Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection Page 7

  After Jasper had seen off the remainder of the wedding guests this morning—including a somewhat guarded Christopher, hopefully only suffering a frightful headache from imbibing too much claret, rather than having misgivings about his friend bedding his sister—he'd then headed off on a ride. Before he could return home, his steward waylaid him. The ruthlessly efficient, yet odious, man had insisted he give an opinion on a drainage issue at the northern edge of the estate. And then his horse had thrown a shoe. By the time Jasper had arrived back at the abbey, it was early afternoon, and Tessa was gone.

  He had to find her.

  Somehow reining in his growing panic, Jasper quizzed Lottie a little more, but she had no further intelligence that was of much use. After Tessa had taken breakfast in their sitting room, she'd apparently spoken to the housekeeper, and following that, one of the footmen had seen her enter the library. And that was all anyone knew. Jasper dismissed Lottie with an appreciative "thank you," then, after confirming the maid's version of events with Davis, the footman who'd seen Tessa, he strode as fast his maimed foot would permit, straight back to the stables.

  This didn't make any sense.

  Tessa had gone to the library in perfectly fine spirits—according to Davis anyway—and then… what?

  Oh, God, no.

  Jasper stopped dead in the middle of the stableyard as the terrible truth hit him between the eyes like a marksman's bullet.

  Lady-Bloody-Montagu's letter. He'd left it sitting in plain view on his desk.

  Hell and damnation.

  His beautiful wife, the woman who'd made him feel alive and whole again—the woman with whom he was falling in love—had seen that awful, vitriolic missive and had clearly misinterpreted his motives for keeping the cursed thing.

  He was such an idiot to have shattered her trust when he'd only just started to gain it.

  He quickened his pace and called for his carriage. Little Arlington was only a mile away, and he had no doubt that Tessa would have hired some sort of conveyance or secured a seat on the public coach to London by now.

  His wife had fled, and he would move heaven and earth to get her back.

  The question was, would he ever be able to convince her to trust him with her heart again?

  Chapter Seven

  December 20, 1816

  Penrose House

  Berkeley Square

  London

  "Thank you for seeing me, Lady Cardew. Both your generosity and forbearance are greatly appreciated."

  "Hmph." The dowager countess eyed Jasper as if he was something distasteful she'd discovered in the tea leaves at the bottom of her tea cup. "Save your pretty words for your wife, Lord Arlington. And consider yourself lucky my nephew isn't here. When Tessa arrived late yesterday, I believe his words were, 'I'll have Arlington's head on a platter.'"

  God, Tessa must be in a bad state. A fresh stab of guilt pierced Jasper's heart. He wasn't in the least surprised Trevilian wanted to do him physical harm. If he were in the same place, he would, too. He ventured a little closer to Lady Cardew, who sat by the fire in Penrose House's drawing room. However, he wasn't game enough to take a seat, and the dowager countess didn't offer him one. He cleared his throat and decided to risk the question uppermost in his mind. "I know Tessa is terribly upset. Has she told you much… about yesterday, and what happened?"

  Lady Cardew narrowed her eyes. "Enough. You know, I really did think you were cut from better cloth, Arlington. Breaking your wife's heart the day after her wedding." She shook her head. "I am supremely displeased with you. At least you could have waited until you'd got her with child before you carried on with another woman."

  Jasper winced. Suspecting he'd broken Tessa's heart, and then hearing it, were two entirely different things. He was beginning to think that if Trevilian decided to remove his head with a blunt butter knife, he probably deserved it.

  Nevertheless, he endeavored to keep calm. "Please let me explain. There's been a terrible misunderstanding. My fault entirely, of course. To think that I have hurt Tessa so grievously…" He drew a steadying breath before he could go on, "I want to make things right again."

  Lady Cardew pursed her lips and considered him for a moment before nodding. "I'm listening."

  As he related his side of the story, he was relieved to see the iciness in Lady Cardew's pale blue eyes begin to fade. By the time he'd finished, she was nodding and smiling at him.

