A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior by Suzanne Enoch (10)

Theresa followed Amelia into the upstairs hallway of James House. “What is it?” she asked.

“What are you doing?” Her cousin glanced toward Tolly’s open bedchamber door and retreated a few additional steps. “Aside from sharing breakfast with my brother-in-law.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Theresa shrugged. “I think Tolly is interesting, and quite witty when he’s not spitting profanity at everyone. And he’s stuck in bed. Shouldn’t he have some friends to keep him company?”

“Yes, he should. But you aren’t one of them.”

Theresa frowned. “I have to disagree. In fact, I’ve likely exchanged more conversation with him than you have, and you sleep across the hallway from him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Amelia returned, her jaw tight. “And frankly, I find him a bit frightening.”

“Well, that’s the difference, then. I don’t find him frightening.”

“You should.”

Resisting the urge to stomp her foot and fold her arms across her chest, Theresa gazed at her cousin and dearest friend. “Are you asking me to leave him be? Because if you are, I hope you have a better reason than the fact that a man who’s fought and been wounded for his country gives you the shivers.”

“It’s not that. For heaven’s sake.” Amelia took a breath. “People talk, Tess. You know that. And with even a hint of…peculiarity about the incident, people stay away from him. You, however, are balancing how many suitors now?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Several.”

“You’re quite popular, and you’re generally so careful of your reputation. But you’re not married yet. If you stand too long with Tolly, all of your beaux will go elsewhere. What will you do then?”

A slight shiver of uneasiness ran through her, and she shoved it away again. She’d worked so hard for so long at behaving. She’d never been tempted before to kiss rogues. Why did Tolly have that power over her? “You’re being ridiculous,” she said aloud. “I enjoy jesting with your brother-in-law. No one will hold that against me. In fact, you should be thanking me. Heaven knows he could stand to recall some manners.”

“Something which most everyone has noted.”

She didn’t mention the kissing, or the fact that while she did feel like they were becoming friends, it wasn’t friendship that had her waking up with her first thought being that she would see Tolly James that day. “I think I know what’s acceptable and what isn’t,” she said aloud. “In fact, sitting with a wounded soldier is much more admirable than ignoring him. This is practically a duty.”

Amelia looked at her skeptically. “Who are you attempting to convince?”

“I’m already convinced. And perhaps I’m just a bit…tired of frivolity. Tolly’s not overly concerned with the state of his cravat, for example.” That was a large part of his attraction, in fact, now that she considered it. Lionel or Francis might see picking the Derby winner as the most telling moment of a lifetime, but Tolly’s world was much larger than that. His experience colored their every conversation. And their every kiss.

“So you’ve operated on him, shaved him, and now you intend to feed him?” Amelia was saying, her expression still unconvinced.

“Yes.”

“He has a valet.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone else to hold a sharp implement close to his throat.”

“But he trusts you?”

Blood rushed just beneath her skin. “I suppose he does.”

“Why?”

Theresa shrugged. “All I’ve done is speak plainly to him. Perhaps he appreciates honesty.”

“I don’t think that’s all he appreciates.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Her cousin took a deep breath. “Men adore you, Tess. Why shouldn’t he be one of them? I know he’s handsome, but as I recall you’ve been keeping a journal on proper behavior for the past thirteen years. This doesn’t seem to fit into any chapter you’ve published.”

“Then perhaps I need to put it into my new booklet.”

Amelia had a very good point, whether Theresa meant to acknowledge it or not. She didn’t go about feeding and shaving and bantering with other unacceptable men. How was she supposed to reconcile this…obsession with Tolly James to the generally accepted rules of proper behavior? Because spending time with him didn’t seem proper, but it did feel very exhilarating.

“Do as you will, then. But keep this in mind. Stephen invited Lord Hadderly over for dinner the other night. He thought having the London head of the East India Company thank Tolly for his service and sacrifice might help his brother become more social, and it might halt those awful rumors. Hadderly declined to attend.”

Oh, dear. “Does Tolly know that?”

“No. And please don’t tell him.”

She had enough ill news to deliver. “I won’t.”

