Julia Justiss (13 page)

“Actually, he was no happier about taking me there than you are that I went and refused absolutely to do so until I threatened to go alone. If their country will do nothing for them, someone else must. To determine how best to help, I had to see for myself what they need.”

Lane’s gaze flew to her face. “
You
intend to help them? How? I trust, in your womanly compassion, you don’t plan to bring any scrawny guttersnipes here!”

The warmth his concern for her had generated began
to chill. “Those ‘scrawny guttersnipes’ risked their lives in battle after battle so you might be able to sit in London at your leisure and sip port!”

“I don’t mean to disparage the soldiers’ service. But the war is over now. ’Tis time they found some useful occupation, instead of loitering around gin shops and taverns grumbling about their fate and agitating against the government. Only think what happened to the Frogs when their lower orders were allowed to dissent.”

His reactionary views stifled the last of her sympathy. “These men, who’ve taken the King’s coin, aren’t interested in revolution,” she replied impatiently. “All they desire is what should be freely offered them—a chance to engage in honest labor and earn enough to house and provide for their families.”

Lane manufactured a thin smile. “So, how many are we to employ?”

“One household cannot provide enough work even for those I’ve already met and I suspect there are many more. No, a much more comprehensive solution is needed.”

Lane’s frown returned. “Just what do you intend?”

“I am not yet perfectly sure. I must talk with my solicitor and make a more thorough canvass of the needs within the community. Perhaps I shall purchase a rural property where those who have farmed can lease land and establish a school to train the widows and youngsters.”

Lane’s frown ceded to a look of paternalistic indulgence. “A laudable aim, my dear,” he said, patting her hand, “and a tribute to your feminine sensibilities, if wholly impractical! But your trustees would never approve such an expenditure.”

For the second time that day, Jenna had the pleasure of shocking a gentleman by replying, “I have no trustees, dear cousin.”

His expression was gratifyingly shocked. “No trustees? Surely you are mistaken! A female—even one as
brave and accomplished as you, my dear—simply isn’t capable of managing finances. Consult your solicitor, but I’m certain your papa, fine officer that he was, set up proper provisions for your protection.”

At least Nelthorpe, Jenna thought, by now thoroughly irritated with her cousin, had not questioned her ability to manage what was her own, despite his surprise over the admittedly unusual arrangement. “If you doubt my word, cousin, then you may consult him about it.”

“Well, we shall see, I suppose,” he said after a short silence. “However matters stand, though, I beg you to think long and carefully before you attempt to implement so…radical a plan. Capable as you may be in other areas, you know nothing of managing agricultural property. The mere expense of purchasing a tract large enough to permit the scheme you’re envisioning would be enormous!”

“By happy chance, so is my fortune.”

“Even so, such an outlay might make severe inroads upon your principal. Bah, I shall not attempt to explain, but this could adversely affect current and future income.”

Curbing the strong desire to frame a retort demonstrating her mastery of the intricacies of fund management, she decided to take another tack. “Oh, la, will it be as harmful as all that? Such a downturn in my fortune might make me a less attractive prize on the Marriage Mart. I must warn dear Lady Montclare of the sad fact, don’t you think, before she wastes any more time on me? Perhaps tonight at the musicale you and Aunt Hetty are pressing me to attend.”

Lane sighed. “You are displeased with me, I see. But in my defense, let me protest that if I interfere, it is only because I care deeply about your well-being. I cannot stand by and see you taken advantage of by miscreants too lazy to earn their own keep—or fortune hunters pursuing their own gain.”

“Then do me the honor of believing I am capable of guarding myself and my fortune from such dangers without assistance. If you’ll excuse me, cousin?”

“I shall see you later, then, Jenna.”

Turning her back on Lane’s bow, Jenna at last escaped into her room.

She supposed Cousin Lane did wish the best for her, Jenna thought as she closed the door, though perhaps it was his hope of persuading her into matrimony that drove his concern that she not squander any of her fortune. If his regard was inspired more by her purse than her person, this conversation should bring about a chill in his ardor.

