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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 sapphires. There was no warmth in them as they surveyed her and her sisters.
Her second reaction was to protect. Tessa stepped forward, adopting a cold hauteur of her own, the one she used when she had to inform an importuning guest her father wouldn’t receive them. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. Furthermore, I don’t believe you have an appointment. I regret you’ve been waiting. However, I am not receiving today. I must ask you to leave.’ She pasted on a polite smile at the last. She’d found in the years acting as her father’s hostess that people often accepted bad news better when it came with a smile.
The man stepped forward, quirking a challenging eyebrow at her. ‘You must be Miss Tessa Branscombe.’
Tessa’s smile disappeared. The arrogance of this man was unprecedented. He’d come to her home unannounced, no doubt intimidated Mrs Hollister into being allowed to wait, and now refused to acknowledge her dismissal. She’d asked him to leave and he was ignoring her. Instead, he was carrying on with his visit as if she’d accepted his presence in her home.
Beside her, Sergei bristled. ‘The lady has asked you to leave and come another day.’
The Earl turned his gaze on Sergei, as if noticing him for the first time. Tessa thought the gesture was intentionally done, meant to suggest that the Earl didn’t feel Sergei was worthy of his particular notice. She doubted this earl in all his kingly arrogance overlooked anything or anyone.
‘And you would be?’
‘Count Sergei Androvich,’ Sergei said with all the coldness of a Russian winter.
Tessa watched the blue eyes of the Earl become positively glacial. ‘Ah, yes, the attaché with the newly arrived Russian delegation.’ She was certain he was ignoring Sergei’s title on purpose. In one sentence this man had demoted Sergei from Count to a mere attaché. Sergei had gone from a foreign peer worthy of being treated as an equal to nothing more than another man’s clerk.
‘I see you’ve heard of me.’ Sergei summoned a modicum of aristocratic hauteur of his own.
‘It is my business to be apprised of all the people and things related to the Misses Branscombe,’ the Earl drawled elegantly.
What audacity! She didn’t even know him and the man was arrogantly insinuating he had some claim to the intimacies of their lives. Tessa had had enough. The social temperature in the entrance hall was frigid. She wasn’t going to let these two men, not even well-meaning Sergei, squabble over territorial rights when it wasn’t even their home. It was hers, and right now her sisters were staring wide-eyed at her, expecting her to act as if it was.
‘My lord, I must again request that you leave. This is a highly unexpected visit.’ She gestured towards Sergei. ‘As you can see, we’ve already got company.’ Sergei gave the Earl a small triumphant half-smile.
‘I heard you perfectly the first time, Miss Branscombe. However, I think you’ll find time for me, once you hear why I’ve come.’
Was that a bit of condescension in his voice? Was he so certain of his news? Tessa placed her hands on her hips, her temper getting the better of her. ‘Then tell me and get out.’
The Earl chuckled. ‘Miss Branscombe, I am here to inform you that I am your guardian. A codicil to your father’s will has placed you and your sisters under my protection.’
Like hell it had. Tessa stifled the urge to speak her mind. She was a diplomat’s daughter and knew the importance of time and place. There would be nothing gained from erupting over the news. She needed more information before she could decide what to do and this overbearing male seemed to be the most immediate source to hand.
‘I stand corrected, my lord. Won’t you join us for tea?’ Tessa said with great aplomb. She gestured to the drawing room and the group filed in.
He might have forced her to receive him, but she didn’t have to like it. Round one to the Earl. She would not readily cede any more ground to him. He could take tea with them, but he wasn’t getting a single bite of Mrs Hollister’s scones.
Chapter Three
Tessa Branscombe hadn’t looked like the kind of woman who caused trouble. When she’d come through the town-house door, Peyton’s first reaction had been an entirely manly one at the sight of her. Brimley had not mentioned how stunning the eldest Miss Branscombe was. But Brimley was an old man.
Brimley had not mentioned the piles of pure gold curls that shone like a halo on her head, setting off the curve of her delicate jaw, or the cameo-like fragility of her ivory-skinned features. The woman was a walking incarnation of an angel, not to mention a properly dressed one. It would be a pleasure to see this young woman turned out in the more stylish, fashionable gowns of the ton.
His second reaction was that Brimley was getting soft if he’d had difficulty getting around this lovely chit with liquid-gold hair. He had every indication that her demeanour would match her beauty. Then she’d opened her mouth, her blue-almost-violet eyes flashing with irritation and Peyton understood with instant clarity what Brimley had implied.
