‘Thank you for distributing the gifts.’ He sounded stilted, probably with annoyance.
‘I am sorry if I presumed, but—’
&
nbsp; ‘Presumed? Don’t be so foolish, Tess.’ It was definitely a snap and not in the slightest bit reassuring.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked after a moment. Apparently he had not marched her upstairs to reprove her for usurping his place with the staff in that little ceremony, but now they were in the draughty hall Alex seemed frozen in place.
‘We have guests I would like you to meet.’ He took her arm and made for the front salon. The grip was verging on the uncomfortable; his face was set. Tess almost tripped over her feet keeping up with him. At the door Alex stopped abruptly, looked down at her, then stooped and kissed her hard and fast. ‘Forgive me, Tess.’
He opened the door and swept her in while she was still gasping and flustered from the kiss.
The occupants of the room were grouped around the hearth. Lady Moreland sat on one sofa flanked by an elderly man and a middle-aged one. Two ladies sat on the opposite sofa with a young lady of about Tess’s age between them. Lord Moreland stood in the centre, his back to the fire. He looked as though he had been interrupted in mid-speech. The others all turned at the sound of the door closing and the two other men rose to their feet.
No one smiled, although their eyes seemed fixed on her.
Then Lady Moreland held out her hand. ‘Miss Ellery, do come in.’
Alex’s hand released its grip and moved to cup her elbow, guiding her across the deep pile of the carpet towards the fireplace. It felt like walking through sand in a dream. Perhaps this was a dream.
Then the nearest woman moved abruptly. Tess looked directly at her and the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. ‘Mama!’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘I do not faint.’ Tess heard her own voice, weak but indignant, and managed to open her eyes.
‘You had a shock, my dear, that is all.’ Lady Moreland’s face, thin, concerned, swam into focus above her.
‘I need to sit up.’
‘Is that wise?’ Another female voice, unfamiliar.
‘Yes. I want Alex… I mean, where is Lord Weybourn?’
‘I am here, Tess.’ His mother moved aside and Alex appeared in her place. ‘Let me put a cushion behind you.’
She managed to sit up, her gaze fixed on his face. ‘I thought I saw… I am seeing things. Ghosts.’
‘No, not a ghost. You saw your aunt’s eldest daughter. I think your cousin, Lady Wilmslow, must be about the age your mother was when she died. Apparently there is a strong resemblance.’
Oh. So I am not going mad, I am not seeing things. Oh, Mama, I wish it had been you. Then the implication of Alex’s words penetrated her spinning thoughts. ‘My aunt? My cousin? Here?’
‘To meet you, yes.’ Alex straightened up and stepped back.
There was a moment of hesitation, then the three ladies came forward, the youngest dropping to her knees beside Tess. ‘I am your second cousin Charlotte. I am so pleased to meet you! I’ve been wanting to know all about my scandalous Cousin Jane and no one would tell me anything.’ She sat back on her heels, blonde ringlets bouncing, and beamed at Tess. ‘We’re muddling you—are we a great surprise?’
‘A…shock,’ Tess confessed. She swung her feet down from the sofa and sat up. The room shifted queasily.
One of the older women came and perched by her feet, the other—the one who looked like Mama—stood with her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. ‘My dear Teresa. Did Lord Weybourn not warn you?’
Tess shook her head, looked round for Alex. He was standing with his father, both of them withdrawn from the group around Tess. He was watching her intently. ‘I do not know what to say. My aunt told me that the family wanted nothing to do with either of us.’
There was an uneasy silence. The three women all looked at the elderly man who was still on his feet. He stared at Tess from under beetling grey brows. Lord Moreland cleared his throat and the stranger shot him a fierce glare. ‘Don’t you presume to prompt me, Moreland. I’ll make up my own mind. She looks like a lady, I’ll say that, not a chit born in sin and raised by a Papist.’
Tess’s confusion cleared, leaving her oddly calm and very, very angry. With everyone. She got to her feet, ignoring agitated sounds from her female cousins. ‘Are you my grandfather, sir?’
‘I am Sethcombe. This is your younger uncle, Lord Withrend.’