A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (16 page)

“Lady Weller,” he said, inclining his head.

She turned from chatting with an even older woman he vaguely remembered as Lady Beaumont to look up at him. “My heavens, you
are
handsome. Even up close. So many men can make one’s heart stop from across the room, but up close they disappoint. But you, Colonel James, are a handsome man.”

Any other time he would have found the conversation amusing. “Thank you. Would you walk with me for a moment?”

Her gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. “Oh, yes, we do need to discuss my granddaughter Amelia’s birthday party, don’t we?”

He nodded as she wrapped a hand around his arm. “Yes, we do.”

As soon as they were out of earshot of Lady Beaumont, her grip tightened. “What’s amiss, young man?”

“In the library you will find that Miss Weller isn’t feeling at all well, and needs to be seen home—through the rear door.”

Agnes Weller gasped. “What happened? Did Montrose—”

“She’s inebriated,” he interrupted, keeping his voice pitched low. “Very.”

The dowager viscountess released his arm. “I’ll see to it.”

With a last nod he turned away, heading back for his chair.

“You confuse her,” the old woman’s voice came. “Thank God.”

He would decipher what that meant later. For the moment he needed to move away from where Tess and her rescuers would be. The eyes of the guests would be following him tonight. And for the first time since the Company’s report had been published, he was grateful.

“There you are, Colonel,” Lackaby said, angling the chair so Bartholomew could more or less fall back into it. “I was near ready to send out a search party.”

“Get me over to the other side of the room. Now. No arguing, no commentary.”

The valet’s mouth closed with an audible snap. With a nearly neck-breaking jolt the chair went into motion, hurtling him across the edges of the room to its far side. Then they stopped with an equally spine-bending bump.

“Thank you,” Bartholomew grunted, easing his white-knuckled grip on the chair’s arms.

“Can I talk now?”

“If you must.”

Lackaby blew out his breath. “Good. Because I just spoke to Williams, whose brother is a footman at Wellington’s town house. Arthur will be heading for breakfast at Carlton House at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Bartholomew had ceased trying to discover why Lackaby, apparently indispensable to Wellington during their days in India, now needed to discover the duke’s schedule through such roundabout means,
but he was glad to hear the news. “Then we should go for a walk at half eight in front of Apsley House.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

Theresa awoke to a quiet, dark room. Squinting open one eye, she lifted her head a few inches, just enough to see that she’d made it to her own bedchamber.

Distantly she recalled being found in the Clement House library by Grandmama Agnes, and then Michael half carrying her down the back servants’ stairs and around to their coach. Her family knew that she’d been drinking whiskey and vodka and quite possibly some brandy. “Oh, dear,” she mumbled, burying herself beneath the sheets again.

Not only had she acted foolishly, but she’d been caught at it. And now her head felt like a horse was sitting on it, and her mouth was as dry as the most arid Arabian desert. If anyone else had seen her—oh, she could very well be ruined. She had embarrassed her family. She’d been caught out by…She’d kissed Tolly. Again.

More than kissed him, actually. She’d thrown him to the ground and begged him to take her. Theresa dug herself deeper into the bed. She was never emerging. Never. Ever.

Her door opened. With the curtains drawn and her eyes squeezed shut she had no idea who it was or what time it might be, but it didn’t matter. “Go away,” she said into the pillow.

“I’ve brought tea and sugar,” her grandmother’s voice came. “They might help your head a bit.”

Several soft thuds hit the edges of the bed around
her. Apparently Grandmama Agnes had brought feline reinforcements. But she still wasn’t looking. “Just leave it.”

“Very well.” China clinked as it settled on her dressing table. “I have one thing to say first.”

“Oh, please don’t. I know I was awful,” Theresa wailed. “And I’m so, so sorry. I will never misbehave ever again. I promise.”

“I was about to say,” Agnes continued, “something upset you, and you had a bit too much to drink last night. The world did not crumble, civilization did not fall, and you were not ruined.”

“I was luckier than I deserve.”

“You were exactly as lucky as you deserve. There are a very few life-altering moments we recognize as they arrive, my darling, and they should be regarded carefully and thoughtfully. Last night was a…a hiccup. Hardly worth noting.”

“But the—”

“And Tolly James is an intelligent young man. It’s a shame, the things he must have had to face on his own.”

Theresa wrenched open one eye and peeked out from beneath the covers. “He’s aggravating.”

“I would hope you find him so.”

