‘I’ll see to it. You’re used to setting up birds of paradise in bijou little houses, not respectable young women in decent lodgings.’ Hannah sorted through the items on the end of her chatelaine and came up with a set of tablets and a pencil. ‘Now, what are your plans? Where are you going for Christmas?’
‘I’m staying here, as well you know. Will you join me for Christmas dinner, Hannah?’
‘I will not, but thank you. I’ll be off to my in-laws like every year.’ She sighed. ‘I wish you’d go home, you stubborn man.’
‘I am home, and in the absence of a warm invitation to the ancestral mansion, this is exactly where I am staying.’ And there’d be the sound of trotters on the roof tiles as the flying pigs landed before that particular invitation arrived.
‘It is ten years past, Alex.’ Hannah looked into the fire, not meeting his eyes. ‘Surely it is time to forgive?’
‘When I forget, then I’ll forgive.’ Surely she knew it was not just for him? A young man had died that bitter Christmas because of his father’s blind prejudice and need to hit out at his elder son.
‘You’ll have to go back one day. You are the heir.’
‘Over his dead body or mine. If it’s the latter, then I suppose they’ll let me have my shelf in the ancestral vault.’ He smiled at her to show that this was something he did not care about, that it no longer hurt.
Hannah simply shook her head. ‘You’re as pig-headed as the earl is—you know that, don’t you?’ She cocked her head on one side and regarded him beadily. ‘Why not take a wife and produce an heir? That’s a revenge for you, Lord Moreland knowing that his precious lump of a younger son won’t inherit.’
‘And shatter all his fondly held beliefs about me? How unkind that would be. And what if I turn out to be as bad at marriage and fatherhood as he has?’
‘Impossible.’ Hannah grinned at him, suddenly finding her humour again. ‘No one could be that bad. I’m off to bed. I just hope that nice lass doesn’t have nightmares, bless her.’
When the door closed behind her with a soft click Alex sat on, stroking the kitten, his unfocused gaze on the sinking embers. Tess would doubtless tell him that Christmas, on top of everything else, was the perfect time for reconciliation and forgiveness. It was a good thing she was leaving. Just for a moment he believed that she might even convince him it was true.
* * *
‘I ought to say goodbye to Lord Weybourn,’ Tess said as Mrs Semple fastened the strap on Noel’s basket. ‘I must say thank you.’
‘You can send him a note.’ The housekeeper nodded to MacDonald, who opened the door and carried Tess’s bag down to the waiting hackney. ‘We need to get you to your new lodgings and work out what shopping you require.’
‘I haven’t much money,’ Tess ventured. She had very definitely been removed from the house, she thought, finding herself wedged into her seat with the cat basket deposited on her lap. Mrs Semple doesn’t approve of me. She saw that kiss and she thinks...
‘His lordship’s paying.’
She thinks I’ve slept with him, that now he’s paying me off. ‘It will be a loan. Just as soon as I have employment and a wage, I’ll repay him.’
Mrs Semple made a noise that might have been agreement, might have been disbelief. She was looking out of the window with a frown that wrinkled her brow.
‘Mrs Semple, I am not his mistress. What you saw last night—’
‘Was quite innocent on your side. Yes, I know.’ The housekeeper turned and smiled.
‘On both sides.’
‘He’s a man, and I doubt he’s been an innocent for many years, Miss Ellery. No, don’t bristle up, he’s no predator on decent girls, he won’t be after seducing you. Or worse. But, like I say, he’s a man, you are a woman, and a pretty one under all that drab clothing and bandages. If he didn’t take an interest I’d be worried about his health.’
A half delighted, half shocked snort of laughter escaped Tess. ‘You know Lord Weybourn very well?’
‘Since we were both six years old. My father was the Earl of Moreland’s estate manager. Alex is a good man. Stubborn as his sire, though.’ The frown was back.
‘You worry about him, don’t you? What has gone so wrong with his family?’
Mrs Semple’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘That’s his story to tell you. But I will tell you something. He is flagellating himself for leaving you somewhere that wasn’t safe for you. You’ll hurt his pride, if nothing else, if you make a fuss about paying him back for a few bits and pieces and a decent wardrobe of clothes.’
‘He wasn’t to know there would be any problem,’ Tess protested. ‘And he certainly wasn’t to blame.’
‘If he had taken you to the canal boat in time, then none of this would have happened, and I know you should have insisted and so on and so forth, but Alex Tempest has an over-developed sense of responsibility for all that care-nothing air he pretends to have. So are you going to make him miserable or are you going to swallow your pride and enjoy some decent clothes?’
‘I’ll swallow it,’ Tess conceded. I’m so far down that Primrose Path I may as well face the fact that I’m ruined and have a man buy me clothes. It was a pity I couldn’t be ruined properly while I was at it though... The thought caught her unawares and she scrabbled in her purse for a handkerchief to turn her gasp into a cough. ‘But nice clothes aren’t suitable for someone looking for a post as a governess.’
‘We’ll see. I suspect when Lord Weybourn puts his mind to it he’ll be able to steer you in the direction of something rather more elevated than your convent might have done.’ Mrs Semple’s gaze rested on her speculatively. ‘Hmm. Yes, I can see all sorts of possibilities.’ The frown vanished to be replaced with a mischievous smile. ‘Now let’s get this kitten settled and make a list of what you need. And call me Hannah, please.’
‘Where the blazes is my coffee?’ Alex enquired of thin air. The dining room was bereft of footmen, his coffee jug had been empty for ten minutes, there was no sign of his toast and the fire needed making up. He should have known it was too good to last, the peace and quiet and order that had reigned for almost a week since the departure of Tess and the kitten.
He wasn’t helpless and it wasn’t above his dignity to grapple with the coal tongs, but even so... With a sigh he got up, mended the fire and then gave the bell pull a prolonged tug. Silence. The hall, when he looked out, was deserted, the front door still bolted.
It was not unheard of for housebreakers to raid London houses, tie up the staff and make off with the silver with the owners none the wiser for hours. Breakfast time was a strange time to attempt it, though. Feeling slightly melodramatic, Alex retrieved his cane from the hall stand and walked softly to the service door under the stairs.
He was halfway down, wincing as a tread creaked, when he heard a thump and a clatter and took the remaining stairs in three strides. In the kitchen, her back to him, was a strange woman in a green gown. He could see the large bow of the voluminous apron that was wrapped round her, her glossy dark hair was topped by a large white cap; she had a badly bent toasting fork in one hand and the remains of half a dozen slices of bread around her feet.
‘You useless male object, you!’ she announced