by Summer Devon
He gave a tentative sniff and smelled nothing but beeswax polish, clean and aired bedding and the sweetness of a fresh vase of flowers. Gah, nothing at home smelled even remotely this perfect. With a happy groan, he vowed to not move from the hotel until he could decently visit Uncle Simon’s house again.
Less than five minutes later he leapt off the bed again, his mind racing. After some tedious work with the CR and paper, he was ready. He impatiently jammed on his boots and nearly ran over an alarmed lady and her pug dogs as he took the carpeted stairs three at a time.
At the hotel’s desk he requested the name of an attorney or man of business. He picked one less than three streets away and nearly ran to the man’s office, so impatient was he to restore Eliza’s good name again. Mr. Gardner was not in, but a respectful secretary agreed to request Mr. Gardner to call on Mr. White at Grisham’s as soon as may be. “Tomorrow at the very latest,” the secretary promised. “How recently have you returned from India, sir?”
Jazz stared at him for a second before he understood the secretary assumed he was one of the men who’d gouged out a fortune in the east and come to England to spend it all—his darker coloring must have looked like he’d been out in the sun. No wonder the man was so respectful.
“Haven’t been to India,” he said. “But I do have to consult Mr. Gardner on a matter of a large estate.” He hoped that bait would be tantalizing enough to fetch Gardner to the hotel first thing in the morning.
He returned the secretary’s bow of farewell with a nod. Jazz managed to curb his impatience and strolled back to the hotel. Even if Eliza’s baronet turned out to be fool or a spendthrift, she would be secure and have enough to live on. He knew that women’s money became their husbands’ property upon marriage, but he’d figure out a way to protect Eliza from those archaic laws. And for now, she could even get away from her dreadful Cousin John.
Could young women live on their own, he wondered. If she were living alone, he would be able to visit and… His brow darkened at his thoughts. Wrong. He was a bystander again.
“P-pardon, sir,” the footman at Grisham’s stammered and hurriedly swept open the door.
Jazz realized the man thought he directed the frown at him for not opening the door sooner. Jazz sighed and slipped the footman a couple of coppers. A bit of money seemed to do the trick for everyone in the blasted place.
No, Jazz knew he would not be welcome in Eliza’s life now that she knew the truth. He would stay until the baby turned two weeks old, an arbitrary number he’d picked during his too-short training as a DHUy. And he changed his mind about seeking out the damned baronet.
The man clearly would suit Eliza—gah, they’d have five children together. Jazz corrected himself. The first one would be his baby. His child. The thought of that baby struck him as nauseatingly wonderful and absurd. As always.
Huh. At least Sandton would prove decent enough to adopt the little girl.
Jazz decided he had no interest in seeking out a meeting with the man who was to be Eliza’s husband. He knew that no matter how charming, decent or interesting Sandton was, Jazz would hate his infernal guts.
Chapter Sixteen
Eliza waited in the library for her uncle’s return from his club. Too upset to read, she stared into the fire as she sat in the leather chair. As evening closed in, Cooper brought her a tray and a lit candle.
Soon after Cooper silently closed the door behind him, Uncle Simon walked straight into the library without knocking. The smile with which he hailed her looked troubled, though his greeting was far friendlier than Cousin John’s.
He kissed her and then, in his blunt manner, asked about her dead husband. Though she knew she was a poor liar and frequently hesitated and blushed as she spoke, he did not seem to doubt her story about her marriage to a soldier who was killed soon after their wedding. She clutched her reticule that contained the forged wedding certificate of the Peasnettles, but felt too shabby to pull it out and wave it in his face and request that he show it to John.
Her story and grief were genuine when she talked about her father. Uncle Simon leaned forward to grip her hands in his for a long minute. Then he pulled out a linen cloth and wiped his eyes.
“I dearly loved my little brother, Liza. He would want me to take care of you and his grandchild and I mean to do so. But I must tell you that m’ wife will not be well pleased that you have shown up now. We’re launching our Netty, you know, she’s made her bows, and is now up to her eyeballs in invitations. And John. He seems mighty upset by your reappearance, sorry to say.”
