She desperately needed Fanny’s help in defending herself from Rotham, Tess knew. If his mere kisses could steal her senses and incite her to abandon a lifetime of training and all her moral scruples, what would an entire night in his bed do to her?
Turning back to her valise, Tess drew out her small leather-bound diary and tore out a blank sheet in order to pen a note to Fanny.
She firmly refused to acknowledge feeling anything but dismay just now. Her pulse was not thrumming with excitement at the prospect of consummating a marital union with Ian Sutherland, the Duke of Rotham.
This marriage would be a total disaster, for they were utterly mismatched. Rotham brought out the very worst in her, Tess declared silently.
Furthermore, she adamantly ignored the sly voice in her head insisting that he also brought out an admirable quality in her: The way Rotham constantly challenged her and roused her fighting spirit set her blood to racing.
The only thing she was willing to admit, Tess vowed, was that she was in very, very big trouble.
I rashly longed for sparks in my life and now my wish will be granted in spades. My marriage will be vastly different from the sweet, gentle love match I expected to make.
—Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard
In the end, Tess agreed to marry the Duke of Rotham.
When she sought out her godmother to report her decision, Lady Wingate seemed appropriately mollified by her capitulation, and allowed that since the house party at Wingate Manor was scheduled to last three more days, Danvers Hall would serve best for a small, quiet wedding ceremony.
However, the baroness opined, it would be most fitting for the newlyweds to repair directly to Rotham’s family seat afterward, so as to remain out of the public eye for a time. Additionally, such a magnificent estate as Bellacourt would remind the Beau Monde just what a grand match Tess was making, even if it was a bit tainted by scandal.
Lady Wingate also softened her condemnation of Tess with something of an apology.
“You may think I am being cruel, my dear, by forcing this marriage upon you—and I do regret that you object so violently to taking Rotham as your husband. But I have high hopes that your union will wor
k out when all is said and done.”
Tess shared nothing of her godmother’s confidence and saw very little prospect for wedded bliss with Rotham. But she dutifully permitted the baroness to announce their betrothal that evening and asked that her absence from the amateur play performance be excused since she needed to prepare for her wedding the next day.
Patrick Hennessy’s apology to Tess, on the other hand, was visibly more abject and heartfelt.
Despite the awkwardness of facing the actor so soon after the debacle of their interrupted kiss, she had to consult with him briefly before leaving for Chiswick in order to settle their account and give him a bank draft to pay for his troupe’s services over the past week.
“Please allow me to beg your forgiveness again for daring to kiss you, Miss Blanchard,” Hennessy implored after pocketing the draft. “I have no notion what came over me.”
“It was not entirely your fault, Mr. Hennessy,” Tess replied, her cheeks warming in embarrassment at her own willing participation.
“ ’Tis a wonder you didn’t box my ears as I deserved. And that his grace refrained from running me through in a fit of jealousy. At least it seems to have brought him up to scratch and inspired him to offer for your hand after all this time.”
Tess’s flush deepened. Clearly the news of their imaginary love match had spread through Wingate Manor like an outbreak of ague. “His offer had little to do with jealousy of you, I am certain.”
When a skeptical look crossed the actor’s face, his response reminded Tess of Rotham’s earlier unexpected revelation.
“Why did you never tell me he had hired you to keep an eye on me?”
Hennessy regarded her ruefully. “The duke bade me keep quiet on pain of death because he feared you would take offense at his interference. But he thought concern for your safety was warranted—a lady going about town alone, and in Covent Garden no less, where you could be mistaken for a … a …”
When the actor hesitated, Tess filled in the missing word. “A lightskirt, you mean.”
“Well … yes,” Hennessy admitted sheepishly. “You are nothing of the kind, Miss Blanchard, but your forays into the thespian sphere open you to certain charges, no matter how admirable your motives. Once you become a duchess, though, your ventures are likely to cease.”
Tess frowned at him. “I well know how my forays are regarded, Mr. Hennessy, but I intend to continue holding charitable benefits even after my marriage to Rotham.”
“I wonder if you will be permitted to do so,” the actor said worriedly. “Especially after today. The duke is no doubt eager to cut out my liver, and he will not wish you to employ my troupe again. Indeed, he could ruin me and my company with scant effort.”
“I would never allow that to happen,” Tess declared loyally. “I assure you, he will have no say in my future endeavors.”
She would make certain Rotham stayed out of her business dealings, Tess vowed to herself, especially when it came to employing Patrick Hennessy and his theatrical company. With his remarkable talent, Hennessy had been invaluable in orchestrating this week’s amateur performance by wealthy houseguests who could then become patrons of her charities, and in raising funds for her two London benefits—deciding on the programs, hiring and managing the actors and opera singers, and building the stage sets. The recent musical evening at the Theatre Royal alone had brought in the enormous sum of two thousand pounds. Tess knew she could never have had a fraction of that success on her own. She was not about to give up Hennessy’s organizational skills or relinquish the opportunity to raise even more funds using his creative genius.