  "I knew you were the right man for my darling niece as soon as I laid eyes on you," declared the countess. "Now sit down, dear boy." She glanced at the Boulle clock on the mantel. "Christopher and Tessa are arranging last-minute Christmas Day purchases for Tessa's Whitechapel charity, and they aren't due back for at least another hour or two." She rubbed her gnarled hands together, a decided twinkle in her eyes. "Plenty of time for tea while we hatch the perfect plan of attack. You'll have your wife back by Christmas. I guarantee it."

  ***

  December 23, 1816

  Penrose House

  Berkeley Square

  London

  "So, we aren't spending Christmas in London?" Tessa frowned at Aunt Beatrice, confused by the sudden change in plans. "I haven't heard Christopher and Emma say a word about it."

  Her aunt waved her hand, a dismissive gesture. "Lord knows where your sister's head is most of the time. And you know how impulsive Christopher can be. As soon as he received the invitation from his dear friend, the Earl of Avebury, to spend Christmas at his estate, he had to say yes. How could he not? Besides, it's practically on the way to Trevilian Hall, so it will make the journey much easier."

  Tessa's frown deepened. One thing Christopher was not, was impulsive. Nevertheless, she would go wherever her family went, even if that meant she had to claim she had a megrim and hide in her room most of the time to avoid the earl and his family and any other guests. She sighed heavily, as it also meant she wouldn't be able to help distribute all the carefully arranged gifts to the women and children at the Benevolent Society's Boxing Day event.

  But then, if it put a greater distance between her and Jasper, perhaps this sudden decamping to the earl's estate in Wiltshire wasn't such a bad thing. Although, she couldn't help but wonder why her husband hadn't made at least some effort to find her. His lack of concern was telling indeed, and hurt more than she cared to admit. She moved toward the drawing room's bellpull. "I'll have Fanny prepare my trunk."

  Again, Aunt Beatrice waved her hand. "No need. It was all taken care of while you were gadding about town this morning."

  Tessa hardly thought that attending a lecture on a woman's right to a decent education and better conditions in workhouses could be classified as 'gadding about,' but she held her tongue. "I shall change into my travelling clothes—"

  "Pfft. What you are wearing now is quite all right." Her aunt rose from her seat and clapped her hands together. "Come, come. Let's be off. Christopher and your sister have already gone on ahead and—"

  "I thought Christopher had escorted Emma on a shopping expedition. Didn't she have some purchases she needed to make from her milliner in Bond Street? And then Christopher needed to see his tailor—"

  "Yes, yes, they did," said Aunt Beatrice as she began to shoo Tessa toward the door like she was a chicken that had escaped the hen house, "but they've already been and gone again. It's now well past noon, and Christopher was keen to reach Windsor by tonight. We are to take separate carriages."

  With a resigned sigh, Tessa complied with her aunt's request, and after donning her kid gloves, bonnet, and a red woolen travelling cloak, she followed her out to the laden carriage waiting outside Penrose House.

  The first hour passed pleasantly enough. The London traffic was heavy, and the going slow at first, but with the velvet curtains drawn, warmed bricks at her feet, and plenty of thick blankets to wrap around herself to ward off the winter chill, Tessa was relatively content, despite her low spirits. Aunt Beatrice had also arranged for a basket of food to be packed, so after a light lun
cheon of sandwiches, savory pasties, and a tumbler of elder wine, a wave of fatigue began to steal over her. She hadn't slept much over the last few days—she'd tossed and turned in her bed fretting over what to do about her farce of a marriage, and what she would say to Jasper when they saw each other again—so the urge to doze was tempting, indeed.

  When Tessa stirred again, it was to find their carriage was pulling into the busy yard of an unfamiliar coaching inn. She frowned as a cold feeling of unease began to unfurl in her belly. "Where are we?" she asked her aunt. "We don't usually stop—"

  Before her aunt could respond, the door to the carriage opened. But it wasn't their footman who had appeared to let down the stairs.

  It was her husband.

  The breath froze in Tessa's lungs, and her bruised heart pounded erratically in her chest. She'd been duped. Well and truly.