“I shall try to stay out of the way, Uncle.” She thanked him and, after giving him a kiss on his plump cheek, fled to her room where she lay down and waited for tears that, for once, didn’t come.
*
Her aunt sent a short, cold note informing Eliza she wasn’t to show herself to callers, so after dressing in a black high-necked gown, Eliza sat in her room reading and wishing she had never come back to London. Perhaps she’d move to Bath after her baby was born. Or better still, the country. Planning for a future cheered her considerably.
Since the weather was warm and sunny, she at last ventured downstairs. She took some books and meat pasties out to the small walled back garden, where she hid in a small gazebo. She longed to be out, walking briskly in the park. Though her body craved exercise, she felt she must wait to leave the house until Aunt Carolyn showed she was less upset by Eliza’s presence.
She took a few brisk circuits of the small garden, then settled on a bench to read.
She felt so like a prisoner, she could not concentrate on the simplest of books.
Eliza put aside the book and sucked in her breath impatiently. Most of her life had been penned in by rules and inactivity yet she’d always considered herself happy. Even Aunt Carolyn had more than once in the past called her a biddable girl. Why did she suddenly chafe at the constraints? The freedom she’d had in Spain was in the middle of wartime and came because of her father’s death. But it was a taste of freedom, nonetheless. And Jas was there to share it with her.
No. She took a ferocious bite of a pasty. She would not think about him, the maddening, stupid man.
Of course she seemed no more able to stop thinking about him than she could stop breathing, but she’d eventually discover a way.
When she picked up and attempted to read one of her father’s cherished books of philosophy, she wept instead. She grew weary and wished that the tears could somehow ease her pain instead of merely exhaust her.
As she wiped her eyes, she recalled Jas’ peculiar dismay at tears and smiled at the memory. But a second later, she was scowling because she’d been idiot enough to allow him to creep into her thoughts again.
Both Jas and her father had abandoned her, thinking they were doing what was best for her. She believed that about Jas, that he honestly thought she deserved something else. She had to believe it or she’d have to hate him. As it was, she could only be furious with him.
Very well, without her wishes being consulted, she’d been left behind by the two men she loved and she’d learn to survive on her own.
The country. She’d live in peace there. The book lay on her lap as she stared into space and made plans for herself and the baby she carried. She’d rent a cottage where she’d create a wonderful life for them both—or die trying.
*
Two days later, Eliza heard what sounded like many masculine voices in the downstairs hall, so she waited even longer than usual to leave the safety of her bedchamber. When she at last emerged, she went to the library where she found her uncle and cousin seated in chairs facing one another with Uncle Simon’s large desk between them.
They had been involved in a heated argument that broke off the moment she walked in. Both men stood and gave her a bow. Uncle Simon shot John a pointed look.
John cleared his throat and faced Eliza. “I understand that I was wrong to doubt your word about your late husband.” He sounded as if he were repeati
ng words he’d memorized. “I must say I am very sorry…I hope you will accept my apology, madame.”
John gave one more bow and strode from the room. He didn’t slam the door behind him, but that was the best that could be said of his exit.
Her uncle puffed his lips out for a moment or two then said, “The boy is a hotheaded young nitwit.”
When he turned to Eliza he showed a wide smile that nearly buried his eyes in fat cheeks. “No more speculation, hey, young lady? You did a wise thing marrying that soldier. Did you know he was so well off when you wed him? And better still, he was well organized. I admire that in a young man, I do. Just think on it, Liza, your Peasnettle—brave lad, no doubt—took time between battles to make a will leaving it all to you. Quite a packet, too.
“The papers have been found. A will, settlement papers, marriage license—no banns for you, eh? Apparently Peasnettle gave them to that peculiar man Johnny told me about the, er, man, who escorted you to us.”
Eliza was grateful her uncle enjoyed talking, for she was not sure she could manage a word.
