by Donna Hatch
But that was insane. He knew better than to go down that path, tantalizing and fleeting and made only for the lucky few. Not for Grant.
The following day, as they made ready to return to London, Grant glanced at Clark. “You heard nothing below stairs?”
“No, sir. Most of the servants like their employers and don’t say nuthin’ bad about ’em--them.”
“Anyone new?”
“A few.”
“Any of them say something odd, something about the country’s leaders, or the rich in general?”
“Nothing.”
No, that would be just too easy for one of them to announce he wanted to kill the prime minister.
Downstairs in the great hall, the guests made a great commotion as they prepared to leave. Though tempted to skip all the inane pleasantries, and an awkward last scene with Jocelyn, he made a point of bidding farewell to the host and any guest who crossed his path.
“Glad you came, Amesbury,” Fairley said. “I hope to see you again. Call on me any time.”
Grant bowed and said goodbye, keeping his face composed so no part of his encounter with Fairley’s daughter would be apparent.
Jocelyn appeared, smiling as if nothing unusual had happened between them. If anything, her smile beamed brighter and her eyes danced wickedly. “Papa, since Mr. Amesbury is recovering from a recent head injury, don’t you think we ought to offer him a ride back to London in the town coach with us? I’m sure it will be more comfortable.”
Grant almost choked. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
“But if you should suffer any pain or dizziness—”
“Clark will be there to assist me. I really must be off—urgent business in Town. But thank you both.” He bowed and all but fled.
He strode as quickly as possible without running outside to where Clark waited. “Let’s go,” he barked.
Clark, accustomed by now to Grant’s moods and mannerisms, made no comment. They traveled quickly and without incident to London. During the journey, Jocelyn’s kiss tormented him, tempting him to seek more.
They reached London that evening. Dusk fell as he rode into the familiar streets. Fog hovered over the Thames and stretched lifeless fingers into the surrounding neighborhoods. Grant returned the horses and left Clark at home. Unwilling to let the case rest overnight, Grant immediately went to see Barnes. The magistrate often kept late hours and would likely still be in his office. Grant wound through the streets until he reached the Bow Street Office.
Lamps burned in the building, a pale defense against encroaching darkness. Grant entered and passed through the entryway and reception area toward the magistrate’s private office, led by the soft murmur of male voices.
Inside Barnes’s domain, he found the magistrate with Connor Jackson. Both men brightened.
Barnes motioned him in. “Amesbury, what news?”
Jackson eyed him speculatively, his eyes glittering in the lamplight. “You survived polite company at the house party, I see. Nice haircut.” He smirked. “Find anything useful?”
Grant threw himself into a chair. Weariness from the journey tugged at his strength. “I believe we can eliminate Fairley as a suspect.”
Barnes leaned forward. “What do you mean eliminate?”
“Not only is there nothing in his character that leads me to believe he or his supporters are capable of it, but they have little to gain by it. And the evidence is too neatly stacked, too easy to find out in the open. My instincts tells me it’s not him. I’m certain.”
Jackson’s brow crinkled. “But the two informants who bargained for a lighter sentence—”
“Could have been bribed,” Grant said. “Or could be part of the conspiracy. Some men are desperate or fanatical enough to die for their cause. We’ve seen that before.”
Jackson lifted his brows and nodded. “Like the Luddites.” Shaking his head, he cursed. “I believed the informants were telling the truth.”
Grant held out his hands. “They honestly wanted you to think Fairley is involved.”
Barnes turned pensive. “Or they actually believed it. They might have been fed information.”
A wall clock ticked and the lamp on the desk shone brightly, holding the darkness at bay. Outside, men’s voices raised in a drinking song.
Barnes shook his head. “I know I said evidence could be planted, and it still might, but I really believed Fairley was involved.”
Grant shook his head. “I’m telling you; we’re looking in the wrong place.”
Barnes let out a long breath. “I was sure. But I trust your instincts. They’ve never let us down before.” He grimaced. “To tell you the truth, I wanted to believe it of Fairley. We have a rather…unfriendly history.”
