Too Clever by Half: A Harrow's Finest Five Novella Read online

  He was focused on the duchess, who stared out the window. He slowly turned his head toward Tessa. “Of course.”

  “Well, sir, I have an invitation to extend to Luci. Actually, the duchess and I do.”

  He glanced at his daughter, then at the duchess. “I see.” When he looked at Tessa again, his gaze had hardened. “Would you care to share the details?”

  Luci took her father’s hand. “The duchess has invited Tessa to a holiday in the countryside, and earlier, she kindly extended the invitation to me.”

  Fairbank stared at the duchess. “One might wonder why the duchess would think two eligible young ladies would be interested in a country holiday in the midst of the Season.”

  The duchess lifted her gaze to meet his, one eyebrow arched. “Yet the fact that the young ladies have broached the subject with you seems to be evidence of just such interest.”

  He and the duchess stared each other down for the space of two heartbeats, then he sighed and squeezed his daughter’s hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Luci.”

  “Daddy, please don’t be obstinate.”

  “Obstinate?” Fairbank grabbed hold of the billowed fabric lining the coach wall so tightly Tessa worried he’d put a tear in it. He stared down the duchess again. “Do I have your influence to thank for this?”

  Tessa would have employed her fan, but her hands were perspiring even through her gloves and she feared it might slip out of her grasp. Fairbank was intimidating and fiercely protective of his daughter, but he was usually fair. The duchess always brought out the worst in him. It could work against Tessa terribly. She depended upon Luci’s calm support. She’d never had a sister by birth, but she’d gained two in her friendship with Luci and Emme. And she needed this sister of her heart to help her keep her wits about her before her audience with Wrexham.

  “Hogwash, Fairbank.” The duchess returned his intimidating scowl with one of her own. “She’s hardly a child, and what harm can come from a short trip to the countryside? Lady Tessa and I will leave Thursday and return Saturday, and we would adore Lucinda’s company on the trip. Surely the ton can exist for three days without your daughter.”

  While Luci watched the exchange with a half-smile of amusement, Tessa blushed to witness such a spectacle. “Sir, if I may explain, I have pressing business with the duke, and outside of the Season, Luci and I get so little time together, so while we have the chance–”

  “Business with the duke. About the contest, no doubt.” He glared at the duchess.

  Tessa chose her next words carefully to appeal to Fairbank’s sense of fair play that she’d always known him to possess. “I hope to have a word with him to impress upon him the seriousness of my intent – and Mr. Pettibone’s – so he doesn’t dismiss our proposal out of hand.”

  “Daddy, please,” Luci begged.

  Fairbank let out a long sigh. “I’ll allow Luci to travel with you,” he glanced at the older woman, “with the understanding that you’ll be home in time for dinner Saturday evening.”

  The duchess glared at Fairbank. “She won’t be late.”

  Fairbank glanced at Tessa. “And I’ll recuse myself from any further discussion of the award with the duke or any of the Trust’s board members.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.” Luci kissed her father’s cheek.

  As so often happened when she observed them together, Tessa wished she shared such a bond with her own father. But he had little time for her, occupied as he was with the lives of her three older brothers and one younger one. Then again, if her father were as observant and involved in her life as Fairbank was in Luci’s, she’d never have gotten this far with her ruse to win the competition. If her father ever did find out what she’d done with her younger brother’s help, he’d never forgive her. Though she couldn’t imagine how that disapproval would be any different from what she already received from him.

  “It would be fitting if all outside influences were to recuse themselves from discussing the competition with Wrexham or his board,” Fairbank was saying, obviously for the duchess’s benefit.

  Tessa braced herself for the duchess’s rejoinder, but the woman only smiled serenely. Perhaps she’d extracted enough from the Lord Fairbank for one day and hesitated to further antagonize him. Whatever the reason, Tessa was grateful for the silence that fell over the group, allowing her to commune with her own thoughts about how she’d approach Wrexham. She’d have to be passionate but not overwrought with emotion, which wouldn’t have concerned her in the past. But the past days she’d felt unsettled and restless, ever since the day she’d crossed paths with Mr. James Alcott. She hoped the trip to the country would provide relief from more than the choking London air.

