“I need your help,” she made herself say, looking up from the floor in time to see him snort.
“Really,” he asked, his voice amused. “And you think I owe you that, do you? I assure you I do not,” he stated, crossing his arms.
“I realize that-” Jacoline started but Aspen took a step forward, his expression darkening.
“How many lies to you think you told me, ma’am? On estimate? Not counting the duplicates that required no imagination, that is,” he asked, his deep voice sharp and angry. “Miss, you belong in a mad house, not in my drawing room,” he ordered.
This is not going well.
“You are likely right, but we do not have much time,” she urged, wanting to growl at the ceiling. Why did it have to be him she needed? “Your Grace,” she tacked on.
You’re not Jack, not his friend, she reminded herself. Aspen frowned.
“Pray, what are you talking about?” he asked, sounding more frustrated than concerned.
He does not know.
“Daniel’s been indicted,” she said, the words falling between them.
Remember you still care about him, she prayed, watching the man. Aspen’s eyes widened, the scars around his left eye twisting madly.
“They will find nothing and he will be acquitted. He is quite careful with his privacy. It shall not affect him or his cause so much,” Aspen replied, though it sounded like he was looking for reassurance. Jac closed her eyes, frustrated. Why did he think she would come here, if the case would find no evidence?
“There is evidence,” she bit out, opening her eyes. Aspen frowned. Still, Jac could not help but notice that he did not seem particularly surprised.
He already knew, she thought. From the way Aspen swallowed heavily and ran a hand over his mouth, Jac thought he knew what the rumors would do to her brother as well. “Not enough to convict him, but enough to ruin him. The rumors – neither of us expected this to affect Daniel. Mr. Charington is trying to stop the case in the House of Lords, before any evidence is presented, but we cannot do it without your influence,” Jac explained. Aspen ran his tongue over his teeth.
“I do not sit in the House of Lords. I travel too much to maintain a Parliamentary position,” he replied, sounding worried.
“But you can request a seat on this one,” Jac insisted. Aspen shook his head, not looking pleased. “Please, Your Grace. I do not like traveling for more than a week on end, but Daniel’s fight for abolition will be finished if he faces this trial,” she insisted. Aspen blinked and glanced over her, his eyes thoughtful. Jac quieted beneath his gaze, wondering what he thought about. They’d lied to him thoroughly, she thought, ashamed. She looked away from him and pretended to be fascinated by the fabric of his parlor chairs.
“I am only one vote. I have a better idea,” he said, and crossed the room to yank on the bell pull. A maid appeared almost instantly. “Tell my mother I’ll meet her in the green parlor,” he ordered, before turning back toward Jac, his face drawn and worried.
“She knows the wives of everyone on that council,” he said, before running a hand down his face. She saw questions flash in his eyes but he did not ask them. Jac exhaled heavily, feeling her shoulders drop an inch as she processed what he was saying. He would help them, in spite of it all.
You are too good, she thought, but could not say it.
“We’ll take my carriage in an hour. Have you eaten?” he asked. Jac blew out a heavy breath, trying to remember what time it was.
“I haven’t, but -” she started and he turned away from her. “You do not owe me hospitality, Your Grace,” she said quietly. Aspen glanced at her derisively and jerked on the bellpull again.
“You’ll eat and we’ll leave. My mother will write to the others directly. No doubt the trial will start within the week, with all of Parliament out for your brother’s head,” he stated. Jac nodded, not trusting her voice. Aspen nodded back sharply.
“I will speak with her. A footman will show you into the dining room when a meal is prepared,” he said, and disappeared into the hall.
Jac sat on the closest chair, her heart slowly sinking further, until her head felt unusually heavy and she could feel her pulse in her knees. She was exhausted. She’d never been in the house when it was so quiet. Jac listened to the quiet patter of servants out in the house until a footman finally came to fetch her. She followed, her heartbeat racing and her mouth too dry, and found Aspen seated at the head of the table. She sat beside him, not knowing what to say.
