Good Earl Gone Bad

by Manda Collins

  * * *

  When Jasper returned home from his visit to Sir Richard, it was to find his sister Evelina waiting for him by the front entrance.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked mildly once he’d handed his hat and gloves over to Greaves. “It isn’t like you to lie in wait, Eve.”

  But Evelina shook her head, and wordlessly took him by the arm and led him into the small sitting room Greaves reserved for those guests who did not live up to his high standards.

  “What is it?” Jasper asked, curious at his sister’s actions. She’d seemed to have got over her pique at his betrothal to Hermione since he’d seen her last, but her peculiar behavior had him rethinking that assessment.

  “Mama has just returned from paying a call on Lady Hermione,” Evelina said, her brows drawn. “I do not know what was said, but when she returned she was in a towering rage. Muttering about headstrong young ladies without the sense to listen to their elders. And she wrote a note to Aunt Hortense.”

  His mother’s sister, Hortense, was the second wife of the Marquess of Thayne, and one of the most powerful social leaders in the ton. A word in Hortense’s ear would be enough to ruin a lady’s reputation permanently. And he had little doubt that is what his mother hoped her sister would do once she received her note.

  He swore, unsure whether he should go to Hermione, or attempt to intercept his mother’s letter before the damage was done.

  “Tell Greaves to send the footman to retrieve it,” Evelina said, reading his mind. “I will stay here to watch for it.”

  “Why are you helping me with this?” he asked suddenly. It had seemed as if, when he broke the news of his betrothal to his family, that neither his sisters nor his mother would ever forgive him.

  “Truth?” she asked with a rueful smile. “It occurred to me that ever since Papa died, you’ve always taken care of us. Perhaps it’s time that someone decided to take care of you for a change.”

  Touched, Jasper gave his sister a quick hug. “Thank you,” he said with a grin.

  Then, retracing his steps into the entrance hall, he took back his hat and gloves and set out for Half-Moon Street.

  * * *

  Hermione was in the stable behind Half-Moon Street, when she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her.

  Turning from where she watched as a groom checked the hoof of one of the horses Lord Payne had sent to replace Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Hermione saw that Jasper stood diffidently in the open area between the opposing rows of stalls.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said with a smile. But she could see that his brows were furrowed, and that something was obviously bothering him.

  His mother must have told him about her visit, she thought with an inward sigh.

  Nodding her thanks to the grooms, she turned and indicated to Jasper that they should go back to the house.

  Neither of them spoke until they reached the garden of the Upperton house, and Hermione had taken a seat on the bench beneath the rose arbor.

  “My sister, Evelina, informed me that my mother paid a visit to you today,” he said tightly. “And that the interview did not go well.”

  She took a moment to really look at him. To see the little furrow between his brows that appeared whenever he was worried or upset. And the way his fists were clenched at his sides. He was clearly unhappy about what had happened. But she was unhappy to realize that she did not yet know him well enough—or rather did not know his relationship with his mother well enough—to know whether his anger was at her, the situation, or Lady Mainwaring.

  Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she nodded. “Yes, she did. And unfortunately, I do not believe she was very happy with me.”

  “May I ask what it was she said exactly?” he asked, fidgeting with the quizzing glass that hung from his waistcoat. “I suspect it wasn’t very polite.”

  “May I ask you something first?”

  At his nod, she continued, “Why is your mother so distrustful of your decisions?”

  He had been bracing for her question, and when he heard it, he sighed.

  “May I?” he asked, nodding to the spot on the bench beside her.

  At her assent, he lowered his tall frame to sit next to her. She felt the warmth of his body along her side. They didn’t touch, but his nearness was comforting somehow.

  “When my father died,” he began, staring out into the overgrowth of the garden, “I was just a boy. I was the earl, but unable to take up the reins of power until I reached my majority. My uncle was my guardian, but he left much of the day-to-day running of the estate to my mother.”

  She tried to imagine what Jasper must have been like as a child. What it must have been like for his mother—newly widowed—to be left not only with the well-being of three small children to see to, but also the day-to-day running of the estate. Surely there were stewards and secretaries, but even so it would be a great deal of work.

  “And your mother became accustomed to being the one in charge?” she asked aloud.

  “Indeed,” he responded with a nod. “And when I came into my majority and began to make decisions on my own, she had a difficult time giving that power up.”

  “It’s understandable, I suppose,” Hermione said diffidently. As a woman who had fought against the seemingly arbitrary rules that governed patriarchal society, she could guess what it must have felt like to control the vast Mainwaring estates. What it had been like to command not only the household staff but also the running of the estate. And what it would have been like to give all that power away to her son when the time came.

  “Of course,” he responded with a wry smile. “And I admit that I was grateful for her counsel at first. She is not a simpleton, my mother. And having her input when I was struggling to figure out the best way to go about handling things was a relief.”

  He would have been a handsome youth, Hermione guessed. Perhaps a little gangly, not having grown into his height yet. And perhaps a little full of himself, as all young men are at that age. Even so, he would not have been cruel or indifferent to his mother. She couldn’t imagine him behaving in such a way.

  “But there came a time when I had to cut the apron strings,” he said sadly. “And it was not pretty.”