The so-called angel had dismissed him, the Earl of Dursley. Out of hand, moreover. Peyton could not recall a time when he’d been so thoroughly given his congé. There was little he could have done aside from obliging her, which was out of the question, so he’d ignored her dismissal.
Fortunately, her escort made it easy for him to shift his attentions and now they were having tea—all six of them, including the Count and every one of Miss Branscombe’s sisters. Miss Branscombe had made no move to send her sisters up to the schoolroom or wherever else they were supposed to go.
Peyton thought it was most unorthodox of her to let them sit in on this difficult meeting. To be fair, perhaps she meant to send them out of the room after tea, so he dutifully made small talk over two cups of tea—without cakes, he noted—waiting for an opportunity to continue with his business.
Over the third cup of tea, Peyton began to think Miss Branscombe had used the tea as a rather successful delaying tactic. He was growing thin on the patience a man needed for appreciating the girlish chatter that flowed about him. He now knew a copious amount of information about each of the Branscombe girls.
Petra, who was seventeen, had plied him with a veritable oratory regarding the differences between the horses she’d ridden in St Petersburg and the horses she’d seen here in England. He gathered she was as horse-mad as his brother Crispin had been at her age.
Eva was fifteen and gabbed incessantly about clothes and gowns, and how she liked to design her own dresses. The youngest was Anne, a shy ten-year-old who said nothing, but leaned against Tessa for comfort, staring at him with frightened wide blue eyes the entire time.
Miss Branscombe put down her tea cup during a lull in Eva’s dissertation on the different qualities of silks and speared him with a sharp look. ‘Well, my lord, we have had three cups of tea and you have not broached the reason behind your visit.’
Peyton set his cup down and met her challenge evenly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to send the girls out of the room. It is not the English custom to discuss business in front of children.’
Miss Branscombe visibly bristled. ‘But it is my custom.’
‘I do not wish my news to be unsettling to them. Sometimes, children are not mentally equipped to process information the same way adults are,’ Peyton explained politely.
Miss Branscombe’s fascinating eyes narrowed. ‘My sisters are hardly children, as you’ve had a chance to ascertain. Petra and Eva are of ages where they should have a say in the direction of their destinies, and, while Annie is young, I must inform you that my father’s death and all the changes of the past year have been most unsettling to her.’
Peyton’s eyes flicked to the Count. ‘And Count Androvich? Is he to remain as well?’ Brimley had not suggested one of the Russian delegation would attach themselves so intimately to the Branscombe household. This was an unforeseen development and one Peyton didn’t like in the least. He wanted Count Androvich dislodged. Hunting for the list would be difficult enough without the Count around. The man’s presence begged the question of his motives. Was he here as a friend? He did seem quite protective of Miss Branscombe. Or was he using his association with the family to search for the list?
Thankfully, Miss Branscombe recognised he was giving her a victory by allowing her sisters to remain. She knew what she had to do to secure that victory. She nodded her angel’s head at the Count. ‘Sergei, we’ve taken up enough of your time today. I thank you for your escort to the market. I will not take up any more of your time. I can talk with Lord Dursley on my own.’ Miss Branscombe rose and offered the Count her hand. Peyton silently congratulated her on the smoothness of her actions. There was no way the Count could refuse her polite invitation to exit the conversation without looking either obtuse or rude.
Miss Branscombe saw the Count to the door and returned shortly, smoothing her demure skirts about her as she sat. ‘Now, my lord, we can discuss your business.’
All four pairs of Branscombe-blue eyes fixed on him, waiting. Peyton brought out the papers and began. ‘I have been informed that guardianship has passed to me upon your father’s demise. That guardianship will last until each girl marries or turns twenty-five, at which point your trust funds shall be given into your individual care.’
Miss Branscombe assessed him shrewdly. ‘You mentioned this permission was granted to you through a codicil to my father’s will. But I assure you there was no codicil or mention of one in the will. I was there when it was read, we all were.’ Her sisters nodded in affirmation.
Miss Branscombe continued, ‘I have no reason to believe you and I certainly will not turn over control of my family and their modest fortunes to a man I do not know simply because he shows up on my doorstep with papers and a title.’
‘It is regrettable that the codicil became separated from the other documents. It is fortunate that it’s been recovered and placed in the right hands.’ Peyton struggled for patience. He told himself he’d have been disappointed if the brassy Miss Branscombe had not been astute enough to see the possible flaws in his claim. He should appreciate that she was not easily hoodwinked. But the truth was, he didn’t appreciate it in the least. It had been a long time since anyone had countermanded the Earl of Dursley. He’d quite forgotten what it was like.