  Chapter 3

  “We have to accept the fact that this plan might not work, James, and your position with Harrow might be not secure.”

  Mr. Westerley, Harrow’s balding, bearded headmaster, not yet forty years of age, leaned back in his seat behind his massive, paper- and book-strewn desk. He was typically an advocate of the reforms and modernizations James recommended, but for the past year, they’d both watched James’s star dim in the view of the school’s governors. It had made Westerley hesitant to support his causes.

  “But the idea of a scholarship to fund less moneyed students will increase enrollment. The governors seemed taken with the notion when I presented it to them.”

  “Yes, but it’s no longer just about that.” The headmaster tented his fingers in front of him. “I’m afraid you’ll need to secure the scholarship funding to keep your position.”

  For the two days since James had learned he had a true competitor for the Trust prize, every conversation in his life had seemed to revolve around the contest. James stood, slightly shaking, unable to sit still while learning of the impending demise of his life’s work. It was true the scholarship idea had been the first he’d presented to the school’s board in ages that had sparked any interest with the men who controlled hiring and firing at the school, and therefore his fate, but it couldn’t be the only reason they hadn’t terminated their association with him.

  “But after all these years.” He couldn’t think of anything more to say, of any way to express the pain of being rejected from this place that had been the home of his heart for so long.

  He paced the length of the headmaster’s office with its centuries of history, from its dark wood-paneled walls, thick burgundy curtains and rugs, generations-old furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books, some of them even older than the furniture. This room, like every room at Harrow, had felt like a home away from home since the first day James had arrived here as a boy just out of short pants. The knowledge he’d gained here had opened up the whole world, the entire universe even, to that impressionable, bookish child. He could only imagine what it would do for boys so much less fortunate than he, if they were given the means to come here. But without the support of the school’s board, his fate and those boys’ futures depended solely upon the award.

  “Have you considered asking Wrexham to support you in the contest?” the headmaster asked. “There’s nothing in the Trust’s rules to preclude it. It’s the duke’s money that funds the Trust, after all.”

  “I considered it. But Lord Fairbank indicated Wrexham will be impartial, and the board of the trust will base their decision exclusively on the final proposal.”

  “Perhaps he’ll decide to exert his influence in the end.” Westerley flattened his hands against the one clear spot on the desk. “Have a seat, my boy. Wearing a hole in my rug won’t help the situation.”

  James dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk. “I hope there won’t be a situation.” But there already was, and it came in the guise of a bright and beautiful lady.

  Westerley frowned. “I wish things had gone differently. I’d hoped one day you might succeed me in the role of headmaster. But you’ve never taught in the classroom, and now there’s no path for that to happen.”

  It
was a bookend to the conversation they’d had years ago, when James had returned, fresh from Oxford, to find a place at his beloved alma mater. While the possibility of teaching poetry to malleable young minds had held some appeal, he’d wanted a chance to assert a much broader influence on young Harrow men. Instead of teaching, he’d taken a clerk position far below his education level, and had built it into an invaluable role, supporting everything from soliciting wealthy donors for capital projects to overseeing the outlay of the school’s funds. At least, he’d thought it invaluable.

  James hated to ask the next question, as much for the answer he might get as for the pathetic tone it struck, but he had no choice. “If we don’t win the prize, do you suppose there’s a chance the governors will reconsider their decision?”

  Westerley shook his head. “In that case, I don’t think you should count on any further association with Harrow, beyond your place as a valued alumnus.” Westerley leaned in. “But James, surely you don’t need the meager wages we’ve paid you all these years.”

