Tessa's Touch by Brenda Hiatt Page A

pass
judgment on my socializing with them. I've neither said nor done anything
improper."
    She was not so certain she could vouch for her
thoughts, however. More than once during today's hunt, she had admired Lord
Anthony's physique as well as his riding, and even allowed her imagination to
wander along paths that were far from proper.
    "No need to snap at me, missie," her
uncle said now. "I only mention it for your own good. Sir George did
charge me with your protection, remember."
    Tessa had to suppress a smile at the thought of
Uncle Mercer trying to protect her from the athletic Lord Anthony —or any of
the others, for that matter. "None of the gentlemen have said or done
anything improper either," she assured him.
    Not entirely to her surprise, he looked
relieved. "Glad to hear it—and your father will be, too. You rode well
today, by the way. We should get five hundred easy— perhaps even more."
    Though such a sum still seemed excessive, she
nodded. "Good. We'll need it, for the workmen keep finding more that needs
repairing in the west wing."
    On reaching Wheatstone, Tessa went first to the
kitchen to be certain dinner preparations had begun, then hurried upstairs to
see her father. He was in his study, as usual, a decanter of wine at his elbow
and his notes spread out upon a table before him. He appeared to be dozing.
    "Papa?" she said softly, not wishing
to wake him if he was deeply asleep.
    He stirred at once. "Tessa, is that you?
Back already, eh? It must have been a short run." Though he smiled, his
eyes were bleary, either from sleep or wine.
    "Yes, the fox eluded the hounds, but not
before giving us a good race across the countryside. How are you feeling today?
You look tired." She settled a mantle across his shoulders, tucking it in
around the back of his chair.
    "A bit tired, I suppose. I fear I didn't
sleep particularly well last night. I so want this dinner to come off well, for
your sake as well as mine."
    "Pray do not worry, Papa. Everything will
be fine, I'm certain, as long as you do not overtax yourself. I won't allow the
gentlemen to stay late."
    Sir George frowned. "It would be rude to
ask them to leave before they are ready, Tessa, and I won't have that. You will
be gracious, however late they stay."
    "Of course, of course," she quickly
reassured him. "I will be everything that is proper, just as you would
wish."
    He relaxed. "Of course you will, my dear.
I never doubted it. And now, you'd best go up and start getting yourself ready,
hadn't you? Have a bath, put on your nicest gown and have your maid do up your
hair the way I like it. They'll be here in just a few hours and, as I recall,
it takes ladies some time to dress for a special evening." He was smiling
now.
    She'd had no intention of primping for Lord
Anthony —or the others —but she would not upset her father. "I'll do that.
Why don't you rest for a bit, so you will be fresh for the evening."
    Dropping a kiss on his brow, she went to confer
with the housekeeper and their few other servants. Uncle Mercer had gradually
dismissed more than half the staff they'd had at the time of her father's
accident, saying that they could not afford their salaries. As a result, they
were now reduced to Mrs. Bealls, who did double duty as housekeeper and cook,
two maids, one of whom acted as Tessa's abigail when not doing housework, one
lad who filled the post of footman and general servant, and old Griffith, her
father's personal manservant, who also served as their butler when necessary.
    Tessa set them all to various duties in
preparation for the evening ahead before finally heading up to her chamber to
ready herself for the coming ordeal.

    * *
     *

    After debating among themselves whether to wear
London evening dress or formal hunt attire, Anthony and his friends decided on
the latter. "Sir George made it clear he wanted to discuss hunting, so
this will better set the mood," Anthony had reasoned, and the others had
agreed.
    The invitation had been