Julia Justiss (14 page)

Perhaps Lord Nelthorpe could help her do so tonight.

Confining herself to a noncommittal murmur, as soon as she exited the carriage, Jenna began scanning the crowd, hoping that before her relations found the bobbing ostrich plume and shrill laughter that would mark Lady
Montclare’s presence, she might spy the dark head or distinctive limping gait of Anthony Nelthorpe.

In the anteroom a few minutes later, Aunt Hetty rose up on tiptoe, waving her handkerchief to signal to someone who could only be Lady Montclare. Feeling as trapped as a picket before the approach of enemy cavalry, Jenna was on the point of inventing some urgent need to visit the ladies’ withdrawing room when, across a sea of nodding heads and waving fans, she spied Anthony Nelthorpe.

She no sooner saw him then he smiled a greeting. Relieved this time that, as always, he seemed to have been watching for her, after confirming Lane and Aunt Hetty were gazing at Lady Montclare, she gestured him to approach.

A slow grin spreading across his face, he began making his way toward her through the crowd—as, from the opposite corner of the room, was Lady Montclare.

Nearly tapping her toe in impatience, she waited, hoping that despite his limp a cavalryman would prove swifter in his mission than a Society matron.

He didn’t disappoint her. Before Lady Montclare had crossed half the chamber, Lord Nelthorpe reached her side. “Lady Fairchild, what a fortunate encounter,” he murmured, gray eyes dancing as he gave her an elaborate bow.

She threw him a warning glance. “Fortunate indeed.”

He raised her hand to his lips and proceeded to subject each height and valley of her knuckles to a slow and highly improper caress that sent a volley of little shocks ricocheting to all parts of her body.

“I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you want me,” he murmured for her ears alone.

Irritated by her response, but too much in need of his
help to risk scolding him at present, she pulled her hand back, resisting the urge to rub away the residual tingling.

“I was hoping I might see you, my lord. Evers, my father’s old batman, arrived this afternoon, bringing with him the names of several troopers in need. He’s eager to start canvassing London for more.”

Evidently overhearing this exchange, Cousin Lane pulled his gaze from Lady Montclare’s approach. His smile faded when he perceived to whom she was speaking.

“Nelthorpe,” he said in frigid tones.

The viscount’s grin widened. “Mr. Fairchild.”

“You mean to continue working among the soldiers?” Lane asked her.

“Yes, cousin, with Lord Nelthorpe’s assistance, as I believe I already told you. Were you, ah, able to gather the information I requested, my lord?”

“Information?”

“Yes,” she replied, shooting him an urgent look.

“Ah, that information. ’Tis rather complicated. Shall we discuss it further?” Nelthorpe offered his arm.

Frowning, Lane waved it away. “Lady Fairchild has not yet greeted her hostess. And besides, ’tis not the time nor place to debate the merits of such a course. Cousin, I beg you to refrain from discussing so…inappropriate a matter in the middle of Lady Ellsmere’s ball.”

Jenna’s ready anger stirred. “Inappropriate to talk of the plight of his Majesty’s soldiers? Then perhaps I should leave—”

“Lady Fairchild,” Nelthorpe interrupted, “we are distressing your cousin. Stroll with me so we may speak of this more discreetly.” Before Jenna or Lane could respond, Nelthorpe appropriated her elbow and urged her away.

“Can’t have you brangling with your cousin in the
middle of the anteroom. Very bad ton, you know, and certain to upset the countess,” Nelthorpe said.

“Who, if I may believe my aunt and cousin, is already offended that I have become a friend of Lady Charlotte’s.”

“Quite probably. Now, did you require of me more than a rescue? I am, of course, ever eager to service you.”

As he’d no doubt intended, her nimble mind was momentarily deflected by the naughty innuendo. She gave him a stern look. “
Be of
service, you should say.”

He smiled, showing dimples. “I prefer my original wording. But no more!” He lifted a hand to forestall a protest. “If your relations were ringing a peal over you, no wonder your gaze begged me to come to your rescue.”

