“Why not?”
Tessa met her gaze squarely.“My reasons are my own.”
The old lady gave her a thoughtful look.“You are the stubbornest creature.”
“Thank you,” Tessa said calmly.
One finely plucked eyebrow rose.“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m aware of that.But all my adult life, my wishes have been overlooked and ignored, and I refuse to allow it any longer.”
“Is that so?”
Her skeptical tone flicked Tessa on the raw.“Yes, I won’t be an obedient wife ever again.Besides, I’m not the kind of society wife your nephew needs.I have no interest in fashion, I don’t wish to attend balls or host elegant little afternoon ‘at homes’ and entertain elegant ladies with tea and pretty cakes and petty gossip.”She could tell from the old lady’s expression that her shaft had hit home.She continued, “I had enough of doing what I was told when I was married and now, at last, I am standing up for myself.And I willnotbe bullied.”
Lady Gosforth sniffed.“Then you won’t last long as a hired companion.”She spooned up her soup and pulled a face.She rang a bell and when the butler appeared, she said crossly, “This soup is cold, Peverill!Cold!Soup is meant to be served hot.”
“I’m so sorry, m’lady,” the butler murmured apologetically, removing her barely touched soup bowl.“I shall see to it immediately.”
#
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, when Marcus arrived to take Tessa for a ride on Hampstead Heath, he was about to mount the front steps, when as if from nowhere, the boy Joey, appeared and clutched his arm.“‘E was there again yestdy,” the boy said urgently.
“Who was?”Marcus said, calmly detaching the grubby fingers from his sleeve.
“The bloke—I dunno his name, but he’s a bad ‘un.”
Marcus frowned.“How do you know?”
“I just know.I seem ‘im ‘anging around before, watchin’ the ‘ouse.”
“Have you indeed?What does he look like, this fellow.”Marcus wasn’t sure he believed it.Was the lad being overly dramatic?
“Shifty-lookin’, shorter ’n you, greasy dark hair, busted nose, wears a big overcoat.”
“I see.Well, thank you for warning me, Joey.”He produced a sixpence and flipped it to the boy, who snatched it deftly out of the air and secreted it invisibly somewhere in his ragged outfit.Marcus eyed him curiously.“Do you not like the clothes you were given?”
“No, they’re grand.But I can’t wear ‘em on the street, can I?People would notice.”
“Why would that be a problem?”Was the boy a pickpocket after all?
“It don’t do to stand out on the streets.”
“You’re not thieving, are you?”
“Course not!”the boy said indignantly.“Me mum brung me up honest!”
“Good,” Marcus said, then added, “You don’t have to live in the streets, you know.You can sleep here if you wish.Peverill tells me you’re a good worker, and Cook tells me you’re a dab hand in the kitchen.”
A grin split the boy’s face.“I’d do anyfing for her cookin’, even scrubbin’ pots.”
“I remember the feeling,” said Marcus, who’d never scrubbed a pot in his life.“Well, keep an eye out for this shifty-looking fellow and if you see him doing anything suspicious let me or Peverill know.”
#
“LETTER FOR YOU, SIR.”
Barney Wimple glanced up.His landlady, having just delivered his breakfast, pulled a folded square of pale blue from her apron pocket and held it out.