“So what I’m saying, I suppose, is be cautious, Tess.”

Before Amelia could conjure a further argument, Theresa stepped back into the room where Bartholomew sat up in bed, his breakfast still across his lap. For a moment, she paused. This morning, and with this man, she couldn’t seem to keep in mind that there was a possibility of disaster—much less that she might be waltzing straight into it. And that was very unlike her.

Bartholomew eyed her. “Had some sense talked into you, then?”

Theresa favored him with a mock frown. “If I listened to every bit of advice given me, I would at this moment be married to the Earl of Lorch—or rather, I would be the deceased Lady Lorch, because he’s sent two wives to the grave already in his pursuit of fathering children every other damned day.”

“I’ll give you a point for the appropriate application of profanity,” he commented.

“Thank you.” And thank goodness Leelee hadn’t heard her swearing. If it took a few curse words to put Tolly more at ease and to make her feel a bit rebellious, then so be it. She sat in the bedside chair again to finish her sweetbread and the tea at her elbow.

“Why aren’t you married?” Bartholomew asked abruptly. “Discounting Lorch, from my observations your suitors numbered altogether could guard the gates of Thermopylae against the invading Persians.”

She snorted. “I do not have three hundred suitors, but thank you for the analogy.”

Soft amusement touched his whiskey-colored eyes, then fled again. A few days ago she would have been hard-pressed to believe that he possessed a sense of humor, though Violet had insisted that he used to have one. Whether it was pain or guilt or something else that had kept it mostly at bay, she, for one, was pleased to see and hear even the hint of a laugh in him. It seemed vitally important that she help him find his smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he prompted after a moment.

With a shrug she dusted crumbs from her fingers while she decided what to say. Her world was smaller than his, but he wasn’t the only one with topics he didn’t wish to discuss. “With Amelia married and moved away, my family consists of my brother, our grandmother, and me,” she finally offered. “We’re quite wealthy—and I’m not bragging; it’s merely a statistical fact. Michael has promised to support me even if he marries a shrew and I become an old spinster, so I don’t feel the need to barge wide-eyed into matrimony.”

A grin made his eyes dance. “Very nice foresight, to factor in the shrewish sister-in-law.”

“Yes, I thought so, though I don’t intend to allow him to marry anyone disagreeable.” Theresa weighed her next question. Best, though, to know the lay of the land before launching an all-out assault. She lifted an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you married?”

For a heartbeat he gazed at her. “I’m broken.”

“Your mouth isn’t broken. It kisses quite well, actually, if you were to ask my opinion.”

“Thank you for that, but we both know that’s not what I meant.”

Theresa folded her hands neatly in her lap. “How, then, are you broken?” she finally asked.

“Other than the obvious?”

To her relief he didn’t seem angry, and she let out the breath she’d been silently holding. How far she could push him this morning she had no idea, but if the reward was more kisses or at least a grudging smile, she was willing to attempt it. There was something thrilling about being smitten with someone. She’d certainly never felt this way before. “Yes, other than your leg.”

He looked away, toward the window.

She gazed at his profile. “You already told me about being flung into the well.”

“And that’s enough.”

“I need to tell you something that will make you even less happy.” Theresa paused, somewhat put out that he wouldn’t confide any further in her. “There are some rumors going about that you attempted to take your own life. I suppose it’s because Dr. Prentiss came calling.”

“It’s because people would rather I wasn’t here,” he said, his mouth flattening.

“That’s a rather broad statement.”

“Step in my shoes, and see how you view things.”

Theresa narrowed her eyes. Not only did he not trust her with his tale, but he dismissed her opinion altogether. Didn’t he realize she was risking her reputation simply by associating with him? “Clearly we have had different experiences. I suppose I could make guesses about what troubles you, but I will assume that this will make you sullen again. After all, I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be responsible for someone and then survive while they perish.” Her voice shook the veriest bit, but she didn’t think he noticed.

Bartholomew sent her a sharp glance. “I’m not looking to be soothed, Theresa. But I don’t appreciate being cut at again, either. Not by you.” He sent his gaze back to the window. “Go find one of your suitors and jest with him.”