Interestingly enough, the odd thought occurred, though he’d first expressed the same surprise as her cousin at the terms of her father’s bequest, Anthony Nelthorpe had then accepted the arrangement without further question.

Nor, despite her cousin’s insinuation, had he hinted he hoped to figure as one of the beneficiaries of her largesse. His concern for the displaced soldiers—and the shame she’d seen in his face that he could do little to assist them—showed her this reputed rogue did possess the heart Betsy had claimed. And he had seemed willing to let her follow hers without dispensing paternalistic advice.

Of course, Lane Fairchild had never seen her organize and manage an army camp on the march.

Still, he evidently preferred that she remain ignorant of the injustices within their society and leave dealing with difficult or dangerous matters to gentlemen.

Perhaps there
was
something to be said for a rogue.

A
T MIDMORNING THE NEXT DAY
,
Tony paused in the front hallway before setting out. Observing the headway Sergeant Anston and the new maid were making in clearing away years of dirt and neglect made him feel buoyed and hopeful. Perhaps he could meet the challenges facing him after all.

Now, to get to the truth of Jenna’s accident.

Having been informed during their conversation at the musicale last night that she planned to consult her solicitor this morning, he was confident that when he reached Fairchild House, Jenna would not be at home. Whereupon he would ask to speak with Sancha, that she might convey a message from him to her mistress, as she often had on his visits during Jenna’s convalescence.

Fortunately, since Sancha was unlikely to believe that excuse, their mission yesterday seemed to have raised him in her esteem. Out of curiosity, if for no other reason, he was reasonably sure she would agree to meet him.

He arrived at Fairchild House to learn, as expected, that Jenna was out but that the maid would be down shortly. “What is it your lordship wants of Sancha?” she asked as she entered the room a few minutes later.

“You are devoted to Lady Fairchild,” he began.

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “
Si.
I make the vendetta against
any
who harm my mistress.”

From the tone in which she made that pointed pronouncement, Tony gathered that though her opinion of
him might have risen somewhat, his position in Sancha’s good graces was by no means secure.

“I, too, am very concerned about Lady Fairchild’s safety. For her own protection, I must ask that you repeat to no one what I am about to confide in you. Will you swear that, by the Blessed Virgin?”

Her eyebrows raised. “It is serious, this danger?”

“I am not sure, else I would act, but it could be deadly. I wish to take no chances. Will you swear?”

Sancha made the sign of the cross. “By the Blessed Virgin, I will tell no one. What harm threatens my lady?”

“Did it not seem strange to you that your mistress, as experienced a rider as she is, would take a fall during a ride through the park?”

“I am surprised. But when her
esposo
die, her heart die with him. Since then, she pays small attention to what happens about her.”

“Did her horse truly need shoeing the day she borrowed Mrs. Thornwald’s mount?”

Sancha raised her eyebrows. “This, I do not know. The horse was re-shoed, that is certain. Why ask you this?”

“Was there no talk among the servants about how odd it was that the head groom made no mention to her of the animal’s unusual disposition?”

“They say they expect he thought Mrs. Thornwald or Mr. Fairchild had told her.
Madre de Dios!”
Sancha gasped. “You think someone meant to harm my lady?”

“I know two women ready to rejoice at her misfortune,” he replied grimly. “After pondering the matter further,” he lowered his voice to ensure no passing servant might overhear, “I realized someone else might be even more pleased if Lady Fairchild were never brought to bed of a son. The man that son would displace as viscount.”

Sancha fixed her shrewd eyes on him for a long moment. “A viscount has much power and wealth, no?”

“Who can guess what heinous act a man might commit to retain his grasp on such a prize?”

“There is much wickedness in the world,” Sancha agreed. “But this Bayard, cousin to my lady’s husband, does not seem interested in such matters. Always he stays in the cellars, mixing his strange powders.” Sancha crossed herself again. “Doing the devil’s work, perhaps!”

“If Jenna had borne a healthy son, they would no longer be
his
cellars,” Tony pointed out. “Nor his house, nor, probably, his funds to continue his experiments, though I don’t know yet what revenue he has. Have you heard it said—even in a whisper—that her fall might have been other than an accident?”

