by Connie Mason
“A gentleman unknown to me brought my daughter home last night when she was unwell. However much I appreciate his timely assistance, I cannot allow that to stand. It is untenable that anyone should form an acquaintance with Serena unless I have approved it,” he said. “Well, Brownsmith, what have you discovered about this Sir Jonah Sharp?”
The steward pulled a small journal from his inside waistcoat pocket and thumbed through the dog-eared pages. “Jonah Adrian Sharp—second son of Lord Topfield.”
“Hmm. Good man, that.” Even though he and Viscount Topfield were on opposite sides of the political spectrum, they’d worked together on the issue of child labor in the House of Lords. Nothing had been done to correct the problem yet, but he and the viscount had made some inroads with key peers. “But Sharp is not his heir. I take it the young gentleman is without prospects.”
“That is correct. However, he did earn his baronetcy.” Brownsmith consulted his notes once again. “And he owns a tidy property in Wiltshire, which produces a respectable income, as well as a house in Town. I could find no evidence of inordinate gambling debts. By all accounts, he seems to have done well with his investments.”
So he’s not looking to borrow money from Serena, the marquis thought. There’s a mercy. “How did he come by his baronetcy?”
Brownsmith snapped the journal shut and stowed it back in his pocket. “That seems to be something of a mystery. Whatever service Sir Jonah rendered the Crown, it is not something he noises about.”
The marquis drummed his fingers on his desk. “Commission our most trusted Bow Street runner to discover this information. Prinny may have elevated the gentleman on a whim. Perhaps Sir Jonah merely removed an inconvenient harlot from the Prince Regent’s bedchamber.”
“I think not, milord.” Mr. Brownsmith took the journal out again and made note of the order to hire a runner. “Sir Jonah’s reputation is…more shadowy than that. There are rumors about a military incident shortly before the Battle of Waterloo and—”
“If he’s bloody well still accepted in Society, it couldn’t have been that bad.” The marquis waved a hand, dismissing the matter. “There are plenty of rumors about the Duke of Kent’s military service as well, come to that.” The royal duke’s harsh discipline of the soldiers serving under him when he was governor of Gibraltar led to a scandalous mutiny and finally his recall to England. “I believe it’s time I had a conversation with Sir Jonah Sharp. Send Oliver and Ulrich to collect him.”
“Very good, milord. Where would you like him deposited?”
“Bring him to the usual place.”
Six
When a potential crown is at stake, one wonders to what lengths a father will go in order to ensure his daughter’s success in securing the most brilliant of matches. Likely all usual constraints are cast aside. And if that’s so, this reporter wonders what possible reason the Marquis of W could have for engaging a certain baronet whose reputation for skullduggery and mayhem is well known, if not well documented, in an arguably forced clandestine conversation?
From Le Dernier Mot,
The Final Word on News That Everyone
Who Is Anyone Should Know
Jonah had never been to White’s. It was deucedly difficult to gain entrance to the hallowed halls unless one’s name was listed on the rolls. He wasn’t a member of the club, and frankly, the Tory-leaning reputation of the place didn’t commend itself to him.
However, with Lord Wyndleton’s two beefy lieutenants marching in lockstep on either side of him, Jonah was ushered in without challenge. Easily his match for height and weight, the fellows who walked beside Jonah had the look of a pair of pugilists, one sporting a permanently lazy eyelid and the other a cauliflower ear. They escorted Jonah past the fabled table in the bow window on the ground floor where the fashionable elite held court, and on to an alcove in the back of the main room of White’s.
Seated in a splendid Tudor chair, its age-darkened wood a throwback to a more barbaric time, was the Marquis of Wyndleton. The man was certainly wearing his station. His superfine tailcoat was meticulously tailored to mold to his form. His waistcoat was cloth-of-gold, and his white cravat was starched in a series of complicated knots that would have baffled even Brummell.
“Sir Jonah Sharp,” Wyndleton said, his blue eyes going steely. “How good of you to join me. We have not been formally introduced. I am—”
“I know who you are, milord,” Jonah said. “And—”
“And quite frankly,” the marquis cut in, determined to one-up him in interruptions, “I didn’t give you much choice in coming, did I?”