Seeking an explanation, Grant glanced at Jackson, but he shrugged.
The magistrate continued, “But being unwilling to be a gentleman and step back when we were both vying for the favors of a lady—a lady, I might add, who was betrothed to me—doesn’t make him a traitor. It appears I allowed my judgment to be clouded.”
Grant’s world tilted. Barnes had been wrong; led by his own prejudice. Grant never thought he’d see the day. But at least Barnes was man enough to admit it.
“I could be wrong…” Grant began.
Barnes waved him off. “I don’t think so. Deep in my mind, I had this little niggling doubt that anyone of Fairley’s wealth and power and standing would risk it all for a political position, with so little to gain. But I wanted to believe any man who’d steal my girl…” He offered a tight smile. “Just to be sure, I want you to continue to dance attendance on him. Keep planting little seeds of discontent in case he, or anyone near him who might be leaving you a trail, decides to invite you to their meeting. Meanwhile, the rest of us will look for other possible leads.”
Grant tugged at his cravat until the knot untied. “If it didn’t happen at the house party, I don’t think it will but I’ll keep up the game.”
Barnes rubbed his chin absently, and his eyes half closed the way they did when he went into deep thought.
Jackson toyed with his ring and glanced at Grant. “Are you in danger? If the plotters know you are working with us—”
“Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll let them think they have us fooled until I find out who is leaving me a breadcrumb trail. Then I’ll wring them for information.” He glanced at Barnes. “And if it really is Fairley, I’ll wring him, too.”
Even if it meant breaking Jocelyn’s heart. His first duty was to England. The thought of bringing her sorrow put a weight on his shoulders. But it wouldn’t come to that; Fairley was innocent and Bow Street was being played.
They discussed more about the case—what they knew and what they only thought they knew. Finally, Barnes eyed Grant. “Go home. You look like you’re ready to fall out of your chair.”
Jackson raised his eyebrows but Grant scowled and waved him off. “I’ll watch the warehouse and see if anything shows up. If I weren’t already known at Fairley’s, I’d try to get hired on as a servant so I could investigate the staff as one of them.”
Barnes glanced at Jackson. “You up for that?”
“Always. I’ll go right now and inquire about a position.”
Grant said, “Fairley’s daughter will help us get you placed in the house.”
Barnes steepled his fingers. “Why would she do that?”
Grant paused. There were so many ways he could answer that question, and none of them appealed. He settled with, “She appears to have developed a fondness for me.”
The other two men exchanged glances of surprise. Barnes finally said, “That isn’t your style.”
“No, it isn’t.” He steered the conversation away from that topic. “I’ll discuss it with her when she and her father return to London.” He bade them goodnight and left before they could question him.
Outside, lamplighters set street lamps aglow like sentinels against encroaching darkness. A ship’s bell clanged and dogs
barked. Fog swirled around his legs. As he walked along the street, he hailed a passing cab and climbed in. Leaning back against the squabs, he closed his eyes.
He would see Jocelyn Fairley again. He didn’t know whether to curse or smile. For sanity’s sake, he should avoid her presence for a long time, perhaps indefinitely. But, of course, the wretched whims of fate would throw him back into her presence. A dark place in his heart actually lightened in anticipation. What a disheartening revelation. Soon he’d turn into some kind of sonnet-spouting, flower-picking, pathetic fool. Or worse, he’d waste every moment searching for signs of treachery until he crushed all hope of a future with her.
He’d tell her what he needed, bid her good evening, and walk away from temptation, from stupidity. From failure.
The following evening, he took a hansom cab to the Fairleys’ house. Within minutes, he stood in the foyer awaiting Miss Fairley with anticipation and dread.
He cursed under his breath. She was a mere girl. Nothing he couldn’t handle.
Silk rustled, drawing his attention. A voluptuous figure clad in a simple pink evening gown entered the foyer. Smiling, her eyes wide in surprise, she drew near. Her animated expression, her unpretentious smile assaulted his protective armor.
