That’s almost better than receiving gifts. There’s all the fun of hiding them away and wrapping them up and watching the other person’s face when they try to guess what’s in the parcel.’
Mr Rivers was smiling, even though his eyes were still sad. Tess smiled back. ‘And all the food to prepare. And church on Christmas Eve and the bells ringing out and being too excited to sleep afterwards and yet, somehow, you do.’
Lord Weybourn, Alex, looked as though he was in pain now. What was the matter with the man?
‘Have you done your Christmas shopping already, Miss Ellery?’ Mr Rivers asked. ‘You seem to be someone who would plan ahead.’
‘I had to leave my gifts with the nuns to give out. I sewed most of them and my stitchery is not of the neatest.’ She wished she believed the cliché about it being the thought that counts, but she could imagine Sister Monica’s expression when she saw the lumpy seams on her pen wiper. There was never any danger of Tess being asked to join the group who embroidered fine linen for sale, or made vestments for Ghent’s churches.
‘But next year I will have wages and I will be able to send gifts I have purchased.’ There, another positive thing about this frightening new life that lay ahead of her. She had been saving them up and had almost reached ten. Living with a family. A family. The word felt warm and round, like the taste of plum pudding or the scent of roses on an August afternoon.
Tess left the thought reluctantly and pressed on with her mental list. A room of my own. Being able to wear colours. Interesting food. Warmth. London to explore on my afternoons off. Wages. Control of my own destiny.
She suspected that the last of those might prove illusionary. How much freedom would a governess’s or companion’s wage buy her? She glanced at Alex, but his eyes were closed and he was doing a very creditable imitation of a man asleep. He really did not enjoy Christmas, it seemed. How strange.
Mr Rivers continued to make polite conversation and she responded as the light drew in and the wintery dusk fell. Finally, when her stomach was growling, the carriage clattered into an inn yard and, as the groom opened the door, she caught a salty tang on the cold breeze.
‘Ostend. Wake up, Alex. You sleep like a cat, you idle devil.’ Grant Rivers prodded his friend in the ribs. ‘May I take the carriage on down to the docks? You’ll be staying here the night, I’m guessing, and I’ll send it right back.’
Alex opened one eye. ‘Yes, certainly have it. Higgs, unload my luggage and Miss Ellery’s, then take Mr Rivers to find his ship.’ He uncurled his long body from the seat and held out his hand to Tess. ‘If you can shuffle along to the end of the seat, I will lift you down.’
She was in his arms before she thought to protest. ‘But I must find a ship, my lord.’
‘Tomorrow. We will both take a ship tomorrow. Now you need dinner, a hot bath and a comfortable room for the night. Now, don’t wriggle or I’ll drop you.’
‘But—’
‘Goodbye, Miss Ellery.’ Grant Rivers was climbing back into the carriage and men were carrying a pile of beautiful leather luggage, topped with her scuffed black portmanteau, towards the open inn door. ‘Safe voyage and I hope you soon find a congenial employer in London.’ He pulled the door shut and leaned out of the window. ‘Take care, Alex.’
‘And you.’ Alex freed one hand and clasped his friend’s. ‘Give Charlie a hug from me.’
‘Who is Charlie?’ Tess asked as he carried her into the inn. It was seductively pleasurable, being carried by a man. For a moment she indulged the fantasy that this was her lover, sweeping her away...
‘His son.’ Alex’s terse answer jerked her out of the dream.
‘Mr Rivers is married?’ Somehow he had not looked married, whatever that looked like.
‘Widowed.’ Alex’s tone gave no encouragement for further questions.
Perhaps that was why Grant Rivers’s eyes were so sad. She closed her lips on questions that were sure to be intrusive as the landlord came out to greet them.
‘LeGrice, I need an extra room.’ Alex was obviously known and expected. ‘A comfortable, quiet chamber for the lady, a maid to attend her, hot baths for both of us and then the best supper you can lay on in my private parlour.’
‘Milord.’ Known, expected and not to be denied, obviously. The innkeeper was bustling about as though the Prince Regent had descended on his establishment. Perhaps she would see the Prince Regent when she was in London. Tess was distracted enough by this interesting thought not to protest when she was carried upstairs and into a bedchamber.
The sight of the big bed was enough to jerk her out of fantasies of state coaches and bewigged royalty, let alone thoughts of romance. ‘Please put me down.’
It must have come out more sharply than she intended. Alex stopped dead. ‘That was my intention.’
‘Here. Just inside the door. This is a bedchamber.’
‘I know. The clue lies in the fact that there’s a bed in it.’ He was amused by her vapours, she could hear it in his voice, a deep rumble that held a laugh hidden inside it.
Her ear was pressed against his chest. Tess jerked her head upright. ‘Then, please put me down. You should not be in my bedchamber.’
‘I was last night when I put you to bed.’
‘Two wrongs do not make a right,’ she said and winced at how smug she sounded.
‘Nanny used to say that, did she?’ Alex walked across to the hearthside and deposited her on a chair.
‘Sister Benedicta,’ Tess confessed. ‘I sounded just like her, how mortifying.’
‘Why mortifying?’ He leaned one shoulder against the high mantelshelf and lounged, as pleasing to the eye as a carefully placed piece of statuary, the lamplight teasing gilt highlights out of what she had thought was simply dark blond hair. She wondered how much of that lazy perfection was deliberately cultivated.
‘Because it was a commonplace thing to say and I have no intention of being commonplace.’
That faint smile curled Alex’s mouth again and Tess found herself staring at his lower lip and puzzling over why, when he smiled, which stretched his lips, the centre of the lower one seemed somehow fuller.
‘That is an uncharitable insult to Sister Benedicta,’ she said hastily. ‘Only sometimes, when she managed to string an entire conversation together consisting of nothing but clichés, I had to bite my lip to stop myself screaming in sheer boredom.’ Biting lips...why on earth should that image...? Stop it!
‘I will remove my dangerous male presence from your bedchamber and leave you to bathe in comfort.’ He straightened up and strolled to the door. ‘Supper in an hour, do you think?’
‘Yes. Perfect. This is lovely, thank you. A fire and a hot bath and a maid,’ Tess gabbled, as a pretty girl, all apple cheeks and blond braids, ducked under Alex’s arm as he held the door open. He simply grinned at her and went out.
This was indeed the Primrose Path to Perdition. Luxury, warmth,