“Hey girl, are you quite well? No need to look so shocked. Did that man, er, your escort forget to tell you? Shatterbrained young idiot, but he did have the sense to take the lot over to Gardner.”
Uncle Simon poured himself a drink and sat back down. “Gardner himself will come see us again on the morrow. Just left in fact. Didn’t want to disturb you. I am your guardian but I told him to wait until you could hear it all as well. Very respectable amount. Ver-ry respectable. But I say, you’re still too pale. I’ll ring for some tea, eh?
Liza soon learned that the imaginary Peasnettle had bequeathed her almost a hundred thousand pounds, a fortune. That, plus any monies her father left for her in Uncle Simon’s hands, made her an extremely rich “widow”.
*
Gardner might have been discreet, but Uncle Simon never could be, so Eliza was not surprised that word leaked out quickly. Overnight she went from a poor relation with a questionable pregnancy to a wealthy and respectable widow. In what felt like a matter of hours, she also grew surprisingly popular.
As she sat in her aunt’s drawing room, nearly a guest of honor and not merely an object of gossip—though Eliza knew gossip about her did not abate—she felt her old self coming to the fore. Eliza was as polished at small talk as any society lady. But all the while she chatted and smiled and handed round plates of cake she alternately dreamed of how she’d finally see Jas or how she’d avoid him for the rest of her life.
Eliza was accepted into the fold of society again. Her past, murky as it was, made her more accepted than ever. Strange escapades were all the rage this season, thanks to the influence of Lord Byron.
She should have been delighted, yet she soon discovered that even when she managed to banish the pestilential Mr. White from her thoughts, she was not particularly interested in the social whirl.
Aunt Carolyn took a quiet opportunity to apologize for her doubts and her earlier cooler behavior. “I have been most pleased witnessing your reentry to society. Your manners are as pleasing as I recall from your, ah, brief visit with us in London. I am even convinced, Eliza…” Aunt Carolyn hesitated, then took the plunge. “That you are suitably wise to act as a counselor to the Young. In short, I would be happy to entrust darling Netty to you, should you wish, on occasion, to act as her chaperone.”
Eliza knew Aunt Carolyn considered this offer a great honor and stifled the urge to laugh. She managed to answer as solemnly as Carolyn could wish. “Thank you, Aunt. I am indeed gratified by your trust. And I should be happy to accompany Netty to a few of the smaller select events. But now that things are more settled, I think it best I move into my own establishment as soon as possible.”
Her aunt’s face fell. Eliza could read her thoughts. After only few weeks as an heiress, her newly respectable and intriguing niece was already drawing young men to her drawing room. “Surely it is a mistake to leave so soon. People will say we have forced you from our home.”
“I shall sincerely enlighten anyone who hints at such nonsense. And I will visit as often as you and uncle allow me. That should silence the gibble-gabble, don’t you think?”
“But the Season, Eliza.”
Eliza interrupted. “Aunt, surely you understand that as a new widow I cannot be seen making entirely merry in public. Especially as I am breeding. So inappropriate. I must lead as quiet a life as possible.”
She hid her grin when her aunt reluctantly agreed. After years of having Aunt Carolyn preach the proprieties to her it was a sweet moment.
Thank you, Jas. Her smile was easier to vanquish when she thought of his strange role in her new wealth. How did he come by it?
*
Mr. Gardner himself made the arrangements for taking a house and escorted Eliza to view the fully furnished establishment. As the green-painted door swung open, she saw dark and chilly rooms decorated with enough scarlet to make her wonder if it had been used as a love nest. But it would do, so she took on the lease immediately.
When she returned home, she wrote of her plans to Jas. Surely he would have some opinion about her new house. He might at least write a note to congratulate her or to inform her that his absurd little piece of wood said that she must stay at her uncle’s house. She enjoyed a brief daydream about her response if he tried some such nonsense.