“Grant Amesbury. What a lovely surprise. We will be dining shortly; won’t you join us?”
“I need to speak with you.” He spoke a bit more harshly that he’d intended, but the sight of her, and the thrill of awareness that shot through his veins, put him on the defensive.
Her smile faded a shade but she nodded. “Of course.” She stepped closer, and her sweet, warm aroma of violet and vanilla tickled his senses. In a lowered voice, she asked, “Did you find something?”
“We want one of our Runners to pose as a house servant here.”
She nodded. “Good idea. He might overhear something that only a servant would. I’ll tell the head butler that we need a…what shall I tell him we need? I don’t suppose he could serve as a footman, could he?”
Grant nodded. “He’s done it before.”
“Perfect. We lost a footman just yesterday. I’ll inform the head butler I know of an experienced footman seeking employment and to give him a chance. Tell your colleague to come to the back door tomorrow. Can he bring references?”
“He can.” Not that they’d be legitimate, but he’d have something convincing-looking. Barnes would see to that. “His name is Jackson.”
She smiled, her expression soft. “I’m glad you knew you could trust me.”
Trust. He shied away from the word. And yet, it didn’t seem impossible with her.
“My thanks.” He offered a curt bow.
“Are you sure you don’t wish to dine with us? We’re only having a simple family meal, but we welcome your company.”
“No.” Then, in an afterthought, added, “Thank you.”
She stepped closer to him. A teasing light gleamed in her eyes, and she said softly, “You don’t have to avoid me, you know. I won’t bite you now just because we kissed.”
He choked. No demure little miss here. A refreshing change, actually, except that she was probably deliberately trying to provoke him. Her lips drew his gaze, tempting, taunting.
Her smile turned wicked. “Or are you trying to refrain from dragging me to the nearest dark corner and repeating your performance?”
Her shot hit too close to home and left him with the urge to squirm. He didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or scold her. Audacious girl. “Good night.” He turned to leave.
“Grant.”
He froze, glanced over his shoulder.
The flirt vanished and in her place stood a friend. “You can count on me. Come to me for anything you need.”
He dipped his chin in a brief nod. She saw him out. Her smile imprinted in his mind and remained before his eyes all the way home. It took all his self-control not to race back there and claim another kiss to feel more alive than he had in years. Giving into that urge would make himself vulnerable to pain. He should never let down his guard in the presence of a woman. They were conniving. Deceitful. Treacherous.
Yet, none of those words stuck to Jocelyn Fairley. She was everything sweet and lovely.
Besides, he needed to stop blaming all women for the actions of one. Even his jaded mind recognized his bitterness was slowly devouring him.
Chapter 20
Jocelyn sent for the head butler immediately after dinner and informed him of her desire to hire a friend of a friend. Owens, with little choice but to heed his mistress’s request, agreed. Curious about the man who worked with Grant at Bow Street, she made a point to happen along when the new footman would be shown around. A tall young man built like a prize-fighter, with dark hair and patrician features stood with the butler, listening intently at Owens giving him directions.
She paused deliberately. “You are the new footman, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am. Jackson, at your service.” He bowed.
Oh a whim, she said, “I am going on a brief shopping expedition this morning, Jackson. I wish for you to accompany me.”
If her sudden interest in the footman surprised Owens, his years of conditioning kept his expression impassive.
Jackson bowed again. “As you wish.”
Jocelyn sent a message to Aunt Ruby, inviting her to join her for a morning of shopping. If she couldn’t, a maid might serve in a pinch but wouldn’t really qualify as a true companion. Fortunately, Aunt Ruby replied that she needed new gloves and shoe flowers, so she would be delighted to join Jocelyn.
At the appointed time, Jocelyn donned her hat, pelisse, and gloves, and went outside to the waiting carriage. Jackson stood nearby, resplendent in the family livery.
She smiled. “I’m impressed they found livery that fit you so well in such short time.”