‘I understand your misgivings, Miss Branscombe. I assure you that I am the Earl of Dursley and I am, in the absence of any close living relations in your family, the man assigned to guide you and watch over you all. I have the most honourable of intentions.’ And he did have honourable intentions for England—just not necessarily for the girls.
‘I’ve never met you,’ Miss Branscombe challenged. ‘I am hard pressed to believe my father would have selected a guardian that we’ve never met. Quite frankly, it seems unlikely that he would have picked a man we didn’t even know existed until this afternoon.’
Peyton nodded. ‘I met your father on a few occasions in Vienna, but I never had the chance to journey north to St Petersburg.’ At least this wasn’t a lie, although the implications it hinted at—those of a relationship with Ralph Branscombe—were non-existent.
Peyton pushed the papers towards Miss Branscombe, since she hadn’t moved to take them from the table. ‘If you look at the papers, Miss Branscombe, you will see that they are in order. There is a letter of introduction that vouches for me. The codicil is there, as well as an outline of how my guardianship is to be managed.’
Forced to acknowledge the papers, Miss Branscombe picked them up and began to read. And read. A weighty silence fell. Peyton could hear the mantel clock ticking off the minutes. The muffled sound of a passing carriage could be heard from the street and still Miss Branscombe read. At last, she looked up. Peyton thought he saw her hands tremble slightly, but she adroitly folded them and hid them in the lap of her skirt and he couldn’t be sure.
‘What do the papers say, Tess?’ Petra asked in a quiet voice.
Miss Branscombe reached for Petra’s hand. She was all calmness; the angel quality Peyton had seen in her earlier had returned. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about, dear. Now, I need to speak with the Earl privately. Please take the girls upstairs.’
Anne whimpered next to Miss Branscombe and she bent to whisper reassurances to the little girl, gently nudging her towards Petra’s outstretched arms. ‘Annie, your dollies will be missing you. Perhaps you and Eva can try on the new dresses she made them,’ Miss Branscombe cajoled. ‘I’ll be up in a while to see how they look and we can have a tea party.’
Peyton watched Miss Branscombe walk the three girls to the door, Petra shooting a last glance at her older sister, clearly worried. The scene was hard to take in. Seeing the sisters together reminded him all too acutely of life after his father had passed away, leaving him an earldom and two brothers to care for. But that was years past and he’d locked the feelings associated with those difficult days away deep inside himself long ago. He didn’t want them resurrected. Nothing could come of them. They were best left alone, unexamined and unexplored.
When Miss Branscombe turned back to him, the angel was gone. She was all fire and rage. ‘I will not stand for you or anyone splitting up this family. I have worked too hard keeping us together, too hard trying to give them stability.’
Peyton rose, since Miss Branscombe had no intention of sitting down. He strode to the window and drew back a lace panel to view the street below. ‘I imagine the life of a diplomat is often trying for a woman. Moving about, making new friends, learning new customs must be an overwhelming task.’
‘It is a difficult task for anyone,’ Miss Branscombe promptly corrected. ‘I have done it admirably and now I deserve my reward.’
‘Which is what?’ Peyton turned from his study of the street to watch Miss Branscombe.
‘To be left alone with my sisters, to raise them where they will be safe,’ she retorted sharply.
That got Peyton’s attention. He veiled his reaction carefully. ‘Were they not safe in St Petersburg?’ Miss Branscombe seemed to hesitate. Interesting.
‘Diplomacy in general is not always the safest of fields,’ she answered vaguely.
Peyton nodded. He wondered—did she know about the list? Had something happened in St Petersburg to give her reason to fear for her own personal safety and that of her sisters? He couldn’t ask her now. Such probing would seem too nosy. He’d have to file this away and remember to pursue it when the timing was better.
‘I assure you, Miss Branscombe, that your fears are understandable and misplaced. I have no intention of swindling your fortunes out from under you. You are welcome to do a financial check on me. My solicitor has been instructed to be at your disposal. Additionally, I am not proposing that the family be split up. The girls are welcome to stay in London with you for the Season.’ If he couldn’t convince her of his reassurances, he’d be off to an awkward start in gaining her trust.
‘We can decide, together, at the end of the Season where all of you should go next. I am prepared to make you welcome at Dursley Park until you’re settled. My family is there,’ Peyton offered. The last bit was spontaneous, perhaps motivated by guilt over the situation. His arrangement with Brimley did not require him to do anything for the girls.
