Tessa's Touch (10 page)

He was determined to discover exactly how.

The other table ended their rubber a moment
later, and though Sir George at once suggested another, Anthony could detect a
trace of weariness in his voice.

"You are most kind, sir, but I believe we
have imposed upon your hospitality long enough." When his host would have
protested, he added, "Remember, your daughter was up early today for the
hunt, and rode hard for several hours this morning. I'm certain she would not
thank us for keeping her longer from her bed."

The grateful glance Miss Seaton sent him was
almost worth the sacrifice of leaving her side so early.

"Why, I had quite forgotten that,"
Sir George said, looking at his daughter. "How thoughtless of me, Tessa,
dear. Are you so tired, then?"

She rather elaborately stifled a yawn. "I
confess I am beginning to flag a bit, Papa, after such a long, full day."

That settled the matter and the gentlemen rose
to take their leave with many exclamations of gratitude for an enjoyable
evening.

"Perhaps the Odd Sock Club may return the
favor and have you to dinner at Ivy Lodge, Sir George," Stormy suggested,
oblivious to the sudden alarm on Miss Seaton's face.

Anthony saw Thor nudge Stormy, but Sir George
was looking thoughtful. "Perhaps that might be pleasant, if it can somehow
be contrived." He glanced impatiently down at his chair. "It may be
easier to have you all here again soon, however."

"I'm betting these fellows can get you in
and out of a carriage, should you wish to come," Killer volunteered.
"We'd love a chance to show you about the place, wouldn't we,
Anthony?"

Caught between the urge to help Sir George and
his reluctance to distress Miss Seaton, Anthony nodded cautiously. "I'm
sure it can be managed, should you wish to come —and should Miss Seaton think
it wise. I would invite you as well, Miss Seaton, but Ivy Lodge is a bachelor
establishment, I fear."

"I quite understand," she said
stiffly, her anxious eyes on her father. "Now, do allow me to see you all
to the door."

Clearly, she was hoping that once they were
gone, Sir George would forget the idea of leaving the house, but Anthony was
not at all certain that he would —or that he should. He waited until his
friends had all said their goodbyes so that he could be the last to take leave
of Miss Seaton.

"I'm sorry if you feel our visit was a
strain on your father," he murmured as he bent over her hand. "I
believe you will find that he benefited from it on the whole, however."

She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and
troubled. "Would that you were right, my lord, but I fear he may have
overestimated his strength. It has been many years since he has attempted
anything like this evening."

Retaining his light grasp on her hand, Anthony
held her gaze with his own for a long moment, willing her to understand that he
wished only good for her and her father. Her eyes widened slightly and he felt
her fingers tremble in his before she hastily withdrew them.

"Pray don't underestimate your father,
Miss Seaton," he said when she would have turned away. "He is capable
of more than you give him credit for, and it would do him good if he could
believe that as well."

She took a step back, her brown eyes now
flashing. "I believe I know my father better than you can after a mere
evening in his company, my lord. In all likelihood, he will be unable to rise
from his bed tomorrow, after tonight's exertions —and the task of nursing him
will fall to me. I must ask that you and your friends not visit again,
especially if you are to put ambitions in his head that can only upset him when
he realizes they are beyond his ability to realize."

With that, she turned and went up the stairs,
leaving Anthony no option but to follow his friends out the door to their
waiting horses. He was certain, however, despite the finality of that
dismissal, that he had by no means seen the last of Miss Seaton.

* *
*

Tessa heard the front door close with profound
relief, though her anger at Lord Anthony's parting words still simmered. Who
did he think he was, to imply that she was harming her father with her care of
him? He had never seen Papa when he was unable to do anything but stare out the
window, which happened all too frequently of late. He did not know how great an
exertion tonight must have been for Sir George after years of seclusion.

"They are gone, then, my dear?" her
father greeted her when she reached the top of the stairs. Was that regret in
his voice, or only weariness?

"Yes, Papa, they're gone at last. Let me
call Griffith, for it is well past your bedtime. Where is Harold?"

"Gone to talk to Mercer, I believe,"
he said dismissively. "So, Tessa, what think you of those gentlemen? Fine
young men, I should say, and they all seemed to admire you—and to have a good
time. All in all, I'm quite pleased with how our first dinner party went,
aren't you?"

"First?" Surely, he didn't mean—

"Why, yes. Now that we've proved we are
perfectly capable of entertaining, I expect this will be only the first party
of many. Who knows? After a bit of practice, perhaps we will even hold a ball
and invite the neighborhood. You never have had a proper come-out, after
all."

Tessa stared, for it was not at all like her
retiring father to suggest such a thing. "A ball? I can't imagine —that
is— We haven't the servants for such a thing. And the ballroom hasn't been used
in—"

"In more than ten years," he said.
"Not since your mother died. I know. I've been very selfish, Tessa, and
you've been deprived as a result, but now I'm determined to make it up to
you."

"Oh, Papa, no! You haven't been selfish,
you've been ill. It's not at all the same thing. And I haven't felt deprived in
the least."

She
must
dissuade him from this notion. Not only would he task his
strength beyond endurance, but the ballroom, which was in the west wing, could
not be made presentable without far more money than they had any hopes of
obtaining. Its ceiling had been damaged by the leaking roof, and half the
crystal from the chandelier had somehow gone missing. Then there was the sadly
dilapidated giltwork, the motheaten wall hangings . . .

"Truly, Papa, I haven't the least desire
for a ball," she said firmly. "I doubt I even remember how to
dance."

He waved that objection away. "It will
come back to you. You were a delightful dancer as a child, I recall, and we can
always hire a master to give you a refresher lesson or two."