A week passed and still Jas did not write. Perhaps after he’d bestowed a fortune on her, he considered his obligations to her over. She lay in bed when that thought struck her. Staring into the darkness over her head, she muttered, “The bastard,” which was the worst insult she’d ever heard. And then she winced. Not because she’d cursed aloud but because she’d just described the babe she carried. The baby she’d come to love. It might have his blue eyes. Perhaps it would laugh the way he did, a soft chuckle that always sounded slightly astonished as if he’d been surprised to find himself laughing.
Sleep evaded her for several more hours.
Her plans to leave Uncle Simon’s house moved along smoothly. Liza didn’t even have to advertise for a companion, for Aunt Carolyn had a cousin who’d suit admirably. Rail-thin and pale, Miss Ann Marin looked half asleep except for a smile that never faded.
Miss Marin declared that she adored babies and would love above all to share a home with one.
A little over a month after discovering she was a rich woman, Eliza slipped out of the life of the fashionable set and into the small house with her newly hired staff. Six days later, Jas reappeared in her life.
*
Jazz had to find out why she wasn’t showing her face in public. He was tired of trying to catch word of her, so he went to her new address. Information, he told himself. That was all he had the right to discover.
He routinely examined every man he saw on the street, and didn’t catch sight of Steele or anyone who might be a DHUy. But when the butler at Eliza’s house opened the door, Jazz felt an unpleasant frisson of shock. The solemn man with gray hair and thick gray eyebrows resembled one of the leaders of the Way of Truth. Except for his habitual searches for Steele, Jazz rarely thought of his own time. Strange to be reminded of it like this.
Jazz slipped in after the butler, so when the man opened the door to the drawing room, Jazz walked in behind him.
She stared at him, round-eyed and pale. “You?” she whispered and he went to her.
He’d planned not to touch her, had given himself long diatribes, berating himself for his intimacy with Eliza, but when his arms closed around her and then she returned his embrace he forgot everything. For several long minutes they clung to each other, not a word, no pats or strokes.
The butler cleared his throat.
Eliza started. “Good heavens,” she murmured and gave Jazz a firm push.
He took a step back from her. Just as well, he wanted to look at her. She’d changed, even in the short time they’d been apart. Her face was softer, less pale and sharp. Her hair had been arranged in something complex with cur
ls that shone with brighter coppery highlights. And her belly was even rounder. “I didn’t mean to do that. To touch you. I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t disturb you and—”
“Do please shut up, Mr. White.” Her voice was hoarse. “Wimble, tea please. For two.”
The butler stood at the door, scowling slightly. “Shall I summon Molly, ma’am?”
Eliza shook her head. She should have Wimble and a footman toss the scoundrel out. But instead she motioned Jas to a chair, not far from the uncomfortable sofa where she lowered her bulky form.
He appeared well groomed with a dun-colored waistcoat and blue jacket several shades darker than his eyes. He looked far less rumpled, though his snowy cravat was too loose as usual, but of course he didn’t travel any longer and he must have held back some money. She knew from his short notes informing her of his location that he hadn’t taken a house but lived in a series of hotels and inns. She wondered why he remained in London, but wasn’t going to ask. Bad enough she’d allowed herself to embrace him.
He looked around the room. “I hope your new independence is to your liking?”
“Oh! I suppose I ought to thank you for my fortune. Is it all from wagers, Jas?”
He nodded. “I’ve moved it into more respectable betting now—it’s all on the stock exchange. Do not let anyone talk you out of the investments I put you in. Promise? I know what I’m talking about.”
“Your seer told you I suppose?” she asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture. “Perhaps I am just an astute man of business.”
They sat in silence. Jas still watched her face. His blue eyes looked hungry, but perhaps she only wished to see desire in them. “I didn’t know if you’d be willing to see me so I snuck past your servant,” he said at last.
She grinned. “I could see that Wimble was horrified. And he didn’t appreciate the way we greeted one another either.”
“Do you mind that I’m here?” he asked again. “I can go now. I needed to see you. Make sure you were safe.” He looked at her belly. “Are you happy?”