Jonah shrugged. “On the contrary, I had two choices. I could accompany these…gentlemen willingly, or I could lay them both out.”
Lord Wyndleton smiled unpleasantly. “I’d bloody well pay good money to see that.”
If I’m to be thrown out of White’s, I may as well give them good reason. Quick as thought, Jonah shot out both arms and brought his fists up in explosive jabs to the two guards’ jaws. Then he delivered elbows to their guts, doubling them over, and finally swept their legs out from under them with a whirling kick. While the men groaned on the polished floors, Jonah liberated a chair from a nearby table and sat, crossing his legs unconcernedly. A coterie of staff members from the club came skittering up.
“Sir, we must ask you kindly to leave these premises forthwith,” the head waiter said, his face flushed and his eyes wide. “This club tolerates no physical violence.”
“Nothing untoward has taken place, Watkins,” the marquis said as his guards struggled to rise. “A misunderstanding only. Think nothing of it.”
Watkins clamped his lips shut. Without another word, the servants bowed and returned to their duties.
“Well, that’s a good trick,” Jonah said. “One word from you and people disregard the evidence of their own eyes.”
“That’s because once I point out their error, my inferiors generally realize that the world is not as they see it.”
“How is it then?”
“The world is as I say it is,” Wyndleton said grandly.
“How convenient for you.”
“For them as well.” The marquis examined his fingernails for a moment and then folded his aristocratic hands on his lap. His heavy signet ring glinted brightly. “It removes the burden of decision-making from less able shoulders.”
“I hope you haven’t made the mistake of numbering me in that group,” Jonah said. “I’m perfectly capable of both seeing the world clearly and making my own decisions about it.”
The two pugilists were upright now and looking to the marquis for further instructions.
Lord Wyndleton gave his guards a weary glance and waved the men away. They retreated to a nearby table where they could keep an eye on him and Jonah while licking their wounds over cups of hot chocolate and finger sandwiches.
“Those decisions of yours are what interest me, Sir Jonah,” the marquis said. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me about which one led to your elevation to a baronetcy.”
Jonah had never told a soul about it, and he damn well wouldn’t start with this man simply for the asking. “I performed a service to the Crown.”
The marquis squinted one eye at him in a withering gaze. “Obviously.”
“I am not at liberty to share the specifics.”
“I assure you, Sir Jonah, I have His Majesty’s utmost trust.”
“As do I.” Jonah met the marquis’s glare without a blink. “Which is why I can’t discuss the matter.”
Lord Wyndelton’s color deepened and a muscle worked furiously in his cheek. “Then let us turn to a matter you will discuss or I’ll know the reason why. You brought my daughter home from the opera last night. How did that extraordinary circumstance come about?”
“I’m sure Lady Serena has already explained the situation to you. I have nothing to add to her account,” he said, hoping she’d neglected to mention her unhappy experience with his Cuban cigar. “I was gl
ad to be of service and trust the lady is recovered from her illness.”
The marquis frowned. “She ought not to have left the opera alone. My daughter is a remarkable young lady in many respects, but she’s far too casual about her personal safety.”
Jonah cut a glance at the two men he’d recently introduced to the floor. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t send those two with her to the opera.”
“They wouldn’t have been able to stay awake,” Wyndleton said with a curl of his lip. “I made the mistake of settling for sending her footman who was easily distracted. And my daughter absolutely rebels at the idea of having guards dogging her steps when she moves in Society.”
Jonah suppressed a smile. The will of the indomitable Marquis of Wyndleton was thwarted by his slip of a daughter. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one for whom the world was as he proclaimed it.
“The lady will have to change her mind on that issue if the match with the Duke of Kent comes to pass,” Jonah said. “Royalty is never without company or protection.”
“Quite, though convivial company is to be preferred over obvious security providers.” Lord Wyndleton’s expression turned thoughtful. “I pride myself on being a discerning judge of character, and it occurs to me that you have several useful qualities, Sir Jonah.”
