“But she knew Papa’s name.” Miss Grandison gazed at her with wide eyes. “How would she, if he hadn’t…”
“He visits the theater,” put in Miss Finch. “He might have accompanied a friend to meet the dancers. Many do.” This was setting aside the reason why, of course.
The other three young ladies looked at their friend. Miss Grandison wished to believe but doubted, Teresa thought. Miss Deeping expected the worst. Miss Moran was simply aghast.
A vivid memory shook Teresa. She knew what it was like to be tossed into a situation about which you knew nothing and make mistakes based on ignorance. She had begun her own disaster in that way. She wanted to help. But what could she say? It was not her responsibility to tell these young ladies what their mothers, and their society, didn’t wish them to know. Indeed, she would be resented if she did. Yes, a twist of history could toss them out of their safe world and into one where no one would care, and help would come in detestable forms that they couldn’t imagine now. But most likely that twist wouldn’t happen. They would never have to learn the hard lessons she could describe. “I expect Nancy used the wrong turn of phrase,” she said.
No one looked convinced. She didn’t blame them. It had been a feeble effort. “She tosses out shocking remarks to start a good argument,” Teresa added. Even Nancy would admit this was true. She loved a dispute, as did almost none of her cohorts.
“She wanted to argue with me?” asked Miss Grandison, looking bewildered.
As well she might.
“So you are a good friend of Lord Macklin?” put in Miss Finch.
Teresa met her cool green eyes. Miss Finch was clever, as all these young ladies seemed to be. She’d chosen the one topic that might steer the conversation away from wandering fathers. Miss Finch would sacrifice Teresa’s comfort for her friends’ in an instant, Teresa noted. She was an interesting girl—an heiress who didn’t fit into society yet seemed to understand more about it than the others. Her question was also a challenge. Which Teresa was well able to meet. “Merely an acquaintance,” Teresa said.
Miss Finch’s amused expression made her look older than her years. “Yet you claim ownership?” she said. A murmur went around the carriage at her directness.
Despite everything Teresa felt a thrill at the idea. But of course the English earl did not belong to her. She gave Miss Finch a raised eyebrow. “A joke,” she replied, trying out her excuse.
“Really? How odd.”
Miss Finch certainly said whatever she pleased. Perhaps that was her difficulty in society. “Does it not fit the English sense of humor?” Teresa asked. “I do not always understand that, I admit.”
“Are the Spanish so different?” asked Miss Moran.
“Perhaps we are,” answered Teresa, recklessly consigning her countrymen to eccentricity.
“And you jest about owning gentlemen,” said Miss Deeping. Her dark eyes were lit with amusement.
Teresa thought again of a wolf pack, hunting as a team. “It will also save Lord Macklin from being besieged backstage at the theater.”
“Besieged?” asked Miss Grandison.
Which brought them back around to where they started. Why was this carriage ride taking so long? “Should we visit again about the disappearances,” she added. Perhaps this was a better reason for her slip? Even though there were to be no more visits.
“We must do that,” replied Miss Deeping.
“We need to know a great deal more,” said Miss Moran.
Teresa felt like an angler who’d hooked a fish. She looked out the window to gauge their progress.
“Lord Macklin deserves happiness,” said Miss Finch.
Really, this red-haired young lady was becoming irritating.
“He’s been so kind,” she added.
“Kind to you?” Teresa couldn’t help asking.
“To Ada,” replied Miss Moran. “She wouldn’t be engaged if he hadn’t helped matters along.”
Miss Grandison nodded, though she still looked distracted.
“And others. He’s been doing quite a bit of matchmaking,” said Miss Deeping.
“He doesn’t like to call it that,” replied Miss Moran.
Miss Deeping nodded. “I know.” There were giggles in the carriage. “He looks positively pained. But when you bring couples together…” She shrugged. “That is the word.”
“And yet he is alone,” said Miss Moran. “His wife died ten years ago.”
The young ladies nodded. Miss Finch gazed at Teresa. “I wonder what would make him happy?” she said.
More than irritating, Teresa thought. A positive menace. She endured their scrutiny—cataloging, evaluating—as if she was a puzzle they were determined to solve. She could have told them that she was not the one to make any man happy, but she did not. She owed no explanations.
“He likes being of use,” said Miss Moran.
Her three friends turned to gaze at her, clearly surprised.
Miss Moran seemed lost in thought. “But not all by himself,” she added. “He likes having…allies.” She noticed the stares. “Or so I observe.” She made the last word sound portentous.
After a moment, Miss Deeping nodded, and then Miss Finch. Teresa wondered what the girl meant by allies. And what about love? It seemed that Lord Macklin had spent time…promoting it for others. What an unusual sort of man. Not that his nature was any of her affair.
“I must talk to Tom,” said Miss Grandison, whose thoughts had clearly been taking their own course. “I think he knows more than he said about Papa.”
The faces of her friends suggested that they agreed with the sentiment and were worried about the plan.
“Your earrings are beautiful,” said Miss Moran to Teresa.
This one didn’t like conflict, Teresa thought.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like them,” she added. “Are they Spanish?”
“No, I design them myself.” Teresa launched into a discussion of the process, in great detail. She saw to it that the topic filled the short remainder of the drive, resisting all interruption. When the young ladies got down together at the Finch house, they appeared more than ready to escape further information on metallurgy. And they’d had no chance to question her further about Lord Macklin. Now she just had to find a way to divert herself, Teresa thought as the carriage took her home.
Six
Teresa was not surprised when Lord Macklin appeared at the theater workshop the following day. She might have stayed home to avoid him, but she’d promised to complete the scenery she was painting that day. It was needed for the next night’s performance and had to dry and then be installed onstage. More than that, this was her place. She wouldn’t be driven out, even by her own foolishness. The earl might be a powerful man, but she was valued here; she belonged with these craftsmen who took pride in their skills.