They drove along in silence for a moment, and Joseph said, “I’m not disregarding what you’ve asked, Tessa. Please. Just give me time.”
Chapter Twenty
It had been careless and rude of Joseph not to have called on Trevor Rheese, the Earl of Falcondale, and his wife, Lady Piety, since his return from Barbadoes.
He’d been back in London for more than a week. His correspondence during his ten months away had been spotty. Worst of all, he’d left without saying a proper good-bye.
Joseph had told himself he’d been rushed, he’d been busy, but the real reason was that he cared about what Trevor and Piety thought of Tessa. Despite his own outrage at her duplicity, he would not have them dislike her. And they would have, immediately, if they had known what she had withheld from him. Their loyalty to Joseph was absolute, and they didn’t know Tessa at all. His solution had been to keep away after the wedding.
Instead, he had scrawled a quick note before he’d sailed for Barbadoes. It said a hasty farewell and warned Trevor and Piety that his wife “wished for solitude in Belgravia” and please never to call. It had been cryptic and rude, behaviors that he deplored, especially where the earl and countess were concerned, but he had been reeling at the time. The rich gentleman’s daughter who had fallen in love with him—withhim, of all people—had in fact wanted only legitimacy for her bastard son. He’d not come so far up in the world after all. Even with all the money and support Trevor had given him.
Joseph had mailed the note, boarded a steam packet for Barbadoes, and he’d not seen them since the wedding.
Now, inexplicably, he found himself wanting nothing more than their warm, unconditional affection and embrace.
And besides, his plan to take Tessa on a tour of his house in Blackheath had been shot. Why take her to his house when what she really wanted was a cottage in bloody Hartlepool, wherever that was.
But more than anything, he was not ready to return her to Belgravia. The call would buy him time to think through his wife’s very humble, incredibly unexpected request to relocate to the North Sea.
It was near twelve o’clock when they arrived at Trevor and Piety’s townhome in Henrietta Place, and it occurred to Joseph that they might intrude on luncheon. He could but hope. Eating would give him more time to think, something he sorely needed, and less time for Trevor and Piety to ask pointed questions.
“You are joking,” drawled Trevor Rheese, the Earl of Falcondale, when he came up behind his butler to see Joseph and Tessa on the stoop.
“Yes,” said Joseph blandly. “I’m joking. It is not me. This is not my wife. We are not standing in your doorway. I’ve engineered a mirage. Or could it be the result of old age on your eyesight?” At fifty, Trevor was still active and fit, but his encroaching decrepitude was a running joke.
Tessa laughed, and Joseph was surprised by the sound. She’d laughed at nearly everything he said at Berymede, but now their conversations were very Serious and Important. Had she laughed at him even once since his return? Had he been remotely clever?
No. I have not.He’d been suspicious and restrained and regretful. No wonder she wished to move to the North Sea.
But now Trevor was speaking to him in Greek, a long, profanity-laden jab under his breath, and bowing over Tessa’s hand.
Joseph frowned. “Look at this princely greeting. When have I ever seen you bow over the hand of a lady?”
“Perhaps if you shared your wife on a more regular basis—orat all—you would enjoy my fine manners. But as it now st—”
“Oh!” gasped a voice from inside the house. “This wretched month has been saved!” Piety Rheese, the Countess Falcondale, shot out the door and leapt into his arms. “Joe, Joe, Joe! You’ve come home!”
Joseph caught her and spun, forcing Tessa to scramble back. He caught his wife’s eye and winked. Lady Piety was only a few years older than Joseph, the mother of three boys, and still brightly beautiful. An American by birth, Piety greeted the world with an earnest enthusiasm rarely seen among reserved Britons.
“And you’ve brought your dear wife!” Piety said, wriggling free and spinning on Tessa.
Tessa was less prepared for Piety’s voracious embrace, and the two women tipped back on the banister. Trevor and Joseph shouted in union and reached to upright them.
“But how long have you been back?” demanded Piety. “And you better say less than one day. I will accept no answer beyond, ‘Piety, I’ve been back less than one day.’”
“Less than a day,” said Joseph.
“You are lying to us—Trevor, he’slying—and thank God. Because if you have been in London for any time, any time at all, and you havenotsent word, I shall never forgive you. But have you eaten?”
Joseph glanced at Tessa. She appeared a little stunned by the countess’s reception, but she shrugged. “We have not eaten, but we could not impose.”
“Stop, of course, you will take luncheon with us immediately.”
“Don’t you mean he willserveluncheon immediately?” asked Trevor, another long-standing joke.
Piety rolled her eyes and whispered to a maid. Within moments, they were seated around a massive table while footmen served cold meats and cheese, fresh bread, and quince. Bowls of parsnip soup steamed in the center of each plate. While they ate, Piety peppered Joseph with questions about Barbadoes, the journey, the guano. Every fourth or fifth question, she slipped in a domestic question pointed at Tessa. Nothing too specific, nothing that might press her to reveal more than she wished about her life.
Tessa was open and cheerful but kept her answers brief. All the while, the earl ate in thoughtful silence. Joseph could feel his old friend keenly studying the two of them.