“Tolly.”

He ignored her.

Slapping her palms against her thighs, Theresa stood. “That,” she said quietly, “is what I meant by sullen. I suppose you should be thankful that you have the luxury to be so.” With that she left the room, collected Sally, and called for her coach.

Clearly she’d pushed too hard. He had no intention of trusting her, after all. And she wasn’t as taken with him as she’d imagined. That last conversation hadn’t been the least bit amusing. Theresa blew out her breath as she sank back in the coach. Perhaps, though, that was the point. For several years now she’d been working quite hard at being amusing and pleasant and proper. It all seemed to be wearing a bit thin.

 

Lackaby looked around the emptied bedchamber. “I don’t suppose you’d like me to help you finish off that lovely repast then, Colonel?”

“No. I wouldn’t.” Bartholomew continued the long line of profanity he’d begun muttering under his breath. Tess might think she knew some curse words, but she’d never been in the company of soldiers during combat.

“Finished eating?”

With another glare at the valet, Bartholomew nodded. Their conversation had been proceeding well; hell, he’d even made her laugh. And then she’d…what, exactly? She’d given him ill news, then called him sullen, which he undoubtedly was. In fact, he had little objection to that description. No, Theresa Weller had said, whether jestingly or not, that she understood what he’d been through. As if a wealthy, well-born chit with a million suitors could understand anything about pain and fear and death.

The valet removed the tray from the bed. “Might I fetch you a book or something?” he asked, apparently unaffected by the continuing stream of profanity.

“Hand me my cane, and make yourself scarce.”

Lackaby drew a breath in through his nose. “I can certainly depart, Colonel, but I’ll be sacked if I hand you that stick.”

“I’ll sack you if you don’t.”

“You don’t pay my salary.”

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. “Then fetch me my brother.”

“Gone riding, sir.”

This torture was all beginning to seem very intentional. “Violet?”

“Walking.”

Bartholomew took a breath of his own. “My sister-in-law, then.”

“I’ll fetch her, Colonel.” Turning smartly on his heel, the valet marched out of the room, more than likely devouring the remainder of his master’s breakfast as he went.

As soon as the man was gone, Bartholomew pulled himself sideways to the edge of the bed. The cane was well out of reach now, at least ten feet away. Matched against how badly he wanted to be out of the house and at least free to hobble about the garden, though, it seemed worth the effort.

He swung his good leg over the edge of the bed and placed his bare foot solidly on the floor. For just a second, he closed his eyes. Of course it would hurt; it always hurt. That hadn’t stopped him thus far.

“Don’t you dare!”

The sharp voice actually froze him for a moment, and he looked up, feeling for a heartbeat like a boy caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. “Lady Gardner.”

Stephen’s petite, blonde wife stalked into the room. “Get back into that bed at once!”

He could of course ignore the order. As he fully expected to end up crawling on the floor until he could reach his cane, however, he would certainly appear more pitiful than defiant. Narrowing his eyes for effect, Bartholomew swung his good leg back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Visibly squaring her shoulders, the viscountess continued forward more calmly. “Now. What is it I may do for you?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grunted. “Apologies. Good day.”

“I see.” Glancing about the room, her gaze settled on the book Tess had left on the bed stand. “Perhaps I’ll just sit here and read for a bit. I like to mumble, you see, and that’s considered very poor manners. Here I can pretend I’m reading to you, and no one will be the wiser.”

“And what did I do to merit this bit of charity?” Bartholomew asked, beginning to wonder if insanity ran through Lord Weller’s family.

“You ran Tess out of the house.”

That stopped him for a moment. “You don’t like your cousin? I was under the impression that you two were very like sisters.”

“Oh, we are.”

“Then what—”

She settled on the chair and opened the book to the page Tess had marked. “Nothing oversets Theresa. Not since she was ten. No one corners her, no one outsmarts her, no one shocks her, and nothing baffles or unsettles her.” Lady Gardner glanced up. “Until you, apparently.”