Miss Branscombe appeared to visibly relax at the prospect. She nodded. ‘Will your wife be joining us in London?’
‘I am not married, Miss Branscombe. When I mentioned my family, I meant my two brothers, my brother’s wife, their new child and my Cousin Beth.’ Peyton held up a hand to ward off the protest he saw coming. ‘I understand your hesitation. My Aunt Lily, the Dowager Duchess of Bridgerton, has agreed to sponsor you for the Season. Everything will be comme il faut and above reproach, I assure you.’
Miss Branscombe studied him for a long while. ‘I do not desire a Season. Your aunt need not worry and neither need you. I am sure squiring around an unknown girl who is rather too old to be making a début is not high on your list of priorities.’
True, it wasn’t. But that would not do. Peyton needed a reason to be in her company, to become a fixture in her life. ‘Surely you wish to marry and settle down with a family of your own? A Season will enable you to meet people and get to know England all over again.’
‘I’ve never known England,’ Miss Branscombe said sharply.
‘Still, if it’s to be your home, you’ll want to make friends,’ Peyton argued. He’d never encountered a more obstinate female. His Aunt Lily was headstrong, but quite capable of seeing reason. His Cousin Beth was pleasantly compliant. But there was nothing reasonable or compliant about Tessa Branscombe. He offered her a Season under the sponsorship of the revered Lady Bridgerton. No young lady he knew of would take such a gift lightly. Yet Miss Branscombe simply refused and kept pacing the carpet, intent on studying the pattern. Perhaps she was unaware of the honour he accorded her with such an offer.
Peyton played his ace. ‘If you are unwilling to do it for yourself, I would encourage you to do it for your sisters. Petra should be out next year and Eva won’t be far behind.’
That stopped her. She looked up. ‘I will speak to them. Perhaps, for their sakes, I will consider it.’
Peyton nodded, knowing that was the closest to an acceptance he would get from her today. He couldn’t push for too much too soon. He would have to instil his guardianship in gradual, subtle steps. It was clear from today’s meeting that Miss Branscombe wouldn’t take kindly to his outright assumption of authority. But there were definitely things that needed doing, starting with curbing inappropriate outings to the market and teas without cakes. It seemed that Tessa Branscombe intended for her sisters to grow up as wayward as she.
That would not play well amongst the ton. Her beauty and his reputation would only go so far in making the Branscombes acceptable. He knew how the ton worked and the Branscombes were fringe players at best in that world. Any mis-step from Tessa Branscombe would be magnified a hundred times over.
Peyton drew out his pocket watch. It was growing late. The visit had taken longer than he’d anticipated and he’d promised Aunt Lily he’d come for dinner after assessing the Branscombe situation.
‘I appreciate your time, Miss Branscombe. I’ll let you take the evening to help your sisters adjust to the news, although I want them reassured that all will be well. I do not wish to be wrongly painted as the ogre here. I will call with my aunt tomorrow in the afternoon so you can meet her and begin to make plans. It’s early yet and the Season isn’t fully underway for another two weeks. You needn’t panic on that account.’
‘I don’t panic on any account, my lord,’ Miss Branscombe informed him crisply.
The remark won a smile from him. ‘I didn’t mean to imply that you would. My apologies.’
Miss Branscombe was more than happy to help him find his way to the door. In the hall, Peyton felt the need to offer her a final assurance. ‘All will be well, Miss Branscombe.’
She met his eyes evenly. ‘I know it will be. I won’t tolerate anything less.’
‘Good evening, Miss Branscombe.’ Peyton bowed over her hand, choosing to ignore her cold farewell.
Outside felt warm compared to the chill of Miss Branscombe’s parting comments. Peyton’s mind was already whirring with lists and plans in regards to the Branscombe girls before he got down the town-house steps. They would need additional staff and new gowns. The younger girls would need a governess to help with their studies. He suspected Miss Branscombe was overseeing that herself, but she’d be too busy once the Season started to plan lessons.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps to caution himself. It was best not to make too much of this guardian role. This was make believe. This was a role he was playing for his country in order to prevent a war. This was about recovering a list that could save the lives of British soldiers. His guardianship would terminate once the list was recovered. In all reality, his role wouldn’t last past the Season, regardless of his offer to take them to Dursley Park. If Tessa Branscombe ever fully understood his role in all this, she would be glad to see him go, a thought that sat decidedly ill with Peyton for no logical reason.
