by Wicked Wager
“Perhaps not this time, but—” Catching herself, she turned away, her face coloring. “’Tis no matter. Doubtless you are correct.”
Had Lucinda Blaine plagued her on some other occasion? Tony wondered, his aggravation with the Beauty increasing. From what he knew of the woman, he didn’t doubt her capable of such malice. “What else did the countess say to you?”
“You are right,” Jenna mumbled, “I’m being foolish.”
Tony made no move to let her pass. “If you want a disinterested opinion about the value of whatever she said, you might as well tell me the whole.”
He held his breath, waiting for her to brush him off and ride away. But evidently the doubts preying upon her were disturbing enough that she felt compelled to air them, even with him, for after a moment she said softly, “The other night, I encountered her at Lady Charlotte’s party.”
Understanding dawned swiftly. “So that was why you wanted to leave so abruptly. What did she say?”
“She claimed that when we were in London last spring, Garrett came to visit her. He was gone a great deal then, busy with the details of trying to mobilize an army. He might easily have stopped to see her, even…spent the night.”
“And that thought is what sent you fleeing?”
“No. Considering the possibility of it hurt, though it angered me more that she could make me doubt him. But then she said that with the death of his child, I now have even less to remember him by than she does. She sounded positively—triumphant. I care nothing for her gloating, but losing the babe…” Jenna took a shuddering breath.
There should be, he thought furiously, a special ring of Hades for petty, vindictive beauties like Lucinda Blaine. Aching for the pain in Jenna’s voice, he said, “As you know better than anyone, Garrett was a man of impeccable honor. Even if he harbored a trace of affection for his former fiancée—which I doubt—he would never insult you or dishonor his vows by trifling with her.”
He had the pleasure of seeing her troubled brow lighten a bit. “You truly believe that?”
“I truly do.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry to be a spiritless creature. Let us go to work now. We have dinners to prepare, clothes to procure, and all of it to deliver before sundown.”
She nudged her mare back toward the street. Tony guided Pax to follow, conversation ceasing as they picked their way through the traffic. As they reached the townhouse, Tony asked, “Shall I see you in?”
“No, I must go purchase foodstuffs so your cook can begin work. As soon as I’ve done that, I shall shop for the necessary clothing, then continue on to North Audley Street. If that is agreeable?”
Gratified as he was that she trusted him enough to call at his home, Tony knew he couldn’t allow it. “I’m afraid it isn’t. Didn’t your cousin tell you a lady never calls at the home of a single gentleman?”
“How ridiculous! Since the food is being prepared at your kitchen, ’twould make more sense to set out from there. Your cook—and Sancha—can safeguard my virtue.” A little smile lit her eyes. “And I still carry that knife.”
“I stand forewarned,” he replied. “Still, it simply won’t do. The women who call upon my esteemed sire are certainly not ladies. If you were to be seen anywhere near my doorstep—” in his mind flashed the image of a pouting Lucinda Blaine “—the malicious of the ton would delight in making mincemeat of your reputation.”
“For calling at your kitchen?” she scoffed. “Accompanied by my maid, a handcart full of clothing and bound upon a mission of mercy? If that is the stuff of scandal, then I care little if my reputation is lost.”
“Spoken like one confident of her good name,” he replied a little grimly. “You, who have lived an irreproachable life, can have no notion of how unpleasant it can be to be considered a byword.”
She gave him a long, searching glance. “I suppose it must be unpleasant, to have all the world ascribe to your every thought and action the most depraved of motives.”
Her observation striking too uncomfortably close to the mark, he made no reply.
“I flatter myself that my true friends have sufficient faith in my honor, and as for the ton—people will believe what they choose. Besides, I shall hardly come garbed like a ton lady. If you can contrive to find a pony cart to transport our supplies and dress yourself inconspicuously, I daresay even you may not be recognized outside your own kitchen. So, shall we say about three?”
