Pride and Pleasure (18 page)

“Let us hope you see the end of Miss Martin’s troubles.” Jasper pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He cursed.

“Running behind again, are you?” There was laughter in the earl’s voice. “Tardiness is becoming a habit with you. Here I thought you would corrupt Miss Martin’s finer points, but perhaps the opposite is true.”

Jasper might have been chagrined if not for the fact that the swifter time passed, the sooner Eliza would be his wife. “Step lively, Westfield.”

But haste didn’t help him achieve his aim. Although they arrived at Miss Chilcott’s shop within posted business hours, the proprietress was not in evidence.

“Shoddy way to run a new business,” Westfield muttered, tilting his head back to eye the pink-striped awning.

“Only if you mean to make a success of it. By your accounts, the Chilcotts aren’t ones to work for their keep.”

Jasper waited for Peter Crouch to return from checking the rear exterior staircase leading to the domicile on the second floor. When the young man appeared, he was shaking his head.

“Damn and blast,” Jasper muttered. “I cannot wait for Miss Chilcott to return. I’m to meet Montague at Remington’s in an hour to discuss his idiotic mining speculation.”

Westfield looked at him. “Despite an imminent wedding and the nefarious Miss Chilcott, you still won’t allow Montague to meet his own fate? You know as well as I he’s destined to destroy himself.”

“He and his family owe me far better than that. I want his destruction to come by
my
hand, and I will not rest until I’ve seen the deed through to the last.”

The earl sighed and turned away from the building. “I’ll accompany you to Remington’s, then part ways with you for the evening. With the announcement of Miss Martin’s engagement to you, you won’t be needing me to gain entry to anyplace you choose to go. I, however, am in dire need of a strong drink and a soft woman. Or two.”

“Easy on the drink,” Jasper said, walking back to his horse.

“And ride hard on the woman? Excellent idea.”

Neither man could see the eavesdropper in the room above them. She sat on the floor beneath the barely raised sash and listened to the masculine voices drifting up to her. A smile curved her lovely lips. With a rapacious gleam in her blue eyes, she began to plan . . .

 

It was difficult for Eliza to refrain from fidgeting when she knew she was to be married the next day. However, the Cranmores’ ballroom was not the place to appear anxious.

A few years had passed since she’d last been invited to a Cranmore event. Lady Cranmore was a consummate hostess whose entertainment innovations were often copied, and her expertise was widely evident tonight. Tulle and ivy wrapped Ionic columns. Harp players filled every corner with music when the orchestra was quiet. Outside, the rear lawn was dotted with dramatically blazing torches. The result was one of Grecian decadence, and everyone in attendance appeared to be in high spirits.

Eliza, however, was feeling high-strung. She was filled with a mixture of exhilaration and apprehension such as she’d never known. Tomorrow, she would be wed. After so many years of making certain she did nothing as her mother would have, she was no longer allowing Georgina to rule her actions from the grave. Which made every aspect of the coming day momentous.

“I am so pleased,” Lady Collingsworth said, looking at Eliza with bright eyes. “I must confess, when you told me you would be married tomorrow, I doubted I could do justice to the occasion with such short notice.”

Personally, Eliza thought nothing more than family and close friends were necessary, but she guessed that saying so would only disappoint and hurt Regina. “Thank you,” she said instead. “You’re too kind to me.”

“Stuff.” Regina waved one gloved hand carelessly. “I had given up on your ever marrying. I’m so very happy you found someone precious to you after all.”

“Precious,” Eliza repeated, her head turning to find Jasper. He stood on the edge of the ballroom speaking with Montague. She’d previously taken note of Westfield’s absence.

“You are full of surprises lately,” Regina murmured. “To think . . . Secret proposals from
two
of the most eligible bachelors of the ton. Absolutely delicious. Does Mr. Bond know who his competition was?”

“Yes.”

“Lord Montague is being laudably gracious. Look at him speaking so civilly with your betrothed. And what a pair they make. From this distance, one could almost imagine them as brothers.”

“My understanding is that the similarities between the two exist only on the exterior.”

