by Jaima Fixsen
“Suppose he fathers a bastard of his own?” William asked. It was one worry, but there were others. Jasper might marry her. Or cast her aside and find a new ladybird to flaunt about town. Both possibilities felt like his own failures. He should have raised his son better.
Georgiana looked down at her hands. “Whatever happens, whatever she is—and I fear she’s a female of the worst kind—she must not be ill-treated. If there is a child…” She stopped, rearranging her fingers. “I’ll ask Jasper to give it to me. You won’t be providing more bastards, but I could make heart-room for another if need be.” Her chin fell, but after a moment she gathered herself and was brisk again. “A needless worry I expect. Don’t women of her class usually avoid that?”
William stared at the wooden wall opposite. “She’s an actress, not an innocent like Fanny was. If she’s clever she’ll get herself with child any way she can. Nice little pension for her.”
Georgiana’s hands tightened. “Then I don’t think we can afford to wait. Better to do something, isn’t it? Even if we get it wrong?”
William couldn’t say. He wanted to believe her but knew how closely catastrophe could follow the slightest misstep. “Let’s speak to him. We’ve sat on our hands long enough.”
*****
They set out early next morning. Georgiana sat facing her husband, clenching her hands inside her sable muff. She reminded herself there was no reason why carriage travel should affect her. Then they lurched again and her stomach heaved in protest. She closed her eyes.
“Will a little air help?” William asked, reaching for the window.
She wished it wasn’t necessary to concede, but— “Open it a crack.” Hot bricks under the toes only kept their heat for so long and the day was too cold to have outside air whistling around the carriage. William hadn’t dressed very warm. “You should have brought thicker gloves,” she told him. “Come and put your hands in mine.”
He switched to the seat beside her and it felt a little better to clasp his fingers and lean against his shoulder.
“Just keep your eyes on the window,” William said. “Fix them on something distant. The horizon or faraway trees.”
It helped. Somewhat. She hadn’t eaten but still felt like she was on the brink of disgracing herself.
“Wish I could recall this girl of Jasper’s,” William said. “Then I could guess better if she’s likely to be amenable to offers.”
“Everyone has their price,” Georgiana said.
William grunted. “Jasper appears infatuated. I’m sure if it comes to that the price of her leaving him will be expensive. You don’t mind?”
“It can’t be helped.”
“Is she beautiful? It would be some consolation if she were beautiful at least.”
Georgiana heaved a sigh. “Not tall. If it’s not another wig, brown hair like I told you. Chestnut, really, with gold glints in the right light. Not sure about the eyes so I suspect they’re of a muddy sort of color. It’s the spacing that makes them lovely. Wide and with the eyelashes painted so they look even larger. Darker complexion but she remedies that with powder. She’s quick on her feet and enviably graceful in her movements—has to be in her profession. You’ve seen her as Lydia Languish and Titania and in School for Scandal—as Maria I think—and I expect you’ve seen her as Viola in Twelfth Night—” Georgiana stopped. Viola, of course, made her think of her goddaughter, little Ollie, who would have come visiting today with her mother, except they were posting off to London…
She took a sharp breath. “Would you say Miss Edwards is tall? Dr. Edwards’ sister?” Georgiana sensed she was on the brink of something important—something almost tangible, just beyond her buzzing fingers.
“Not especially. Pretty though. I like the way she moves. Restful in a sickroom.”
Exactly. Georgiana steadied her breath. “I think we need to turn around.”
William reached under the seat. “I thought I might need to provide for this eventuality,” he said, pulling out a bucket.
Georgiana waved it away. “No, I don’t need that. We need to turn around.”
“I thought we’d decided on London?” William said, surprised. “Yes, I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing, but—”
“I just realized something.” Georgiana kneaded her forehead with a thumb and two fingers. “I need to think.” William rapped the roof with his walking stick and they rolled to a halt.
“What is it?” William asked her.
Miss Edwards had brown hair. She held herself beautifully and sometimes, when she troubled to, she could snare eyes with the way she walked and spoke and moved her fingers. She never put herself forward, but when you looked close you noticed the lovely eyes. And when she laughed it was music that filled a room—or something even larger. “Yes, we must turn around,” Georgiana said. “I’m not feeling at all well. I need to see Dr. Edwards.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Desperate measures
Jasper never cared for morning visitors, especially after finding his bed between the hours of three and four in the morning. “Tell Alistair to go away,” Jasper groaned and hid his head under the pillow.
A moment later his valet returned. “Mr. Beaumaris says he’ll wait.”
“Clunch,” Jasper muttered. There was no help for it. He reached for his dressing gown. Stumbling into his sitting room, disheveled and bleary-eyed, he glared at his cousin for daring to present himself neatly dressed with a cheery face at this ungodly hour. “What do you want?” Jasper asked.
“I’ve put off telling you, but it’s been weighing on my mind. I’ve had a letter from your mother,” Alistair said.
“Got her shift in a twist?” Jasper asked.
“Don’t be rude.” Alistair glanced at the valet. “I don’t suppose you could bring Mr. Rushford some coffee?”
