Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4) (13 page)

“The stink in here has been prodigious for two hundred years,” Belmont said. “How fares Miss Hennessey?”

“Belmont, your small talk must be the despair of your lady wife.”  

“My lady wife treasures my ability to communicate without words, or she did before the infant appeared. If Madeline Hennessey is anything less than
well content, you will please return her to me.”

The ale was on the bitter side, too dark for Jack’s tastes. He set the tankard aside, though the potation wouldn’t go to waste. Children of
various ages made a game of helping themselves to undefended drinks.

“Miss Hennessey is not a possession, that you should consider her on loan like a breeding ram, or a spare saddle.”

Belmont took a sip of his ale. Since marrying his Abigail, he’d become a more peaceful man, quiet rather than taciturn.

“Neither is Miss Hennessey without a champion, Fanning. Abigail ordered me to accost you for a report, my scheduled sortie to Teak House having been
rendered impossible by the weather. She worries over Madeline, and thus I worry over Madeline.”

While Madeline worried for two aging relations, both of whom lived in severe penury. “Why worry about a comely and supremely competent woman?”

Belmont signaled a tavern maid watching Vicar’s turn at the darts. She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

“You’re not finished with the drink before you.” In fact, Belmont had set his tankard beside Jack’s, as if the brew didn’t
agree with him either.

“I’m not ordering another ale, and you will not avoid my question.”

“Miss Hennessey has succeeded in earning my mother’s approval, to the extent my mother approves of anybody. Miss DeWitt also enjoys Miss
Hennessey’s company, and my brother, Jeremy, is probably half in love with her.”

Belmont, of course, pounced on the aspect of Jack’s recitation that had no relevance whatsoever. “
Miss
DeWitt?”

“Lucy Anne DeWitt, of the Dorset DeWitts. Her papa is the younger son of some viscount or other. My mother is choosing her moment, and will soon
apprise me of the lady’s financial situation, regardless of my lack of interest in same.”

“My condolences on the imminent loss of your bachelorhood, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Miss Hennessey is…” Madeline was a problem. “Exactly what the household needs. She has the knack of explaining to my butler
situations I have no idea he’s befuddled over. She keeps peace between my mother and the staff, and has even found ways to make it seem that my
mother is complimenting the maids and footmen.”

Madeline had also orchestrated matters so that Mama and Mrs. Abernathy had not run afoul of each other, though any day, Jack expected that truce to be
broken.

Another roar rose up, along with a round of applause. Somebody had hit a bull’s-eye, or come close.

“Madeline is indeed a domestic paragon,” Belmont said. “Have you proposed yet?”

“Belmont, imagine how uncomfortable you’ll be, riding home through a frigid December evening after I’ve accidentally spilled a tankard of
ale in your lap.”

“You’ve thought about proposing,” Belmont said. “Or thought about considering it. The tropical sun doubtless left your mental
processes less than nimble. Take heart. Madeline’s the patient sort. Witness, she put up with my boys for years and only threatened to quit once a
week or so.”

“She put up with you.”

“And somehow managed to tear herself away from my household at the first opportunity. My pride is in tatters.”

Belmont’s wife had presented him with a son less than nine months after the nuptials. His pride enjoyed insufferably good repair.

“I’ve directed the stable to keep both a cart and a lady’s mount available to her at all times,” Jack said. “She’s free
to visit Candlewick whenever she pleases. What do you make of McArdle’s coal thief?”

Belmont, having also served the occasional turn as magistrate, might have some useful ideas on this topic.

“I think if Madeline will have you, you’d be damned lucky to marry her. If the issue is a dowry—”

“Two tankards,” Jack said. “Both of them nearly full. Hate to ruin a fine pair of riding boots, but I can be lamentably clumsy.”

They fell silent while the tavern maid brought over a tray of cheese toast. Belmont helped himself to a slice and bit off a corner, the melted cheese
turning the undertaking untidy.

“Have some,” Belmont said. “We both have another round to play before we can return to our cozy beds—in your case, a lonely cozy
bed.”

The cheese toast, like everything else Jack could see, hear, smell, taste, or touch, was unequivocally English. Once upon a time, to return to such a
setting had loomed like a pipe dream, a fantasy of fevered imagination.