“Why is Mr. Charington involved, then?” Aspen asked. Jac closed her eyes, hearing the duchess walk into the room, her heels clicking on the stone floor until she got to the rug beneath the table. Jac stood politely.
“Never mind,” she heard Aspen say, his tone awkward and Jac blushed while she curtsied to the duchess. “I will accompany you to London,” he promised. Jac felt herself exhale heavily as she stood, relief rushing through her. The duchess nodded back, her eyebrows high as she glanced between them.
“No chaperone, Miss Holcombe?” she asked, her voice concerned. “The roads are not safe.”
We didn’t want her available to testify, Jac thought, swallowing.
“I will explain, mother, and I shall accompany her to London,” Aspen ordered, his voice hard. Jac dipped her head, hearing the anger there.
I dressed in breeches in front of you, Jac thought again, only blushing worse. She looked up finally to see the duchess watching her.
“Never mind that. I shall join you. This must be Parliament’s last session but the season cannot be said to be over until it’s done,” she said.
She’s protecting my reputation, Jac thought, feeling only more ridiculous as the thought of Aspen ravishing her in the coach crossed her mind. She wanted to huddle in a ball, embarrassment coursing through her. Aspen did not reply. The food arrived, a cold platter. Jac ate in silence with the Duke and Duchess of Aspen watching her. She could barely get herself to swallow. She finished her plate but neither of the two peers moved. Jac sat, glancing between them.
I have to get to London, Jac thought, shifting in her seat. The duchess did not move from her perch on the chair across from her, her eyebrows apparently glued high on her forehead. Aspen stared back, his expression unyielding.
“Fine. I shall follow in the coach behind,” the duchess conceded finally. Jac jerked her head up from staring at her plate and the duchess smiled at her easily, as if she had not just lost some strange staring contest with her son. “Ready a second coach,” she ordered the footman waiting with them. The man bowed and disappeared.
“I should prepare to travel,” she said, rising slowly from her seat. Aspen nodded, his face softening.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely and glanced at Jac, his expression unfathomable. The duchess nodded sharply and strode from the room, her gown swirling around her feet.
“She would slow us down,” Aspen stated, pushing himself up from his own seat.
“I’m sorry,” Jac said quietly, standing to join him.
“Don’t mention it,” he ordered and gestured to the servant striding quickly into the room, his shoes equally loud on the marble.
“The coach is ready,” Aspen surmised and the servant nodded. Jac threw her napkin on the table and rushed to follow. They needed to get to London.
~~//~~
Aspen tried not to think, but it was an impossible task. He stared out the right window, keeping his left side toward Miss Holcombe, knowing his scars would not betray how he blushed. Memories scrolled in front of his eyes in a ceaseless battery and it was all he could do not to groan aloud.
Let me teach you to lunge before I return to the bout.
How did you vote?
You’ve truly never smoked?
I have not had the opportunity to contract a pox. Aspen smacked his forehead against the window frame, closing his eyes as his ears burned. Miss Holcombe had no right to deceive him so. Aspen only felt his humil
iation deepen, thinking the woman’s name.
Damn it, Daniel, he thought, wanting to punch the man. First though, he had to save him and his damn abolitionist effort, if there was anything left to save by the time they reached London. Lord, but he wanted out of the damn coach. Aspen blinked, suddenly realizing where he sat at the back of the coach box, facing forward. Miss Holcombe had seated herself backwards, looking out her own window, as if their positions were perfectly normal. Aspen stared at her, trying to imagine the woman in a man’s clothing, his friend Jack Holcombe again.
Have you even been with a woman?
Aspen turned his face to the window again, gritting his teeth as another wave of shame coursed through him. He closed his eyes, thinking for a moment that he was going to be ill, facing forward or no. The moment passed but he kept his face turned away, promising himself that after this coach ride, he’d never have to speak with her again.
~~//~~
“Why?” Aspen asked, breaking the silence for the first time in the hours-long drive. Jacoline glanced up at him and met his dark eyes. He looked baffled but not amused. She ran a hand over her skirts, thinking back. “Were you just bored?” he demanded. Jac blinked slowly and sighed.