Her heart started beating harder, matching the pounding of her head. “But I said some things to him last night…Oh, I can never look at him again.”

She caught her grandmother smiling in the dimness before she dove beneath the covers again.

“It’s not funny,” she protested.

“Oh, Tess, I apologize, but yes, it is funny. Come
downstairs when you’re ready. I have some soup and bread waiting for you.”

“But aren’t you disappointed in me?”

“I never have been, and I don’t see any reason to begin now.”

As her grandmother left the room, Theresa finally sat up. The throbbing in her skull redoubled, but she kept one eye open anyway. Caesar, Mr. Brown, Lucy, and Captain Mouser all lay around her, warm and soft and utterly unconcerned with anything but their own comfort.

If she were a cat, everything would be much simpler. All they cared about was being fed and petted. Yellow-eyed Lucy was very popular with the gentlemen, and neither she nor her fellow cats ever even thought about their reputations.

Holding her head with both hands, she stumbled to the tea. Pouring a cup with unsteady hands, she dropped in four lumps of sugar. It was much sweeter than she preferred, but after a few minutes the ache in her head dulled a little.

From what her grandmother had said, her reputation remained intact—thanks, mostly, to Tolly. She owed him a favor. Several favors, considering that he hadn’t taken advantage of her even when she’d asked him to.

So now she had a dilemma. Propriety said she should stay far away from such an explosive scandal. But she didn’t want to stay away from him,
and
she owed him a good turn.

Slowly she dressed, stopping frequently for more tea. However fuzzy last night remained, she recalled
one thing very clearly. Tolly said they’d each already faced the worst possible consequence of their actions. Someone must have told him about her parents, but when and where he’d found out didn’t signify.

What he’d said, though, made a kind of sense. Grandmama Agnes and Michael and Amelia used to tell her that she’d been a tired, upset child and none of what happened had been her fault. They didn’t say it any longer, because she’d never listened.

But the idea that she had already faced the worst thing she would ever face—she could believe that. Theresa stepped into her shoes and then opened her door, moving back to let the cats precede her into the hallway.

What was anything compared to that night? To the days afterward? After all this time, it abruptly felt like a path of sorts had opened up before her. But it wasn’t all up to her, even if she did decide to…well, she didn’t even know yet. She was definitely thinking about something, though, even if she couldn’t admit it to herself, because her heart was beating very fast.

“Good morning, Miss Tess,” Ramsey said from the foyer, as he motioned John the footman back to the breakfast room.

“Good morning, Ramsey. Where might I find my brother and grandmother?”

“Lord Weller is in his office, and the dowager viscountess is, I believe, in the garden cutting flowers.” He motioned toward the breakfast room. “Cook has made up a pot of hot onion soup.”

She grimaced. “I haven’t much of an appetite this morning. Please send some toasted bread to Michael’s office, if you would.”

The butler inclined his head. “I will see to it at once.”

Michael’s office was two doors down the hallway from the breakfast room. Theresa knocked at the closed door, then pushed it open at his reply.

“Thank you for rescuing me last night,” she said, before he could begin chastising her.

“You’re welcome.” He closed the ledger book in front of him. “I’ve done enough…questionable things that I’m not going to yell at you, but I am a bit curious, Troll.”

She sighed. “About what?”

“Why after all this time did you decide the Clement soiree was the place to go completely mad? Aside from the fact that Lord Brasten keeps a fine wine cellar.”

She set her tea on his desk, then dropped into a chair. Immediately she regretted the motion, and pressed her fingertips to her temple. “Oh, heavens.”

Michael sat forward to nudge her tea closer to her. “You’ll be feeling better by noon, I imagine.”

Three more hours of this. Well, she’d done it to herself, so she would live with the consequences. “Alexander proposed to me again.”

He nodded. “He asked my permission. I told him that he needed yours.”

“He had this odd idea that I’m infatuated with Tolly James, but that I won’t dare go near the colonel because of the scandal. That apparently means that I must make a final decision, and he wants it in the next week.”

“Mmm-hmm. That seems an…understandable stance for him to take.”

“Oh, you think so, do you? I considered it completely underhanded. Counting on my cowardice is just mean.”

Her brother gazed at her for a long moment. They were only three years apart, and generally she considered them to be on fairly even ground. Today, though, his light green eyes were full of compassion and sympathy, and even wisdom. And despite her aching head she felt very—well, not young, but unsure. She’d never walked this path before, and she wasn’t certain if she should.