Now all Jack wanted was peace and solitude, and perhaps another kiss or three from Madeline Hennessey.

“I want some damned caraway on this cheese toast,” Jack said. “Some cardamom, or pepper, or a touch of curry. Not boring old bread
toasted to hide how stale it has become and boring old cheddar.”

Belmont’s hand paused halfway to the tray. “You do know how dearly Tavis holds his coin? Spices such as those would cost him the entire
year’s darts revenue.”

That revenue sat in a large glass jar on the shelf behind the bar. The winning team would get three-quarters of the haul, split among all the players.
Tavis would keep the rest.

Jack selected a piece of toast, tore it in half, and took a bite. “What about McArdle’s missing coal? Any ideas?”

“Coal has gone missing from McArdle’s yard since the first winter his father set up shop. Whoever took this lot did him a favor.”

Not the first time Jack had heard that sentiment. “Why do you say that?”

“A family in need might pinch a bit here or there on a moonless night, because McArdle’s yard is a mare’s nest of disorganization.
Whoever stole from him this time called his attention to how much inventory he’s losing because of his poor management. You do know that if you break
Madeline’s heart, I will call you out?”

“Belmont, has marriage made you daft?”

“Marriage has made me sane, also happy.” More cheese toast was munched into oblivion. “Marriage done properly is a lovely institution.
You should try it.”

“I did.”

Well, damn. Jack hadn’t had enough ale to blame his slip on Tavis’s drink.

“I’m sorry,” Belmont said, quietly.

“For?”

“The lady is not at your side; therefore, she must have gone to her reward, leaving you a widower. No wonder your mother is concerned for you.”

The sound of coins hitting glass over the noise of the crowd signaled the end of the game of darts, though Jack’s turn was still two games away. The
jar behind the bar was almost full of money, but after the upcoming tournament, it would be empty again.

“I married a woman in India,” Jack said. “She did not… a fever took her. Her brother is my butler. My family has no idea, but when
I escaped from captivity, I would have perished but for my wife’s devotion.” Jack had married Saras because an officer’s continued
existence had been tenuous even in times of peace, and Saras had deserved every legal protection he could fashion for her.

To Belmont’s credit, he merely continued to consume his cheese toast, as if hearing confessions was all in the day’s socializing for him. Jack
would never have had this conversation with Vicar, but Belmont was a widower.

Perhaps that explained a silence broken for the first time in years.

“As my first wife lay dying, she did me a great service,” Belmont said. “She ordered me not to wallow in my grief. Said our children
needed to see that I had not climbed into the coffin with her. I never loved her more than I did at that moment—such wisdom and
selflessness—and I was never more angry with her. She knew me so well.”

Jack tucked his hand under his thigh rather than knock the tankards from the table. “You wallowed anyway.”

“For a few years. Life moves us forward, and then we catch a glimmer of our own demise on a distant horizon—a lung fever, a friend our age
dies—and moving forward becomes a purposeful undertaking. I wouldn’t waste time looking for McArdle’s thief. The lesson was cheap at
twice the price, and now I hear McArdle is keeping dogs on the premises after hours.”

He’d not purchased a puppy from Madeline’s aunt, though. He’d gone to a “breeder,” meaning a yeoman farmer, rather than an
older woman who desperately needed his coin.

“What did you get Mrs. Belmont for her holiday token?” Jack asked.

Belmont’s expression was a cross between devilish and bashful. “I have it on the best authority that the gift of my handsome company from day
to day is all Abigail requires by way of a boon.”

“You’ll look very handsome wearing a plate of cheese toast on your head,” Jack said. “You are no help whatsoever, Belmont.”

“The child in my nursery suggests your definition of help diverges from my lovely wife’s. Somebody needs to tell Vicar to aim left. He makes
the same mistake over and over.”

“His mistake is in his appreciation for Tavis’s ale. My mother has everything she needs, and any gift to Miss DeWitt will encourage the wrong
notions.”

