“Our Tessa don’t need no reins.” Francie snorted. “What she needs isunderstanding. Much as ’er grandfather dotes upon ’er, ’e don’t understand ’er.”
Unable to help himself, Harry said, “What doesn’t he understand?”
The bawd turned assessing eyes upon him. “You care about ’er?”
“She is my charge,” he said stiffly. “Her wellbeing is my responsibility.”
“That’s all she is to you, then? A responsibility?”
Faced with those unblinking eyes, Harry found he couldn’t lie. He said nothing, and Francie must have read the truth in his silence for she gave a satisfied nod.
“The thing you got to know ’bout Tessa is that she does things for a reason. Now that reason ain’t always clear—bit o’ a trickster, that one—but she ain’t a spoilt brat like you think.”
Recalling his and Tessa’s very public argument here, he flushed. “I don’t think she’s a brat.”
Not most of the time, anyway.He’d gotten to know her better. He’d even formed a hypothesis as to the cause of her willfulness. Having witnessed her interactions with her father and grandfather, he suspected that her defiant behavior resulted from a history of having her wishes ignored or denied.
In the face of that adversity, many ladies would become subservient or compliant or just give up. But not Tessa: she was a fighter. Harry had to admit he admired her bold spirit, even if he sometimes felt the brunt of her strong will.
“Tessa’s got a sense o’ honor stronger than most men. Gets it from her grandfather, though ’e don’t see it. When you found ’er dressed like a lad, cheating that bastard Dewey O’Toole at cards, she weren’t doing it for fun. Notjustfor fun anyway,” Francie amended.
Harry frowned. “Then why did she do it?”
“On account o’ what O’Toole did to Belinda.”
The truth slammed into him. “O’Toole was the one who put the bruises on her?”
“Blighter did more than beat Belinda: ’e stole ’er blunt, too. Not because ’e needed the money, but just because ’e could,” Francie said starkly. “Belinda weren’t ’erself after that, andthat’swhy Tessa stepped in.”
“Why didn’t Todd do something about it?” If possible, Harry’s esteem for Tessa’s father dropped even lower.
Francie darted a glance around, hushing her voice. “’E ain’t got the bollocks to stand up to the O’Tooles. And ’e don’t give a damn about us wenches, not like Tessa does. Girl’s got a ’eart o’ gold and looks after ’er own.”
It was the second time someone had said that about Tessa. A feeling spread through Harry, like the prickly pleasure-pain of an awakening limb. And along with it another feeling…
Remorse.
He’d underestimated her. His mind had failed to recognize the truth he’dfelt: the goodness at her core, the virtue rooted in her like a sturdy flower abloom in the rookery’s dirty streets.
Shaking his head, he said, “Why didn’t she tell me or her grandfather? She let us believe she was just out on a lark.”
“Belinda made ’er swear not to tell anyone. And Tessa’s a woman o’ ’er word.”
Remorse bled into self-recrimination. To think, he’d compared her to Celeste, questioned her suitability to be his bride.
“She is a remarkable woman,” he said in a low voice.
“She’s no wilting violet, that’s for certain. But she’s more fragile than she lets on, thanks to that bleedin’ finishing school.”
He frowned. “What happened there?”
“High-kick twats treated ’er like rubbish is what. Bullied ’er without mercy.” Francie’s lips pulled tight. “Four years and weren’t a day she didn’t arrive with ’er eyes puffed up from crying.”
Harry’s chest clenched. That Tessa had been subjected to such cruelty made him want to punch something. It explained her prejudice against the upper class, why she wanted no part in the charade of being Miss Theresa Smith.
“Our Tessa’s blood might not run blue, but she’s a real lady.” Francie’s tone was as stern as that of any schoolmistress. “See that you treat ’er like she deserves.”
He’d earned the admonishment. For not recognizing what had been plainly in front of his face. For being a blind fool.