Griffith, Sir George's manservant, appeared and
Tessa beckoned to him. "We'll discuss it in the morning, Papa. Right now,
you need to get to bed. Good night." She kissed his brow and he held her
close for a moment.

"Good night, Tessa, and thank you for
being such a perfect hostess tonight. It meant more to me than you can
know." He released her with a smile and allowed Griffith to wheel him to
his bedchamber at the rear of the floor.

Tessa listened for a moment as he regaled
Griffith with highlights of the evening just past, then headed upstairs to her
own chamber with a sigh. It would be a miracle if her father was able to
function at all tomorrow after so much excitement today, and she needed her
rest if she was to be able to care for him.

* *
*

"You're sure you don't want to join the
Quorn today?" Anthony asked Killer one last time before mounting Cinder.
"There may yet be a hunter available for hire. We can ask when we get
there."

The viscount shook his head. "I plan to
use Firebolt's sore hock as an excuse to see how Carter is getting on with
Nimbus. I haven't had a chance to watch him in action since purchasing
him."

"Mind you don't get too close,"
Stormy cautioned, glancing in the direction of Nimbus's stall as he pulled on
his riding gloves. "He's a terror, that one is. Anthony here could
probably handle him, but—"

"But not little Killer, is that what you're
saying?" their friend demanded, his pride clearly stung. "Size is no
measure of horsemanship, you know. Look at Miss Seaton."

"No, no, of course not," Stormy said
hastily, glancing at Anthony for support. "I didn't mean—"

"That's all right, never mind,"
Killer said, recovering some of his habitual buoyancy. "I know you mean
well, both of you. Not to worry, however. Even if he threw me, I'd doubtless
bounce." He patted his rounded stomach with a grin.

Anthony chuckled, then frowned in sudden
concern. "But you're not—"

Killer interrupted him, saying, "Go on, go
on, you're going to be late for the meet. I'll want to hear all about the hunt
when you get back— particularly if Miss Seaton rides again."

Though still worried about what Killer might
attempt in their absence, Anthony knew that to say anything else might be to
prod his friend into taking a foolish risk.

"And we'll want a report on that bay's
progress on our return, too," was all he said, silencing Stormy with a
look. They both mounted and headed out, cantering to catch up with Rush and
Thor, who'd left two or three minutes earlier.

"You don't think he'll really try it, do
you?" Stormy asked worriedly as they rode. "Not yet?"

"Not ever, I hope, unless that horse is
capable of more improvement than I believe is possible," Anthony replied.
"You know Killer, though, with his eternal optimism. I hope we stopped
needling him in time."

Stormy nodded. "I think we did. Glad you
shut me up when you did, though. Have a tendency to run on at times, don't
I?"

"At times," Anthony agreed with a
grin. "Look, there they are, taking that next turn. Let's gallop."

The four founders of the Odd Sock Club arrived
at the Quorn meet together, and as one they searched the assembled riders for
the burgundy flash of a habit.

"Don't think she's here," Thor said
after a moment.

Anthony wasn't surprised, as she'd said nothing
last night about hunting today. He only hoped her absence didn't mean that
she'd been right about Sir George. Surely they hadn't tired the man as much as
she seemed to think. If anything, the opposite had seemed to be the case.

Mr. Assheton Smith raised his horn to signal
the hounds to the covert. Anthony resigned himself to not enjoying Miss
Seaton's company that day, then wondered why he should feel so disappointed
when he hadn't expected it anyway. Soon, however, his attention was given
wholly to the chase, though still he found himself wondering at odd moments how
Miss Seaton would have taken a particular jump, or what comment she might have
made on some sportsman's blunder.

As the day wore on, he found himself very much
hoping that she might turn out for the Cottesmore tomorrow, for hunting somehow
seemed more enjoyable with her along for the ride.

* *
*

The afternoon was growing cool and damp when
Tessa returned from a long ride on the promising new gelding that Uncle Mercer
had bought Monday. Her uncle had been right that with a bit of training, the
hack could become a perfectly good hunter. She only hoped she'd be given enough
time to work with him.

She was heading up the stairs to change out of
her old brown habit before dinner when she was startled from her thoughts by a
loud knocking at the door. Had she been wrong? Had the horse created some sort
of problem once she was off his back? It hadn't seemed—

"Is Miss Seaton here?" came Lord
Anthony's agitated voice the instant Griffith opened the door.

Turning, she hurried back down the stairs to
interrupt the manservant's stammering excuse that she was not prepared to
receive visitors at the moment.

"It's all right, Griffith," she said,
dismissing him. "Lord Anthony, I did not look to see you here today. Is
something the matter?"

He was still dressed in hunting attire, which
surprised her, as the hunt must have concluded hours ago. At her appearance, he
swept off his hat and bowed, though there was no mistaking the tension in his
expression.

"I hope I find you well, Miss Seaton . . .
and your father. Did we tire him unduly last night?"

"No," she was forced to admit.
"He has seemed perfectly well today, somewhat to my surprise." She
saw no point in confessing that her father was in fact more alert than she
could recall seeing him since his accident six years ago—and more cheerful than
he'd been since her mother had died, four years before that.

Some of the tension went out of Lord Anthony's
face, but not all of it. "Good, good. If he will be all right on his own
for a bit, perhaps I might ask a favor of you?"

"A favor?" she echoed, confused.

He slapped his hat against his thigh a few
times, as though trying to choose his words before speaking them aloud.
"It's Killer," he finally said. "That is, Lord Killerby. While
we were at the Quorn today, he went out riding on Nimbus —alone."

Tessa's hand went to her throat. "Is . . .
is he all right?" she asked, trying not to let her fear show in her voice,
as that would be to admit the horse was unsafe.