Julia Justiss (23 page)

The Rifleman rapped on the carriage wall, signaling the vehicle to halt. “We’re out of the village now, so I’ll ride the rest of the way outside. And I’ll let you know as soon as Davie learns anything.”

Belle felt a quiet satisfaction—the first glimmer of emotion she’d felt since Jack’s departure. Soon, she might have some evidence to offer Egremont and vindicate Jane.

If Jackman’s assistants could testify that Harris operated out of London in connivance with Mrs. Jarvis or some other bawd, surely the government would take action. But though the farm girls and the former soldiers should make credible witnesses, no one knew the whole story, save Belle and Jane.

She could write Egremont the details, but explaining it to him in person would be more effective. Besides, she couldn’t possibly send Jane alone to testify. Belle would have to go to London, as well.

Where, now that the Season was approaching its height, Jack would surely be.

She wouldn’t seek him out, of course. In fact, for the same pressing reason that had sent her from town in the first place, she’d have to take care to be seen by as few acquaintances as possible.

But—she might catch a glimpse of him driving down some street or riding in the park. There would doubtless be news about him, his mother or his sister in the society pages. She could let her heart splinter all over again as she read about the ladies he had danced with or called upon, or whom gossip said he was considering as a bride.

Such slow torture might be just the thing to rip him out of her heart and head for good.

Heaven knows, country isolation had done a poor enough job of it this past month.

That settled it, then. If Sergeant Jackman’s spies
brought back proof of Harris’s involvement in the scheme that had ensnared Jane, Belle would return to London.

T
WO WEEKS LATER
, Jack sat with a party of guests at his mother’s table in their London town house, nodding to the expensively gowned, pretty little thing who was his dinner partner. The chit, some acquaintance of Dorrie’s also being presented this Season, was embarrassingly eager to catch his interest, forever flapping her fan to attract his attention.

Unfortunately, Miss-Whatever-Her-Name-Was possessed no attributes beyond her lovely face and an impressively jutting bosom, which, though attractive enough, barely tempted his carnal appetites. He recalled how Belle, in that ugly gray gown buttoned up to her chin, had kept his senses as roused and alert through dinner as a soldier on patrol while he imagined removing it.

The young lady sighed and fanned her ample chest. Averting his eyes, he was tempted to sigh himself.

Conversation thus far had consisted of polite monologues on his part punctuated by her “oh, la!’s.” He wasn’t sure he had the fortitude to make another attempt.

His mind slipped away to the candlelit evening he’d spent with Belle discussing the accords reached by the Congress of Vienna. His lips curved in a smile as he pictured her, garbed in a gown far more conservative than the peek-down-my-décolletage garment of the chit beside him, her eyes sparkling, one pointing finger punctuating her argument.

The pang of loss pierced him like a saber slash, keen
enough to bring moisture to his eyes. Lord, how he missed her.

Though he’d still like to spit Lord Rupert on his sword and roast him over a Spanish campfire, the baron had probably done them both a favor. His feelings for Belle had deepened to such a point that he’d actually contemplated trying to talk her into marrying him. Had he coerced her to accept, society would have deemed it the most shocking mésalliance to titillate the ton since the elder Burney girl snabbled herself a duke.

Not only would their marriage bring Belle, instead of the acceptance that should be hers, almost certain contempt and social isolation, such a union would embarrass his mother, Lady Anne, quite possibly causing her to be cut by the highest sticklers among the ton. And it would likely cripple the chances for his innocent sister to marry well. Even if the young gallant now courting her had the backbone to wed her despite the infamy of that connection, the misery would widen as his family in turn was exposed to snide whispers and pointing fingers.

No, marrying Belle would be an act of selfish irresponsibility so vast he ought to be grateful Lord Rupert had made resisting the temptation unnecessary.

Prevented in spite of himself from doing the wrong thing, he could now get on with the business of doing what was proper with his life.

His achingly empty, unsatisfying life.

He knew his mother worried about him. She’d accepted his edited version of his accident, recovery and progress home without inquisitive comment. After several times
introducing the matter and receiving only stony silence in reply, she’d asked nothing further about the intentions he’d expressed in his letters home of seeking a wife. And while she continued to invite a variety of eligible ladies to dine—respectable widows and maidens a few seasons beyond their come-outs as well as the buds of youth unfolding their beauty in the Marriage Mart for the first time—he would sometimes find her reproachful gaze resting on him from the other end of the dinner table. And realize with a start that he must once more be gazing off into the distance instead of helping to entertain their guests.

He didn’t mean to appear rude. But even given that his still-sharp longing for Belle might have gilded his memories of her and their time together with too bright a luster, he could find nothing about any of the attractive, well-born maidens being trooped before him that struck a responsive chord or excited his interest.

Nor could he seem to prevent the momentary racing of his pulse as he drove down Bond Street or St. James or in the park and chanced to glimpse a tall, golden-haired lady. A spurt of excitement followed by disappointment and a short lecture to himself on the idiocy of subconsciously seeing Belle everywhere, when he knew quite well that she was permanently established at Bellehaven.

He would do his duty—eventually, he told himself. After a year or two, when Belle’s presence in his thoughts and senses started to fade, he might be able to stomach looking for someone to replace her in his heart.

If anyone ever could, he thought wistfully.

A sharp kick to his shin recalled him to the present.
“Jack, the ladies are retiring,” his sister said in an urgent undertone, glaring at him from her side of the table.

Feeling himself color, he jumped belatedly to his feet. He didn’t need to glance in his mother’s direction to know her exasperated gaze was fixed upon him, as well.

The young lady recently seated beside him shot him an injured look before curtsying to leave with the others.

“I’ll do better in future,” he silently promised his mother as she led her guests out.