“I’ll have ale,” Jasper corrected. “And a beefsteak.” He wanted to scowl and gnaw on something. In the meantime he must wait, so he crashed onto the sofa with the force of a felled tree. “What did you tell Mater?” he asked. He’d known she’d try to poke her nose in eventually. He just didn’t want to deal with it today.
“No need to worry,” Alistair said, limping to the window and fiddling a moment with the blind cord. “Yet.”
“Don’t be inhuman—” Jasper begged in vain, flinching as Alistair tugged up the blind and soaked the room in jewel-toned November sunshine. “Must you?” He threw up an arm to shield his eyes.
“We need to talk,” Alistair said, finding a chair. Propping his cane on one arm, he laced his fingers together. “How do things stand between you and Miss Edwards?”
“Damned if I know,” Jasper retorted. “If you want a reasonable answer come at a reasonable time.” After that disaster the other night…
“You’re always with her,” Alistair replied. “I can’t get you alone.”
“No reason in the world why you couldn’t ask when we’re together,” Jasper said, ignoring Alistair’s darkling glance.
“Maybe I should just ask her,” Alistair said, but Jasper wasn’t going to be bothered by threats.
“Do that. And then tell me. I’d love to know what comes next.” Jasper couldn’t see Alistair, having turned his head towards the cushions, but he heard him shift in his chair.
“You could end it you know,” Alistair said quietly. “Perhaps you should.”
Jasper’s eyelid twitched. Without a dark room and another four hours of sleep he’d find himself smacked with a blinding headache. It hadn’t been an easy week since that unfortunate kiss at Vauxhall—not for him at least. Both he and Laura were pretending it hadn’t happened, that it was no different from him kissing her at a gambling hell or at the theatre. It was though, and not speaking about it made it nigh impossible to think of anything else. Kissing her in dark corners wasn’t part of their pact. He’d broken his promise to Jack and there weren’t many remedies for that.
Perhaps Alistair was right. Laura had said she wanted to be don
e with him. Saltash was leaving her be—couldn’t very well do anything else. It was time to end the game. Jasper knew it but stubborn fool that he was, he didn’t want to say those words.
It was a troubling discovery, one that chaffed him as he met with his tailor and dined at his club. When he collected Laura after the performance and she asked, “Where to tonight?” he had to manufacture a smile.
“Jermyn Street.” They’d gambled there once before.
Behind the prim facade of the house writhed a scintillating glitter of coin, dice, and flashing cards against a backdrop of scarlet hangings and green baize. Whatever the hour a forest of candles lit the rooms for gamesters drifting about, like ornamental fish trapped in a shallow pool. As before Laura was pinked out in jewels and lace, laughing as he swept her past the guard at the door, sheltered in the warm place at his side. They both knew what to do. He played with her fingers and she leaned on his arm as they ate supper, teasing each other as he cut her morsels of chicken and signed for more champagne. He sipped it slow, not emptying his glass.
The drink was delightful but the evening flat. He stood behind her at the tables, trailing his fingers down her back, reaching around her to place his counters on the wheel, with a perfect view of her breasts he couldn’t even enjoy, so dogged was he by guilt. His responses to her sallies were late and it was work, doting on her for the benefit of the crowd. Jasper watched roués and desperate men, lacquered prostitutes and defiant ladies, all trying to fascinate and look invincible. He felt sick. For once he longed to admit life had trammeled him completely. Lowering his eyes against the glare, he tried to guess how much longer it would take to lose the stake he’d allotted for tonight.
“Aren’t you feeling well?” Laura whispered, her breath sweet with champagne. Beneath her powder, a sun shower of freckles hid on her cheeks.
“Not particularly.”
“Then let’s go.” When the delirious spinning of the wheel slowed and the ball clattered to a stop, she picked up her remaining stake and led him away, their fingers linked loosely at the very tips. “You,” she said smiling back at him, “ought to be in bed.” It was nicely pitched for the benefit of the uniformed major traversing the room beside them.
“Be gentle Miss Holyrood,” the major said. “Rushford looks fagged to death.”
“Greenaway,” Jasper said, acknowledging and dismissing him with a nod. As they parted ways he muttered, “Damnable man.”
“Are you cross with me?” Laura asked, slowing again.
“No. I have a head tonight.”
“You should have said something,” Laura said. “We needn’t have come.”
Usually he liked this. Usually it came easy, laughing, touching her and making it look careless, acting like she was his own. God, what a mess.
“Pardon?”
Damn. He’d said the last bit aloud. “I need to be outside.” He motioned away the attendant and roughly fastened her cloak. Pulling her by the hand, he broke through the door into the cooler dark, pursued by music and vapors of scent. Ignoring the nearest hackney he towed her down the street.
*****
Something’s wrong, Laura thought, stumbling after him. “You forgot Betty,” she said.
Jasper swore. “We’d better go back.”
“First you should tell me what’s the matter.” The nighttime chill whisked past her cloak and gown, snaking round her ankles.
Jasper pressed his hand against his forehead. “I think—have you heard from your brother?” he asked, changing tack.
“No.” She’d written again last week, but forgiveness—or even a reply—hadn’t come.