She was coming—to him. A sense of gladness much more intense than he should have felt suffused him. Still, he made one last attempt to do the right thing. “If you insist upon coming to deliver the supplies, ’twould still be more prudent for me to meet you here.”
“Oh, Nelthorpe, give over!” she said. “’Tis nonsensical to waste time detouring here and you know it. Only recall your years in the army! Do you really want to deprive these poor unfortunates of the pleasure of having their meat and bread still warm when they receive it?”
He did indeed recall the intense delight he’d felt, after days or weeks of cold beef and stale bread, when circumstances permitted the troops to enjoy a hot, freshly cooked meal. His mouth almost watered at the memory.
She watched his face, smiling. “I shall see you this afternoon at North Audley Street.”
“Managing baggage, aren’t you?” he asked wryly.
“Absolutely.” She started up the stairs, then paused at the landing. “We shall have quite an adventure!”
In that instant, she was once again the Jenna of the Spanish plains, buoyant with enthusiasm and confidence. He couldn’t help but smile back when she winked at him before the door opened to admit her.
The warmth of knowing ’twas his project that had brought the sparkle back to her eye and the purpose to her step glowed within him all the way home.
A FEW HOURS LATER, stripped to his shirtsleeves in the warmth of the kitchen, Tony was helping Betsy load fresh loaves of bread into baskets when the maid admitted Jenna, garbed in a gray cloak over a nondescript gown of gray kerseymere, and her maid Sancha.
The scowl on Sancha’s face and the flashing look in her dark Spanish eyes told him she was none too happy about the latest scheme into which he’d embroiled her mistress.
Despite the modesty of Jenna’s apparel, with her brown eyes glowing and wisps of hair curling about her determined face, she looked incredibly lovely. Gone was the vacant-eyed, passive wanderer whose appearance had so shaken Tony on the bridge at Hyde Park. Though he knew he shouldn’t have allowed her to take part in this rescue mission and definitely should have forbidden her to meet him here, still he couldn’t help a surge of gladness at seeing her.
“You look dressed for intrigue,” he said.
“And you look—” She halted in midsentence, her eyes roving from his face to his partly unbuttoned shirt to the rolled-up sleeves that displayed the muscles of his arms.
A bolt of pure physical energy flashed between them, stirring him down to his toes and strengthening him in all the right places. He’d had hints since their reunion in London that she still felt the physical pull that had drawn them in Spain, but nothing as strong or as clearly telegraphed as this. For the first time since he awoke after Waterloo in the shattered, permanently disabled body he now inhabited, he felt—virile.
“Informal,” she said at last. Her cheeks flushing, she avoided his glance and went instead to offer her hand to the cook. “I’m Lady Fairchild, and this is my companion, Sancha. You must be Betsy. How kind of you, ma’am, to allow us to commandeer your assistance! Many a good soldier will be singing your praises this night.”
Holding himself motionless with an effort, Tony thanked heaven that his cook and a still-glaring Sancha were present to chaperone. In his euphoria and gratitude at that renewed sense of potency, he might not otherwise have been able to resist dragging her into his arms.
Betsy dropped a curtsy. “’Tis right happy I am to meet your ladyship and help out the soldiers what fought with our M
aster Tony.”
“Lord Nelthorpe boasted of your skill, and looking at the bounty spread here, I see he did not exaggerate.”
“Thank ’ee, ma’am. We’re glad our master were spared to come back and help put things right—and don’t you be frowning at me, Master Tony! He tries to let on like he’s a great care-for-nobody,” Betsy told Jenna, “but there’s a good heart there, if ye but look fer it.”
“So I’m beginning to believe,” Jenna said.
Embarrassed, Tony said, “We should load up and be on our way. We’ve few enough hours of daylight left.”
“Polly ’n me will pack the provisions, if you will see ’em stowed in the cart, Master,” Betsy said.
“Sancha, assist Lord Nelthorpe, please, while I help in here,” Jenna instructed.