“If you don’t wish to marry Montrose, all you need do is say so. You don’t need to set yourself three sheets to the wind and risk being ruined.”

“I didn’t do that because I’m upset over Alexander. I did it, I think, because I never do anything.”

“My dear,” came from behind her, as Grandmama Agnes swept into the room, “while I can’t condone your sudden interest in liquor, I am very pleased that you haven’t completely done away with that spirit that’s always filled you.”

“You’re happy I misbehaved?”

“All I will say about it at this moment is that indulging oneself should be done sparingly. Because if you go looking for trouble, it will find you.”

“That’s not terribly helpful.” Theresa swallowed. “And what about scandal? If I am seen speaking with Tolly, the—”

“I suggest one step at a time,” Agnes interrupted.

“And no more drinking,” her brother added.

She looked from one to the other of them. Of course she’d been the one to be obsessed with propriety, but even so their…cavalier view of what a few weeks
ago would have had her weeping in shame continued to surprise her.

As Tolly had noted, suffering a few sideways glances was far easier than living through the tragedy she’d known. Clearly he felt the same, or he wouldn’t have worn that magnificent uniform of his last night. And so if she wanted to have another chat with her friend who happened to be at the center of a possible maelstrom, then she supposed she could give it a try.

H
ow long do I need to push you back and forth here?” Lackaby grunted, reversing direction again. “I’m getting blisters.”

Bartholomew snapped open his pocket watch. “According to you, Wellington’s generally prompt. I’ll give him another twenty minutes. If he doesn’t appear, I’ll either have to find another way to get to him, or I’ll have to go to the Horse Guards to have a look for allies.”

“They won’t give you anything if the East India Company’s already lining their pockets. Which it is.”

“I know. They may have the records to prove my argument, though.”

“Which will prove them liars.”

“I didn’t say I would go through the front door,” Bartholomew returned.

“Seems like they’d be happier if you were dead, Colonel.”

The thought had actually occurred to him before; it was another reason for him to make his presence in London known. He didn’t want to be able to disappear without commentary.

Bartholomew glanced up at the gates of Apsley House again. A few weeks ago he’d been halfway to wishing the Thuggee had succeeded and he was still down in that damned well rotting with his men. By calling him a liar, the East India Company had forced him into action.

A pair of liveried grooms ran out to the ornate Apsley House gates and pulled them open as a grand black coach rolled down the carriage drive and onto the street.
Damnation
. He hadn’t expected Wellington to be on foot, but stopping a carriage hadn’t been a part of his plan, either.

“Push me out,” Bartholomew ordered.

“Beg pardon?”

“Push me into the street
.”

“You’ll be killed.”

“Now, Lackaby.”

The valet gave him a hard shove. He rolled forward, coming to a stop directly in front of the looming coach-and-four. The valet dove out of the way, but Bartholomew stood. He’d faced death; nothing else much impressed.

The coach skidded to a halt. “Move aside, you bloody fool!” the driver bellowed at him.

Bartholomew took a limping step forward. “That’s Colonel bloody fool to you,” he returned. “I require a brief word with His Grace.”

“His Grace does not stop to chat with every supposed soldier who steps into his path. Move a—”

“That’s enough, Smith.”

The coach door swung open. Hurriedly the tiger seated beside Smith jumped to the ground and flipped down the trio of steps spanning from the coach to the ground. A booted foot emerged, and then the blue-and gray-clothed Duke of Wellington himself stepped onto the street.

“My driver is cautious,” he said, keen eyes taking in Bartholomew and the chair behind him. “In the past, men have tried to kill me.”

“Men have tried to kill me, as well. That’s actually what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“I know who you are, Colonel James. And I won’t be pulled into a dispute with either the army or the East India Company. I have found them both to be invaluable allies in the past. They may prove to be so again.”

Bartholomew understood that. “They say politics is a dangerous battlefield, Your Grace.”

“And with fewer victories. I—” The duke stopped, his sharp-eyed gaze moving beyond Bartholomew to the edge of the street. “Lackaby, you old dog. Is that you?”

The valet came forward. “I hardly recognize ye, Your Grace. You’ve more medals and titles now than I can count.”

“You’re serving Colonel James now, I presume?”

Lackaby puffed out his chest. “I am, and proudly.
Colonel James holds the reputations of his fallen men in his hands, and he ain’t about to let them be remembered as anything less than heroes.”

Cool gray eyes shifted to regard Bartholomew once more. “Well, then. You’re not likely to find many others with whom to compare stories, Colonel. In fact, your experience may well be unique.” He frowned a little. “You’re residing at James House?”