Regina leaned closer. “Your tone is intriguing.”

Eliza lowered her voice to a whisper. “Have you ever heard anything of a worrisome nature about Lord Montague?”

“Such as?”

“Never mind. There are some things it’s best not to know.”

“You cannot initiate such a topic, only to abandon it!”

When it became apparent Eliza would say no more, Regina snapped open her fan with a flourish. “Hmph . . . With your engagement, I’d hoped that poor Rothschild girl would finally capture Montague’s attention, but you have me wondering if he’s not such a prize after all.”

“Jane Rothschild?” Eliza frowned.

“Over there.” Regina gestured to where Miss Rothschild was hovering behind a column near Montague and Jasper. “See how she stares at him, looking so forlorn? I’ve noticed her lingering in his general vicinity, as if she hopes he’ll notice her. Her behavior is sadly untoward, but exception must be made for her common origins.”

Jane was a pretty girl with soft brown hair and eyes, and a rather curvaceous figure. An air of melancholy clung to her. Perhaps it was the way her mouth turned down at the corners, or how she shifted so restlessly, as if the disquiet inside her was so great it manifested itself physically.

“Montague told me he attempted to court Miss Rothschild,” Eliza said, “but she was unreceptive.”

“I cannot believe that,” Regina scoffed. “Her parents would pay a fortune for an earldom, and her actions speak for her.”

Eliza could argue with neither point. Curious, she excused herself and moved toward the other woman. Why would Montague say Miss Rothschild was averse to his suit, when it appeared she was in fact openly seeking his regard? It was a puzzle, especially considering how dire Montague’s financial situation was reported to be and how wealthy the Rothschilds were.

As she drew closer, Montague parted from Jasper and moved toward the open doors leading to the moonlit garden. Jane prepared to follow the earl outside, but Eliza spoke out.

“Miss Rothschild. How are you this evening?”

Jane cast an almost frantic glance at Montague’s back, then faced Eliza with a weak smile. “I’m well, Miss Martin. Thank you for inquiring. Congratulations on your betrothal.”

With proximity, Eliza noted Jane’s wan complexion and the dark circles under her eyes. “Thank you. Would you care for something to drink? A lemonade, perhaps?”

“No.” Jane looked out the door again. “I’m not thirsty.”

Jasper’s voice drew Eliza’s attention. His gaze was blatantly inquisitive.

Jane bolted. “Excuse me, Miss Martin. I wish you a good evening.”

Eliza gaped as the woman hurried out to the garden.

Drawing abreast of her, Jasper queried, “Is everything all right?”

“I doubt it.”

He leaned over her, his proximity far too close to be seemly, but she couldn’t complain. The thrill she felt at his nearness was worth any censure.

“What do you know of your stepfather’s relations?” he asked.

“Extremely little. I avoided speaking with him whenever possible.”

Jasper’s gaze moved over her face, searching. “What was it about him you disliked so intensely?”

“You would have had to know my mother to understand. She was . . . erratic. Impulsive. What she needed was a firm hand, such as my father’s, but Mr. Chilcott was overly indulgent. He encouraged her wild notions and sudden changes of agenda. His enabling of her behavior led to their deaths. She decided they absolutely had to travel north to celebrate the passing of six months of marriage. She ignored warnings of muddy roads due to torrential downpours, and he didn’t have the sense or will to stay her.”

“I see.”

Eliza looked out to the rear lawn, but could no longer see Jane Rothschild or Lord Montague. The Cranmores had a heterogeneous garden featuring a hedgerow maze, a pagoda, various-sized obelisks, a recreation of a Grecian temple ruin, and a gazebo covered in climbing roses. It was an expansive outdoor space that could not be seen fully while standing in the ballroom.

“What are you looking for?” Jasper asked.

“Escort me outside.”

With one brow arched in a silent show of curiosity, he offered his arm and led her to the garden.

They reached the gravel-lined path beyond the terrace and began to stroll. There were several groups of guests enjoying the many sights, but the distance between parties was sufficient to keep the conversations private.

