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Authors: Hayley A. Solomon

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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.
Ten
In Grosvenor Square, Nicholas was reading
The Gazette
with a faint twist to his lips. There was much on the upcoming nuptials of Lady Larissa Ashleigh to Captain Marcus Harding of the seventh dragoons, he late having served with great honor in the Peninsula. There was precious little, however, about the recent midland uprisings, or of the attempted assassination of his royal highness. He supposed he should be grateful. He frowned.
He sipped his tea. He frowned. “Amesbury!”
“My lord?”
“Take this confection to the kitchens and bring me a port.”
“Aye, my lord.” He frowned.
Amesbury opened the curtains. Nick frowned again. But Amesbury expected no less. Nick was in a black mood, blacker than his doting staff had ever known.
The port was poured. Another frown.
“Will that be all, my lord?”
“Has the mail been delivered?”
“Not since an hour ago, when you last asked, my lord.”
“Tell me when it has. Ah, Joseph!” A slight lightening of the features as his valet strode in.
“Parding yer lor'ship, but yer should not be drinkin' that muck on an empty stomach.”
“That
muck,
as you put it, Joseph, was brewed in France in the last century.”
“Then it is old and will curdle yer spirits.”
“My spirits are already curdled.”
“Aye, me lord, that is as plain as a pikestaff.”
Amesbury made a stiffbow and departed, relieved. Really, there was no dealing with Lord Cathgar in such a mood! He would never dare address his lordship in terms of such familiarity! But then, the little valet had fought with him in the last campaign. Doubtless that accounted for matters. The door shut, and Joseph continued.
“Oi ‘ave taken the liberty of puttin' out yer black velvet with the sapphire pin. . . .”
“Stow it, Joseph, I am not going out.”
“The Dowager Countess of Cathgar arrives tonight, me lor'.”
“You devil! I should dismiss you at once.”
“Very likely, me lor'.” Joseph drew out some top boots that sparkled like a very mirror. He eyed them complacently.
“My lady will want to inspect your wounds.”
“And
I
want to inspect your back.
After
it has been thoroughly whipped.”
Joseph grinned. “Will it be the velvet, then, me lor'?”
“Oh, God rot it, I suppose so. Anything better than Mama fussing with a hot posset!” And in this manner was his lordship, the great Nicholas Cathgar, coaxed from his solitude.
He was disappointed to find, however, that the dowager countess, whose robust disposition he always underestimated, was
not
safely tucked up and asleep when he arrived home several hours later. He had spent fruitless hours in his club, watching the great grandfather clock tick by, being rude to sundry very good friends, and generally feeling like a bear with a sore head.
How ever he could have let that little slip of a thing vanish into thin air he could not imagine. He vowed never to touch laudanum again if it could have so addled his wits. His wound hurt damnably, but the more so because they reminded him of her—the mischievous face framed in dark curls, the cheeky, insouciant smile, the unsure part of her, budding into shy womanhood, and, naturally, of course, the outright courage.
No one—
no one
had seen or heard of her, and he felt like a fool asking after someone whose name he did not know and whose kin he could not cite. Yes, he had suffered several sidelong glances from his peers, oh, countless quips about quivered hearts, until he needed a bout at Gentleman Jack's to release all his energy. Unfortunately, no one would be so unsporting as to spar with a wounded man, so he was denied even that tame outlet. And now, here was his mama, resplendent in court dress and emerald-studded tiara, waiting up for him with a calm patience. It was enough to make a man scream.
“Mama! I thought you would have been in bed hours ago.”
“Nonsense, Nicholas! You know there was a supper party at Carlton House! And I do wish you would have attended, for I swear yours would have been the most handsome face present!”
“Oh, Mama! You are cutting a wheedle with me!”
“Indeed not, for poor Prinny grows fatter by the day, and I despair of any of the dukes, for Cumberland becomes as plump as a hothouse turnip. . . .”
“Mama! Have a care he does not hear you say that!”
“Well, he has, for I told it to him to his face.”
In spite of his black mood, Nicholas laughed. “Well, what did he say?”
“He made a very improper advance, with which I shall not sully your ears. . . .”
“He did
not!”
“Indeed, he did, for though I have aged, I have aged, if I say so myself, most gracefully.” The dowager duchess preened herself slightly and smiled a self-satisfied kind of smile. “Now, the poor Countess of Froversham . . .”
Nicholas sighed. The Countess of Froversham and his dear mama had always been arch rivals. It was said that if one wore emeralds, the other wore diamonds. If one acquired a lapdog, the other would acquire a pug. And so it went on. If his mama had warmed to her pet theme, it would be a long night. Nicholas shifted one booted foot and winced.
“Sit down, Nick. I hope your fool of a valet rubbed basilicum powder into those wounds?”
“How did you know . . .”
“Oh, don't be ridiculous, Nicholas, you know I know everything.”
“Sometimes I believe you do.”
“Well, of
course
you do. You
know
I am the nosiest, most inquisitive, prying old harridan in all of London!”
“Mama, I
do
believe you are proud of it!”
“Yes, well, at my age, there are fewer diversions than there used to be. I daresay if that handsome devil
Rutherford
were still alive . . .”
“I thought he was.”
“No! Popped his cork on the hunting field.
Most
inconvenient!”
“For you or for the hunt?”
