by Jaima Fixsen
“Henrietta!”
“I’m going,” she said. At the door she paused, narrowing her eyes at him. “Just don’t think you’re going to get away with this.”
From the window Jasper watched her groom hand her up into the carriage. She fixed him with one more glare, then snapped the reins. Jasper held himself together until she reached the corner when his repressed laugh finally fizzed out his nose.
If Henrietta was convinced of it the ruse was working perfectly. Nothing Saltash said could overturn his and Laura’s story. Wiping his streaming eyes, Jasper sat down to record the incident in his diary. Henrietta, if she ever learned the truth, would no doubt find Turkish punishment too lenient for him, but her outrage today was priceless.
*****
It was a strange and dizzying life, but Laura was used to scene changes. Mornings and afternoons she spent with the Beaumaris family in their haven of domestic contentment. It was never dull and Jasper often dropped in for a good-natured wrangle with Alistair and Anna, or to ‘call on Master Henry’ as he put it. Sometimes he and Alistair took themselves off for shooting or boxing or cards—despite his missing foot, Laura gathered that Alistair was a frightfully good shot. To Laura’s surprise, she wasn’t uncomfortable with only Anna and her mother, Mrs. Fulham, for company. Both ladies were nearly unshockable and enjoyed her stories of life in the theatre. Nor did they hesitate to enlist Laura’s help with their personal causes. Between Mrs. Fulham’s charity work, Anna’s tinkering, and Laura’s rehearsals the hours flew by. Evenings were even busier. When Laura didn’t perform in the theatre, she and Jasper play-acted everywhere else, driving round the park at the fashionable hour and visiting the pleasure gardens at Vauxhall. They took in the opera and plays at other theatres, where she enjoyed the action from the vantage point of a box and the sensation she herself caused when she leaned against Jasper’s arm. She wore silks and lace, plumes and jewels with pleasure, after Jasper made it clear they were only on loan. Decked out in that style it was no wonder they turned heads.
They hosted dinners for his friends at the piazza and though Protheroe initially kept away, he soon succumbed. Who wouldn’t want to be part of those evenings filled with laughter? Sometimes Laura missed female company—Anna’s acerbic wit went so well with her husband’s, but Alistair refused to include his wife in entertainments with what he termed a pack of dissolute jackals.
“Prude,” Jasper told him.
“Just so,” said Alistair, drawing on the cigarillo in his fingers. He’d picked up the habit in Spain.
Laura didn’t mind the smoke or the innuendo, the hair-raising language—compared to the green room this was mild. And since Jasper made it quite clear she was his, his friends acted more like, well, not brothers exactly, because she doubted their sisters heard jests like these but something like it.
Once, Alistair and Jasper journeyed together from London to straighten some difficulties over young Henry’s property. Quiet evenings in Basil Street were a welcome respite after so many nights of dissipation. Laura assured Anna she wasn’t the least bored and took the chance to finally finish the novel she’d begun reading back in Suffolk. The next day she went out, accompanied by Peter, to visit Hookham’s library.
She’d sauntered along Bond Street as Jasper’s mistress before, but today was too cold to enjoy her notoriety, even dressed in a scarlet redingote and sables. No one lingered out of doors in this stinging wind that burned cheeks and pinched her nose. Keeping her fingers tucked in her muff while Peter held the door, Laura slipped into the welcome warmth of the library.
There were whispers from the other patrons as she cruised the shelves, but that needn’t trouble her. Indifferent to stares Laura searched for something to interest her. Gothic romance? She had plenty of that already, thank you. And with Anna for company a surfeit of science. History? It couldn’t be as good as Jasper’s fabrications. Maybe she’d read something in French. It had been a long time.
“Miss Holyrood.”
Laura looked up into a face that was almost familiar. Jasper’s eyes and silver-blond hair, but dressed in ringlets. She knew instantly who this was. Jasper had mentioned his other, legitimate sister.
Laura swallowed and dipped a curtsey. “Lady Arundel,” she said.
“My name is my own,” the lady said. “I’ll trouble you not to use it.”
Laura bit her lip.