“What, precisely, are we doing?” he inquired.

Although she was focused on finding Jane Rothschild, Eliza was taken by Jasper’s warm tone. She glanced at him. “We’re searching for a quiet corner.”

“Are you attempting to compromise me, Miss Martin?”

“I confess, the notion is tempting. If you were of a mind to steal a few moments of my time away from prying eyes and ears, where in this garden would you go?”

He raked their surroundings with a considering glance. “Not the maze. Nor the gazebo. The temple might have promise, if you could restrain those sweet whimpers of yours that drive me to distraction.”

“You are not quiet in your pleasures either.”

“Because of you, love. Only with you.”

Her breath hitched at his endearment. Embarrassed by the depth of her reaction, she looked away . . . and noted footprints moving off the pathway onto the adjacent lawn. She tugged Jasper’s arm to stay him, then pointed at the ground.

His lips pursed, contemplatively.

Only two prints were visible before the rest became hidden by low-lying ferns. A large Italian alder spread its branches above them, providing a slightly shadowy cover from the moonlight.

Releasing him, Eliza looked around to be sure no one was watching, then she followed the trail by stepping deliberately into the preceding footprints. She knew Jasper was with her even though she didn’t hear him behind her. As she approached the tree, she picked out the sound of voices. One was feminine and pleading, the other masculine and biting.

Jasper caught her elbow and pulled her to the side, then urged her to crouch behind a boxwood shrub. Eliza bunched up her pale green skirts to keep the hem from becoming damp and dirty. They were on the far side of the tree from where they’d left the path. She couldn’t see the other couple from their vantage, but the sound was much improved.

“You cannot leave me in this state!” Jane cried.

“I can do anything I desire. Haven’t we already determined that?”

The identity of the speakers was clear to Eliza. When she looked at Jasper, she knew he recognized Montague’s voice, if not Jane Rothschild’s.

“You leave me no choice,” Jane said, with steel in her tone. “I shall tell my parents what you did to me at the Hammonds’ house party. They will know I carry your child.”

“Is it mine?” Montague rejoined smoothly. “I think not. You are a promiscuous piece of baggage. I’m certain I can locate others who would attest to sampling your dubious charms.”

Jasper jolted physically, eliciting Eliza’s concern. Reaching out, she set her hand atop his forearm and found it to be hard as marble. He looked stone-faced and furious, his jaw clenched so tightly the tautness of the muscles was visible. He did not, however, look the least bit as surprised as she knew she did.

“I was untouched,” Jane said with more dignity than Eliza thought she would manage under similar circumstances. “You forced this child on me. You must make this right. Your misdeed can no longer remain hidden.”

“Rape is a serious allegation, Miss Rothschild. In fact, I find it so egregious I’m considering leveling an allegation against you in response:
scandalum magnatum.
While antiquated, it would still serve to protect my good name. You would go to prison, Jane, for libel against a peer of the realm. Not the most hospitable accommodations for a woman who is
enceinte.
”

“You’re a monster. Vile and debased. Filled with the devil’s own taste for depravity and lust.”

“And you want to wed me.” Montague laughed. “What does that make you?”

“Desperate,” Jane hissed.

Eliza swayed with a rush of nausea. Jasper grabbed her elbow and stood, dragging her up with him. He propelled her away from their hiding spot and back out to the pathway, nearly running into Sir Richard Tolliver and his sister, who were strolling away from the manse.

“I say,” Tolliver muttered. “What were you doing back there, Mr. Bond?”

Jasper moved to step around the siblings. “We were momentarily lost.”

“Lost?” Tolliver snorted. “Ridiculous. Have you no care for Miss Martin’s reputation? Certainly my sister and I will be discreet, but you should—”

“Your discretion is appreciated. Excuse us.” Jasper gave a quick bow and set off toward the house, forcing Eliza into an indecorous pace to keep up.

As they fled, she glanced behind her. Tolliver was engaged in spirited debate with his sister. Chagrined to have been caught stumbling out of the bushes with Jasper, Eliza was turning her gaze forward again when a shifting shadow beneath the alder caught her eye. A chill moved through her.