  That much was true. His father’s passing had settled him with an inheritance, and even if he hadn’t, his older brother would have seen to his upkeep. He shook his head. “But it’s never been about the income.”

  Westerley beamed with pride. “I understand, my boy, I do. Everything you’ve done for Harrow has been a labor of love. Since the day you took those five younger boys on the verge of expulsion under your wing and turned around their academic careers, this school has been your purpose. I know because it’s been mine, as well, and my father’s before me. But...” The headmaster spread out his hands in front of him, defeated.

  James closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and rose to his feet. “Thank you for your honesty, sir.”

  Westerley rose as well and walked James to the office door. “I wanted you to be prepared for the worst possible outcome.” He patted James’s shoulder. “But despite Lord Fairbank’s assessment, I believe you’ll win this contest. I understand your competitor is an unorthodox one. The Trust’s board might be temporarily dazzled by the exotic nature of it, but one thing this school has taught me is tradition matters. It’s indispensable to the proper functioning of society. And tradition is on your side.”

  As pep talks went, James had heard better. His critical assessment of it, though, might have been strongly influenced by the realization that for the first time since he’d set foot on Harrow grounds as a boy, he glimpsed a possible end to his time there. As heavy as the weight of inheriting a title and living up to its obligations might be, at least it gave a man a sense of purpose, of a place in the world. Because James hadn’t had that, he’d had to carve out a space for himself, and he’d done it here. He’d expected to continue with the school for the next thirty years. Now it was possible he wouldn’t last for the next thirty days.

  As he left the headmaster’s office and crossed the well-manicured campus lawns, his dark mood lifted a bit. The headmaster was right about importance of tradition, particularly to old families like Swimmer’s. The duchess had extended an invitation to visit her son at their family seat. It was time James take her up on the offer. He’d remind Swimmer of the importance of convention, and plant a seed of doubt about the unorthodox lady and the intent of her benefactor.

  There is a lady sweet and kind

  Was never face so pleas’d my mind.

  Yes, well, he wouldn’t share his paradoxical thoughts regarding Lady Tessa with Swimmer, nor with anyone, for that matter. And while he was at it, he really must find a way to stop thinking in iambic meter when it came to the vexing woman.

  Tessa paced before the imposing fireplace that chased away the damp day’s chill. The duke’s estate in Wrexham was a study in elegance, but she’d spent more than enough time admiring the house’s architecture, and the beautiful rugs, and the lovely silk tapestries, and the exquisite bone china tea set from which she’d had no less than three cups of tea.

  “Tessa, please sit. The duchess might think you quite mad if she finds so restless.” Luci patted a spot on the settee.

  Tessa shook her head. The thought of sitting demurely and waiting for the duke to acknowledge her existence further angered her. She snapped her fan open and closed with each step. “We’ve been up since six in the morning to make it here at a reasonable hour, only to be kept waiting all afternoon! The duke knew we were coming, and he has yet to make an appearance.”

  “I’m sure the duchess has everything well in hand.”

  Tessa stopped close by her friend and dropped her voice. “I’m not sure of any such thing. I asked some questions before we left London.” She sat on the settee after all, and leaned against Luci, her voice still low. “Speaking of mad, some say the duke has gone round the bend.”

  “You’ve never been one to engage in idle gossip.” Luci stilled Tessa’s fan with her hand. “You’ve had too much tea and too many biscuits.”

  Tessa set her fan on the coffee table, remembering the last time she’d flung it about in annoyance with poor Luci nearby. “That’s because there’s been precious little else to occupy our time, waiting for the mad duke to grace us with his presence.”

  “Mad, is he? Oh, dear, I hadn’t heard.” It was a male voice.

  Mortified, Tessa jumped to her feet, sure she’d be looking into the eyes of the madman in question. Instead, she looked into familiar gold—or were they hazel?—eyes, now crinkled with mirth at her expense. His lips turned up at the edges and parted to reveal his straight, white teeth. His well-cut brown morning suit, crisp white shirt, and peach and tan cravat were all of fine cut and quality, underscoring what she’d been able to learn about him, as well, while she’d gathered information from the ever-wagging tongues of London’s most venerable gossips.