Lady Arundel didn’t waste any time. “What will it cost to make you leave my brother?” Her voice, pitched too loud, trembled and summoned every glance. She looked on the brink of a lashing spurt of temper—or tears.
“My lady, perhaps we could talk somewhere—somewhere not here,” Laura said. “This meeting, in such a public place, does no service to you or him.”
“How else am I to meet you? Stroll down to your dressing room after tonight’s performance? I won’t be put off. I’ve been trying to catch you for over a fortnight.”
Good heavens. But Jasper’s family must love him. She should have expected this. “You’ve been looking for me?”
“You aren’t hard to find on the arm of my brother,” Lady Arundel snapped. “A private meeting has been more difficult to arrange. Now. Name your price.”
Laura’s breath left her. “My lady—”
“Whatever it is I will pay.”
“I can’t—” Laura began.
“You are not a fool. When will you get another chance such as this?”
“I don’t expect one,” Laura said.
“Oblige me then,” Lady Arundel said. Her pretty mouth twisted into an unbecoming line. She had two small boys, Laura knew, and seemed to have an unfortunate eye for color. Like her brother she was distressingly beautiful. Jasper often spoke of her with exasperation or a bored roll of his eyes, but always with a strong undercurrent of affection he could never entirely conceal.
“I can’t,” Laura said again, feeling helpless. Even if she explained the truth it wouldn’t satisfy Lady Arundel. No matter what their private arrangements were, Laura was trouble for Jasper. She felt sick.
“Forgive me.” Laura curtseyed again and fled into the street.
“You all right?” Peter asked. Laura slowed so his limping gait could keep pace with her.
“Gemma wouldn’t have run like that.” Laura pressed her hand into her cramped side.
“You aren’t her.”
“Thank goodness,” Laura said. It was a new feeling but she didn’t question it. Pride and sneers she could withstand—easily. Love disarmed her. She knew how it felt to worry for a brother. She still hadn’t heard from Jack, probably her own fault. Now she was hurting Lady Arundel. And Sophy and Lord and Lady Fairchild. Back in Suffolk they’d been so kind to her and Jack. She was hurting Jasper too, even if he denied it.
She mishandled two lines in the play that night and awaited Jasper’s call the next afternoon with a hot knot of muscle bunched between her shoulders.
“Your sister spoke to me. She wants me to leave you,” Laura said as they pulled away from the house in Jasper’s curricle.
“And you’re persuaded you should? Really, Laura. Don’t let Henrietta’s fidgets bother you.”
“You’ve done enough. Saltash is beaten.”
He hesitated. “He’s on the retreat. But I had to buy up Rollins’ debts. Saltash tried to acquire them.”
There was no wind today but Laura shivered. “You shouldn’t have to—”
“Someone must. Besides it’s too soon for you to send me packing. Think of the gossip! When a pair is as in love as we are it should last longer than that.”
She gave him an exasperated look, glad he spoke in jest. If he knew how her heart shuddered when he touched her, how tempting it was to believe his kisses were real…she was trouble for him on all counts. “I still think we should end it.”
All along their circuit through the park he countered her objections—with sarcasm, with reason, and finally a blunt refusal. “No. Such a short affair is an insult to me. I’ll never li
ve that down. I want more time. Don’t let Henrietta spoil our fun.”
He was misguided—and not just over her. He ought to let himself be better to his family instead of shamming it and concealing his feelings behind needling and sarcasm. But he was her friend, even if he didn’t know she was more than halfway in love with him. If he insisted on more time… “I will try,” Laura said. “But we can’t keep this up forever.”
“I’m only asking for another few months! You haven’t ruined me with your gambling yet. Every self-respecting man needs his mistress to at least try.” He brushed a finger across her cheek. “There now. Enough frowns.”
Her throat grew thick with something absurdly like tears as she lifted her face to his. He bent to kiss her. This time it was different than before. Her lips were hunting; his met hers almost fiercely. The hand she threw up to his shoulder clutched him with a nearly desperate grip—until the carriage lurched forward.
“Inexcusable,” Jasper said, breaking away and tightening his grip on the reins. “Tempt me no more, darling. I must mind the horses.”