Had Jane Rothschild noted their departure? Or worse, had Montague?

“F
orgive the delay, Mr. Reynolds.” Eliza hurried into her study. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”

Reynolds rose swiftly to his feet. “My apologies, Miss Martin. I have some information I feel you must know, and I thought it best to bring it to you directly.”

“Oh?” Rounding the desk, she sat for the first time since breakfast. She shot a quick look at the window, noting the persistence of the early morning drizzle. In her opinion, the gray and overcast sky was ill-fitting for her wedding day, but she thought it matched Jasper’s mood of the evening before. He’d seen her safely back to Lady Collingsworth, admonished her to stay far away from Montague, and departed in a rush. She was anxious to see him again and ascertain how he was feeling on the day of their wedding. “My curiosity is duly aroused.”

Her man of affairs remained standing for a few moments longer; his attention caught by the parade of footmen and hired staff flowing past the open doorway. “I don’t recall ever seeing such a flurry of activity on the premises.”

“Mr. Bond and I are to be married late this afternoon,” she explained, somewhat startled to realize she would rather return to the interrupted fitting for her wedding gown than participate in a discussion of business matters.

“Married?” Mr. Reynolds lowered himself into his chair. “So soon?”

“Why wait?”

“I wish you happy, Miss Martin. But I’m also exceedingly grateful I called on you this morning.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your sentiments.”

He nodded. “As for why I’m here . . . By some stroke of good fortune, my father’s employer, Lord Needham, recently learned of a business associate who was approached by Lord Montague to join the investment pool you asked me to look into. My father began an investigation into the viability of the speculation at that time, which was a few days ago. Sadly, it would appear it
isn’t
sound, and we recommend against participation.”

“I see.” Eliza couldn’t muster even a modicum of concern for Montague. She was still horrified to realize how consummate his façade was, how perfectly it shielded him, and how ugly he was behind it.

“Considering Lord Montague’s financial state, I wondered why he would risk his few remaining funds on such a risky prospect. Once again, my father was of great assistance. It seems Lord Needham was a player in a card game that also boasted Lord Westfield and Lord Montague as participants. Lord Westfield was the victor, and the winnings included the deed to a property in Essex that has been in the late Lady Montague’s family for generations. Montague is said to have been overwrought at the loss, which was instigated in large part by Westfield. I assume the property has sentimental value. It’s Montague’s last remaining unentailed holding. He sold everything else long ago.”

“Instigated?” She frowned. “In what way?”

“Montague was prepared to withdraw from the game when Westfield put a deed into the pot. He then went to great lengths to goad Montague into doing the same by making thinly veiled references to Montague’s poor financial situation. It escalated to the point where Montague was faced with the choice of folding under the cloud of insolvency or continuing in an effort to maintain the guise of affluence.”

“Dear God,” she muttered, somewhat disgusted by the carelessness inherent in gambling. She valued her financial security too deeply to leave its fate up to chance. “I still don’t see how Westfield can be held in any way responsible for Montague’s stupidity.”

“The property Westfield wagered is actually deeded to Mr. Bond.”

Eliza went very still for a moment, then she exhaled in a rush. “Well . . . that alters the situation a bit, does it not?”

The Earl of Westfield was an extremely wealthy man who owned both entailed and unentailed properties. If he wished to gamble with such high stakes, he didn’t require Jasper’s means to do it. Jasper, however, held a deep dislike for Montague, and he’d apparently been aware of the earl’s dissolute and immoral private life. He would insist against Westfield risking anything in the process of providing assistance, and so would supply the property to be wagered to mitigate any possibility of loss.

What had Montague done to garner Jasper’s wrath? And how far was Jasper willing to go to gain whatever recompense he sought?

Reynolds continued. “Westfield also ensured Montague’s bet by offering unusual terms: if Montague lost, he would have until the end of the Season to buy the marker back. Albeit at considerable expense, far more than the property is worth.”