It was more a statement than a question, but Bartholomew nodded anyway. “I am.”

“I may have some old notes you might find informative, though I don’t know how helpful they’ll be. I’ll send them by this evening.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re on the verge of making some very powerful enemies, Colonel. Consider carefully before you proceed. Not many men could stand against that onslaught. And you’ve only got the one good leg to begin with.”

With another look Wellington climbed back into his carriage and knocked on the roof. Lackaby pushed the chair out of the street, and the big coach rolled into motion once more. Bartholomew limped aside and watched as it turned the corner and vanished.

“Well. Looks like you’ve got a bit of help, after all.”

“A bit of help. If his old notes mention any Thuggee attacks. If they don’t, I’m back to being alone again.”

“I find that somewhat troubling, myself,” Lackaby commented, moving the chair behind Bartholomew. “No other survivors means no one to talk.”

“Means no proof of how they were actually killed. I am aware of this.” Bartholomew sat, handing
his cane back to the valet. “If it was easy to prove the Thuggees’ existence, the East India Company wouldn’t have discounted them. Let’s go, shall we?”

“Where to now?”

“I thought I might return home for a pistol, and then take luncheon at the Army Club.”

“They’ll murder you there, Colonel.”

Bartholomew gave a grim smile. “I’m a member. And if I’m fortunate enough to find another member who served in India, I might find an ally.” He doubted it, and he wouldn’t trust anyone who did come forward, but any additional evidence, stories, or rumors would add to his collection of evidence.

Six streets later, Lackaby was complaining that he was about to lose his own feet, and the left wheel of his chair was beginning to squeak. Apparently it would be a hack and the cane for his luncheon engagement. They turned up the drive to James House.

“Stop,” he said, his breath catching before he could cover it.

“Thank God.”

Bartholomew shared very nearly the same sentiment. The Weller barouche stood in front of the door, Amelia leaning on the side to talk with its seated occupant. A pretty yellow bonnet swept back from her face, one hand resting on her cousin’s, sat Theresa.

“Go.”

“I’m thinking we should figure a way to harness a pony to the front of this contraption,” Lackaby said, grunting as he pushed the chair into motion again.

Theresa turned as Bartholomew rolled up the drive. On a lesser man the bumping and weaving of the
chair might have looked silly, but the resigned, faintly amused expression on his face told her and everyone else who might chance to see him that he could manage on his own perfectly well and that he was only humoring the people around him.

He stood up, limping with his cane to the barouche. Whatever she’d said to him the night before, it hadn’t driven him off. Then again, she’d never seen anything to make her think he frightened easily.

“Good morning, Theresa,” he said, gripping one hand over the door of the carriage.

“Tolly.” She swallowed, trying to settle the butterflies in her stomach. “I wondered if you might care to go driving this morning.”

He held her gaze for a heartbeat, then straightened, shaking his head. “I need a haircut. Interested?” With that he nodded at Amelia, and went to haul himself up the steps and into the house.

“What was that about?” Amelia asked, watching him disappear inside.

“He doesn’t trust anyone with sharp implements,” Theresa offered. “You know that.” Her heart beat even faster. She stood up, unlatching the door of the barouche and stepping to the ground. Sally scrambled behind her to catch up.

“He seems to trust you,” Amelia observed, falling in beside her. “Sally, see about fetching us some tea and biscuits, will you? For the morning room.”

Theresa had no intention of sitting in the morning room when Tolly had just challenged her again, but the request did free her from Sally for the moment. Everything felt topsy-turvy this morning, and she wasn’t even certain her feet touched the ground. She
imagined others would say it was the result of putting aside a burden she’d carried for a very long time, but she thought it was more about forgiveness. They’d said it all along, but for the first time she believed that her family didn’t blame her for the accident. She glanced again at Amelia. Or most of them didn’t, anyway.

“I thought you were avoiding Colonel James,” her cousin noted.

“I came here, didn’t I?”

“Clearly.” Amelia took her arm, stopping her just short of the steps. “And why is that? I don’t recall that you ever recommended assisting a gentleman with his toiletries in your booklet.”

“It never came up.”

“Theresa. What’s happened?”

Tess took a deep breath. “I’m…looking for a new path, Leelee. I’ve been wondering, though, if I have the right to do so.” A tear ran down one cheek, and she swiftly wiped it away. “I think I need your permission. If you say no, I won’t be angry. I promise. I just need your per—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tess. Get in the house.” Amelia threw her arms around Theresa, giving her a tight hug. “Go on.”

