“That true, Bennett?” Grandpapa barked.
Tessa blinked. It wasn’t like him to invite the opinion of strangers. He’d apparently taken a liking to Mr. Bennett, and she couldn’t blame him. There was something distinctly solid and trustworthy about the cove, with his warrior’s hands and gentleman’s manners.
And anyone who would step in to assist an outnumbered stranger was, she thought wistfully, that rarity of rarities: a man of honor. As chivalrous as the knights of old.
She felt that strange giddy sensation again.
Mr. Bennett adjusted his spectacles. “It is true that Mr. O’Toole approached Miss Todd.”
Tessa sent him a grateful smile. Wasn’t he thebestchap? A real stand-up fellow.
Grunting, Grandpapa said, “So my granddaughter wasn’t at fault then?”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly.”
Tessa’s smile wavered.
“While Miss Todd didn’t do the approaching, she did set the trap,” Mr. Bennett went on. “And O’Toole took the bait, just as she’d planned.”
“Now wait just one moment,” Tessa said indignantly. “I didn’t—”
“Silence,” Grandpapa demanded. “I want to ’ear what Bennett ’as to say.”
Pressing her lips together, she crossed her arms.
“Now, Bennett,” her grandpapa said, “why do you think Tessie would want to bait O’Toole?”
“As to Miss Todd’s motivations, that is a matter of conjecture.” Bennett’s voice had taken on an annoyingly pedantic tone. “I do have a hypothesis, however.”
Hypothesis?Who does he think he is, a bloody professor?Ican’t believe I trusted the pompous ass!
“Let’s ’ear it,” Grandpapa said.
Go on, then,she fumed.Talk about me as if I’m not even here.
“Based on Miss Todd’s actions this evening and those that you described earlier, I would say she was looking for diversion. Entertainment. In short,” he pontificated, “my guess is that she was bored and trying to amuse herself.”
Mr. Bennett’s words struck her like a slap across the face. Her cheeks burned.Entertainment?To have her intricately plotted and brilliantly executed plan for revenge reduced to naught but the frivolous amusement of a bored twit…
With anger came an odd deflating sensation in her chest, as if her heart were a hot air balloon on a rapid descent. She ought to have known better than to hope that once, just dashedonce, someone might see her for who she was. Might recognize her true abilities. Might…like her.
She shoved aside the ninnyish longing. The true frustration, she told herself, was that she couldn’t defend herself. Couldn’t reveal her true motivations without threatening Belinda’s well-being.
What do I care what Bennett thinks of me anyway?she thought resentfully.After tonight, I’ll never have to lay eyes on the interfering prig again.
“’Ow many times ’ave I told you, Tessie?” Grandpapa’s censorious tone riled her further. “You can’t be running about pell-mell through the streets. Ain’t safe, for one, and you’re a lady now, so best start acting like one.”
The unfairness of it all made her want to scream.
Instead, she went to her grandfather’s chair, crouching at his side and taking his hand. The way she’d done so many times as a girl. Back then, he’d listened to her. Indulged her. A tin of her favorite lemon drops, a miniature pony, a trip to Astley’s Amphitheatre: the world had been her oyster.
But the best times had been when he’d taken her with him to Nightingale’s, his favorite coffee house and the place where he conducted business. In between his meetings, he’d tell her tales of King Arthur and his knights. Of quests fulfilled or forsaken. Of honor and duty and unbreakable loyalty. People from the stews had come to seek his help and pay him homage, and she’d watched on with fierce pride.
Because Bartholomew Black was aking. And all she’d ever wanted was to be his trusted vassal. To sit by his side at the long table at Nightingale’s, helping him bring peace and order to his unruly kingdom. She might not possess the physical strength or sheer ruthlessness of his dukes, but she would offer up what she had: a clever mind and determined heart.
Since she’d entered womanhood, however, everything had changed.
Her grandfather no longer paid heed to her desires. He’d gone from being indulgent to critical. He’d forced her to attend the ghastly Mrs. Southbridge’s, to trade trousers for tight-laced corsets, to abandon her identity as a daughter of the stews in an effort to win over the snobs of theton. Despite Tessa’s hurt and confusion, she’d done her best to please him…but enough was enough.