“Such as?”
“You know how to hold your tongue, even when not doing so might be personally beneficial for you. You seem to have a care for a lady’s safety as well as her reputation. And you are more than able to handle yourself in a tight spot.” He shook his head at the two guards who were stuffing their maws with delicacies from White’s menu. “Look at them. Totally oblivious to the fact that their time in my employ is fast drawing to a close.”
“I wouldn’t be too hard on them, your lordship. Any man can be taken by surprise.”
“But you weren’t, were you? You think before you act, unlike those two, who can hardly take a trip to the privy without a ‘by your leave.’ Therein lies the difference between a gentleman and the man who by birth and inclination is more than half brute.” The marquis leaned forward. “Sir Jonah, I wonder if you would see your way clear to attending a house party and charity ball at my country estate.”
“I shall have to consult my schedule. When will this event be held?”
“Actually, I was hoping you would leave with Lady Serena’s entourage on the morrow,” Lord Wyndleton said. “Since you are a gentleman, I won’t insult you by offering you pay, but I would consider it a great personal favor if you were to consent to become my daughter’s guard…without her knowledge, of course.”
Steady on, lad, Jonah told himself. Don’t jump at the bait too quickly. “Lady Serena would not thank me for it.”
“She wouldn’t have to know, but I would and I would be…appreciative.” He tugged down his gleaming waistcoat. “I have many friends at court. New peers are created every day, but only if one has the connections required to see letters patent to fruition.”
The marquis wanted his help very badly if he was ready to dangle the possibility of a peerage before him.
“That won’t be necessary.” Not to mention once Jonah fulfilled his commission to Alcock to seduce Serena, the marquis would no longer have reason to be grateful. “But I am willing to assume responsibility for your daughter’s safety.”
Just not her purity.
A niggling ache bloomed in his chest. He hadn’t felt it in years, but he recognized the sensation with a start.
It was his conscience.
He tamped it down. He had his own family to protect. His brother’s happiness shouldn’t be destroyed because Alcock threatened Jonah with the scandal of treason. He steeled himself to his task. The end justified the means.
“Very good, Sharp. Present yourself at my town house before eight o’clock on the morrow. You’ll travel with my daughter to Wyndebourne.”
“Lady Serena is an intelligent young woman. She’ll wonder at my inclusion in her party.”
The marquis tapped his temple for a moment. “Have you an interest in horseflesh?”
“I keep a fair stable at my country home.”
“In that case, you may put out that you intend to inspect the stock at Wyndebourne with an eye to purchasing a new brood mare. After that, you may as well stay on since I’ll see to it that you’re invited to the house party and ball.”
“That’ll do.” Jonah rose. “Good-bye, milord. If I’m to leave town tomorrow, I have matters to attend today.”
The marquis frowned. “Most people ask to be dismissed from my presence, yet you offer not so much as a ‘by your leave.’”
“No,” Jonah said as he turned to go. “I don’t.”
***
Jonah pushed into the Blind Pony with scrapes on his knuckles and a hole in his garrick that was not at the seam. One of the gang of ruffians he’d encountered had brandished a wicked dirk, but with a few deft moves, Jonah had relieved him of it and sent the crew scattering like roaches caught in sudden lamplight. Unfortunately, not before the fellow managed a slash to Jonah’s outer coat.
He mentally castigated his friends again for choosing such a sketchy place for their meeting.
Jonah was naturally cat-eyed, but this pub was so dim even he couldn’t make out most of the patron’s faces. As he scanned the low-ceilinged common room, he saw a hand raised in greeting from the booth in the far corner. As he drew closer, he recognized his friends, Rhys Warrington and Nathaniel Colton, nursing pints of dark, yeasty-smelling ale. A third pint waited on the rough plank table before an empty place.
Jonah slid into it and took a long swig of the drink. It was execrable. “Who ordered this horse piss?”
“It’s not so bad once you start on the second one,” Nate said. “You’re late, Sharp.”