Chapter Twenty
Lady Fairchild is displeased
When her husband blew in from his morning ride, nipped about the ears and nose, Lady Fairchild greeted him from her place on the sofa, curled up in the cushions frowning over a crumpled newspaper. She’d crushed it in an angry fist earlier but now had smoothed it out, ready to tackle the problem calmly. She hoped.
“Cold?” she asked her husband, handing over her cup of chocolate without glancing up from the page. No matter how she stared the letters stayed the same.
“Thanks.” He gulped it down and returned the cup to the tray. Georgiana moved aside long enough for him to fit himself on the opposite end of the couch, then put her feet in his lap.
Ugh, he had cold fingers. “Jenkins brought up your letters,” she said. Generally she didn’t care for informality, but she’d grown comfortable with this arrangement of sitting together in the mornings. William reached for her unfinished piece of toast.
“What news?” he asked.
“It’s cold,” she said—meaning the toast, not the outdoor temperature, which was hardly news. Pursing her lips, she smoothed the page again, trying to decide how to phrase this catastrophe. William couldn’t know about it—he read only the racing news and political items, not the society pages.
“Miss Matcham is engaged,” she said, deciding she needed to work up to it. “The elder one.”
“That’s good,” William said as he chewed. He brushed the crumbs from his fingers, sprinkling them onto the carpet. Then he shucked off her slippers and began massaging the web of sinew and bone preceding her toes.
“That tickles,” she said, toes curling.
“Don’t be squeamish,” he said, pressing harder. Once she softened it did feel good.
“Our son’s found himself a mistress,” she said, furious with herself for filling her days with William, Sophy, and the new baby. She’d been so busy it had been weeks since she’d glanced at the papers. A costly lapse. Gathering from today’s tidbits, the identity of Jasper’s mistress was a long-established fact. And she’d thought to ignore him for making off with her traveling carriage! A convenient mistake—for him.
“What? Let me see,” William said, craning his neck to see the paper. “Who’s Gemma Holyrood?” he asked.
“You’ve seen her. At least a half-dozen times,” Georgiana explained. “She played Lydia in The Rivals last year. We saw it with Alistair.”
“Brown curls?”
“Sometimes,” Lady Fairchild said. “If I had to guess I think that’s her real color.” Hard to say when onstage she wore so many wigs. “We could ask Jasper.”
Her husband snickered and Georgiana hit him on the arm.
“This isn’t a laughing matter,” she said.
“I know,” he said, sobering instantly.
The news troubled her. She had keen social instincts, sensitive as cat’s whiskers. Over the years Jasper’s name had been casually linked with any number of dashing widows—but only in whispers. This flashiness was new for him. If she believed the paper he was besotted, gloating over her at the theatre, bringing her to dine with his friends at the piazza, and letting her squander money at a long list of gambling hells. Georgiana sniffed.
“He’s too old to lose his head like this,” Georgiana said.
“Come now. You wouldn’t like it even if he was younger.”
“Nor would you,” Georgiana retorted.
His shoulders sagged. “Not now. I’m wiser than I once was.” He shook his head. “I don’t like this, but I’ve no right to condemn him.”
He looked…defeated. She had to do something. “We don’t know it’s true. Maybe it’s just talk,” she said while thinking, Talk?! My eye! Even William didn’t look convinced.
“I’ll write,” Georgiana said. “Going to London and reading him a lecture might be satisfying to imagine, but—”
“When has he ever listened to either of us?” William finished for her. He laced his fingers together. “Society will say he deserves what he gets if he’s fool enough to let some actress get her teeth in him. But—” He sighed.
“I know.” She pressed his hand. “Demanding the truth from him will only add fuel to his fire.”
“Perhaps if I write and invite him to come home for the shooting—”
“No, he’ll see through that. I’ll write Alistair instead. He’ll tell me how the wind blows.”
It took the two of them four attempts to compose a satisfactorily-worded letter. And the tidbits in the paper only got worse each day they waited for a reply. Even Sophy was wise to it now—she didn’t read the society pages herself, but her mother-in-law, Mrs. Bagshot, seemed to read nothing else. It was very trying, accepting the commiserations of that kindly, dumpy woman and worse still, when Georgiana found herself blinking back tears and biting her lip.
