had occupied for ten days and reading his private scribblings. “He asked me to look over this.”

“And how is it?” Lord Gardner shifted, looking as though he wanted to read through it, himself.

“Frightening. Your brother has a very matter-of-fact way of stating the most horrific of occurrences.” He actually wrote the way he spoke, and though it wasn’t full of the adjectives Lackaby claimed it needed, it was brutal and forthright. And very convincing.

“What is it?” Michael asked, frowning as he looked from one to the other of them.

Oh, heavens
. Michael hadn’t been included in their little circle of conspirators. If there was anyone else they could trust, however, it was her older brother. She took a breath. “Tolly looked for other survivors, someone to corroborate his story, but he couldn’t find anyone. The only other way we could think of to help him regain his reputation was for him to write about his experience. And it’s a secret; don’t say anything to anyone else.”

“That’s fairly brilliant,” Michael said after a moment. “Is that why you’ve been scampering over here every day? To help him write his memoirs? That’s a bit different than your booklet on proper behavior, isn’t it?” He paused. “Unless there’s anything you’d care to tell me. Is there?”

He couldn’t possibly have guessed. “Not at present.”

Stephen left the sitting room. “Come downstairs with us. Amelia and Grandmama Agnes are just sitting down for luncheon.”

“I thought they were going out to secure a new kitten.”

“Good God,” Michael muttered.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Lord Gardner motioned them toward the stairs.

Theresa sighed. She would much rather have remained in the sitting room to finish Tolly’s writings, but she was a guest in the James home. Holding the papers against her chest, she led the way out to the garden terrace where Violet had joined the other two ladies and the footmen were setting out fruit and thinly sliced ham.

It all seemed so…peaceful. In the spring, shortly after Leelee and Stephen had married, they’d had luncheons exactly like this one at least once a week. Everyone chatted, said witty things to one another, and they hadn’t a care in the world—at least not one they discussed.

How things had changed. For the first time in years she felt…free, able and ready to move forward with her life. No more being pleasant and polite simply because she was terrified to be otherwise, and no more telling her suitors she simply wasn’t ready to marry when in reality she never would be. The only thing missing from luncheon today was Tolly.

“What do you have there?” Amelia finally asked in the middle of the general conversation, indicating the papers at her elbow.

“Just something Tolly asked me to read,” she said, keeping her tone breezy. “Pass me the butter, will you?”

“Is that what he’s been doing in the sitting room?” Violet took up, leaning sideways to eye the papers. “Writing?”

“What did you think he was doing?” her brother replied with a grin. “Painting lead soldiers?”

“Well, I had no idea, did I? No one tells me anything these days. All I hear is what other people are saying about Tolly. I nearly punched Sarah Saunders in the nose yesterday because she said that her uncle said that once Tolly climbed out of his wheeled chair, no one would want anything to do with him at all.”

“Your brother is a very brave man,” Theresa said quietly. “And hopefully very soon everyone will realize that.”

“I hope so,” Violet stated emphatically. “Because I may not be able to restrain myself for much longer.” She indicated the papers. “Could I read that when you’re finished?”

“No,” Theresa and Stephen said in unison.

“Well.”

Clearing her throat, Theresa reached over to grip Violet’s fingers. “You will be able to read it, but it’s not quite finished yet. And what it says is…awful. I think Tolly will want to talk with you about it first.”

His younger sister sighed. “Very well. Where is he, anyway?”

“He had an errand. He should be back soon.”

By three o’clock, however, Tolly still hadn’t returned. Tess had read through his account twice, and written a half page of her own notes and a few possible adjectives. She was glad she’d suggested the newspaper editorial; he’d been correct in thinking that the
story was so powerful, putting it into the middle of a long account would only dilute it.

