Her heart was pounding.She could barely breathe as they drove down the curving driveway toward the house and she took it all in, all the changes.Everything was as neat as a pin.The lawn, which she’d only ever known as shaggy grass filled with weeds and wildflowers, was now green and smooth as velvet.Here and there were well-tended flowerbeds, bursting with spring flowers.In the distance she could see the old orchard and even from here she could see the trees had been neatly pruned.Some were in blossom.
She glanced toward the forest, her heart heavy with the burgeoning realization that this would be the worst of all.She couldn’t tell from this distance, but she already knew it would have been cut back, dozens of trees cut down and harvested, the beautiful tangle of undergrowth cleared away, not a fern or a bramble in sight.No place for foxes or badgers to hide and bring up their young.
Her stomach clenched and she felt as though she might throw up.Despite having eaten nothing all day.
Her brother had sold her home.Sold Ferndale.And lied to her about it.In the worst way, and for reasons that made her want to scream.Or curl up and whimper.
How could he?
The carriage pulled up in front of the house.Tessa didn’t want to get out, didn’t want to have her worst fears confirmed—she’d seen enough—but the front door had opened and a butler stepped forward, a man she’d never seen before.The postilion let down the steps and gathering what remained of her poise she alighted.
Acid rose in her throat, but she managed to say, “I’m terribly sorry, but I think I’ve come to the wrong house.I was looking for the ...”—she pulled a name out of thin air—“the Taylor family.”
The butler’s brow wrinkled.“I don’t know any Taylors hereabouts, madam.This is the home of Mr and Mrs Sanderson and their family.”
Tessa nodded.She could hear childish shouts and laughter coming from behind the house.It felt like her insides had been gutted.She managed to say, “Perhaps the Taylors were before your time.Have the Sandersons lived here long?”
“Coming up to two years, madam.I came with them from their previous abode outside of Bath.Would you care to come in?I’m sure Mrs Sanderson would like to meet you.And she might know more about the previous residents.”He hesitated.“Though I think the name was Blackstone, or Blaxland—something like that.”
“No, no thank you.It’s getting late and I must get on and find my friends,” Tessa said hurriedly and turned away, fearing she might throw up.
He inclined his head.“Good luck finding them, madam.”
She climbed back into the carriage, and it drove back down the driveway.Tessa didn’t see much.Her eyes were blinded by tears.
Two years!The Sandersons had moved two years ago.It was just as Lord Alverleigh had said.
So much for Edgar’s claim of mortgage arrears.Her beloved home had been sold and was lost to her forever.Strangers lived there now.It was lost to her.Forever.
#
BY THE TIME SHE REACHEDLondon again, Tessa had cried herself out, slept a little and commenced some serious thinking.She’d been a fool, a stupid, trusting fool to think that her brother—and no doubt her father too—had been looking after her interests, as they’d claimed.
She thought back to the day they’d arrived at Ferndale, when she was fifteen, and Papa had looked her up and down and then said to Edgar,‘Looks like we have another asset.’
She’d asked them about it later, but they just shook their heads and told her it was business—men’s talk.And naive little idiot that she’d been, she’d accepted that.
Stupid, needy,ignorantlittle girl, imagining that Papa and Edgar had come for her because they cared about her.That feeling had lasted all through her first weeks in London, when Papa, with the advice of a lady friend, had purchased all new fancy grown-up clothes for her, and put her on a strict beauty regime, attempting to tame her wild hair, and using endless lotions on her skin, which they said was dreadfully tanned from all the time she spent outdoors.
She learned to keep her hands clean and to grow and polish her nails, to keep herself and her clothes tidy, to get used to a maid dressing and undressing her.
She was never alone, which had been very hard for a girl used to solitude and freedom.
They trained her relentlessly, in etiquette, and how to dance, and to serve tea elegantly.And to talk to men.She’d been horribly shy at first, but when they’d introduced her to the man who became her first husband, he’d claimed he found her shyness delightful.
Not that she knew he was to become her husband then—he was just an old man who was a friend of Papa’s.She didn’t much like the way he stroked her hand and sat rather too close.And his breath stank.But she’d learned to be polite and to hide her discomfort.
The day Papa informed her, with tears in his eyes, that bad men were after him, threatening to kill him—slowly and painfully—unless he could pay them the money he owed, she’d been so distressed and frightened on his behalf.
Foolish, gullible child.
And then a few days later, after she’d lain awake through several nights, tossing and turning, conjuring up schemes to save him—wild, impossible schemes—he’d come to her and told her that old Lord Holgrave was willing to give him the money that would save his life.She’d been so relieved.Even grateful.
Until she heard Lord Holgrave’s condition for the gift.
Marriage.
The thought had horrified her, and she’d refused and refused.But Papa and Edgar were adamant: if she didn’t marry Lord Holgrave, her father would be murdered.Violently and painfully.What sort of daughter would put her own silly, childish female preferences before her father’s life?