Hoping the cook wouldn’t feel moved to share any further details about his life and character, Tony limped out, Sancha trailing in his wake. Neither the well-worn cart that waited outside nor the unprepossessing drab pulling it, both rented from a local livery, were likely to arouse much attention, either here or at their destination.
Once they reached the rig, Sancha held out a hand for the bread baskets. “You tend to the horse, my lord. Sancha will pack the cart.” To his surprise, she gave him a glimmer of a smile. “I have much experience.”
Tony handed them over. “I did try to talk Lady Fairchild out of accompanying me.”
“There are soldiers hungry? Wives and babes also?” Sancha asked. When he nodded, she continued, “Then I do not blame you. My mistress has tended soldiers since she was a child. If there is need, no one keeps her away.”
For several minutes, the two of them worked in surprising harmony, readying the cart. When Tony turned to walk back in and tell Jenna all was ready, though, Sancha blocked his path.
“I hated what you tried to do in Spain, and still, I do not trust you. When my lady’s esposo and then her babe were taken, she wanted only to sit alone in her room. But today, she hurries, she tells me there is important work. She is not healed—but she lives again. Thank you.”
Touched and humbled, Tony said, “I, too, am glad.”
“And if ever again you try to hurt her, I, Sancha, will cut out your black heart.” With that, Sancha preceded him into the kitchen.
So much for their détente cordiale, Tony thought with a grin, limping after her.
All their preparations complete, they had only to wait for Sergeant Anston to arrive and provide them an armed escort to their destination. Jenna and Tony settled at the kitchen table with some fresh bread while Betsy and Sancha took theirs to stools by the hearth.
“I’m hoping Evers—Papa’s batman—will arrive within the week,” Jenna said. “If there are so many displaced soldiers gathered in just two blocks, doubtless there are countless about the city. Evers can search them out. You are certain there’s no hope of redress by Parliament?”
Tony shook his head. “I doubt it. The Tories are too busy seeing anarchists behind every loom and hayrick to concern themselves with justice for former soldiers.”
“I wonder if that widow who accosted me at Garrett’s reception is in need. I never learned her name.” A faraway look on her face, she said, “Given what has transpired, she should be content now.”
Out of memory, Tony saw the woman’s venomous face. I won’t be happy until you too lose all you hold dear.
The vague sense of something not quite right that had been troubling him since Jenna’s accident suddenly sharpened. Now you have even less of him than I do, Jenna said the countess had told her.
A prickle of apprehension made him shudder.
Jenna was a superb rider who, under most circumstances, would be very difficult to unseat. No head groom worth the title should ever have neglected to emphasize the peculiarities of a mount he was about to release to someone who’d not previously ridden that horse, even if he thought someone else might have already mentioned them.
Had someone intended to make her fall?
“Jenna,” he said abruptly, “about your accident…you said your cousin had discharged the groom responsible?”
“Yes, I pleaded with him to reconsider. ’Twas as much my fault as the groom’s. If I’d been more alert, caught the mare’s hesitancy instantly, I might have avoided being thrown—and my child might be alive now.”
He’d meant to question her further, but one glance at the anguish in her eyes and he abandoned the attempt.
“Nonsense, Jenna!” he hastened to assure her. “No rider, however experienced, could maintain his seat when a horse reacts unexpectedly like that.”
A knock on the door signaling Sergeant Anston’s arrival put an end to the discussion. Tony marshaled the group and moved them out.
As they rode toward the City, his thoughts cycled back to the puzzle of Jenna’s accident. He resolved to find out more about it, and in case someone had meant to harm her, he’d ask for details first from one wholly devoted to her. Tomorrow he would call at Fairchild House and question Sancha.
He’d also need to consider tracking down the groom Lane Fairchild had discharged. For if someone harbored enough malice toward Jenna to set up a potentially fatal accident, she might still be in danger.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHILE SANCHA DOZED BENEATH a blanket in the wagon bed, Jenna sat on the box of the pony trap in the gathering darkness as Nelthorpe guided it out of the city, buoyed by a sense of accomplishment.