Sancha shook her head. “Nay, I hear only sadness for my lady’s loss. Much talk it caused, the groom being dismissed, but all approve Mr. Fairchild’s action.”

“Was the groom angry? Contrite? Guilt-striken?”

“This, I do not know. Only that he left before sunrise the day after my lady’s fall.”

Disappointed that Sancha could only confirm what Jenna had already told him, Tony continued, “Might you be able to find out where that groom is now?”

“One of the housemaids is cousin to him. I can ask her.”

“If you can discover his direction, I’d very much like to speak with him. Let me call again—Thursday, perhaps—and see what you have learned.”

Sancha nodded. “If weather is fine, I will make sure my mistress goes riding. Come and send for me, like today.”

Tony felt a flicker of excitement. In just a few days, he might be on his way to uncovering whether there was
in fact something sinister about Jenna’s accident. “Excellent! If my fears are groundless, we will have done no harm—but if they are not, we may be saving your lady from even graver injury. Remember, though,” he added, “to be very careful, for if her cousin should have been responsible for this, she would be in great danger should he discover anyone suspects him.”

“If someone hurt my lady, we must find him. And if she is in danger, we must protect her,” Sancha agreed.

“You have ever been her loyal friend. Thank you.”

The maid nodded, then curtsied and walked him to the door. “Perhaps I was wrong, my lord,” she said as she paused on the threshold, a hint of a smile in her solemn eyes. “Perhaps you are not so evil any longer.”

Pleased with the interview, Tony limped after her. While he hoped his fears
were
groundless, having spent much of his young manhood in roguish company, he could not help but suspect wrongdoing when an accident befell someone who threatened great wealth and aroused strong emotion.

Had someone paid off the groom to substitute an unfamiliar, unstable mount, intent on triggering a fall?

A fall that might insure no male child would supplant Bayard Fairchild as the next viscount.

Her family would have known of her condition—and how many others? Might Garrett’s spiteful former lover have decided she could not bear watching Jenna parade before the ton the child of the man she’d spurned—but still cared for? Or would causing Jenna to truly “lose everything” been necessary to complete the revenge of a grief-deranged widow who held Jenna accountable for her husband’s death?

Accepting his coat, gloves and walking stick from the butler, Tony descended the stairs and took the hackney the Fairchild footman summoned for him. Propping his
knee on the squabs, he wondered whether he should warn Jenna.

No doubt the lady would insist she had a right to know. Certainly she’d shown she possessed a cool head and the ability to function in a dangerous situation. Still, unlike himself, Jenna was an honorable individual who would find it difficult to credit that anyone would wish her ill, especially a member of her husband’s own family.

Worse yet, he realized, if circumstances
should
implicate someone within the Fairchild household, Jenna would be understandably furious at learning one of Garrett’s own blood could have schemed to deprive her of their child. Honest as she was, she might well find it impossible to hide those feelings, thereby putting herself into further danger by revealing the suspicion.

Since she’d already lost the babe that threatened the succession, she should be safe for the moment, as long as whoever arranged her fall—if indeed someone had—did not learn anyone was investigating the incident. Better, he decided, to say nothing to Jenna, gather more information—and keep a closer watch over her.

That last posed no hardship, he thought with a smile. And though initially she’d roundly abused his character, of late he’d detected indications that she was growing fonder of him. A bittersweet, aching hope washed through him that she might become more than just fond.

Having already survived Waterloo, he dare not hope for a second miracle. And it would surely require an act of divine intervention for the widow of Garrett Fairchild to look with more than fondness upon the half-crippled, nearly destitute and completely unsuitable Anthony Nelthorpe.

Though involving her in the plight of the army families had turned out to be a master stroke, bringing out
glimpses of the fiery Jenna of old. What a magnificent woman!

Of course, once she was fully herself again, she would have no further need of his help. With a pang of guilt, he had to admit to hoping the pace of her recovery did not quicken overmuch, that he might continue to enjoy the tantalizing delight of her company.