They were happy for her. Her family was actually pleased that she’d decided to reassess her obsession with rules—if she could. Thirteen years of perfect, proper behavior was a great deal to consider. It wasn’t as though she meant purposely to misbehave, anyway. It was only that she didn’t have to stay away from Tolly just because he might be in for a bit of
trouble and raised eyebrows. She’d probably been exaggerating the scandal, anyway.

She climbed the staircase. For a man with a bad leg, Tolly moved fairly quickly. “Tolly?” she called, leaning around his half-open bedchamber door. “I’m not here to play hide-and-seek.”

“At the risk of sending you fleeing again,” his low voice came from directly behind her, “what
are
you here to play?”

She tried to hide her start as she faced him. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night.”

“Ah.” He moved around her into the bedchamber. “For the drinking, or for when you threw me to the ground and attempted to have your way with me?”

“I did not—” She snapped her jaw shut, her cheeks heating. She did have some rather vivid memories of kissing him. “For both things.”

“Come in here.” He faced her from halfway across the room. “I refuse to yell.”

Her fingers just a touch unsteady, Theresa closed the door and threw the bolt. “You said something to me that night. It made sense.”

“Yes? What was that?”

So he wouldn’t make it easy for her. She couldn’t precisely blame him; after all, here she was just under a day after she’d said she didn’t wish to be around him any longer. “The part about both of us having already faced our worst moment.” Theresa tilted her head. “I assume that means someone told you about my parents.”

He nodded. “I was looking for puzzle pieces. You are rather fascinating.”

Everyone else upon learning about the death of her parents said they were sorry, which always made her wonder why they were apologizing when it had been her fault. Or they implied that they could sympathize, when of course they had no idea.

“So have you put together my puzzle now?” she asked aloud.

“Clearly not, because I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.” Setting his cane aside, he gripped the nearest bedpost to approach her again. “If you merely felt the need to be sober while telling me off, you could have saved yourself the trouble.”

“As I said, your advice to me made sense. That’s why I’m here.”

Bartholomew moved another step closer, his amber eyes studying hers very, very intently. She kept forgetting how tall he was when he rose from his chair. What she had been unable to forget, what she craved, was the arousal that flitted through her when he gazed at her as he was now. “So I’m back to courting you again? Or is it your turn?”

“I mean to let you court me. If you’ll answer a question.”

The fingers of his free hand lifted to brush along her cheek. “What question is that?”

“What happened in India?”

His hand dropped again. “Tess, you don’t need to know that.”

Despite her abrupt panic that she’d gained his attention once more only to lose it just as swiftly, Theresa stayed still. “I killed my parents through my own selfishness,” she said quietly, her voice shaking. “You know my tragedy. It’s only fair that I know yours. Es
pecially if I’m to stand there beside you while you’re called a liar.”

Uttering a quiet curse, Tolly limped to the window. He stood still for a moment, then clenched his fists and pounded them into the sill. “I was wrong.”

“About what?” She could think of several things, and then several more she
didn’t
want to think about.

“That we’re the same.”

“I—”

“You threw a tantrum when you were a child. We all did, yelled and kicked our feet when we didn’t get our way. Our parents threw tantrums when they were children. And as parents they gave in when it suited them to do so.”

Theresa swallowed. “You’ve spent some time thinking about this, then.”

“It’s been occupying my mind lately.”

“But this has nothing to do with you and India. It doesn’t signify, anyway. I know what happened that night. You don’t.”

“Your brother and Amelia wanted to stay overnight at Reynolds House, because the Reynolds children were their age. You were what, three years younger? And you wanted to go home. Were you asleep when the coach overturned?”

“Yes, but I know what happened, for heaven’s sake. Stop talking about it.”

“If your parents had waited fifteen more minutes, you would have been asleep regardless of whether they listened to you or not. Do you think they didn’t know that?”

“But I screamed for my doll! I threatened to run home if they didn’t take me!”

He shook his head. “
That
doesn’t signify. They wanted to return home, and you provided the excuse.”

A tear plopped onto her hand, and she wiped it on her gown. She wanted to yell that it
was
her fault, as the rest of her family knew, whether they’d forgiven her for it or not. And she wanted to vomit, because she’d heard very similar arguments from Leelee and Grandmama Agnes and she’d dismissed them, but damned Tolly James made her listen to him, and he made sense.