  “Did she fight you over it?” Hermione wondered, looking to where his hand lay clenched on his thigh. Would he object if she were to take it in her own? Smooth out those clenched fingers?

  “Worse,” he said turning to look at her. “She challenged me in front of both the steward and my personal secretary.”

  “Oh no,” she said, her heart aching for both mother and son.

  “I had to speak to her in strong terms,” he went on. “Otherwise I’d have lost the respect of every man on the estate.”

  “I take it she was not best pleased with your response?”

  “She was devastated,” he said with a sigh. “It was as if I’d denounced her before the whole of the world. Never mind that I was a grown man who had to take up the running of a massive estate. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate all she’d done for me. Of course I did. But there comes a time in every man’s life when he must forge his own path. And so I asked her to reserve her future input for the housekeeper and maids. And that I thanked her but would appreciate her refraining from giving her opinions on matters that were none of her concern.”

  “Oh dear,” Hermione said, wincing.

  “It was not my most diplomatic maneuver of all time,” Jasper said wryly. “And since then we’ve been at war in one way or another. We are constantly at cross-purposes, and she has grown more fractious as the years have passed.”

  “And so when you told her of our betrothal?” Hermione asked, almost not daring to hear the answer.

  “She and both my sisters were quite vocal in their opposition to the match,” he said, reaching out to take her hand in apology. “I’m afraid my sisters were upset on their own behalf, afraid that your notoriety would reflect on their matri
monial prospects. And my mother was angry out of sheer spite, I think.”

  “She told me that she did not wish for my family’s infamy to further tarnish the Mainwaring name,” Hermione told him. “Your own frequency at the tables having already rubbed some of the perfection off.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever wish that you could simply run away and leave your entire family behind to fend for themselves?” he asked.

  “I believe you’ve met my father,” Hermione said with a half smile. “I wish it every day. The only thing that keeps me from going is the fact that I would miss my friends. Leonora and Ophelia are closer to me than any real sisters I might have had.”

  Jasper nodded. “That’s what Freddy and Trent and I used to say. Only substituting sisters for brothers, obviously. We would look quite silly in gowns.”

  “I don’t know,” Hermione said playfully, “you’d make a very pretty girl, I think. What with those long lashes and rosebud lips.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, bringing their joined hands up to kiss hers. “Until my whiskers began to show, which happens around five o’clock in the evening. Then there would be some serious explanations in order.”

  Hermione tried to stifle it, but there was no help for it. She laughed. And soon they were both wiping their streaming eyes.

  “I’m sorry Mama was so awful to you, Hermione,” he said into the companionable silence. “I cannot promise you that she will make your life as a Mainwaring easy. But I do think my sisters have come around. Well, one of them has come around. We’ll have to see about the other.”

  “I know it had nothing to do with you,” she said, kissing him impulsively on the lips. And when he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, and hold her close so that he could deepen the kiss, she let him.

  When they were both breathless, he pulled back. “I think I am very glad we are planning to marry tomorrow,” he said with a pointed look. “Otherwise I think we might find ourselves in a fair bit of trouble.”

  She had little doubt her cheeks were as rosy as her newly kissed lips. “Speak for yourself,” she said with mock asperity. “I am quite able to control my impulses.”

  “Hm,” he said with a wry grin. “Are you the same lady who let me put my hand—”

  Her eyes wide, she put her hand over his mouth before he could finish. “Do not say that out loud,” she hissed. “Anyone could hear you.”

  “Let them hear,” he said. “It’s not as if we aren’t planning to wed tomorrow. But for your delicate sensibilities, I will refrain.”

  And the notion that Lady Hermione Upperton, newest member of the Lords of Anarchy, had any delicate sensibilities at all set her laughing again.

  Fourteen

  “It’s lovely, Hermione,” Ophelia said with an awe in her tone that made Hermione tremble a little.

  “Truly, Hermione,” said Leonora, who stood with her hands clasped before her, tears threatening.

  Her friends had come hours early that morning, saying they were there to help her dress for the wedding, though Hermione was perfectly able to do so on her own.

  Well, with her maid, but still …

  “I was so hoping you would choose the deep blue. I’m quite pleased you did,” Ophelia said now, stepping back to survey Hermione from the tip of her gleaming dark hair to her fine kid slippers.

  “I may not be the fashion plate that you are, Fee,” Hermione said with a half smile, “but I know what looks good on me, at the very least.”

  “You do indeed,” said Leonora with a grin. “Who would have thought?”

  “I hope you will agree,” Ophelia said, turning to rummage in the bag she’d brought with her, then turning to raise a fine cashmere shawl in triumph, “that this looks good on you, indeed.”

  Without waiting for Hermione to respond, Ophelia opened the fine fabric and showed her the intricately patterned wrap. Unfurling it, she wrapped it carefully around her friend’s shoulders. “There, that should do it.”

  “Something old,” Hermione said, pointing to her gown.

  “Something new,” Ophelia said, gesturing to the filigree hairpin she’d given as a bridal gift.

  “Something borrowed,” said Leonora, arranging the ends of the shawl over her bosom.