  By all accounts, Mr. Alcott was a well-off younger son with a sterling reputation and a deep intellect. Not that Tessa had seen either of the last two attributes in the time she’d spent with him, but as her family was always quick to remind her, she did have a way of bringing out the worst in people.

  “Mr. Alcott.”

  He bowed slightly. “Lady Tessa.” He smiled at her friend. “Miss Wagner.”

  As Luci greeted him, Tessa swore she saw her friend bat her impossibly long eyelashes at him.

  Tessa twisted her empty hands in front of her. “Mr. Alcott, as charming as your company is, pray tell, is there nowhere in all of England to escape it?”

  Luci covered her laugh with her hand. “Tessa, you go too far.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes. There was no such thing as too far for Luci when it came to verbal jabs, which meant she had an ulterior motive. Her suspicion was confirmed when her friend jumped to her feet and headed toward the door through which Alcott had entered.

  “I’m off to find a tonic to overcome the shock of it.” Luci threw Tessa a wink and a grin as she left the room.

  A well-bred unchaperoned lady should have been appalled, overwhelmed, and in a tizzy over the impropriety of being left alone with Alcott. Instead, Tessa found herself thinking about how gold his eyes truly were as he studied her face. Which made it flush hot. She meant to fan herself, but she’d left her fan on the table and bending to pick it up would be too indiscreet. She dropped onto the settee, then perched on the edge of it, staring at the fan she so wished to snatch up from the table.

  “Are you all right?” James took a seat opposite her, then gently handed her the fan.

  “Thank you.” She tried not to notice how their ungloved fingers touched as she took the fan from him. She got to her feet. “I should go after Luci. Perhaps I’m in need of a tonic myself.”

  Mr. Alcott rose to his feet. “Odd.”

  Tessa hated to ask, but she couldn’t resist. “What is it that you find odd?”

  He eyes were intense and the wolfish grin had faded from his face. “Of all the ladies I’ve ever met, I believe you to be the least in need of a tonic.”

  James was hard-pressed to read the expression on Lady Tessa�
�s face. She’d been obviously annoyed by his presence, then flustered by her own rudeness, but now her face was pale except for the trace of a blush adding a pink hue to her cheeks and contrasting ever so prettily with the pale blue of her dress. She sank onto the settee and stared at the fan in her hand, the one he’d handed her so slowly and gently so as to force the brush of their fingers. Not very sporting of him, but he’d needed to touch her. Now she opened the fan, obscuring the bottom of her face.

  James sat opposite her again. She dropped her fan an inch, just enough to make him aware that his boldness had caused her lips to part. Then she raised that blasted fan and covered part of her face – including her luscious mouth – again.

  He took a deep if unsteady breath. “Shall I request some tea, Lady Tessa?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Alcott, but I couldn’t possibly have any more tea.” The fan shook ever so slightly.

  “Something stronger, perhaps? Not a tonic, but perhaps a brandy.”

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” She folded her fan and placed her hands in her lap, one over the other, stilling them.

  “There’s no need to be nervous about meeting the duke. Despite the rumors swirling around London, I don’t believe for one moment his mental state is in question.”

  “Nor do I.” She glanced around the empty library, then lowered her voice. “Although one could hardly blame him if he weren’t himself. I understand he was close to his father. To lose him, and then to lose his wife months later.” She shook her head. “Meriden and his sister Lady Emmeline, a dear friend of mine, lost their sister last year. The whole family was devastated.”

  “Yes, I was there, at Lady Eleanor’s service.”

  “Were you?” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t recall seeing you there.”

  He was flattered she thought she should have remembered him. But Lady Eleanor had been young and her drowning death tragic. The church had been overflowing with mourners.