Hmm. “So I’m supposed to be…proud of the fact that I flummoxed an unflappable chit?” Splendid. No one else ever upset her, and yet he’d managed to do so. And quite easily.

“It’s good for her. She’s not as invulnerable as she’d like to think. No one can build a wall that sturdy.”

Abruptly this conversation was becoming very interesting. Bartholomew settled himself into a seated position against the headboard. He could fish about, he supposed, but if Amelia was half as direct as her cousin, she would not appreciate being led all about the countryside. “What happened when Miss Weller was ten?” he asked.

Her lips tightened. “We were at a country party in Cheshire, about five miles from Weller Abbey. It was raining frightfully, and my aunt and uncle decided to stay the night. Tess wouldn’t have any of it, though. She’d left her favorite doll at home, and refused to stay. Threw an absolute tantrum. Michael and I remained at Reynolds House to spend the night with our friends, and she and her parents drove home. The river bank washed out beneath them, and the coach overturned into the water. The driver managed to get Tess out, but my aunt and uncle didn’t…they drowned.”

Bartholomew looked down at his leg. A great deal of his last conversation with Tess made sense now. She did have a better sense of what he felt than most everyone else who’d attempted to hand him their sympathy and pity. And she’d called him sullen. She’d come close to accusing him of luxuriating in his self-imposed sulk. “What happened with the doll?” he asked after a moment.

“The doll?”

“The doll she refused to sleep without.”

Amelia gazed at him thoughtfully. “No one’s ever asked that question before.” She took a breath. “Two days after the funeral, Tess threw it into the fireplace. She hasn’t spoken of it since.”

And then she’d likely begun the process of becoming the diamond that everyone called her. Pretty, pleasant to be around, delightful in company, and surrounded in the hardest shell known to mankind. He cleared his throat. “Lackaby mentioned that Stephen wanted to purchase me a wheeled chair.”

“Yes. Your valet informed him of your dismay.”

“Well, I changed my mind. I’d like to be able to get about while my leg mends.”

She smiled, the expression warming her green eyes. “That is very good news.”

Yes, well, he had some apologizing to do, to a very outspoken chit who had clearly reached out to a kindred spirit only to have her hand slapped away. He didn’t like to use the word hope, since he didn’t believe in it any longer, but something was bumbling and stumbling to life in his chest. And he only felt it when he thought about Tess.

 

As soon as Sally entered her bedchamber to throw open the curtains the next morning, Theresa rose. And thank goodness the night was done with; what a waste of time that had been. “Have you seen Michael?” she asked the maid as she pulled on her green and white sprigged muslin gown.

“No, miss. He made mention last night of going riding early.”

That made sense; Parliament began late this morning, and he wouldn’t have an opportunity later. “Thank you.”

“Will we be visiting Lady Gardner again today?” Sally questioned as she finished pinning up Theresa’s hair.

“No. Not this morning. I want to find a hair ribbon to match my new burgundy dress.” She actually didn’t care much about that at all, but if she stayed indoors she would only pace and wish herself elsewhere. “We’ll be going out in an hour or so.”

The maid curtsied. “Very good, Miss Tess.”

Halfway downstairs to the breakfast room, the butler caught her eye as he stood in the foyer. “Good morning, Miss Weller,” he said, inclining his head.

“Ramsey. I’ll be needing the coach after breakfast.”

“Very good, miss.”

“Thank you.” She paused on her way to the breakfast room as she spied a pretty spray of white carnations and daisies on the side table. Taking a step closer, she leaned down to read the sentiment with them. Apparently Lord Wilcox was infatuated with Grandmama Agnes. The sight of the posies sparked an idea, and a flutter of nerves went through her. “Ramsey, if I wanted to send a bouquet of flowers to a sick friend, how would I go about doing that?”

“I would see to it, miss. If you wished to write your sentiment on a card, I would send that on to the florist along with the address for delivery, unless you wanted one of the household to carry it personally.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips. It would be easy enough to say that she was sending the flowers to Amelia, but it wouldn’t be her cousin’s name on the outside of the card. Whether a florist or one of the various households’ servants saw it, any ensuing scandal would be both her fault and out of her hands.