Now for the brandy and cigars, he thought glumly. All he had to do was keep the liquor flowing and let the ton gentlemen present, most of them friends of his late father or fathers of Dorrie’s friends, natter on about horses, hounds and husband-hunting until they rejoined the ladies.

He took a deep drink from his own wineglass. This part of being a good host, at least, he could handle.

M
UCH LATER
, after they returned from the ball they’d attended after dinner and bade their mother good-night, Dorrie came over to take his hand.

“Would you sit up with me, Jack?” she begged, her bright blue eyes imploring. “I’m too excited to sleep, and I know you stay up half the night anyway.”

She looked so grown-up and lovely in the gown of white satin that set off her fair skin and dark hair, his aching heart eased. “Very well, little sister,” he agreed, twisting one of her silky curls around his finger. “But don’t even think of asking me for a glass of my brandy.”

“As if I’d want such nasty stuff,” she said scornfully as
she bade him follow her to the library. “James says champagne is the proper drink for a lady.”

“So now it’s ‘James,’ is it?” Jack asked with mock severity. “If that young cub is bandying your name about as freely you are his, he’d better be coming to me with an offer for your hand! And it’s ratafia for you, minx.”

His sister accepted the glass and waited until Jack was seated beside her. “I think he will. I do like him ever so much. He speaks intelligently of important things, like Parliament and tending the land and the tenants, instead of prosing on about the cut of a coat or the latest gossip. Would you approve, were he to call on you?”

“I should send him packing with his head under his arm!” he replied, and laughed as Dorrie punched him. “Though no one could be good enough for my baby sister, if you truly care for him, poppet, I’ll steel myself to let you go. But enjoy a whole Season first, eh?”

“I am enjoying it. But I do not think you are,” she added, her face sobering. “You always look so—serious. So ‘doing-your-duty’ that sometimes I wonder what became of the darling brother who used to tease me and cheat at cards—”

“I would never have won, else, you Captain Sharp—” he interrupted, trying to deflect her.

“And put me on my first pony,” she continued, undeterred. “Whose eyes were always laughing. They’re not anymore, Jack. Please, don’t tell me to hush! Mama said I shouldn’t tax you about it, that you would tell us what was wrong in your own time, if you spoke of it at all, but I hate seeing you so—so tense and unhappy! Was it the war, Jack? Everyone says Waterloo was horrible.”

He wanted to command her to heed their mother’s advice, but the pleading, tear-glazed eyes Dorrie raised to him made him bite back his first, angry response.

This was Dorrie, not some inquisitive dowager looking for gossip, and she loved him as much as he loved her.

“The horrors of Waterloo aren’t something I intend to share, poppet,” he said at last. “But I’m not suffering from nightmares of battle.”

“Then is it that woman?”

“That—” he echoed, breaking off in astonishment as he realized to whom she referred. God in heaven, gossip had grown to a fine art if tales of his stay with Belle had reached even his innocent sister. He felt the flush rising in his face, but before he could respond, Dorrie stamped her foot and shook a finger in his face.

“Don’t even try to give me that rubbish about how a gently born maiden shouldn’t acknowledge the existence of such a creature! Though I may have to sustain in public the tiresome pretense of knowing nothing of what transpires between men and women, I’m not a nodcock. We hadn’t been in London an afternoon before Lydia Lampton and Lady Ashcroft were sitting in Mama’s parlor, asking the most obnoxious questions concerning your accident and the ‘lady’ who had tended you during your recovery. Fishing for information, though Mama gave them none. She’s told me nothing either, so I don’t know whether she knows more or not. But Jack, I don’t want to be shut out of something that concerns you so nearly! And if this…this Jezebel broke your heart then I should like to shoot her!”

“Such intemperance, little girl,” he said, staving off a reply while he tried to determine what he ought to say. “Take care you don’t scare away your proper young suitor.”

He should probably turn aside her questions as best he could and send her to bed. But he hated to have her believe the distorted, inaccurate picture of Belle ton gossip would doubtless have given her.

And it was far too sweet to speak her name.

“Mama would doubtless blister my ears for discussing this with you, and if you repeat to a soul anything of what I’m about to say, I shall banish you from London before that obliging gentleman makes you his offer. But I can’t have you thinking ill of Lady Belle. She’s a beautiful, accomplished woman who showed the utmost kindness in nursing me after my injury. I did form an attachment, ill advised as that was. But nothing will come of it. I’m as cognizant of my duty to marry well as you are, poppet.”

Dorrie was silent for a moment, apparently weighing his comments. “And what of your heart, Jack?”

What of it indeed? he wondered, all too conscious of its constant ache. “Hearts heal, Dorrie.”

“On a diet of duty?” she said dubiously. “My dearest Jack, I so want you to be happy!”

“I’m sure I shall be, eventually. You’re a darling to be concerned for me, but you mustn’t trouble your pretty head over it. I shall come about.”

She studied him, as if not believing his claim.

Which was understandable, since he scarcely believed it himself.

“I hope so. Especially now that I’ve found James, the notion of embracing duty for the rest of one’s life seems repugnant. Will you not consider your choices again?”

“Perhaps you just need to introduce me to more of your charming friends.”

She grinned. “An excellent notion! In fact, that was the other thing I wanted to talk with you about. There’s a young lady only lately come to town, but so witty and intelligent, she’s quickly become the best of my friends. I do so want you to meet her! We’re going riding in Hyde Park tomorrow morning. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“You will wake early enough to ride?”

“She’s country-bred like me, so the Season has yet to turn either of us into slugabeds,” Dorrie replied. “Proceeding at a walk during the promenade hour is so annoying, ’tis more than worth rising early to be able to indulge in a gallop! Though I do enjoy London, I shall still be ever so glad to leave it at the Season’s end.”