Good Earl Gone Bad (18 page)

And with her head held high, the Countess of Mainwaring swept from the room like an empress flouncing away from her court.

Hermione did not sit back down until she heard the door close behind her. At which point she collapsed into her chair.

What on earth had she agreed to? And how had Jasper possibly grown up into such a kind man? He had his moments of haughtiness and austerity, but he was as different from his mother as chalk from cheese.

Thinking back to Lady Mainwaring's parting words, she wondered if she ought to let her fiancé know that his mother had paid a call upon her.

Surely the lady would not jeopardize her son's reputation just for the sake of hurting their match. She was the matriarch of the family after all, so what harmed him harmed her as well.

But mothers had done less to ensure that their sons married where they wished. Lady Mainwaring, it would seem, was less concerned with her son's reputation than with her own.

Hermione might not be sure just how to respond to the lady's warning, but she did know one thing.

It was time that someone began to look out for Jasper.

And she was more than happy to be the one to do it.

*   *   *

When Jasper returned home from his visit to Sir Richard, it was to find his sister Evelina waiting for him by the front entrance.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked mildly once he'd handed his hat and gloves over to Greaves. “It isn't like you to lie in wait, Eve.”

But Evelina shook her head, and wordlessly took him by the arm and led him into the small sitting room Greaves reserved for those guests who did not live up to his high standards.

“What is it?” Jasper asked, curious at his sister's actions. She'd seemed to have got over her pique at his betrothal to Hermione since he'd seen her last, but her peculiar behavior had him rethinking that assessment.

“Mama has just returned from paying a call on Lady Hermione,” Evelina said, her brows drawn. “I do not know what was said, but when she returned she was in a towering rage. Muttering about headstrong young ladies without the sense to listen to their elders. And she wrote a note to Aunt Hortense.”

His mother's sister, Hortense, was the second wife of the Marquess of Thayne, and one of the most powerful social leaders in the
ton
. A word in Hortense's ear would be enough to ruin a lady's reputation permanently. And he had little doubt that is what his mother hoped her sister would do once she received her note.

He swore, unsure whether he should go to Hermione, or attempt to intercept his mother's letter before the damage was done.

“Tell Greaves to send the footman to retrieve it,” Evelina said, reading his mind. “I will stay here to watch for it.”

“Why are you helping me with this?” he asked suddenly. It had seemed as if, when he broke the news of his betrothal to his family, that neither his sisters nor his mother would ever forgive him.

“Truth?” she asked with a rueful smile. “It occurred to me that ever since Papa died, you've always taken care of us. Perhaps it's time that someone decided to take care of you for a change.”

Touched, Jasper gave his sister a quick hug. “Thank you,” he said with a grin.

Then, retracing his steps into the entrance hall, he took back his hat and gloves and set out for Half-Moon Street.

*   *   *

Hermione was in the stable behind Half-Moon Street, when she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her.

Turning from where she watched as a groom checked the hoof of one of the horses Lord Payne had sent to replace Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Hermione saw that Jasper stood diffidently in the open area between the opposing rows of stalls.

“I don't mean to interrupt,” he said with a smile. But she could see that his brows were furrowed, and that something was obviously bothering him.

His mother must have told him about her visit, she thought with an inward sigh.

Nodding her thanks to the grooms, she turned and indicated to Jasper that they should go back to the house.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the garden of the Upperton house, and Hermione had taken a seat on the bench beneath the rose arbor.

“My sister, Evelina, informed me that my mother paid a visit to you today,” he said tightly. “And that the interview did not go well.”

She took a moment to really look at him. To see the little furrow between his brows that appeared whenever he was worried or upset. And the way his fists were clenched at his sides. He was clearly unhappy about what had happened. But she was unhappy to realize that she did not yet know him well enough—or rather did not know his relationship with his mother well enough—to know whether his anger was at her, the situation, or Lady Mainwaring.

Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she nodded. “Yes, she did. And unfortunately, I do not believe she was very happy with me.”

“May I ask what it was she said exactly?” he asked, fidgeting with the quizzing glass that hung from his waistcoat. “I suspect it wasn't very polite.”

“May I ask you something first?”

At his nod, she continued, “Why is your mother so distrustful of your decisions?”

He had been bracing for her question, and when he heard it, he sighed.

“May I?” he asked, nodding to the spot on the bench beside her.

At her assent, he lowered his tall frame to sit next to her. She felt the warmth of his body along her side. They didn't touch, but his nearness was comforting somehow.

“When my father died,” he began, staring out into the overgrowth of the garden, “I was just a boy. I was the earl, but unable to take up the reins of power until I reached my majority. My uncle was my guardian, but he left much of the day-to-day running of the estate to my mother.”