  “And something blue,” said Hermione with a sweep of her hand to indicate the skirt of her blue gown.

  “Can you use the same item twice?” Hermione wondered with a frown. She wasn’t of a particularly superstitious nature, but considering the way in which this match had come about, she was not going to tempt fate if she could help it.

  “Of course!” Ophelia said, though a small indentation between her brows belied her confidence.

  “Your eyes count, do they not?” Leonora asked.

  A wave of relief washed over Hermione. “Of course.”

  Then, stepping back a little to survey herself in the pier glass, she stared for a moment at her reflection. She’d never have considered herself to be a particularly timid person. It felt some days as if she had come out of the womb fighting and hadn’t stopped since. But the beauty in the glass had a hint of doubt in her eyes. And for a moment Hermione wondered if this pretty girl would find it a bit easier to go through the world than the old Hermione had. She could not help but admit that a part of her was looking forward to marriage because it might give her the chance to re-create herself a bit.

  Not that there was something wrong with the old Hermione. She had done what she had to do given her circumstances. But perhaps marriage would let her share the fight sometimes. Jasper’s shoulders seemed strong enough for that.

  A flicker of doubt made her wonder if it was a kind of betrayal to admit that she was tired of carrying the burden on her own all the time. But it was true, and she was deciding here and now that denial—which had been her constant companion since she’d got old enough to understand her father’s vices—would have no more place in her life.

  She only hoped that Jasper would make it a moot point anyway.

  “Are you ready to go?” Ophelia asked, with a suspicious tremor in her voice.

  Taking a deep breath, Hermione exhaled, took up her reticule and surveyed her bedchamber. Most of her things had been moved to the Mainwaring town house yesterday. It was not a room to which she’d had any great attachment, since she and her father had only moved there a few months ago. All her sentimental tears had been shed when they left the Upperton town house. Which made today’s departure easier, to be sure.

  “I am,” she said, turning to give her friends both hugs. “Thank you for your help. Both of you. I could have done it on my own, or with my maid, but it meant more to have my dearest friends at my side.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” Ophelia said with a grin.

  “Now,” Leonora said with finality, “let’s go downstairs before some freakish mishap occurs and ruins your gown.”

  They were laughing as they descended the staircase, but the giggles died when they reached the entryway of the house and saw that Greentree was in deep conversation with a lady dressed in all black.

  “Who is it, Greentree?” Hermione asked, a sense of foreboding making her voice sound weak to her own ears.

  “It is Miss Fleetwood from next door, my lady,” said the butler with an air of disapproval. “I have assured her that you are not receiving but she will not take no for an answer.”

  Curiosity made Hermione step into the doorway so that she might get a better look at the woman whose scream she’d heard earlier in the week. “Nonsense, I have time for a short chat, though I do not think much longer than that.”

  She did not elaborate on what her reason was for cutting short the meeting, but figured an unexpected guest didn’t deserve to know. “Come with me, Miss Fleetwood, and we can speak in the small sitting room. Do you mind if my friends accompany us?”

  Perhaps startled at being welcomed so soon after being denied entrance, Miss Fleetwood nodded, bemused, and followed Hermione and the other two ladies into th
e sitting room.

  “Pray be seated, Miss Fleetwood,” Hermione said, gesturing to an armchair near the fire. “We haven’t been properly introduced but I am Lady Hermione Upperton and these are my friends Mrs. Frederick Lisle and Miss Ophelia Dauntry.”

  She took a moment to examine her guest, now that they were in a well-lighted room.

  The other lady was rail thin, and her complexion indicated that she’d had perhaps been ill, for there was a sallow look to it. Her light brown hair was shiny, however, and had been dressed by someone who knew what they were doing. And her gown was fine enough. Not for the first stare of fashion, but neither was it the work of some village seamstress.

  “I thank you, my lady,” said Miss Fleetwood, her voice hesitant, as if she hadn’t spoken in some time. “I can see that you and your friends were on your way to some social engagement. I do not wish to keep you. But I did so wish to thank you for coming to my rescue the other day.”

  “So it was you who screamed,” Hermione said, a little bubble of triumph rising in her. She knew she hadn’t imagined it. No matter what Mr. Fleetwood had said.

  “It was,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I know my brother lied to you, but he is very protective of me. And he has done his best to see to it that I’m not disturbed.”

  “And why is that, if you don’t mind my asking, Miss Fleetwood?”

  At her bold question, Hermione could feel Ophelia stare at her with shock. But the lady clearly wished to be asked about the matter and Hermione was not one to mince words.

  “I have been ill, Lady Hermione,” she said with a frown. “Very ill indeed. And unfortunately, I had news after your encounter with my brother that has not helped matters. My fiancé, you see. He was…”

  The lady’s voice trembled and, to Hermione’s surprise, tears shone in her eyes.

  “It’s all right, Miss Fleetwood,” said Ophelia, handing the other woman a handkerchief. “Take your time.”

  “Thank you, Miss Dauntry,” said Miss Fleetwood, visibly reining in her emotions. “It’s just that Tony’s death was such a shock. I cannot imagine that anyone would ever wish to murder him. It’s unthinkable.”