Julia Justiss (10 page)

Jenna smiled to counter the little shiver that skittered down her backbone. “As I don’t expect to be sneaking about the cellars filching your claret, I imagine I shall be safe enough.”

“So I should hope!” he replied, returning the smile. “I would caution you to beware of Bayard’s valet as well. Were it up to me, I should turn the surly fellow off in an instant. I’ve often urged that Bayard replace him with someone who could turn him out more in the style befitting a Fairchild! But for some unfathomable reason, Bayard’s quite attached to him. And by now,” he concluded
with a wry shake of his head, “you must be thinking you’ve stumbled into a household straight out of Bedlam.”

“I did think upon first seeing him that Frankston seemed more like a Spanish brigand than a gentleman’s gentleman,” Jenna said. “Is he as dangerous?”

“I’m sure he is not! His conduct does not approach the standards
I
would require of a servant at Fairchild House, but I did not mean to imply he might threaten anything other than your patience. The man seems to have no notion of the deference he owes to his betters.”

“Then I may sleep safely in my bed?” she teased.

“Of course,” he replied, his smile fading. “I know you are funning, but your safety is no joking matter. Also, please know that anytime you have need of an escort, I should be honored if you will call on me.”

“You are very kind,” she murmured. If Nelthorpe were in fact occupied in pursuing a middle-class bride, she might not have to honor the ridiculous bargain they’d made last night. But whether or not the viscount came calling, she didn’t wish to encourage Lane—who seemed not at all put off by her little speech about cousinly affection.

He bowed and walked to the door, then hesitated. “Though I have no authority over you, of course, I must admit I should feel easier if you could assure me you did not intend to see Viscount Nelthorpe again.”

A knock sounded at the door, followed by Sancha’s entry.
“Pardon, señora,”
she said with a curtsy. “But Lord Nelthorpe is here. Shall I tell him you come down?”

“Lady Fairchild is occupied,” Lane said.

Jenna threw him a sharp glance. She might appreciate his concern for her welfare, but she wasn’t about to let him dictate her actions. Besides, much as she regretted
last night’s hasty promise, she
had
made it, and if the viscount held her to the bargain, she would honor it.

“Tell Lord Nelthorpe I will be down directly.”

After the maid withdrew, she turned to Lane Fairchild, whose lips had pressed together in a disapproving line. “Having escorted me home last night, it is only polite that Nelthorpe call. And only polite that I receive him. Besides, though I appreciate your concern, do me the credit of believing I am capable of managing my own affairs.”

The glint in his blue eyes turned decidedly frosty. “If you say so, cousin. I shall not intrude upon you further, then.” After a stiff bow, he walked out.

What a charming morning, she thought with a sigh. Cousin Lane was definitely displeased with her.

And Anthony Nelthorpe waited below.

H
AVING RIDDEN HOME
as quickly as the congested London streets would allow, it wasn’t until he stood in her parlor, a disapproving Sancha dispatched with a message to fetch her mistress, that Tony paused to reconsider his plan.

Despite the protests of his knee, he limped about the room, doubts beginning to assail him.

He’d managed to tease, annoy and cajole a bargain out of Jenna last night, but in the saner light of day, would she choose to honor it? Or, as had happened each time he’d called during her convalescence, would Sancha return to inform him Lady Fairchild could not receive him?

Tony prayed with all the fervency he possessed that she would receive him, though he feared less for her safety now than he had last night, when he’d seen moonlight and desperation reflected in her eyes. More important than the desire, stronger than he cared to admit, to spend time with her, the plight of the displaced soldiers demanded redress.

How could he help them if she repudiated him?

Wexley, St. Ives and others of their ilk were unlikely to care enough to offer a ha’penny, and Ned Hastings had no independent income of his own. Tony could think of no other wealthy acquaintance in London—except Banker Harris. Aside from the fact that he’d be loath to return again, hat in hand and asking for money, would a self-made man like Mr. Harris have any sympathy for
unfortunates many in society would judge to be worthless vagrants who should bestir themselves to find honest work?

So what
would
he do if Jenna refused to meet him? Modest as the needs of the former soldiers and their families were, he knew his limited resources wouldn’t stretch to meeting them for long.

He paced faster, seared by the same agonizing sense of helplessness that had seized him at Waterloo after the Union Brigade’s charge, while he watched his exuberant fellow horsemen, having decimated the French ranks before them, ride recklessly onward, deaf to the recall being sounded by their bugler. Ride on far behind the enemy lines, to the very foot of the French guns. Where, scattered and outnumbered, they were cut to pieces.

Bile rose in his throat and a shudder ran through him. Shaking his mind free of the memory, he forced himself to concentrate on the present.