“I wasn’t begging!” At his raised eyebrow, she admitted, “Well, perhaps I was…anxious to get away. Lady Montclare was approaching, and once she latches on, she’s as difficult to detach as a burr in a saddle blanket.”

“And about as pleasant.”

Jenna stifled a choke of laughter. “Indeed! She’s determined I must begin seeking to remarry to advantage, and none of my protests that I have no interest in such a project will discourage her.”

“But since she’ll not wish to risk the contamination of my company, you should be safe from her as long as you remain on my arm. Let us pass through the gauntlet of the receiving line. With luck, your relations will be offended enough to leave you alone the rest of the evening.”

“Accept your escort for that and I shall be scolded all the way home. I’m not sure what would outrage Cousin Lane more—my intention to spend money on what he believes are homeless ‘reprobates’ or to spend time with you.”

“He probably considers them one and the same. Nay,
my lady, in for a pence, in for a pound. Having nobly dashed to your rescue, I demand the pleasure of your company, at least for a time.”

“Very well,” she capitulated. “I can hope the novelty of my arriving on your arm will distract the countess from remembering I am supposedly allied with her chief rival.”

“I can be quite distracting when I try,” he murmured.

Under the guise of patting her hand, his fingers massaged hers in something closer to a caress. The skilled, hypnotic touch set off a tingling, which once again rapidly conveyed itself from her wrist up her arm to radiate through the rest of her body.

“A little less distraction, please,” she said through gritted teeth, “or I may have to choose Aunt Hetty.”

As his thumb completed one last stomach-fluttering circuit across her palm, he glanced down at her. The teasing light had vanished, leaving in his gaze an intensity that sent another little shock through her.

“I suppose I can let you go if I must,” he said in a low voice, and released her hand.

By the time Jenna recovered her disordered wits, the butler was announcing them to Lady Ellsmere. A tall, elegantly dressed woman a few years Jenna’s senior, the countess inspected her from forehead to slippers, as if sizing up a potential rival, Jenna thought with amusement.

Unconcerned about this stranger’s opinion of her, Jenna had a hard time suppressing a giggle when the countess, having evidently decided Jenna posed her no threat, looked back up with a sniff. “Lady Fairchild, a pleasure,” she murmured as Jenna curtsied.

Then, expression warming, she turned to Nelthorpe. “So the reports I’d heard of your return were true. Why
remain away so long? London has been dull without you.”

“There was the small matter of the war,” he replied dryly. “But if my absence distressed you, I am desolated.”

Laughing, she tapped him with her fan. “Rogue! I’m sure I must have been lonely a time or two. Perhaps, now that you
are
here, we can…renew old acquaintances.”

“I am ever at your ladyship’s service.”

At that gallantry, which so closely echoed the compliment he’d offered Jenna earlier, an instinctive and totally irrational anger swept through her. Before she could utter a word, however, with a firm tug on her arm, Nelthorpe led her away.

She couldn’t be—jealous! she thought, appalled by the reaction. Nelthorpe was no more to her than a congenial companion and friend. Whomever he chose to spend his more…intimate moments with was immaterial to her.

She surfaced from those reflections to note that Nelthorpe still propelled her across the room, one insistent hand at her back. “You needn’t haul me away like a beached carp,” she objected. “I’m not such a rustic that I would have made some inappropriate remark. Or interrupted your planning for a cozy tête-à-tête.”

Nelthorpe’s eyes brightened. “Jealous, my dear?”

“Certainly not!”

He sighed. “I thought not. Nor have you any need to be. The Angelic Anellia’s tastes run to young bucks of youth and fashion. She’d hardly deign to waste an evening with a half-crippled war relic, whatever our history.”

A half-crippled war relic.
Was that how he saw himself? Jenna had never considered that his injuries diminished him—rather the opposite—but such a view was probably a very masculine one. With an unexpected pang
of sympathy, she began, “You have a bit of a limp, but—”

“Please, no more on so dismal a topic,” he stopped her. “Tell me what your solicitor said.”