  Jasper, on the other hand, seemed completely unrattled. He smiled most politely as he bowed to both her and Aunt Beatrice. "My dear ladies," he said smoothly. "I trust your journey so far has been pleasant."

  "Yes, it has indeed, Lord Arlington," replied Aunt Beatrice. She readily accepted Jasper's proffered hand and alighted from the carriage.

  Casting aside the tangle of blankets from her legs, Tessa made to rise from her seat, but Jasper shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, my dear wife," he drawled. "Not so fast. You and I have unfinished business to attend to." Before she could protest, he climbed into the carriage with her and sat down on the seat opposite. It had only been four days since she had last seen him, but in that short space of time, she'd forgotten how large and strong and beautifully made he was. How mesmerizing.

  She'd missed him.

  Tessa pulled the blankets about herself again. Curse her weakness. Her husband was a philanderer, a breaker of hearts, yet he had only to stretch out his long, muscular, buckskin-clad legs toward her, flash her a smile, and she wanted to throw herself on top of him. Bury her face in his neck and inhale the scent of his expensive cologne. The scent of his skin.

  She crossed her arms. Well, she wouldn't.

  The door to the carriage closed with a snap. "What of my aunt?" she protested. "You can't just leave her here."

  Jasper removed his top hat and calmly placed it on the leather seat beside him. "It's all been handled, Tessa," he said quietly. All flippancy had disappeared from his manner. Indeed, his hazel eyes gleamed with an emotion that could almost be mistaken for tenderness. "I've arranged for another carriage—one of my own—to take her back to London. My staff will ensure she arrives safely. And you and I will return to Arlington Abbey." He rapped on the ceiling, and the carriage moved on.

  "You're used to getting your own way, aren't you?" she said, unable to hide the hurt and simmering resentment in her voice.

  His wide mouth curved into a sad smile that tugged at her heart in a way she didn't like. "Not always… Tessa, we need to talk about the letter from—"

  "No. We don't. Not yet." She bit her lip willing herself not to cry in front of him. She knew she was being mulish, and childishly so, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "I have a frightful headache. Please leave me be."

  She leaned against the squabs and closed her eyes. The next four or five hours in this confined space with Jasper would be an unrelenting torment unless she slept.

  Her husband sighed. "As you wish. But we will talk about this, Tessa. Just let me know when you are ready."

  Would she ever be ready to hear the lies her husband would spout?

  Probably not, but she wouldn't be like her mother, heart-sore her entire life. Somehow, between now and when they reached Arlington Abbey, she needed to crush her tender feelings for Jasper and shield her heart.

  The sooner she stopped loving him, the better.

  Chapter Eight

  December 23, 1816

  Arlington Abbey

  Little Arlington

  Surrey

  It was well after nightfall by the time they reached the abbey. Tessa had been uncommunicative for much of the journey home, alternately dozing or pretending to doze most of the way. As much as Jasper wanted to breach the wide gulf that lay between them, he sensed it would take more than just words and kisses to convince Tessa he genuinely wanted her, and her alone.

  No, better to wait until morning when he could put the rest of his plan into action.

  Although, he nearly gave into the temptation to kiss his beautiful wife—and more—when he gently scooped her into his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedchamber. The way she'd snuggled her flushed cheek into his shoulder and curled one of her hands into the lapel of his greatcoat, his whole body had ached with longing.

  Tessa must have been exhausted, as she barely stirred when he removed her boots and stockings and cloak, and then her woolen travelling gown and stays, leaving her in nothing but her chemise. Taking a deep breath, he resolutely pulled the covers over her then made a makeshift bed for himself on the nearby settee.

  As much as Jasper wanted to slide beneath the sheets and hold Tessa in his arms, he wouldn't, not until she invited him to.

  He could hardly wait for morning.

  ***

  Christmas Eve, 1816

  Tessa opened her eyes to a green velvet canopy above her head. She blinked, then sat upright with a start, as painful realization came flooding back. It was Christmas Eve, and she was at Arlington Abbey.

  Alone in Jasper's bed. She dare not think of it as hers as well.