“I see your dilemma. Ask Madeline, she’ll know exactly what to give them. You will please tell my dear Madeline that we miss her abominably,
Mrs. Turnbull has gone into a decline, and Cook hasn’t made her signature scones since Madeline abandoned us. The footmen are beyond all hope, which
is why the Candlewick team is making such a dismal showing tonight. At this rate, Tavis will need a larger winnings jar.”

Belmont took the last two slices of cheese toast and put them together into a sandwich.

“What do you know about Madeline Hennessey, Belmont? About her past.”

Nearly half the sandwich disappeared before Jack had an answer. “Not much. Caroline, my late wife, added Madeline to the staff. I didn’t really
notice Madeline until after I became a widower, and by then, she was nearly running the household. I assume she’s a local girl, because both of her
aunts live here, but you might ask Vicar… once he’s recovered from his evening among the flock.”

Madeline Hennessey was not a girl, and Jack’s ear, which had grown sensitive to dialects in India, would not have placed her as local. She spoke, now
that he considered the matter, with the same genteel elocution as Miss DeWitt.

“Miss Hennessey was your employee for nearly a decade, and yet, you know nothing about her. If she weren’t religious about visiting her
aunties, you’d know less than nothing.”

Belmont finished his sandwich and dusted his hands over the empty plate. “I know you are smitten, and my wife will be pleased to learn of it. You
will bring your guests to supper tomorrow evening at six of the clock. If your womenfolk are very well behaved, Abigail might permit them to coo over my
youngest while you, the reverend, and I swill brandy in the library.”

Belmont’s wife wanted to assess matters firsthand, in other words, and confirm whatever reports Belmont brought her.

“I will ask your wife what manner of Christmas token she would have appreciated,” Jack said, rising. “If you serve decent brandy, I might
share her reply with you before next winter.”

“Madeline needs a new cloak,” Belmont said, getting to his feet, “and I must uphold the honor of Candlewick at the dartboard. Until
tomorrow.”

He sauntered off, while Jack passed his ale to the same small boy who’d driven the team around to the yard earlier in the day.

“Don’t suppose you know anything about McArdle’s missing coal?” Jack asked the lad.

The boy’s eyes grew huge, and he shook his head.

So the criminal was a local fellow, possibly even Tavis, who was known to pinch a penny until it howled for mercy. Tavis also complained loudly about the
cost of coal, but wasn’t about to send a team into Oxford to buy from one of McArdle’s competitors. Perhaps Belmont was right. The thief had
done McArdle a favor.

Though Jack was not, contrary to Belmont’s pronouncement, smitten.

Yet.

The Teak House library was kept toasty warm at all hours, and thus Madeline read there rather than in her bedroom. The bedroom was lovely, uncomfortably
so, for a woman who’d been in service for nearly a decade.

The library, by contrast, had a personality all its own. Some of the appointments were standard for the home of wealthy gentry. The lovely piano, sizeable
desk, globe, reading table, and shelves of books would have gone nicely with Candlewick’s decor.

The scent of sandalwood incense, however, which Pahdi burned in an effort to discourage damp and vermin from plaguing the books, was unique. The teak
sideboard was both exotic and more costly than the usual furnishings in a country house library, and the gleaming samovar was still more evidence of wealth
and worldly sophistication.

And yet, Madeline felt less out of place here than in the bedroom she’d been assigned in the family wing.

Reading for an hour anywhere before retiring was a guilty pleasure, because a servant’s candles were rationed, while a lady’s companion could
squander candles, lamp oil, coal, and even firewood without comment.

“What absorbs you so thoroughly?” Sir Jack asked.  

He stood near the closed door, though Madeline hadn’t heard him come in. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“Since I started attending the quarterly assemblies. I suspect you’ve been spying on me for nearly as long, espionage being the primary purpose
for such gatherings. Would you care for a brandy to ward off the evening’s chill?”

He was in riding attire, the toes of his boots damp from the snow, his hair tousled by the wind. Doubtless he’d come to the library to get warm, much
as Madeline had.

“No brandy, thank you. I’ll bid you good night.” A servant would wait to be dismissed. So much about being a lady’s companion was
at once odd and familiar.

“No need to run off, Miss Hennessey,” he said, crossing to the sideboard. “I see my absence was not an occasion for idleness here at Teak
House.”