Happy to embark upon a less disquieting subject, Jenna summarized her solicitor’s advice. Mr. Samuels had been admiring of her plans and enthusiastic about the investment opportunities inherent in purchasing land when property values were relatively depressed.

“He believes I should eventually make a good return on my capital, should I later decide to sell. Although I’m inclined to offer the soldiers terms that enable them to buy the plots they work, rather than sell the whole.”

“I imagine the men would leap at such a chance.”

“I hope so. As I mentioned, Evers arrived. I shall pair him with your Sergeant Anston to seek out soldiers and their families and be guided by their advice on the type and size of property to purchase. But the solicitor knew of two prime tracts within an easy ride of London, and I’ve arranged to view one tomorrow. Would you like to come?”

“I should be happy to escort you, of course.”

“I mean to depart early—if that will be acceptable?”

“I shall endeavor to limit my drinking and wenching so as to stagger over at whatever hour you require, my lady.”

“Good of you,” she replied, not sure he was joking.

At that moment, someone called her name. She was delighted to discover Alastair Percy, a lieutenant who’d served under her father’s command, flanked by two other officers in Life Guards uniforms.

After introductions all around, the group bore Jenna off to the refreshment room, Nelthorpe limping in their wake. Jenna noted that, like “Heedless” Harry, Alastair shook Nelthorpe’s hand and greeted him cordially. Since
a poor reputation traveled in the relatively small world of the officer corps even faster than rumors seemed to circulate among the ton, Jenna concluded that, among his army mates, the viscount had earned respect.

Which counted for far more in her opinion than the views of London’s ton.

The dinner room was already crowded. Indeed, she’d not seen so many military men together at a social gathering since the Duchess of Richmond’s ball on the eve of Waterloo. The countess, Jenna thought with a suppressed smile, evidently wanting to ensure attendance at her gathering to honor the soldiers surpassed that of Lady Charlotte’s, must have sent runners to haul in every military man within a day’s ride of the metropolis.

After the inevitable offering of condolences that still made her heart twist, her chats with various acquaintances progressed from reminiscences of campaigns past to a description of her ongoing efforts to assist the demobilized soldiers. Her work met with general approval and several generous pledges of support.

Nelthorpe, who remained at her side—which, as he predicted, did indeed serve to keep Aunt Hetty and Lady Montclare at a distance—was behaving with perfect propriety. Surrounded by soldiers and their wives who had shared many of the same experiences she’d lived through, Jenna found herself relaxing and enjoying the gathering more than she had any since coming to London.

Soon after, the musicians struck up. Humming along as the orchestra played, Jenna was upon the point of accepting a dashing junior officer’s invitation to dance before she remembered her mourning status. Stung by guilt made more cutting by a lingering, ignoble regret that she must refuse him, she turned down his offer.

How could she have forgotten, even for a moment? she thought, shame and anguish twisting in her chest. Sud
denly the room seemed overcrowded and airless. Breathless, almost dizzy, a desperate need to escape seized her.

Wheeling around, she took two running steps and stumbled. A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders from behind, steadying her.

Nelthorpe.
Evidently once again watching out for her.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmured. “’Tis a bit close in here. Shall we get a breath of air?”

She nodded, allowing him to lead her from the room, down a hallway, and onto a balcony which ran the length of the house. Light glowing at its end and the faint strains of music indicated that it must also adjoin the ballroom. For a few moments in the darkness, she leaned back and breathed deeply of the cool, crisp evening air.

“Was that young pup importunate? I’ll be happy to plant him a facer for you.”

“Oh, no! ’Twas my fault entirely. He…he asked me to dance, and wretch that I am, I nearly accepted.”

“And what was so wretched about that? As I recall from Spain, you love to dance.” He smiled wryly. “As did I, once upon a time.”