for even more finery—’
Genna broke in. ‘And what must you do in return, Lorene?’
Lorene glared at her. She straightened and turned towards the door. ‘I must go now. I must see that everything is in order for our guests. I expect you to behave properly in front of them, Genna.’
‘I know how to behave properly,’ Genna snapped, still recalcitrant. ‘Did Papa not teach us to never behave like our mother?’
Lorene shot her one more scathing—and, Tess thought—pained look and left the room.
Tess leaped off the bed. ‘Genna, how could you? That was terrible to say. About...about sharing Lord Tinmore’s bed.’ And about their mother.
Genna folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, it is what we think about, is it not? What she must do for him? Because of us?’
Tess felt a pang of guilt.
She took it out on Genna, walking over to her and shaking her. ‘We cannot speak of it! It hurts her. You saw that.’
Genna pulled away, but looked chagrined.
Tess went on. ‘We must make the best of this, for her sake. She’s done us an enormous service at great sacrifice. She has given us a gift beyond measure. We are free to choose who we want to marry.’ She thought of Mr Welton. ‘We must not make her feel bad for it.’
‘Oh, very well.’ Genna turned back to her watercolour. ‘But what are we to say when we hear the guests speak of her marrying Lord Tinmore for his money? Are we to say, “Yes, that is it exactly. She married him for his money and his title. Just like our mother did our father”?’
That was another truth best left unspoken.
‘We pretend we do not hear anything.’ Tess spoke firmly. ‘We act as if Lorene’s marriage to Lord Tinmore is a love match and that we are delighted for them both.’
‘Hmmph. A love match between a beautiful young woman and a very old, smelly man.’ Genna stabbed at her painting. ‘And what do we say when they accuse us of exploiting Lord Tinmore, as well?’
‘Us?’ Tess blinked. ‘Has anyone said that?’
Genna shrugged. ‘Not to my face. Yet. So tell me what I ought to say when they do.’
Tess had not considered that possibility, but it made sense. In a way, she, Genna and Edmund stood to gain more from Lord Tinmore’s money than Lorene. His money would open possibilities for them, possibilities that filled Tess with joy.
Until guilt stabbed at her again. ‘We simply act grateful for everything he does for us, because we are grateful, are we not?’
Genna made a false smile. ‘Very grateful.’
Genna bore watching. She was entirely too impetuous and plain speaking for her own good.
Tess changed the subject. ‘I do not think Lord Tinmore has anything planned for us until dinner.’
The guests, all closer to his age than to his bride’s, were in need of rest after travelling to Lincolnshire the day before. Tess supposed they had accepted the first invitation to Tinmore Hall in thirty years because they wanted to see what sort of woman caused Lord Tinmore to finally open his doors.
Tess dreaded their second meeting of the guests. The ladies’ travelling clothes were finer than her best gown. Their dinner gowns took away her breath. The new gowns Lord Tinmore had ordered would not be ready for a week, but Tess could not bear for her and her sisters to look so shabby in the meantime.
‘Would you like to walk to the village with me?’ she asked.
Genna looked surprised. ‘Why are you going to the village?’
‘For lace and ribbons. I believe I can embellish our gowns so it does not appear as if we are wearing the same one, night after night.’ They might be charity cases, but they could at least try not to look like ones.
‘You are being foolish to go out.’ Genna gestured to the window. ‘It will rain.’
Tess glanced at the overcast sky. ‘The rain should hold off until I return.’
‘Well, I am not chancing it.’ Genna dipped her brush in some paint.
‘Very well. I can walk alone.’ Tess always walked alone to Yardney, the village that once had been her home.
But it was only a few short miles from here. Obviously Lorene had walked the distance often enough to get married. Why not walk to Yardney instead of the village nearby? It would take only a little longer. If she went to Yardney she could call upon Mr Welton’s aunt. If Mr Welton was still her house guest, she could tell him about having her dowry restored.
‘You should take a maid or something,’ Genna said. ‘Is that not what wealthy wards do?’
If she wanted someone to know where she was bound, perhaps. Besides, Lord Tinmore was not their guardian. They’d not been appointed a guardian after their father died. There had been no property or fortune to protect. They were under Lord Tinmore’s protection, though.
‘Lord Tinmore will not care if I walk to the village when I’ve been walking the countryside my whole life.’ At least Tess hoped he would not care. She and Genna had hardly seen him, only for a few meals. She opened the door. ‘In any event, I am going.’ With luck she could change their dresses by dinnertime and see to her future, as well.
Genna did not look away from her watercolour. ‘Well, if it pours and you get soaking wet and catch your death of a cold, do not expect me to wipe your nose.’
That was much how their father had become ill. Surely Genna did not realise.
‘I never catch colds.’ Tess walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
* * *
The rain did not begin until Tess left Yardney and was already on the road back to Tinmore Hall. The first drops that splattered the dirt road quickly grew to a heavy downpour. Moments later it was as if the heavens had decided to tip over all their buckets at once. In mere minutes Tess’s cloak was soaked through. Even her purchases, wrapped in paper and string and held under her cloak, were becoming wet.
‘Genna, you are going to gloat,’ she muttered.
But it had been worth it. Tess discovered that Mr Welton had indeed left for London, but he knew about Lorene’s marriage. She told his aunt about her changed circumstances.
He would find her when Lord Tinmore took them all to town for the Season. Only a few more weeks.
Mud from the road stuck to Tess’s half-boots, and it became an effort merely to lift one foot in front of the other. Water poured from the drooping brim of her hat and the raindrops hit her face like needles of ice. She had at least two miles to go before she’d cross through the gatehouse of the estate.
The mud grabbed at her half-boots like some devious creature bent on stopping her. Trying to quicken her pace was futile, but at last she spied the bridge ahead through the thick sheets of rain.
