A Fine Gentleman

by Sarah M. Eden

  “My Mari,” he whispered against her lips. “My dearest Mari.”

  Abuela stepped into the entryway in that precise moment. “You say Mari almost like a Spaniard, Jasón, but it is not enough for me to allow such closeness.”

  Jason pulled away but with a look of amusement. “What is it about you and empty corridors, Mariposa?”

  “This is an entryway.”

  He shook his head and smiled as he put her at arms’ length. “Apparently there is very little difference.”

  Mariposa willed her heart to slow down and hoped the heat in her face was not too obviously a blush.

  “Lest we forget,” Jason said, “there is a dinner party awaiting our arrival.”

  “We should probably be on our way.” She felt rather proud of herself for managing such a sensible response.

  “Remind me sometime,” Jason added under his breath as he slipped her arm through his, “to greet you in an entryway while your abuela is not at home.”

  “I heard that,” Abuela said.

  Mariposa could not hold back a broad and joyful smile.

  Jason raised her hand to his lips once more. “It is good to see you smile.”

  “It is good to have a reason.” Indeed, she had a number of reasons. Jason’s kindness. The impact she was having on the lives of the unfortunate former soldiers in London. Her correspondence with her aunt Douglas. The feeling at last that she was finding herself beneath the thick layers of protective armor she had worn for so long.

  Jason handed her up into the carriage, followed by Abuela. He took his place across the carriage from them. Mariposa simply could not stop smiling.

  “What have you undertaken these past weeks?” he asked.

  “Philip found me a reliable man of business who has helped me use a portion of my inheritance from my uncle to find employment for returned and impoverished soldiers. We have found positions for nearly a dozen already.”

  “That is wonderful.” His words rang with sincerity. “You know all too well the miseries they’ve endured. What better person than you to aid them in recovering?”

  “Our butler and footman have helped. They are former soldiers themselves. And your secretary has offered his assistance.”

  Jason settled more comfortably on his bench. “Tell me more about it.”

  For the entirety of their ride to Lampton House, she spoke of her newfound passion, and he listened with every appearance of being enthralled. He asked questions, praised her efforts, and asked what he could do to be of assistance.

  Philip had been correct. Finding who she was and what she was meant to do with her future had given her a reason and a means of moving beyond mere survival.

  They arrived at Lampton House and were quite properly ushered inside and taken to the formal drawing room to await the announcement of the meal.

  “Where are the other guests?” Mariposa asked, her curiosity piqued by the fact that no other Jonquils were present.

  “What has convinced you that there are other guests?” His eyes danced about.

  “Why do I suspect you are up to some mischief, Jason?”

  “Mischief?” His feigned innocence could not have been less believable.

  “You are hiding something.”

  Jason’s smile grew ever wider. “If you put your mind to it, you might think of a way to convince me to spill my secrets.”

  Her cheeks flamed at his playful tone and crooked smile.

  “Mater would scold me viciously for putting you to the blush,” he said.

  “Is Mater here?” Mariposa would love to spend an evening with Jason’s mother.

  He shook his head no.

  “Your brothers?”

  “No.” His enjoyment of her growing curiosity could not have been more apparent.

  “Do stop tormenting me, Jason.”

  “As you wish,” he said. Jason left her where she stood in the midst of the room and walked to a door, different from the one through which they’d entered. Mariposa glanced at Abuela, where she sat on a chair. Abuela offered a shrug, obviously not knowing any more than Mariposa did.

  “They’ve arrived,” Jason said to someone apparently just out of sight around the door.

  Footsteps sounded. Jason motioned for the mysterious person to enter.

  “Jean,” Mariposa blurted out, too surprised by their erstwhile traveling companion’s sudden arrival to remember her manners.

  Jean smiled as he crossed to her. He bowed. “A pleasure to see you again, Mademoiselle Mariposa.”

  “Mademoiselle?” They’d told him she was a married woman, yet he’d referred to her with the French equivalent of miss. “You know, then?” She watched Jean for signs of disapproval at the ruse they’d enacted.

  “He knew almost from the beginning,” Jason said, still standing across the room.

  “You never said anything,” Mariposa said to Jean.

  “I assumed there was a reason.”

  “There was.”

  Jean nodded. “Yes, Jason explained enough.”

  “And you do not hate us?” How she hoped he didn’t.

  Jason spoke from the doorway. “I held Jean hostage until he agreed to think the world of us.” That sparkle of devilment remained in his eyes.

  Jean chuckled. “I have discovered our Jason has quite a sense of humor when he sets his mind to acknowledging it.”

  “He is a man of many facets,” Mariposa said.

  “And you have missed him,” Jean said under his breath.

  “Horribly,” she answered.

  “Would it set your mind at ease to know he has talked of little but you these past three weeks?”

  Three weeks? “You have been with him that long?”

  Jean nodded. “And have found he improves upon acquaintance.”

  Jason had turned his attention back to the corridor down which Mariposa could not see. “Come along, you ragamuffin. Don’t dawdle.”

  “What have you two been doing?” Mariposa asked.