“Forgive me.” She dabbed her eyes. “I should know better than to bother over trifles.” It didn’t feel like a trifle, though, not to her.
Apparently Mrs. Bagshot agreed. She clucked over Georgiana and held out a handkerchief.
“People say girls are easier. I wouldn’t know. I had a hard enough time raising my boy. They are a trick to handle, even the best of them.”
Georgiana composed herself. “I suppose I should ignore it or pretend not to know. Men have their foibles.”
“Pssssh!” Mrs. Bagshot said stoutly. “You didn’t stand for it from His Lordship!”
“Well, I—” Georgiana began weakly, but stopped, mesmerized by Mrs. Bagshot’s wagging finger.
“Don’t let fear stop you from saving your son’s soul. He’s a good sort but won’t stay that way now he’s allowed the devil to lead him astray.”
“I—I’ll try,” Georgiana said, more awed than she’d admit by such vehemence. She avoided Mrs. Bagshot after that but did mutter a few prayers under her breath when she went to church on Sunday, trying not to feel silly.
No miracle came: Miss Holyrood wasn’t struck down by a carriage, Jasper’s name peppered the newssheets as much as ever, and he answered his father’s letter saying he was too busy to come to Cordell for the shooting because ‘London is so amusing these days.’
“You should go there and thrash him,” Georgiana said.
William massaged his temples. “He’s not a child anymore, Georgiana.”
“He is! Ours!” she shot back.
“I know.” He took her hand wearily. “Let’s go together.”
But the next day Alistair’s letter came.
Dear Aunt, it read.
Naturally you’re concerned for Jasper given the fuss that’s in the papers. Don’t be. I’ve seen the situation up close—
“Does that mean he’s met her?” Georgiana asked.
“Presumably,” William said, reading over her shoulder.
—and I can say the news you’re reading is exaggerated. All is not as it seems.
He closed wit
h his best regards.
“I don’t want cryptic reassurances. Or regards,” Georgiana fumed. “I want him to kidnap that trollop and put her on a ship to Australia!”
“We mustn’t overreact. Alistair would tell us if there was cause for worry.”
True. Georgiana tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair.
“These things don’t last long,” William assured her.
“Oh? What about the Duke of Clarence and Mrs. Jordan? Twenty years and ten children!”
“You’re catastrophizing.”
“Jasper’s twenty-six. He’s never shown more than an idle interest in a female.”
He gave a defeated shrug. “Maybe we should be glad—he needs a heart.”
She couldn’t argue that but unlike William, she wasn’t sure this was the way to grow one. Nothing good could come of it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Deep water
Everything was going beautifully, but Jasper still found daily occasion to curse his interfering sister Henrietta. Laura felt guilty, even though she hadn’t said as much. If he wasn’t careful she’d end it. He kept a smooth face but inside he was starting to panic.
He couldn’t lose her. He hadn’t even taught her to ride yet. Yes, there were advantages to the curricle—for one thing it gave him an excellent excuse to keep her pressed against his side. But he was very taken with the image of them riding side by side on horseback and it took time to train a competent horsewoman. At least a year. He must persuade her to try riding.
Perhaps he should marry her. She couldn’t get rid of him then even if she wanted to, and if they married he could do more than kiss her without feeling guilty about lying to Brother Jack. Lust and guilt were horribly incompatible motivations. And exhausting.
For Laura he thought he could be an agreeable husband, something he’d never believed possible for anyone else. Apart from the growing temptation to bed her—the kisses in front of her friends at the theatre must stop if only for his own sanity—he liked her. In fact there was no mood in which he didn’t like her. When she was stricken with guilt over his siblings or hers, he felt tender. When she was cross about him buying her furs, he wanted to tell her just how fetching she was in them. When she slid her arms up his back as he kissed her, he wanted to hold her more often. Every hour would probably suffice. And when she trod the boards captivating hundreds…well, that was the problem. She was so good at it, loved it, and he liked her too much to take it away.