Seeming to sense her thoughts, Nelthorpe interrupted the congenial silence to ask, “You enjoyed our mission?”
“Oh, yes—how good it was to be back among army folk again! Though they were all absurdly grateful for the food and garments we brought, so much more remains to be done. I shall set Evers to work with Sergeant Anston to locate as many former soldiers and their families as they can, that they may be offered immediate assistance while we devise a more permanent solution—since you believe Parliament will not act on this matter.”
Nelthorpe shook his head. “Unless it’s to clap them all in Newgate for vagrancy.”
“They need more than assistance—they need occupation. Idle, feeling abandoned and threatened with destitution, even the best-intentioned of men might be tempted to misdeeds.” She frowned, her mind examining various possibilities. “Many of them come from the countryside. Though I know nothing of farming, if I were to purchase a property and put Anston in charge, he could hire experienced lads to work the land.”
“Purchase a property?” Nelthorpe exclaimed. “Would your trustees allow such a thing?”
“There are no trustees. Papa left his fortune for me to manage as I see fit, with the advice—but not under the control—of our solicitor.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “He believed I could handle it as well or better than any would-be husband.”
“So should you marry, your spouse would have no access to your funds?”
“Nothing that is not specified in the marriage contract—which, in the unlikely event that I should marry again, I would help draft.”
Nelthorpe laughed. “My dear, publish that fact abroad and your worries about fortune hunters will cease!”
“Ah, does that mean you will desert me, too?”
He paused, creasing his brow as if considering the prospect. To her surprise, she found herself a bit offended that he hadn’t immediately denied it. But then, what had she expected? He’d freely admitted himself from the first to be little more than a fortune hunter.
“As devastating a blow as that news is, I suppose I cannot,” he said at last. “After all, we made a bargain. I must allow you an opportunity to redeem me while I—” he let his gaze roam from her face to her throat to her chest “—attempt to tempt you.”
At the gleam in his eyes, her pulse leapt and the breasts he was eyeing tingled. Appalled to realize she was tempted, she said repressively, “That is not, my lord, a suitable comment to voice to a lady. You will direct your thoughts to the matter at hand, if you please.”
He grinned a
nd flicked a glance at his hands grasping the reins—at almost the same level as her breasts. “Ah, that I could lavish my attention on the matter at hand.”
Her cheeks heated and that unwelcome but insistent tingling intensified, spreading from her chest down her torso. Ah, to feel his hands cupping her breasts, skimming down her belly, delving into the curls beneath—
Shocked at her wanton thoughts, she jerked her gaze from him to stare over the horse’s head. Awakening from the torpor of grief to find herself lusting was normal enough, she supposed—but over Nelthorpe?
Having not immediately protested it, she should probably ignore his improper remark. And repress her lamentable reaction, before her body turned the siren’s song his body was crooning into a duet.
Scooting as far away from Nelthorpe as the narrow bench allowed, she brought her thoughts back to the plight of the army families. “There should be a school for the children. A little boy with a cherub’s smile tried to filch one of my earrings right off my ear while his mama and I talked this afternoon. Fortunately he wasn’t skilled enough to manage it without my noticing, but it indicates how imperative it is that we get the young ones off the street before they become totally steeped in vice.”
“Or turned over to a magistrate by a prospective victim less compassionate than you. I hope you told the lad’s mother. He should be given a good thrashing.”
“Discipline is as important as constancy in the managing of a troop, and I imagine it’s the same with children. While the little ones learn their letters, perhaps the mothers could be schooled as well. Most of them are excellent managers, having had to scrape by for years on very little. With proper training, they should make superior housekeepers and cooks. And of course, any farming endeavor will require grooms, smiths, carpenters, and other craftsmen as well as farm workers.”
“This begins to sound like quite an undertaking.”
“Papa left me quite a fortune. It would please him to know I was using it to help army families build new lives. And…it will give me something useful to do with mine.”