“Shall I make the arrangements?”

Theresa closed her eyes for a heartbeat, unable to conjure any sort of rule that would allow her to send flowers to a man who wasn’t part of her immediate family. “No. Thank you,” she said aloud. “It was just a question.”

“Very good, miss.”

She ate a peach and some toast, then took a seat in the morning room and picked up her embroidery while she waited for Harriet to come by and join her for shopping. Tolly didn’t deserve flowers, anyway. He owed her an apology, the more she thought about it. After all, he had kissed her first.

“Who’s ill?” Michael asked, strolling into the room.

With a strangled yelp Theresa snapped the blue thread she was using. “Good heavens. I nearly jumped right out of my shoes.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He continued forward. “If you’re sending flowers, you should do it in the morning, before the day’s pick at the shops begins to wilt.”

“I told Ramsey I’d changed my mind.”

“Ah.” Abruptly his eyes narrowed. “You are not sending flowers to Colonel James.”

Damnation. “I just finished saying that I wasn’t.”

“Good. Because you’re not.”

“I know I’m not.”

“You do not need those looks and those muttered conversations behind your back.”

Frowning, Theresa set down her embroidery. “I agreed with you, nick ninny. Stop arguing.”

Her brother blinked. “Oh. Well, I wanted to make certain you understood.”

“I do.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He rocked back on his heels. “Why were you considering sending Colonel James flowers, anyway?”

“I—”

“Are you setting your cap at him?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned.

“Because that’s what everyone wou—”

“Quite possibly,” she interrupted.

Her brother snapped his jaw closed. “Quite possibly what?”

“It’s quite possible that I’m setting my cap at him. He’s not like everyone else, and I find him rather…interesting.”

Michael fell backward into a chair. “I’m done for,” he groaned. “Send for Grandmama Agnes and Great Uncle Harry and recruit the pall bearers.”

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic,” she returned, twisting in the chair to face him. “And what, precisely, is your objection?”

“Have you considered why it is that you find him…interesting?”

Her humor began to retreat. “He’s quite handsome.”

“Tess. You know what I mean.”

He would never say it, of course. Neither he nor Amelia nor Grandmama Agnes had ever blamed her—at least not out loud—for anything regarding the death of her parents, because apparently she’d been a good child until that night. And ever since. She stood up. “Perhaps you have it backward. Perhaps it’s not that I see a kindred soul, but that I want to pursue where I can’t possibly be successful.”

“It’s a poor idea, either way. If you want a husband, marry Montrose. He’ll treat you well. You’re allowed to have a good husband.”

“Don’t counsel me, Michael. You know I always do what’s correct.”

“To this point.”

Theresa jabbed a finger toward the door. “Out. I’m occupied.”

Michael shoved to his feet again. “Very well. I’ll leave. But I’m going to tell Grandmama that you nearly sent flowers to a man and that you’re setting your cap at Colonel James. You’ll listen to her.”

With that threat, he left the room again. “Drat,” she muttered, sitting back at the desk.

That was all she needed, for Grandmama Agnes and Michael to lecture her on proper behavior. She knew what was proper. For once, though, she was tempted to do just one improper thing. And that actually frightened her a little, because she hadn’t been tempted in thirteen years.

Someone knocked at the door. “Come in,” she called, scowling at the wall opposite. But instead of Grandmama Agnes or Harriet, the butler stepped into the room.

“Miss Tess, you have a caller.”

She didn’t have a drive or a walk or a brunch scheduled with anyone this morning, because she always checked her calendar in the evening before bed. “Harriet? She’s early.”

“A man. He didn’t give his name. In fact, all he did say was that he was here to see Miss Weller, and that he would be out on the drive.”

“Out on the drive?” she repeated. That was unusual. Generally they wanted to come in. Standing again, she headed for the curtains at the front of the morning room. With a breath she took hold of the edge of the material and pulled it back an inch. A man sat in a chair in the middle of the short, half-moon drive, another fellow standing directly behind him. “Goodness,” she whispered, loosing the curtain and striding for the foyer.

Bartholomew James had finally come to call on her.