“Now, that would be saying, my dear Nicholas! And I am shocked at the low direction of your thoughts!”
“What a whopper. Nothing shocks you, Mama!”
The dowager countess smiled. “Precious little, my son. Precious little. And now may I take a look at those wounds?”
“No, you may not!”
“Yes, Joseph told me you were tetchy!”
“Joseph talks too much by far.”
“Indeed, I tend to agree with you on that point, for he praises you to the point of positive tedium.”
“Does he? I cannot say why, for I do not make good company, I fear.”
“Yes, I surmised that. Amesbury is tiptoeing about the house in a more stealthy manner than usual.”
“Good God! Does he think I shall eat him?”
“Very possibly, for you
do
have a tiresome temper. Now, am I to see those wounds or not?”
“Not.”
“You are very like your father when you glare at me like that. Now,
he
was a handsome rogue. . . .”
“You should not talk of him like that!”
The dowager countess ignored her son utterly. “But self-willed, opinionated . . .”
“Arrogant?” A hint of sarcasm in Nicholas's tone.
“Oh, yes, indeed. Thank you. Arrogant, high-handed . . .”
“Mama. Are you cataloguing my sins or his?”
“Mmm . . . witty, and quick, too. Spill the beans, Nick, or we will be here all night. And much as I positively
adore
this glittering tiara, it is heavy on my head.”
“Take it off, then.”
“No, for it requires my dresser. Hideous amount of pins. But we digress, my son.”
“Is there no stopping you?”
“I think not, though one can never be certain. One of those earthquakes, perhaps, or a house fire possibly . . .”
“Maybe I should just take the tinderbox and set my house ablaze.”
“Easier to just tell me the truth. Besides, I like all your Axminsters. Such
superior
carpets. It would be a shame.”
“Mama, you are a bully. But maybe, this once, you can help . . .”
So Lord Nicholas Cathgar, after pouring himself a very strong drink—and his mama, for punishment, a watered-down version—finally succumbed. He spoke, at last, and at length, of a certain Miss Nobody.
“But, Nicholas, she must be staying
somewhere!”
“True, but she has no funds, if you recall.”
“Maybe you should wait. She will probably send the tab for some posting house or other to your account.”
“Like she did the hansom cab?”
“Exactly.”
“I think not. She is a dear little hoyden, but she has strict notions of propriety. She will not borrow a farthing from me if she can help it.”
“Then why the hansom cab?”
“I would say she calculated that it was a fair exchange for my life. That, and the tab for dinner.”
“What an extraordinary girl!”
“Yes, and I want you to find her for me.”
“Me?”
“Oh, don't look so innocent, Mama, you know everything. A whiff here, a scandal there . . .”
“Indeed, but I have so little to go on! Family in Wiltshire, you say?”
“Yes, she let slip something of the sort, but it is all supposition. She was wearing half mourning, if that signifies to anything?”
“Well, of
course
it does, Nick! No self-respecting female would don half mourning if she was not in half mourning! Gracious, all those poor, drab colors—I still shudder to think on it. I loved your papa dearly, but I did
not
enjoy my period of mourning for him! There is nothing original one can do with blacks and browns. Even when one gets to the puces and olives . . .”
“Mama, I have no wish to talk of fashion!”
“And
that
is why you will never find your lady! I say, if she was in half mourning, there was a death of a near relative. Maybe six months ago. In Wiltshire . . . mmmm . . . I will make inquiries.”
“Thank you. You might be eccentric, but you are a great good gun!”
“Which is no way to talk to your mama, but I will be lenient. Nick?”
“Yes?”
“What will you do with this paragon when you finally find her?”
“I will wring her neck.”
The Dowager Countess of Cathgar chuckled. “If ought of your tale is true, it is more like
your
neck that will be wrung! I have a mind to meet this girl.”
“Very funny! Now, if you will be kind enough to leave me to my port—”
“Without question—here, have mine.” The dowager duchess watched as her oldest and dearest gulped several sips of the disgusting stuff he had served her.
Then she chuckled outright, ignoring his roar of fury as she made her stately exit. Later, when the tiara was finally prized from her head, her brow became thoughtful. Extremely thoughtful indeed.
 
The idea of dunning Lord Cathgar was ludicrous. If she approached him, he would simply wed her out of hand as he had threatened to do. But were those not the words of a delirious man, one faint from blood wounds, one hardly capable of making rational choices?
Perhaps he no longer was so intent on marriage. Perhaps he was even now thanking heaven for his lucky escape. Worse, if he was, would he not think she was deliberately seeking him out? And would it not compound all of her scrapes together if she approached him, unattended, at his London residence? Tessie rather thought it would as she contemplated her warm chocolate and watched the smoke curl in slivery wisps from the cup.
But she needed to make a decision. Either the estate must be sold—that way she could maintain a small competence—or she must find some means of supplementing its meager income until it became self-sustaining again. That was by far the best option, since it meant the tenants and dependents could remain on the estate, a no small consideration being that most had been born and raised there, and certainly none had other resources to sustain them. Tessie had been brought up haphazardly but not without moral principle. Grandfather Hampstead would have expected her to find some solution. He had often enough himself when hamstrung with debts. And always, except for the occasion of his death, he had come right. Tessie must, too.

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