Page 46 of The Countess Caper

Peter stopped the messenger, searched him, and escorted him to the front door while Mrs. Pompadour glared down her nose until he visibly trembled. The letter was accepted and he was muscled off the property, and all before Tessa had made it down the stairs in her wrap.

Rue was sitting on the last step, eating a bowl of blackberries, a knife beside her. Her fingers were stained. “You missed the show.”

“What’s going on?”

“Someone came to the gatehouse.”

Tessa refused to admit the faint hope that Roarke had arrived. He’d made it very clear that her appeal was that she could be left to herself.

She was an idiot.

Tell that to the tiny leap in her ribcage. To the yearning that made her fingers curl into her palm.

Idiot.

“You didn’t ring the bell,” Tessa said.

Rue shrugged. “I wanted to see if this lot was any good.”

“And?”

“Poor sod nearly wet himself.” She ate a berry, very loudly. “I’m well satisfied.”

Tessa had to grin. “Do you remember when we used to curtsy and make polite chitchat while wearing silk shoes that pinched?”

Rue shuddered.

“I do miss the blackberry scones, though,” Tessa admitted, stealing a berry from Rue’s bowl.

“I’ll get them right one day.”

“I know you will.”

Mrs. Pompadour came back inside just as Tessa reached for the door handle. The night breeze was cool, scented with smoke from the houses down in the village. Mrs. Pompadour’s expression changed instantly from one a general might sport on the battlefield to a woman who offered everyone tea and scolded them about the creases in their hems.

Tessa didn’t believe it for a moment.

It was quite the skill, though. She’d have to find a looking glass and practice. She rather relished the thought of being able to make her cousin wet himself with a single glance.

“Everything all right, Mrs. P?”

“Certainly.”

“Oi,” Lennox called down. “Did you sort it out? The baby doesn’t like the fuss.”

“Everything is fine.”

Lennox spent most of his time walking the halls with little Parsley. She cried blue murder for everyone else, including Marigold. Fergus was a gentle giant who laughed every time Rue threatened him and was incredibly careful around Bryony, the few times she showed her face. Mrs. Pompadour had hired three women to help with the running of the household, although one of them, Paulette, was terrified of her own shadow. She wept and trembled as much as Parsley did.

Mrs. Pompadour handed Tessa a letter sealed with the family crest of the Duke of Tremaine. “For you, my lady.”

“Thank you. It’s late. You didn’t have to get up. I could have seen to it.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Hmm.”

“And Peter was getting bored out there. He needed a spot of fun. Tea?”