  But Jean refused to answer. Jason seemed to be looking at someone. Another guest? He motioned with his head toward the drawing room, then stepped back. A young boy, all gangly limbs and thick, unruly hair burst into the room, his large eyes taking in every inch of it.

  Mariposa pressed her open palm to her heart, even as her legs buckled beneath her. Every ounce of breath seemed to rush from her lungs. “Santiago,” she managed to whisper as she dropped to her knees.

  “Mariposa!” her brother shouted, sprinting across the room and throwing himself into her open, waiting arms.

  She gasped against the sobs that racked her body. She could form no words beyond his name, which she repeated again and again. Mariposa held him tight, half afraid that if she let go, he would disappear.

  “Mi niño,” she whispered, rocking him back and forth. Her Santiago was in her arms again. Her little boy. He was safe. He was safe, and he was with her. “Mi niño. Mi niño hermoso.”

  Endless prayers of gratitude filled her heart at the miracle unfolding before her. Somehow this child was alive and well despite being lost for half a year. She studied every inch of him, desperate to convince herself she was not imagining the reunion.

  “¿Eres real?” She stroked his soft, sun-darkened cheek. “¿Estás aquí?”

  Santiago grinned. “¡Pues, claro que sí, Mariposa!”

  “Mi niño.”

  Her brother threw himself once more into her embrace. She knelt there in the middle of the room holding him to her, memorizing the feel of him.

  “Te quiero,” she whispered. “Te quiero.”

  “Let your sister at least stand up,” Jason said from just outside Mariposa’s very watery vision. “Don’t you know it’s unforgivable to wrinkle a lady’s dress?”

  “Oh, Mariposa is no worried of her
dress,” Santiago said.

  Mariposa held him tighter. “Your English is a bit improved.”

  “Jasón has promised he will me teach to speak the English correctamente. El Señor Beauchene y Jasón y yo practicamos from España.”

  Mariposa looked over Santiago’s head to where Jason stood watching her. “España?” she whispered, emotion continuing to break her voice.

  “Come now, Santiago, let your sister up.”

  Santiago climbed off her lap despite her efforts to keep him there.

  “No. Do not leave,” she said, grabbing for Santiago’s hand.

  He smiled as though he had not a care in all the world. His eyes widened. “¡Abuelita!” Santiago rushed across the room.

  Mariposa remained kneeling on the floor, unable to move. She looked up at Jason, feeling herself fall to pieces. He held out his hand. She took it without hesitation. Jason helped her to her feet, but she could not find the strength to stand on her own. Before she could say a single word, he slipped his arm around her waist and supported her as they left the room. She walked beside him as one in a daze, hardly aware that she even moved.

  “I do not understand,” she said, blinking back further tears. “You were in España? ¿Encontraste a Santiago?”

  “That last night in Scotland, you told me that after all you’d been through, home had begun to beckon to you.” Jason laid his hand on top of hers as it rested on his arm. “I immediately began to wonder if perhaps, after years of struggle and warfare, your mother felt that same pull.”

  “Prado Verde,” Mariposa whispered, her throat constricting painfully. Home for Mother would always be Prado Verde. In Spain. “But how did you—? Spain is so very far away.”

  “I am fortunate to have a brother who has a ‘boat very large,’ as your brother described it,” Jason said. “And our good friend Jean knows the area in and around Albuera. He also speaks the language, something I found invaluable. With such resources at my disposal and the assistance of several people living in the area, finding Prado Verde was easier than I had anticipated.”

  “You have been to my home?” She was unable to speak the word home without a crack in her voice. How she missed it. How she missed everything good it had once been in her life.

  “It is beautiful, Mariposa,” he said quietly, gently. “I can only imagine the agony you must have felt leaving it behind.”

  She could do nothing but nod, her next few breaths caught on the emotion continuing to build within her.

  “We found a filthy imp of a boy running around the fields near Prado Verde,” Jason continued. “His vast knowledge of English-language drinking songs was impressive, to say the least. He led us to your home—his home.”

  Santiago. They had found Santiago in a field in Spain? “Spain.” Mariposa breathed out the shocking thought. “He was in Spain.” Mariposa shook her head repeatedly, mechanically. “But we were supposed to come here,” she said. “To England. It was the plan. It was what we agreed on. Mamá was supposed to come here. She was supposed to bring Santiago with her. We were all supposed to come here. England was our safe haven.”

  Had her mother tried to come but was unable? Had something happened to her?

  “Sometimes, my dear Mariposa,” Jason said, “in times of fear and uncertainty, we make decisions here”—he touched his heart—“instead of here.” He touched his head. “I thought perhaps your mother had gone where she felt most safe, where her heart was.”

  Jason pushed open the door to a sitting room. A woman sat at the tall windows overlooking a back garden. Her hair, once a deep black, was now liberally sprinkled with silver. Her figure was a little too thin, a testament to some degree of deprivation, but she still carried herself regally.

  Mariposa knew her in an instant. “Mamá.” She could hardly get the word out.

  Her voice must have carried, for her mother turned from the window. Mariposa held her breath.

  “Mariposa.” A quiet smile pulled at her lips. “Estás aquí.”