“Yes,” she answered simply and Aspen huffed out a quiet scoff, turning to face the window again, as if that were quite enough to condemn her for. Jac watched him, sadness brewing in her stomach. She knew his hands, his eyes, his scars, knew him and she was just a stranger he’d determined to be so very insane. “I was lonely. There were -” she paused, trying to gather her thoughts. He did not respond but she knew he was listening. There was nothing else to do in the silent carriage. “There were jokes that could not be said as a lady. Skills I couldn’t have, places I could not go. And I had gotten very little in return for my spotless reputation. Nothing to lose, we’d thought -”
Aspen frowned, his gaze not moving from the window, and Jac clarified.
“Daniel and I. It was his idea. To say ‘hang society’ and show me what I wanted to see.”
Aspen huffed out a laugh.
“That sounds like him. Rash,” he said and Jac smiled fondly.
“I had only Lord Candrow showing any interest in me and I did not return his affection. So we decided to break the rules and bring me fencing. Just the once.”
Aspen snorted again but he did not sound amused anymore.
“And thus you started deceiving everyone he knew. And what of the Earl of Blancard’s family, if you’d been so discovered in his home?” he demanded. Jac ran a hand down her skirts, grateful for the conservative cut to her gown. She felt far too exposed to this man already.
“I did not think anyone would be hurt. It was only to be a few weeks’ foolishness and ‘Mr. Jack Holcombe’ would leave the country,” she replied. Aspen’s mouth twisted at the name. Jac winced and wrung her hands together.
What would you do for the rest of your life if you did not give Aspen a chance now? Daniel’s voice rang in her thoughts again.
“I had not predicted that we should have become … friends,” she said, watching him hopefully, wanting to reach out, run a hand over his hair. He snarled at the word and turned to sneer at her.
“A friend under false pretenses is worse than none,” he stated, looking revolted by her for a moment. Jac pressed her lips together, feeling her eyes water at the cut, and turned toward her own window, forcing herself to count the passing trees to keep from crying.
That answers that, then, she thought, nodding to herself and pulling her chin up. It was truly over, as she’d said. Now they only had to protect Daniel and it’d be almost the same as before.
There are women scholars, she told herself and had to cover her lips with a hand to keep from weeping, not three feet from the man she loved terribly. They stayed silent and Jac composed herself, looking forward to the night’s inn when they could separate.
As was polite, the duke dropped Jac off first back at the London townhome. Rupert let her inside and led her through the very quiet empty house to Daniel’s office.
Daniel did not seem particularly surprised to see her. He looked up from where he was sitting behind his desk, his head in his hands, and stood up to greet her.
“It does occur to me now that you gave in far too easily,” he said, his voice light but his eyes hard, turning toward the bar table to pour a glass for her. Jac hesitated, frowning, counting two glasses already on Daniel’s desk. Someone cleared his throat beside her and Jac startled and jerked around to see Mr. Charington standing by the fireplace, his meeting with her brother apparently interrupted. He must have pressed onward through the night and traveled straight to London when she’d left for the Aspen estate.
“Oh, excuse me,” Jac said, moving to leave, but Daniel only stretched out his arm, her drink in hand. She took it cautiously, glancing at Mr. Charington. Mr. Charington grimaced, apparently not liking having their discussion so cut off.
“I have done what I could for court on Friday,” he sat, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Daniel’s desk. Jac nodded and lowered herself into the chair beside him.
“As have I,” she answered.
“Will the Duke of Aspen lend his vote?” Mr. Charington asked her, almost casually. Jac nodded.
“How is this? How does Aspen know?” Daniel demanded. Jac winced and his eyes narrowed with concern. “And how do you know Henry?” he asked, pointing at Mr. Charington.
“Is that your Christian name, then?” Jac asked though she’d known it before, ignoring her brother. Mr. Charington’s eyes lit with a quiet humor and he leaned back.
“At your service,” he replied, apparently deciding to ignore Daniel’s protests as well.