And tantalizing it was. Just thinking about her brought back in a rush the desire that always pulsed just beneath the surface. How wise he’d been to make tempting her, as she constantly tempted him, an intricate part of their bargain. Not only did his not-so-veiled innuendoes remind her of the need to improve his character, it saved him the surely hopeless task of trying to mask his attraction. An attraction she shared, at least in part, even if she wouldn’t allow herself to acknowledge it.

As long as he could link the duration of their bargain to her promise to turn him into a man as worthy as the husband and father she’d lost, he should be guaranteed her company for a very long time.

Along with the deal offered him by Harris’s father, that would be the best thing that had happened to him since surviving Waterloo.

L
ATER THAT EVENING
,
Jenna allowed Lane Fairchild to hand her into the carriage. “Do hurry, Jenna,” Aunt Hetty’s aggrieved voice said from behind her.

“Since the event is to honor Waterloo veterans, ’tis likely to be even more crowded than usual,” Lane explained.

“I’m surprised there are enough veterans in London to justify two fetes within the same week,” Jenna remarked.

Lane chuckled. “If Lady Charlotte Darnell held a very successful fete, then the Countess of Ellsmere must needs have one even more lavish. The countess has considered
Lady Charlotte ‘une rivale amicale’ since they debuted together in their very first Season.”

“It is most unfortunate, Jenna, that you refused Lady Montclare’s offer to accompany us tonight. It could be very injurious to the family if the Countess takes offense at your befriending Lady Charlotte. With her intimate knowledge of the ton, Lady Montclare could help avoid any damage,” Aunt Hetty said.

Jenna had no intention of apologizing for having evaded being saddled with Lady Montclare’s company for the whole of the evening—bad enough that she would doubtless suffer her presence and advice during the function itself. Nor would she express regret at having accepted Lady Charlotte’s offer of friendship.

She recalled how congenial their lunch had been today. Far from expressing disapproval at Jenna’s foray into east London, Lady Charlotte had been admiring and deeply sympathetic to the plight of the soldiers. She’d assured Jenna she would ask her friend Lord Riverton, who held an important government post, to see if it were possible to do something for them through official channels. She’d also recommended that Jenna establish a philanthropic trust to augment her own efforts and pledged to contribute to it.

Indeed, Lady Charlotte was the only one Jenna had met thus far within London Society who seemed to understand the grief she bore and her need to work through it her own way—one that didn’t include a hasty remarriage.

Except for Nelthorpe—although he wasn’t precisely a Society member in good standing. Would he attend the fete?

Though it bothered her to admit it, she regretted missing his visit this morning. She was also eager to discuss with him what she’d learned from her solicitor.

She could almost hear him advising her, with that rogu
ish glint in his eye, not to give a rap about trying to navigate her way through whatever undercurrents of jealousy surrounded tonight’s hostess and her newfound friend.

To her surprise, she was finding he shared more of her views than she would ever have credited upon meeting him again mere weeks ago. He also cared deeply about the soldiers whose welfare was now her most pressing interest. And thanks to the silly bargain she’d agreed upon, they would be allies of a sort for a few more weeks.

Could she truly hope to turn Anthony Nelthorpe into a principled gentleman in so little time?

Recalling the caress of his gaze upon her, warmth flushed her cheeks and tension spiraled in her belly.

Did she really want to?

A sharp rap from Aunt Hetty’s fan recalled her. “Jenna, you are not attending, and ’tis important!”

“I’m afraid Aunt Hetty is correct, Jenna,” Lane inserted with a placating smile. “I realize you may not yet be aware how such subtle intrigues can create lasting good or harm. Perhaps it would be wise to seek out Lady Montclare immediately upon our arrival, that she may advise you on how best to greet the countess.”

Jenna nearly laughed at the absurdity of asking counsel on how to properly say hello, but a glance at Lane’s face showed him to be quite serious. If scores were indeed kept over so trivial a matter as one’s friendship with rival ton hostesses, then she’d best see about removing herself from London Society as soon as possible.