Looking down, he ran a hand down the front. “The housekeeper altered it for me.”
“Thank you for coming with me. I know you must think it odd that I’m taking you away from the house, but I wanted to have a moment to speak with you and didn’t know how to do it without appearing odd.”
“I understand.”
As she climbed into the carriage, she took his hand and slipped a folded paper into his palm. “A list of servants we’ve hired in the last year. I thought you might start with them.”
“Good idea.” As soon as she got settled, Jackson closed the door.
After a brief ride to Aunt Ruby’s house, Jocelyn danced up the stairs and raised the door knocker, anxious to tell her aunt about everything that had occurred and to seek her advice about Grant.
Inside her aunt’s house, Ruby tied on her hat. “How was the house party, dear?”
Jocelyn smiled. “Lovely. And eventful. But that’s not why I’m here.”
Aunt Ruby’s eyes glittered. “Eventful? How promising. Do tell me all about it.”
“In the carriage.”
Moments later, Jocelyn and Aunt Ruby swept out the front door and into the coach outside. Jocelyn offered Jackson a smiled of comradery. He, in return, adopted the perfectly respectful mien of a footman. Jackson helped them in, closed the door, and took his perch at the back of the coach.
Inside the carriage, Ruby turned to Jocelyn expectantly. “Well?”
Jocelyn drew a breath. “First, the bad part. And it’s bad.” She studied her hands.
Aunt Ruby placed a hand over hers. “You can tell me.”
Amid tears, Jocelyn told all about delivering the Johnson’s baby, her failure, her sorrow. With an arm around her, Aunt Ruby listened. All the while, the carriage clattered over the streets.
As Jocelyn’s narrative wound down, Ruby embraced her. “Oh, my sweet girl. You did nothing wrong. Some things are out of our hands.”
Jocelyn took out a handkerchief. “I know, but—”
“No, sweeting, no ‘but.’ You did as well as any midwife or doctor. There is nothing anyone could have done about the cord. There is no blame, no failure. It just is. As
your mother always used to say, ‘Bad things happen. We don’t have to like it.’”
Jocelyn laughed sadly. “She did used to say that.”
“Now. Tell me the rest—the part about Mr. Amesbury.”
“Well, I raced headlong down a flight of stairs at the ruins, and he leaped in and saved me. He got hurt—rather a frightful head injury. But he seems to be mostly recovered.”
“Ah.” Ruby smiled knowingly. “And now you’ve lost your heart to him, have you?”
Jocelyn returned her smile. “I’m afraid so, but that’s not the only reason. We’ve talked, shared some very personal things. And he’s kind to children.”
“And does he return your regard?”
Jocelyn hesitated. “He seems to have some affection for me. But he’s very wary.”
Ruby nodded. “Closed up tighter than a drum, that one is. Consider that it might be due to his heart having been broken.”
“Do you think so?”
“It could be. ‘Once bitten, twice shy.’”
Jocelyn turned over that thought. The carriage swayed as it turned a corner. “I thought it was because he was in the war and saw too many terrible things.”
“That could be part of it. I have heard of men feeling unworthy of love after seeing and doing acts of violence. But not everyone comes home from war broken. Everyone copes with it differently.”
Sorrow for all he’d suffered ate away at her. “What do I do?”
“Prove to him that he can trust you. That will take time. And perhaps some persistence. Did he kiss you?”
A hot blush heated her face. “I kissed him first. But then, yes, he kissed me.” She let out a lusty sigh. “And what a kiss. I have hardly slept since.”
Ruby chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “Men like him don’t give their hearts easily, and not without good reason. You’re a good reason. You just need to make sure he sees that.”
The carriage rolled to a stop on Bond Street, and they turned their attention to shopping. First, they paid a visit at a Glover for riding gloves and evening gloves, and then at a millinery where Aunt Ruby ordered a hat to wear with her new walking gown. Lastly, they shopped for shoe flowers and hair ribbons. Jackson followed unobtrusively behind, carrying their parcels while they added to his burden.