“The Duke of Aspen has recruited his mother,” Jac added and Mr. Charington’s eyes widened comically.
“The House of Lords will not know what hit them,” he replied, beginning to smile.
“Your reputation -” Daniel started, and from the way Mr. Charington sighed, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand, it wasn’t the first rendition of the argument. Daniel glanced at Jac, his expression heavy and Jac stood, setting her glass quietly on the desk and retreating for the door.
“Your reputation is mine. Am I your mistress or your partner? As your mistress I may back away from you when you have been monstrously irresponsible with your reputation. As your partner, I cannot, and I will not stop apologizing for forgetting that,” Mr. Charington insisted, his voice hard.
“That said -” Daniel started and Jac got to the door.
“Your mistress or your partner?” Mr. Charington demanded again. Jac shut the door.
~~//~~
Aspen placed his calling card in the butler’s hand and let himself be guided into the fading entrance parlor. The air smelled faintly of dust, wool, and body odor, the musky scent that always seemed to linger around the elderly. The butler withdrew and Aspen forced himself to stand at the window and maintain his hands clasped behind his back, to keep from pacing about the room and tearing at his hair. He could only pray Lord Yearling would meet with him.
So he could save his two friends from their own idiocy. He’d thought Daniel Holcombe the most open, guileless man he’d ever met. Instead, he’d been dealing with a viscount who dressed his sister in men’s clothing. How had he possibly have thought Daniel Holcombe free of secrets?
Aspen closed his eyes, remembering how Miss Holcombe had pleaded with him in his parlor, barely able to look at him. For a moment he’d wanted to lash out, to tell her that she’d burned her bridges when she’d entered his home in a man’s disguise. But she had not done that; she’d waited in the carriage for him, making her footman knock, being quite rude, at the end of the day, to avoid entering his home at night. To protect him, so if she’d been discovered he would not be found with a woman in his home.
They had deceived him, but they had not entrapped him. They were foolish and insane, but not undeserving. Aspen straightened
his spine, resolve striking him again.
“Your Grace,” Lord Yearling croaked out behind him. Aspen turned swiftly, relieved to see Parliament’s Lord Chancellor standing in the doorway, apparently agreeing to meet with him.
“Lord Chancellor,” Aspen greeted gratefully, bowing. Lord Yearling made his way to the closest armchair, his movements disjointed and careful. He was going on eighty-six years old and by the looks of it, his health had finally started to fail. Aspen winced, watching the man pant for breath, finally settled in his chair, and sat across from him.The elderly man had not struggled so much at the chess tournament as arbiter.
“This is not a social call, I think. So, what can I do for you?” the man asked bluntly, pushing himself further back onto the cushioned chair.
“Viscount Holcombe was recently indicted for crimes against the Buggery Act,” Aspen started. Lord Yearling rose an eyebrow at him, looking wary.
“I cannot change that, Your Grace,” he answered. Aspen nodded and leaned forward. He needed this to work.
“I have reason to believe that this case is being heavily influenced by Lord Holcombe’s involvement in the slavery debate. The House of Lords has turned against him and they’re using the court as their weapon,” he insisted. The Lord Chancellor’s single eyebrow lowered slowly, but he didn’t look any more impressed.
Too dramatic, Aspen thought, embarrassed.
“I cannot change the Lords of the House’s biases, Your Grace, and you likely would not want me to. Surely you are using all of your power to influence them in the opposite direction. We shall have to trust that Lord Holcombe’s peers are honorable,” the man stated, not pausing when the maid came in with tea to serve them. Aspen leaned forward to grab a filled cup immediately, hoping to prolong the visit as long as possible. Lord Yearling did not look concerned by the action and Aspen suspected the man was fully willing to toss him out of his house like a street thief, the delicate cup and saucer still in his hands. “Trial by the House of Lords is a privilege, Your Grace, not a necessity. If your friend is so concerned, he may choose to be tried by the House of Commons,” Lord Yearling stated, starting to push himself forward on his seat as if readying to rise. Aspen gulped down his mouthful of tea painfully.
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