“Montague thought he had little chance of losing the deed permanently.” Her hand lifted to her knotting stomach. Would Jasper go so far as to marry her to prevent Montague from gaining access to her funds, which the earl could then use to recover his marker?

“I believe the investment pool Lord Montague is forming is actually a means to gather the funds necessary to regain his mother’s property before time runs out. He can tell the investors later that the speculation was unsuccessful, resulting in a loss, or perhaps he intends to marry or gamble successfully to repay the investors without the pressure of an end-of-Season deadline.”

“It is tremendously hazardous to play such games.” In truth, she couldn’t care less whether or not Montague was ostracized. It was the very least he deserved. She spoke only to fill the silence, absentmindedly attempting to hide how unsettled she felt.

“Montague seems to have little choice.” Reynolds looked grim. “I cannot help wondering how involved Mr. Bond is in this affair. Is he assisting Lord Westfield? Or is Westfield assisting him? And why?”

She kept her face impassive. “The Rothschilds would gladly take Montague as a son-in-law, but he resists. If he was of a mind to recover his deed, he could do so through Jane Rothschild’s dowry.”

“Montague would never marry Miss Rothschild,” he scoffed. “Both of her parents are of common stock. Montague has approached only tradesmen to invest in his pool, and he refuses to gamble at tables where commoners are seated.”

“I am astonished at how little I knew about someone I saw with fair regularity.”

“Is the same not true of the man you intend to marry today?”

“No.” She said no more. There was no need to explain her or Jasper’s personal affairs.

“With his participation in Westfield’s wager, Bond, too, is playing a hazardous game against a peer of the realm. And his profession . . . will he continue it? If so, doesn’t that present a separate set of challenges? The danger he faces daily will be brought home to you. Those he angers will seek you out—”

“Is that all, Mr. Reynolds?” she said sharply. She could hardly tolerate hearing him speak so reasonably about a matter she was too emotionally invested in to view impartially. Where was her good sense? Her reason? Her desire for self-preservation?

“I’ve angered you. That was not my intent.” His stiff posture deflated. “Providing you information with which to make decisions has been my position for so long, it’s now second nature to me. But I should know better than to step into your personal and private affairs.”

Eliza immediately regretted her harsh tone. “This is as uncharted for me as it is for you. I will never hold your concern for me against you. Your loyalty is why I retain you, after all.”

“I promise to speak no more on the matter. Not ever.”

“Please, rest easy, Mr. Reynolds,” she said softly, because her throat was too tight to allow for greater volume. “I didn’t make my decision regarding Mr. Bond lightly.”

“I understand. Your feelings are engaged. I should be celebrating your good fortune, not questioning it. Lord knows having my wife, Anne, in my life has made my world a richer place.” He managed a smile. “There is risk in love, but it can be worth taking.”

Eliza searched her own heart, something she was not accustomed to doing. She’d always questioned what purpose feelings served when the reasonable course of action was best decided with the mind. But it seemed her heart refused to be denied. Even now, it raced with something akin to panic at the thought of losing Jasper. Despite everything she’d learned from her mother, and everything she knew from observation, and everything years of dealing with her own business affairs had taught her, she couldn’t imagine turning away from him now. Despite whatever his goals or motivations might be. Despite the heartache she invited by proceeding with marriage to a man who hid so many things from her.

She—a reasonable woman who prized her equanimity to the point of excessive caution—was faced with the realization that the only avenue she could bear taking was the most hazardous and unreasonable one.

She’d given Jasper her trust, and she would not take it back. She couldn’t. She loved him too much.

 

Jasper turned away from his bed, where several garments were laid out for his selection. He smiled at Lynd, who entered through the sitting room door. His mentor held a folded square of white cloth in his hand. When Jasper accepted it, he saw the letter
L
embroidered in the corner.

“It was my grandfather’s,” Lynd explained, shoving his hands into the pockets of his overly elaborate coat of fine wool. He rocked back on his heels in an uncustomary nervous gesture. “It was passed to my father, then to me. I want you to have it on your wedding day.”