  Glancing down, she gasped and clutched the embroidered silk counterpane to her chest, when she saw she was dressed in nothing but her thin lawn chemise… and a kid glove on her right hand. A surge of unwanted tenderness filled her heart at the thought someone—most likely Jasper—had not removed it.

  She had no recollection at all of arriving here or getting undressed. Heavens, she must have been practically unconscious to have slept through all of that. The question was, had Jasper or her maid taken off her clothes? Instinctively, she knew it must have been her husband. A hot blush flooded her cheeks at the thought he had touched her so intimately without her knowing. But then, she liked to think he'd undressed her to ensure she was comfortable, nothing more. She certainly didn't feel like anything else had gone on in this bed. She certainly wasn't uncomfortable down there, like she had been the morning after their wedding night.

  If it had been Jasper who had helped her last night, where was he now?

  The sumptuous velvet bed hangings were only partly drawn across the end of the bed, and she could see a good deal of the room. The curtains had been pulled back, letting in the pale morning light, and a fire crackled brightly in the grate. The rattle of china drew her attention toward the doorway leading into the sitting room.

  Jasper. He stood by the window, sipping a cup of tea or coffee, wearing nothing but breeches, half-boots, and a loose-fitting shirt. Even in a state of undress, with sleep-tousled hair, he looked too handsome for words.

  Her heart began to race. Holding to her resolution to keep a tight rein on her emotions was going to be harder than she'd anticipated.

  Perhaps sensing her gaze, Jasper turned toward her. "You're awake," he exclaimed, a dazzling smile lighting his face. He put down his cup and approached the bed, until he was standing right before her. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to take breakfast here, or downstairs in the morning room once you've dressed. At any rate, I arranged for a tray to be sent up a short while ago. There's tea and hot chocolate and rolls, if you'd like. Would you like me to ring for your maid?"

  "Yes. Thank you." Unable to bear his warm regard a moment longer, Tessa dropped her gaze to where she still clutched the bedcovers. "And thank you for not removing this." She lifted her gloved hand. "It means a lot to me… your consideration." Oh heavens, where was her anger now that she needed it? When Jasper looked at her like that, his gaze tender, his smile soft, as if he cared for her, it made her forget why she'd fled in the first place. Closing her eyes, she thought of Lady Montagu and her letter.

  "Think no
thing of it, Tessa," said Jasper in a low voice. "When you are ready, I will meet you in the morning room. All I ask is that you hear me out, my love. I want more than anything for this to be the first of many happy Christmases for both of us." He touched her cheek ever so lightly, and then he was gone.

  Oh, Tessa. Don't be a fool. No matter how much you want to, you cannot trust him.

  But he'd called her 'my love.' And on her wedding day, she'd told Jasper she wanted to be open-minded and open-hearted. She would be a hypocrite, indeed, if she didn't at least listen to his explanation.

  Because if she was completely honest with herself, she knew she wanted to share many happy Christmases with Jasper too.

  ***

  Jasper stood before the fire in the morning room, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his mouth so dry, he could barely swallow. Everything was ready, and as perfect as he'd been able to make it, given he hadn't been able to direct any of the preparations here in person. However, it appeared his servants had followed, to the very letter, the detailed instructions he'd sent by courier from London two days ago. This room, and indeed every other main living area of the abbey, had been lavishly decorated with fresh boughs of ivy and holly, hawthorn, and Christmas roses. All the dark shadows had been banished by the strategic placement of candelabra bearing fat, beeswax candles along the stone hallways and in the corners of every room. The largest Yule log his steward could find had been installed in the grate of the main fireplace of the Great Hall downstairs, and was now crackling away. Kissing boughs of mistletoe had been hung in every doorway and window embrasure.

  If Tessa forgave him, he was certainly going to make sure he had ample reason to kiss her whenever and wherever he liked.

  But there was the rub. Would she believe him?

  The clock on the mantel proclaimed the hour to be nine o'clock. Damn, it was much too early for brandy or mulled wine to soothe his jangled nerves. Perhaps he would ring for tea—