Stretching, she stood and walked to the sitting room window again. He’d ridden to Ainsley House to speak with the Duke of Sommerset. She assumed that Sommerset would read the other copy of the paper, then decide whether he agreed that it was enough by itself or would be better in a longer, even-handed memoir. And then he would either provide Tolly with contact information for the
London Times
, or he wouldn’t.

It would take some time, of course, but it had been four hours. Unless Sommerset was completely illiterate, which she knew he wasn’t, they should have finished their discussion already. Or if Sommerset hadn’t been home, Tolly should have returned. Her heart stuttered. What if Sommerset had simply dismissed the story completely? That would leave them out of ideas to rescue Tolly’s reputation. And where might he have gone, if that were the case?

Oh, dear
. Trying to keep herself calm, she headed out to find Lord Gardner. He and Michael were in the billiards room, in the middle of a game. “Excuse me,” she said, “but if Tolly were…upset about something, where would he go?”

Stephen set down his billiards cue. “What do you mean, ‘upset’?”

“I mean that he should have been back by now.”

“Perhaps it would help if you told me where he went, Tess.”

For a moment she looked from her brother to her cousin-in-law. As far as she knew Tolly had only spoken about Sommerset to her because she’d followed him to Ainsley House. No one else knew. But
how long was she supposed to wait before she did something? Six hours? Eight?

Quietly she closed the door behind her. “He rode to Ainsley House. Sommerset has allied himself with Tolly, and agreed to assist with the publication. Tolly wanted his opinion on publishing in the newspaper rather than taking the time to write an entire book.”

“And you think Sommerset turned him down?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that he’s been gone for better than four hours. I’ve read everything through twice, had luncheon, made notes, and had time to worry.”

Stephen and Michael glanced at one another. Whatever it was they were communicating, she didn’t like it. Worry deepened into fear.

“What?” she demanded.

“I’ll have our horses saddled,” Stephen said, moving past her to open the door again. “You wait here with Amelia and Violet and your grandmother.”

“No. I’m going with you.”

“You’re not dressed for riding, Tess,” Michael pointed out. “Stay here.”

“No.” She pushed past them as they hurried down the stairs. “Leelee!”

Her cousin appeared from the drawing room. “Goodness! What is it?”

“I need to borrow your horse.”

“Certainly. What’s amiss?”

“Nothing,” Stephen put in. “We’ll be back shortly.”

Graham the butler pulled open the front door just as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Theresa abruptly stopped as she saw the figure in the door-
way. Her relief, though, almost immediately slid into annoyed frustration. “Alexander? What are you doing here?”

Lord Montrose sent a glance at the butler, then moved past him into the foyer. “I’ve been calling at Weller House for nearly a week,” he said in a low voice. “I finally realized that you must be here.”

“Well, yes, I am. But I’m about to lea—”

“I need to speak with you.”

Cupping her elbow in one hand, Michael moved around her. “Five minutes,” he said, following Stephen out the front door and around toward the stable. “Or we’re leaving without you.”

Scowling, she backed into the morning room. “This way,” she said, gesturing Alexander to follow her.

“Is something amiss?” he asked, glancing back toward the foyer.

“Just a bit of an errand. What may I do for you?”

“I want you to come and see Montrose Park,” he said. “If you agree, I’ll arrange for a house party. Bring any of your friends you like. But I think once you see the estate of which you could be mistress, any hesitation you have about marrying me will be erased.”

Oh, dear
. “Alexander, I don’t want to leave London during the Season.”

“Not even for me?”

“Not for anyone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to g—”

“This is about Colonel James, I suppose?” he interrupted, his eyes cool.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because he’s the only gentleman in residence whom I haven’t seen, and he’s the one who seems to infatuate you.”

Infatuate, obsess, trouble, stir—so many words at the moment. “I really can’t speak to that, but excuse me.”

“I’ll ride with you.”

Halfway through the door, she paused. “No, you won’t.”

“You can hardly stop me. And if this has something to do with him confronting the East India Company, I’d prefer not to miss it.” He sent her a grim smile. “Though I have to admit that my own hopes more than likely run contrary to his.”