  “Sí, Mamá.” The sight of her mother, the sound of her beloved voice, brought its own measure of peace despite the loss of the vibrant woman she’d once been. Footsteps sounded behind Mariposa. She glanced over her shoulder. Abuela stood in the doorway, Santiago tucked into the crook of her arm.

  “Jason found them both,” Mariposa said to her grandmother. “In Spain.”

  “Sí. A miracle.”

  Abuela, Santiago with her, crossed to where her daughter watched the evening downpour through the tall windows. The three of them stood silently, focused on the scene outside. Abuela’s arm slipped around her daughter’s waist. She glanced back at Mariposa and gave a firm and calm nod. Abuela had not crumbled, had not retreated into quiet isolation as she had done for so long after her husband’s death. She had begun to heal as well.

  Mariposa leaned against Jason. “Gracias, Jasón,” she whispered, feeling his arms encircle her once more. “Muchas gracias.”

  He held her as she watched her beloved family, still broken in so many ways but together again at last. She spotted Jean standing at a respectful distance across the room. She owed him and Jason more than she could possibly repay. Her whispered “Merci” to the beloved Frenchman felt horribly inadequate.

  Jean pressed his open hand to his heart and bowed. He raised his eyes to Jason’s and nodded. The gesture meant something between them, though Mariposa did not know what. In the next instant, Jean stepped silently from the room.

  “I believe he was sent to us by heaven, Jason,” she whispered, fresh tears falling.

  His arms tightened around her. “I know he was. I know it without a doubt.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Having secured Philip’s permission to do so, Jason offered Mariposa and her family the use of Lampton House for as long as needed. Mrs. Thornton, they all feared, remained too mentally fragile to endure more upheaval than their trek to England had already created.

  With the family settling in, Jason made the lonely journey to his rented rooms near Lincoln’s Inn. He’d insisted only months earlier when Philip had suggested otherwise that his small flat was more than adequate. It no longer felt that way.

  Jean was staying with him for the foreseeable future, he being in the process of finding another position as a tutor. Jason welcomed his company. The man was easy to talk with. He had a knack for getting to the heart of any problem and offering precisely the advice or encouragement Jason needed.

  “You did a beautiful thing today, Jason,” Jean said as they sat in armchairs on either side of his small fireplace. “One cannot help but be touched by the abundance of love that family has for one another.”

  Jason nodded. He too had been moved by their reunion. What he’d wanted most to see, however, he had not. He’d hoped having her family together once more would wipe the pain from Mariposa’s eyes. Jason prayed that in time her grief would lessen.

  Jean appeared deeply contemplative. “What do you think the chances are of Mariposa wanting to hire a tutor for her brother?”

  The unspoken question could not have been clearer. “I think her only objection would be that hiring you would feel rather like paying a family member to be a family member.”

  “Do you truly think she views me that way?”

  Jason had seldom heard someone sound so cautiously hopeful. He knew that underneath the strong, resilient exterior, Jean was lonely and had been for a long time.

  “I think of you that way,” he said. “You’ve become far more than a friend, Jean. And I can tell you without hesitation that little Santiago took to you from nearly the moment we met him.”

  Jean smiled. “The imp won my loyalty the first time he sang ‘Dodo, l’Enfant, Do.’”

  “His French is better than his English,” Jason acknowledged. “Not to mention his song selection is far superior in your native tongue.”

 
Despite the quip, Jean’s smile faded. His eyes grew unfocused and distant. “My little one would have been almost exactly Santiago’s age had he lived.”

  Jason had thoroughly pitied himself in the years since his father’s death. But Mariposa and Jean and little Santiago had shown him the meaning of true, overwhelming loss and the strength of deep and abiding love.

  Moisture gathered in his friend’s eyes, and a look of such stark need crossed his face. “Do you think she would allow me stay, Jason? I would not even require a salary, only a roof over my head.” He shook his head, his brow furrowed with heavy concern. “That child is entering a world so foreign to him. I cannot bear the thought of him facing it without guidance and support. Not that I doubt Mariposa will do all she can, but . . .” He let the words dangle, the sentence unfinished.

  Jason rose and crossed to where Jean sat. He laid a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know she will.”

  “Thank you, my friend.” Jean looked less burdened. “But let us not bother her with this yet. She has quite enough weight on her shoulders just now. Allow her time.”

  “Allow her time” became Jason’s motto over the next two days. He sent around a note each of the mornings, reassuring Mariposa that the staff and home were entirely at her disposal and that he would call on them after they’d had an opportunity to settle in.

  The wait was excruciating. He dove with enthusiasm back into his work, grateful that his colleagues had taken on some of the burden he’d left behind. Concentration came only with effort, but he managed. Jean proved invaluable as a distraction the two nights he spent away from Mariposa. He felt very nearly sure of her feelings, but he meant to find out for certain.

  Almost forty-eight hours to the minute after he’d collected Mariposa for her reunion with her family, Jason pulled on his outer coat, preparing to call on her at Lampton House. Anticipation mingled with nervousness, leaving him more than a touch rattled.

  “Might I make a suggestion?” Jean grinned at him in a way that spoke of bottled-up laughter.