“And if that frown of yours is any measure, you’re obviously out of charity with the whole world,” Rhys observed. “What’s wrong?”
“My new coat is ruined thanks to this meeting.” And several of the local ne’er-do-wells were missing several teeth. “Why did you insist on such a spotty location?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures and we didn’t want Alcock to be aware that we are joining forces. You should have dressed down for the occasion,” Rhys said. Both he and Nathaniel were disguised in the rags of a common worker—slop trousers and long shirts topped by shapeless capes. A pair of floppy-brimmed hats obscured their faces from all but the most determined observers.
“I am who I am wherever I go,” Jonah said. His friends both rejoiced in a “Lord” before their names. It might be a lark to them to pretend to lesser status. A commoner’s lot struck Jonah too close to the bone. “Why should I pretend to a lower station?”
“It might save on your tailor’s bill,” Rhys said. “But seriously, what’s troubling you?”
“For starters, unlike the pair of you, I haven’t finished my commission for Alcock.” Jonah knew he was endangering not only his own family, but his friends’ as well by the delay, but the last thing Jonah wanted to admit was that his conscience was keeping him from accelerating his plan to seduce Lady Serena. “Besides, you both cheated.”
That earned him a chuckle. “Alcock didn’t specify how we were to keep the ladies from wedding a royal duke,” Rhys said, “though I must confess I didn’t intend on marrying Olivia myself at first. What about you, Colton?”
“Farthest thing from my mind. But I admit to being happily ensnared in the parson’s mousetrap with my Georgette.” Nate raised his mug. “To our wives.”
Rhys clinked mugs with him while Jonah eyed them both stonily.
“Do not expect me to follow suit.”
Nate shrugged. “Very well, but it’s something to consider.”
No, it wasn’t. People whispered about his brother Harold, the future viscount, setting his sights too high by courting the earl’s daughter. The ton would have a field day if a mere baronet lifted his eyes to the only daughter of a marquis. Not that Jonah gave a
tinker’s damn about what was said about him, but it galled him that Serena might become fodder for wagging tongues on account of him.
Then how in hell do you intend to ruin her chances with the royal duke without offering her up to the gossip mill?
Jonah raised his mug and drained it. Nate was right. The wretched stuff improved with increased quantity. The guilty ache in his chest migrated lower to simmer uneasily in his belly.
“On to the purpose of this meeting,” Rhys said. “We’ve learned that Alcock’s supposed witness, Sergeant Leatherby, has taken ship to Portsmouth. We have reason to believe he’s still there since according to Alcock, the man has a wife in the vicinity, but we need to find and detain him in case he decides to set sail for parts unknown.”
“I’ll be leaving for the Wyndleton country estate tomorrow,” Jonah said. “That’s close to Portsmouth, I believe. Within an easy ride, at least.”
“Good. You can locate the man and have him bound over to the magistrate. We’ll come and collect him as soon as you send word.”
“Wait a moment. What happened to the ‘we’ in ‘we need to find and detain him’?”
“A married man’s life is not his own,” Nathaniel said. “Georgette has us scheduled for a number of dinners and events to support that charity house of hers in Covent Garden.”
Rhys grinned. “And I’m happy to report that my lovely wife is in…an interesting condition and blossoming daily, so she wouldn’t appreciate me haring off to Portsmouth on an extended fishing expedition of this sort.”
“Would she appreciate you being branded a traitor?” Jonah said sourly. “It could still happen, you know.”
“I know.” Rhys’s smile faded. “We either need to find that witness and compel his testimony on our behalves, or you need to keep your assigned virgin from wedding a royal duke. Which is why we want to help you with your part of Alcock’s plan, if we can.”
Jonah looked at his two friends. They’d both suffered after the horrific loss at Maubeuge. Rhys had attempted to bury his grief in endless rounds of pointless debauchery. Jonah had heard that Nathaniel had actually spent time in common lodgings living rough among the desperately poor of Whitechapel while he sought oblivion in opiates. His family finally sent a runner to find him and bring him back against his will till he could be made to understand that his family still stood by him.