No French cuirassiers stood between him and the salvation of the little band residing off Thames Street.

Should Jenna fail to appear, he supposed he could write her a letter describing the situation. He was just starting to mentally compose such a note in his head when the lady herself entered the parlor.

“You wished to see me, Lord Nelthorpe?”

For a moment he let his hungry eyes feast on her while the potent force she always exerted over his senses drew him inexorably to her side. “Jenna,” he murmured, bending to kiss the fingertips she extended as he inhaled deeply of her scent, savoring the too-brief touch of her skin.

He felt the tension in her hand, as if she wished to jerk it free. Would she honor their bargain? Perhaps he ought to determine that immediately, for if she had come down
only to disavow it, he wouldn’t get a chance to plead the soldier’s case.

Tightening his hold, he kissed her hand again.

This time she did pull away. “When you do that, I wonder at my wisdom in permitting you to call.”

She was not going to repudiate him,
he thought, relief flooding him. How then to introduce the matter of Sergeant Anston? Deciding he might need more than the few minutes allowed by a morning call to convince her, he said, “Allow me to take you riding. I’ve a matter I’d like to discuss.”

“At least it’s not a proposition,” she muttered.

He grinned. “See? Already you’re exerting a beneficial influence.”

“I’d heard you intended to make yourself agreeable to some…bourgeois heiress. Would dancing attendance on me not interfere with those plans?”

Had she cared enough to check on him? Reason damped down his momentary gratification. Probably her kinsman had heard he was gathering information in the City.

“Should you be disappointed if I were?”

She raised an eyebrow. “If you pursue a lady of wealth merely for her fortune, and she chooses to accept you solely for your title, I think you would both be getting what you deserve.”

He had to laugh at that. “I must agree. So I am happy to assure you that, for the moment at least, I have managed to escape that fate. Which leaves me free to escort you to routs, musicales, breakfasts and any other activities you choose to attend. During which, you will instruct me on how to behave as a gentleman. Unless,” he added, unable to resist the urge to tease, “I can persuade you instead to allow me to act the rogue?”

“We’ll tread the path of virtue, to be sure.”

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

She leveled a severe look. “Absolutely.”

He heaved a regretful sigh, not entirely for show. “Virtue it shall be, alas. Now, hurry to change, lest we miss more of this lovely day.”

“It…it wouldn’t be convenient to ride now.”

She
was
trying to fob him off. An urgency unconnected with the plight of the soldiers surged through him. Instead of accepting her refusal, he blurted, “Why not?”

“It…I…I’m not dressed for riding,” she said, obviously taken aback at his persistence.

“I can wait while you change.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

“Well, I mind making you wait.” Her tone aggrieved, she sat back in her chair. Another moment, and she would be ringing for the butler to escort him out.

Abandoning caution, he seized her hand. “Please, Jenna, just this once. When you asked me to go with you last night, I came without question, didn’t I?”

Though she pulled her hand free, her defensive posture softened. “Y-yes. And I do thank you for that.”

“One ride is all I request. After that, if…if you prefer, I’ll not force you to honor our bargain.”

She straightened, a martial light gleaming in her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to renege on our agreement—foolish though it was! I never break my word. I was merely…”

“Delaying?” he suggested.

A faint color warmed her face. “Perhaps a little.”

“Then you’ll come with me now?” he asked, trying not to let the eagerness show in his voice.

“It will take me half an hour to change.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Shaking her head with a wry grimace, as if she weren’t
sure what to do about him, she rose. “Half an hour, then. Should you like some sherry? I’ll send Manson in.”

She was treating him like—a guest. “That would be most kind,” Tony said, telling himself it was ridiculous to be pleased over so trivial a detail.

Less than thirty minutes later, they rode into the park, Tony keeping her laughing during their transit with anecdotes about his army life after he’d left her father’s regiment. Not until they pulled up their mounts inside the park gates did it occur to him that, given her recent accident, riding neck-or-nothing might no longer appeal.

“Shall it be decorous trot? Or a full-out gallop?”

She seemed to sense his concern. “I don’t intend to let that…unhappy event ruin my enjoyment of riding,” she replied. “I’ve few enough pleasures left.”

“Ah, that I might remedy that sad situation!”

She gave him a reproving glance. “Such a comment isn’t suitably addressed to a lady.”

“But would a
true
lady understand my meaning?”

“A lady is merely proper, not stupid,” she snapped back. “Now, what was that urgent matter?”

“First, a gallop. Once around the Serpentine. Since your mare is smaller than Pax, I’ll give you twenty yards.”

She stiffened. “This is my own mount, not a beast borrowed from my cousin’s stable. You need not offer me any advantage, sir!”