“You see?” he said. “This is no good. Why hasn’t he written? I assume, under other circumstances, he’s a regular correspondent.”
“You must know why,” she said. “He’s angry with me. For coming back to London—and for taking up with you.”
“Yes. It’s wretched for him, for all of us.”
She bit her lip. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
He laughed, a sharp stone bouncing away down the cobbles. “Oh, very much. You think this is easy for me?”
He made it look that way, but—
“It’s torture,” he went on, “playing at seduction and returning you to Basil Street each night.”
Fear left her in a rush. Her breath caught and her heart surged, borne by winds of hope. She could face anything, so long as it wasn’t indifference. Stepping near, she laid a hand on his arm. “Torture? It needn’t be—”
“It’s impossible,” he broke in. “Treating each other like pets, flirting like mad, pretending it doesn’t affect me at all. I’m a patient fellow, but not bloodless, Laura. I’ve had enough. I can’t do it.” He hunched his shoulders against the wind and stuffed his hands in his greatcoat pockets.
Laura dropped her hand so it didn’t hang stupidly in the air. He was talking too fast for her, his emotions galloping past too furiously to check. She stared at him, licked her lips.
“You’ll just have to marry me,” he said.
“What?” Laura reeled.
“You’re too good at acting. I want you, but damned if I make a liar of myself to Jack.”
As proposals went she couldn’t have imagined anything as wretched as this. Who wanted love when it came with a white flag? You didn’t love the overlord who conquered you—you fought, even in defeat. They would be miserable long before his heart turned against her. She must end it. Now.
“How romantic,” she said, her syllables lubricated with disdain. “Marriage. Dare I hope my wishes come into it?”
“Don’t tell me—I don’t need to know if it’s real for you or not. If you act like it is I won’t know the difference, Laura. And if you pretend long enough, your heart will begin to believe. It’s happened to me.”
Her stomach turned. “I won’t—”
“Try.” His lip curled and she was almost glad. Anything was better than that hasty pleading. “Perhaps it doesn’t work that way for professionals? Well, dear one, I said I wouldn’t know the difference. Humor me.”
“I will not.” She stepped away and clutched her cloak tighter, fighting the burn in her eyes. “You’ve no right to be angry with me. I made it plain from the beginning that—”
“Yes. But I didn’t exactly plan for this.”
“I’m sorry. What you ask is impossible.” He must see that.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked away. “And what about my heart’s bleeding?” Yearning words, but they came with a sneer.
“The last thing I wish is for you to suffer,” Laura said. “I do not forget all you have done on my behalf. We must end this. Give yourself time and you’ll find someone else.”
“She won’t be you,” he said.
“You’ll be thankful of that.”
He grimaced. “I suppose I will. Give me my farewell. You’ll forgive me if I don’t linger in London? This time, I don’t think I’ll be capable of joining in as the world laughs.”
He reached out and she stiffened, sure she’d break if he touched her.
“Miss Edwards!”
“Ah, our faithful Betty,” Jasper said, dropping his outstretched hand and turning to the white-faced maid jogging down the pavement. “What of your counterpart? Where is Peter?”
“Gone to fetch a hack.”
“Excellent. You will convey Miss Edwards home—no, Laura, you needn’t fear. I won’t inflict my odious presence a moment longer than necessary. I’ll see you into the carriage, but I shall walk.”
A small mercy, but one was grateful for those after an earthquake. It took all her discipline to compose herself until she was handed up into the carriage. Even then, she couldn’t slacken, not even the smallest joint of her fingers. It took an age to drive back to Basil Street, but Laura knew she’d be straining to keep a smooth face for many days to come.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Making repairs
Fool. You should have planned it better.
He stumbled and caught himself on the stone coping of someone’s front steps, pausing so his breath would settle. He knew better, but hoped that a quiet spell would dim the light dancing in front of his right eye—making his way home was impossible when he couldn’t see. He’d get lost or wander into the clutches of footpads. In London they were never that far.
The invisible band ringing his head tightened. Jasper squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for darkness but instead getting an explosion of light that sparked from one side of his head to the other. Staggering, he retched until he trembled, then wiped his sour mouth with sweat-dampened hands.
Fool. He could do nothing else, so Jasper sagged against the steps and let himself sink down to the ground.
*****
Laura hadn’t cried—much. But she looked like a fright and her throat was sore when she finally braved the sitting room.
“Good morning,” Anna said.
“Sorry,” Laura replied. She’d accidentally let in the cat.
“He goes where he wills, that one,” Anna said, unperturbed by her mother’s cat, but frowning at the stack of illustrated pamphlets in front of her. Laura was afraid they might have something to do with digestion. She’d done her best with a roll and some butter, but thinking about it wasn’t helping.
“It’s time for me to go home,” Laura said.
Anna glanced at the back of the chair nearest the fire, then to Laura again. “You can’t!” Seeing that Laura’s expression didn’t soften, Anna tried again. “Why?”
“Jasper asked me to marry him,” Laura said.
“That’s wonderful!” Anna forgot the pamphlets and the cat and jumped to her feet. Yowling, the animal streaked to the farthest side of the room.
“I said no,” Laura said.