Chapter Three
The minute Tessa heardthe front door close, she sank back on her seat.She was shaking.Ferndale sold?Two years ago?She couldn’t believe it.
But Lord Alverleigh had sounded so certain.And since the Alverleigh estate shared a border with Ferndale, he would surely know.Why would he lie to her about it?He had nothing to lose, while her brother...
Oh, Edgar.Had he really tricked her, sold her home and lied about it?And was even now pretending to raise a loan to pay for non-existent mortgages?Which of course he wouldn’t be able to get, and so the only choice left for her would be to marry Sir Henry Lester.
She could challenge him on it, of course, but if Lord Alverleigh was right—and she had a sickening feeling he was—Edgar had been lying about the mortgages all along.
Heknewshe hadn’t intended marrying ever again.She hadn’t wanted to marry the first time—or the second—but had endured both marriages in the sure and certain knowledge that it was her duty to her family, to save Papa’s life, and later Edgar’s.
Had those been lies too?She picked up her tea cup and tried to swallow some of the cold tea but a lump in her throat made it impossible.
She took a deep breath.She wouldn’t ask Edgar about Ferndale; she couldn’t trust him to tell her the truth.She would have to find out for herself.But how?
She glanced at Lord Alverleigh’s card sitting on the side table.If Edgar saw it, there would be questions.And nasty repercussions.She picked it up and tucked it into her reticule, out of sight.
She rang for another cup of tea and, over a gently steaming cup, pondered her choices.There was really only one thing to do—to go to Ferndale and see for herself.
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THE YELLOW BOUNDERraced along.Inside, Tessa clung to a leather strap, bouncing and swaying.The little yellow carriages certainly lived up to their nickname, she thought.Not that she minded.She watched the countryside flash by, half excited by the prospect of going home at last, half dreading what she would find.
She’d given Edgar the slip, and hired the carriage herself, using the money she’d secretly squirreled away over the last year.It was her first real act of independence and she felt quite proud of herself.Hiring a carriage had been fearfully expensive, but time was of the essence.
Edgar had gone to a country house party and would be gone for a week.“There’s a good chance I’ll be able to raise the money for a mortgage,” he’d told her.It was just an excuse.It would be a bachelor affair, all gambling and shooting and loose women, she knew.Tessa would never be invited to such a gathering.Edgar was very strict about her reputation.
So he’d left her at home with Mrs Thracknell, the grim woman he’d hired as her chaperone.Tessa had given her the slip too, leaving a bottle of brandy out the night before—Mrs Thracknell could never resist alcohol—and slipping out at dawn.She knew the woman would report her to Edgar eventually, but she’d deal with that when it happened.She’d left a note to say she’d gone to stay with a female friend—unspecified.
She had no female friends.Ever since Edgar and Papa had brought her to London, she’d always been with a husband, or with Edgar or with Mrs Thracknell.Personal friends were not encouraged—were actively discouraged, in fact.Not that any had tried.
Through the big glass front window of the carriage, Tessa watched the countryside slide by.Ferndale, how she’d missed it.She’d never been lonely there, even though she hardly saw anyone, only NannyJune and Phillips.While for the last ten years she’d almost never been alone but was constantly lonely.
She dozed a while, only waking when they stopped at a posting inn to change the horses.Sometimes she stepped down to stretch her legs, or to visit the facilities or have a hot drink.No food, despite the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day.She was too nervous to eat.They were moving ever closer to Ferndale.
She loved it so much, had thought of it so often over the years, planning what she would do to it, once she was free to go home.The house had been terribly shabby.She’d realized that in retrospect—not that she’d cared at the time—and would be even more so now.And the estate would need a lot of work to bring it back to profitability.
Neither Papa nor Edgar had ever shown an interest in it, even though they spent any income the estate earned.But she’d learned a bit about land management during her marriages, and she knew exactly what she would do once she was home again at Ferndale.
Her stomach cramped.It couldn’t have been sold, it just couldn’t.
Not long now.The countryside was becoming more and more familiar as they passed.The shape of those hills, that old stone bridge, the tumbledown cottage with the crooked roof: small landmarks that she didn’t even know she’d memorized, but they brought a lump to her throat.
Home.
The carriage slowed and turned in between two tall wrought iron gates.Dread swamped her.Lord Alverleigh had told her the truth.In her memory those gates had been old and rusting: now they gleamed with black paint.