“Tess!” her brother’s voice came from outside.

“Come along then,” she decided, turning her back on him.

“Miss Tess!”

For heaven’s sake
. She sent a quick glance up the stairs at Lackaby as the valet charged into view. “Later, if you please,” she snapped, and hurried outside.

“No, miss,” the valet countered, actually catching her arm. “Now.”

“Unhand her,” Montrose ordered, his tone highly affronted.

Theresa, though, had seen the look in the valet’s eyes. “What is it, Lackaby?”

“I’m to keep my eyes on you, Miss Tess,” the valet said.

That caught her attention all over again. “Why?”

“I, ah, it was my orders, miss.”

Clearly there were too many blasted secrets in this group. Scowling, Theresa grabbed him by the arm
and pulled him onto the drive. “Why are you to keep your eyes on me?” she demanded. “The truth. Now.”

“When the colonel asks why I gabbed to you, you have to tell him that you threatened to sack me or something.”

“Yes, very well.”

By now Stephen and Michael had reached them again, both of them scowling. The valet looked as though he would rather be eating bugs, but he nodded. “The last fortnight or so, someone’s been…hanging about the house. Outside. Colonel James figured it was the Company, trying to find out if he meant to do anything to counter their report on the Thuggee.”

“What?” Stephen asked, fury darkening his features.

“The fellow followed the colonel, which is what he figured, but he wanted me to be sure you was safe, Miss Tess.”

Stephen motioned at a groom to dismount. “You’re coming with us, then, Lackaby. Now.”

Theresa wanted to gallop to Ainsley House, but in the late afternoon the Mayfair streets were choked with carriages and riders paying visits or returning visits. And in the middle of it, her, the former princess of propriety, riding to the house of a bachelor duke in the company of three gentlemen and a valet.

They were met in the Ainsley House drive by a pair of grooms, who moved up swiftly and professionally to take charge of the horses. Stephen led the way up the shallow front steps and pounded on the front door. Ideally Tolly himself would meet them, saying
he’d just been on his way back home and what the devil were they all doing there looking for him.

The door opened, revealing a tall, angular man in crisp red and black livery. “Good afternoon,” he said politely.

“Is the Duke of Sommerset in?” Stephen asked, clearly impatient to be inside.

“His Grace is currently unavailable. May I inform him that you came to call?”

“It’s rather urgent,” Tolly’s brother replied. “Please tell him that Lord Gardner and Lord Weller are here, looking for Colonel Bartholomew James.” Behind him, Alexander cleared his throat. “And Lord Montrose,” he added.

“As I said, my lord, His Grace is currently unavailable. I will be honored to deliver any message or letter to him when he is—”

“Is my brother here?” the viscount demanded.

“I am not at liberty to speak of or for anyone but His Grace. The—”

Theresa backed away as Michael joined in the argument with the butler. Silently she walked down the side of the house to the vine covered archway and the plain door beneath it. This was how Tolly had entered and left the house before. Perhaps he’d done so again today.

Taking a breath, she tried the handle. Locked. Considering the raised voices at the front door, Stephen and the others still weren’t having any luck gaining either entry or answers. And she wanted—needed—to know where Tolly was, and if he was well. Balling her fist, she knocked on the door.

Silence.

He’d gotten in somehow the last time, and in the middle of the night. She knocked again, waited, and then pounded. Still nothing. “Open this door,” she called, feeling rather silly, “or I shall scream so loudly that all Mayfair will come running to investigate!”

The door opened.

A stout, broad-shouldered man stepped into the opening, blocking her view of the inside. “This is a private entrance,” he said stiffly. “Please use the front door.”

Before he could shut the door again, Theresa stuck her foot in the way. “I am looking for Colonel Bartholomew James. He came here at eleven o’clock this morning, and he was expected back home hours ago. Is he still here?”