“Then, my lady, shall we ride?”

A crack of her whip answered him. Grinning, he spurred his gelding in pursuit.

Though Pax had a smooth, ground-eating gait, Jenna’s mare was fleeter of foot. In truth, Tony didn’t regret being obliged to concede her the lead. Although observing the rhythmic bounce of her trim posterior inevitably led his
mind to dwell on another sort of ride which he’d enjoy even more observing at close range.

They rounded the last curve, Jenna several lengths ahead when they reached their starting point. Tony reined in, trying to drag his mind back from the carnal.

“Well and truly bested, were you not, my lord?” she cried, wheeling her mare toward him.

Tony meant to return a teasing reply, but when he looked over at her, his words scattered like green recruits under fire at their first battle.

Laughing, triumphant, her cheeks wind-flushed, even the harsh black hue of her habit couldn’t dim the radiance of her face. This was the lighthearted, carefree Jenna who’d first caught his eye as she raced her mount across the Spanish plains, her whole being vibrant with the sheer joy of living—a vibrancy, he now realized, that had been missing when he met her again here in London.

He’d been drawn to that fearless young woman in Spain, further bewitched by the sensuality of the mature woman she’d become. But at this moment, as he watched both those Jennas combine, the force of her stole his breath.

As he gazed at her, exulting in the joy that illumined her face, a falling sensation swept through him and he knew he’d give anything to keep that glow in her eyes.

All too soon it faded. He wanted to cry out in protest at its loss.
And say what—“Let me make you happy?” Steady, Tony, old man,
he told himself.

“Now,” she said, bringing her mare into step beside his gelding as they cooled the horses at a walk, “what did you wish to discuss?”

“Coming back from the City this morning, I strayed into a back alley and nearly had my purse stolen—by a former sergeant of Dragoons.”

“Surely not a dragoon! Those regiments accept only
volunteers—never conscripts or petty criminals pressed into service.”

“True enough, but he was indeed a cavalryman. With the fields he once worked enclosed by the local landowner, he said, he came back to the city and has ended up a sort of protector to several army widows and their children. Apparently they’ve been surviving by begging at street corners and petty thievery.”

“That’s dreadful!” she cried. “You…you didn’t turn him over to a magistrate, did you?”

“Please, give me more credit than that! And besides,” he said with a wry twist of his lip, “I’ve suffered the pangs of an empty purse myself on occasion.”

“Without resorting to thievery, I hope!”

Recalling the castaway stripling of a few nights ago, he laughed shortly. “No, I call it ‘gaming.’”

“So what did you do about the sergeant?”

“I gave him what coins I had and an offer of work. But the problem is graver than that, for he told me that in the neighborhood roundabout him are nearly two dozen former soldiers, widows, and orphans in the same situation.”

“Two
dozen?
”

“So Sergeant Anston says. I…I haven’t the funds to care for so large a group,” he confessed, his face heating. Having to make that admission to Jenna, he found, was more humiliating than he anticipated. “I know your father often assisted troopers and their families. So when I cast about for some means to assist them, I thought of you. Some of these might be from the Fighting Fifth, though I don’t—”

“It makes no difference which regiment they come from!” she interrupted. “Of course I’ll help. ’Tis an outrage, after all they’ve done to have them return to England and end up starving on the streets of London!”

Hearing her affirm her intention to help eased the anxiety that had weighed him down since he left the City this morning. “Thank you.”

She waved away his gratitude. “What do they need? Food and clothing to start with, I should think.”

“Food for certain, warm clothes, and shoes—though I’m not sure the children will wear them.”

“Come, let us return at once. I’ll get the kitchen staff started while I call at my bank for funds to purchase the clothing and supplies.” She paused a moment, frowning. “Though I may have to battle with Lane’s fancy French chef to cook plain, wholesome food.”

“If you order the provisions, my cook will prepare them. Betsy’s kind heart will need no persuading.”

“Excellent! Let’s get started, then. If the neighborhood is as destitute as you describe, ’twould be best that we not venture there after dark.”

“No, ’tis barely safe in day—” He stopped as the full meaning of her words penetrated. “Surely you cannot mean to accompany me when I deliver the supplies?”

Her expression turned frosty. “Of course I mean to accompany you.”

“A young woman whose dress clearly indicates she is Quality? ’Twould be much too risky! I’ll have trouble enough persuading my groom to accompany me.”

She shrugged. “All the more reason for me to go. I don’t require persuasion, and if need be, I can wield a whip or a pistol better than your groom. Once I change into one of the plain gowns I wore on campaign, I will be in no more danger than the females who reside there.”