for our diplomats in St Petersburg to negotiate with. With the right persuasion, our diplomats will be able to halt the war before it begins.’
Peyton scanned the letter, weighing his options. But that was the irony—there were no options to weigh. He could not countenance the discomfort of four young girls against the lives of hundreds of soldiers. Neither could he countenance his own discontentment at escorting Sir Ralph Branscombe’s daughter through the Season when it would prevent British soldiers from enduring far worse discomforts on the battlefield.
Peyton Ramsden, fourth Earl of Dursley, lifted his glass in a toast. ‘Well, then, here’s to king and country.’ He drank a large swallow. It had been a hell of a night.
Chapter Two
Tessa Branscombe was doing what she did best: flouting convention intentionally and in some ways unintentionally as she ushered her three sisters through the busy markets of London. A basket hung from her arm full of prizes wrested from merchants who’d been cowed by her shrewd negotiations.
To Tessa’s way of thinking, there was nothing inappropriate about the conduct of the outing. All four of them were dressed conservatively in sombre colours, although the period of half-mourning for their father had passed. Furthermore, they were escorted by the gallant Sergei Androvich, newly arrived from the Russian embassy.
If there was a glaring oddity about the outing, it concerned the place she’d chosen to take her sisters. She’d taken them to obtain greens and other foodstuffs that were usually obtained by a cook or housekeeper in a common marketplace. Tessa acknowledged this was not an errand polite society deemed appropriate for a lady of her station, and certainly not an appropriate outing for impressionable young girls. But while she acknowledged English society’s outlook, she staunchly disagreed with it.
In Tessa’s opinion, a tradition that prevented a girl from learning the intricacies of providing for a household’s meals wasn’t a very useful tradition and, thus, not deserving of her attention. So, here she was, a basket full of vegetables, a string of high-spirited sisters trailing behind her and the handsome delegate from the Russian embassy and old friend from St Petersburg, Sergei, beside her.
All in all, the little entourage made a strange picture in a marketplace not used to seeing a lady of quality amongst its customers, bargaining over prices with the tenacity of a fishwife on the docks. If merchants’ jaws dropped in amazement as the little group passed, that was their problem. Tessa had a faultless escort in Sergei Androvich and that was as far as she was willing to bend for tradition’s sake.
They passed a flower girl selling violets. Sergei tossed the girl a coin and snatched a bouquet, which he promptly presented to Tessa. He sketched an elegant leg in a playful, elaborate fashion that made her laugh. Her sisters gathered about her, giggling and clapping. Sergei dug out some more coins and presented each of them with their own posies of violets, to their great delight. Tessa pressed her nose to the gay bouquet and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘It is my pleasure. It’s been too long since you smiled, Tess,’ Sergei said softly in his perfect, but accented, English.
‘I know.’ Tessa met his blue gaze with her own, exchanging much with him in that moment. It had been a long nine months since her father’s death. There had been the enormous effort of leaving St Petersburg, a place that had been their home for fourteen years. She’d grown up there and had left many friends behind. Then there had been the work of setting up a home in her father’s little-used residence in London, a place Tessa had not seen since she was eight and her mother had been alive.
‘I am so glad you’re here, Sergei,’ Tessa said sincerely. Sergei had arrived yesterday with the Russian delegation and she was glad of his company. London was foreign to her. She missed the familiar faces and pace of life in St Petersburg. ‘How long will you be in London?’
‘I am not sure, but at least until September,’ Sergei replied. ‘My work with the embassy won’t be so arduous that I won’t have time for you. We’ll put a smile back on your face in no time.’
‘You already have.’ Tessa smiled again, slipping her free hand through the crook of Sergei’s arm. She meant it, too. All she knew of London was through the Englishmen who’d been posted to the St Petersburg embassy. But Sergei was a familiar friend. The son of a Russian noble, Sergei had appeared at the Czar’s royal court three years ago, looking to make his way in diplomatic circles. He’d been an instant success with his fluency in English, his education and his dashing blond good looks and blue eyes. It hadn’t been long before he’d been assigned as a junior liaison between the British embassy and the Russian diplomats.
He’d become a fixture at the Branscombe home, talking over situations with her father and a natural friendship had sprung up between them, which extended to Tessa and the girls.
Tessa looked around at her sisters, busy admiring their posies. The simple gestures had brought them a moment of pleasure in their uncertain world. Seeing how happy the bouquets made them, she privately vowed it was time to start getting out more. London was full of sights to see, and, with Sergei here, it would be a perfect time to take in the attractions. For now, though, it was time to head home.
Sergei offered to hail a cab, but Tessa insisted the walk was good exercise.
Several streets later, they reached the neat row of town houses in Bloomsbury, a neighbourhood preferred by a well-to-do intellectual set. The town houses ringed a well-kept key-garden for the residents’ private use and smartly dressed nannies pushed babies in prams up and down the park.
Overall, Tessa found it a pleasing area, quiet and removed far enough from the hub-bub of the city and busier neighbourhoods for her tastes. She had no desire to call attention to herself. The last thing she wanted was interference in her life. All she wanted these days was to set up house, see to her sisters in her own fashion without society’s intrusion and forget about the last tumultuous days in St Petersburg. She preferred remembering how life had been there before her father’s death and the quiet terror that had stalked her afterwards.
The girls bounded up the front steps ahead of her, eager to get their violets in water. Sergei laughed at their enthusiasm. ‘They’re exuberant,’ he said.
Tessa nodded. ‘It’s good for them. Will you come in and have tea? Mrs Hollister was making scones this morning.’
‘It will be a perfect end to a perfect afternoon,’ Sergei accepted.
Within moments, the perfection Sergei had spoken of evaporated. If Tessa had known what lay beyond the front door of her own home, she might not have gone in. No sooner had she and Sergei entered the hall than they were surrounded by her sisters, all talking excitedly at once. She caught only snatches of nonsensical phrases such as, ‘A guest!’, ‘An earl’, ‘In the front room’.
Tessa clapped her hands for silence. ‘One at a time, please!’ She turned to Petra, her junior by five years. ‘Petra, what is going on?’
Petra never got a chance to answer.
A masculine voice spoke with clipped, commanding tones from the doorway of the front room. ‘I believe what the girls are trying to tell you is that the Earl of Dursley is waiting to be received.’
Tessa turned to her right. All her instincts were on alert at the sight of the imposing, dark-haired man. Her first impression was one of danger. This man was dangerous. Dangerous and powerful. His eyes were like cold