The monogram distorted as Jasper’s eyes stung. Lynd was the closest thing to a father he’d ever had. It meant a great deal to him that Lynd regarded him as a son. “Thank you.”

Lynd waved the gratitude away with a shaky hand.

That telltale sign of deep emotion goaded Jasper to step forward and embrace his old friend. There was a moment of crushing, then back slapping.

“Who would have thought you would marry an heiress?” Lynd said in a gruff voice. “And an earl’s niece in the bargain!”

Jasper set the kerchief carefully on his bed. “I’m not certain
I
will believe it until the vows are said and the deed done.”

“The chit is fortunate to have you. If she has a brain in her head, she knows it.”

“She’s the most intelligent person I know. Oddly humorous. Lacking all guile.” Glancing around the room, Jasper remembered Eliza in the space. “And passionate in ways one would not expect.”

“I certainly would not expect it,” Lynd muttered. To which Jasper laughed.

Lynd studied him with an odd half-smile. “She has changed you. I didn’t realize until this moment that this is a love match.”

Jasper breathed deeply. He hadn’t named his feelings for Eliza. Perhaps he’d been afraid to. He wanted and needed her, and he could have her. He’d been content with that.

Turning away, he gestured at an ensemble of light gray breeches, a silver-threaded waistcoat, and a charcoal gray coat. “What do you think of this?”

Lynd drew abreast of him and set his hands on his hips. “Have you nothing less plain?”

Remembering Eliza’s commentary on Lynd’s need for a proper tailor, Jasper hid a smile and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. This is for you, you see. I cannot have you better dressed than me at my own wedding, can I?”

Wide-eyed, Lynd looked at him. “You would have me at your wedding?”

“I would not have the wedding without you. Who will stand beside me, if not for you, my old friend?”

Lynd’s nose reddened, swiftly followed by his eyes.

A knock came from the open doorway. Jasper looked over his shoulder. Patrick Crouch stood on the threshold with the top of his head nearly touching the lintel. “There is a woman ’ere to see you. I told ’er you weren’t seeing anyone today, but she mentioned Lord Montague and I thought I should tell you.”

“Is she still here?”

“Aye.”

Jasper moved to the chair by the door where he’d tossed his coat earlier.

Lynd cleared his throat. “I’ll come down with you.”

They descended to the ground floor and took up positions in Jasper’s study—Jasper leaned into the front of his desk, while Lynd settled into a wingback with one ankle set atop the opposite knee. In short order, a petite brunette entered the room. She was lovely, with sable-dark hair and cornflower blue eyes. Her back was ramrod straight and her head held high. She declined to pass her fur-lined cape and muff to the butler, and spent a long moment sweeping the room from one end to the other with an examining glance.

Finally, she returned her attention to Jasper and said, “Mr. Bond, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Francesca Maybourne.” She brushed off the immaculate damask of his settee with a gloved hand before perching delicately on the edge. She fluffed her rain-dampened skirts with little regard for Jasper’s rug.

Lynd rolled his eyes.

Jasper crossed his arms. “This is my associate, Mr. Lynd. How can we help you, Mrs. Maybourne?”

“I trust I have your discretion,” she said in a clipped tone.

“I would not be successful in my profession if I weren’t discreet.”

She weighed his assurance for a second, then nodded. “My sister is in trouble, Mr. Bond. I’m at my wits’ end trying to help her.”

“Can you elaborate?”

She met his gaze directly. “Eloisa is young and impetuous. She has yet to learn how to deny herself anything. Recently, she began a flirtation with the Earl of Montague. I thought it was ridiculous, but relatively harmless. After all, my sister is a married woman.”

Jasper’s brows rose.

“However, it has come to my attention that Lord Montague is a scoundrel of the worst sort.” Mrs. Maybourne’s nose wrinkled, which softened her sharpness somewhat. “My sister came to me this morning in tears. It seems Lord Montague asked her for a token of her affection. I was horrified when she told me this! To give irrefutable evidence of an indiscretion . . . I cannot imagine what she was thinking.”

“What was this trinket?”