She tried to imagine what Jasper must have been like as a child. What it must have been like for his mother—newly widowed—to be left not only with the well-being of three small children to see to, but also the day-to-day running of the estate. Surely there were stewards and secretaries, but even so it would be a great deal of work.

“And your mother became accustomed to being the one in charge?” she asked aloud.

“Indeed,” he responded with a nod. “And when I came into my majority and began to make decisions on my own, she had a difficult time giving that power up.”

“It's understandable, I suppose,” Hermione said diffidently. As a woman who had fought against the seemingly arbitrary rules that governed patriarchal society, she could guess what it must have felt like to control the vast Mainwaring estates. What it had been like to command not only the household staff but also the running of the estate. And what it would have been like to give all that power away to her son when the time came.

“Of course,” he responded with a wry smile. “And I admit that I was grateful for her counsel at first. She is not a simpleton, my mother. And having her input when I was struggling to figure out the best way to go about handling things was a relief.”

He would have been a handsome youth, Hermione guessed. Perhaps a little gangly, not having grown into his height yet. And perhaps a little full of himself, as all young men are at that age. Even so, he would not have been cruel or indifferent to his mother. She couldn't imagine him behaving in such a way.

“But there came a time when I had to cut the apron strings,” he said sadly. “And it was not pretty.”

“Did she fight you over it?” Hermione wondered, looking to where his hand lay clenched on his thigh. Would he object if she were to take it in her own? Smooth out those clenched fingers?

“Worse,” he said turning to look at her. “She challenged me in front of both the steward and my personal secretary.”

“Oh no,” she said, her heart aching for both mother and son.

“I had to speak to her in strong terms,” he went on. “Otherwise I'd have lost the respect of every man on the estate.”

“I take it she was not best pleased with your response?”

“She was devastated,” he said with a sigh. “It was as if I'd denounced her before the whole of the world. Never mind that I was a grown man who had to take up the running of a massive estate. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate all she'd done for me. Of course I did. But there comes a time in every man's life when he must forge his own path. And so I asked her to reserve her future input for the housekeeper and maids. And that I thanked her but would appreciate her refraining from giving her opinions on matters that were none of her concern.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione said, wincing.

“It was not my most diplomatic maneuver of all time,” Jasper said wryly. “And since then we've been at war in one way or another. We are constantly at cross-purposes, and she has grown more fractious as the years have passed.”

“And so when you told her of our betrothal?” Hermione asked, almost not daring to hear the answer.

“She and both my sisters were quite vocal in their opposition to the match,” he said, reaching out to take her hand in apology. “I'm afraid my sisters were upset on their own behalf, afraid that your notoriety would reflect on their matrimonial prospects. And my mother was angry out of sheer spite, I think.”

“She told me that she did not wish for my family's infamy to further tarnish the Mainwaring name,” Hermione told him. “Your own frequency at the tables having already rubbed some of the perfection off.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever wish that you could simply run away and leave your entire family behind to fend for themselves?” he asked.

“I believe you've met my father,” Hermione said with a half smile. “I wish it every day. The only thing that keeps me from going is the fact that I would miss my friends. Leonora and Ophelia are closer to me than any real sisters I might have had.”

Jasper nodded. “That's what Freddy and Trent and I used to say. Only substituting sisters for brothers, obviously. We would look quite silly in gowns.”

“I don't know,” Hermione said playfully, “you'd make a very pretty girl, I think. What with those long lashes and rosebud lips.”

“Yes,” he agreed, bringing their joined hands up to kiss hers. “Until my whiskers began to show, which happens around five o'clock in the evening. Then there would be some serious explanations in order.”

Hermione tried to stifle it, but there was no help for it. She laughed. And soon they were both wiping their streaming eyes.

“I'm sorry Mama was so awful to you, Hermione,” he said into the companionable silence. “I cannot promise you that she will make your life as a Mainwaring easy. But I do think my sisters have come around. Well, one of them has come around. We'll have to see about the other.”

“I know it had nothing to do with you,” she said, kissing him impulsively on the lips. And when he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, and hold her close so that he could deepen the kiss, she let him.

When they were both breathless, he pulled back. “I think I am very glad we are planning to marry tomorrow,” he said with a pointed look. “Otherwise I think we might find ourselves in a fair bit of trouble.”

She had little doubt her cheeks were as rosy as her newly kissed lips. “Speak for yourself,” she said with mock asperity. “I am quite able to control my impulses.”

“Hm,” he said with a wry grin. “Are you the same lady who let me put my hand—”

Her eyes wide, she put her hand over his mouth before he could finish. “Do not say that out loud,” she hissed. “Anyone could hear you.”

“Let them hear,” he said. “It's not as if we aren't planning to wed tomorrow. But for your delicate sensibilities, I will refrain.”

And the notion that Lady Hermione Upperton, newest member of the Lords of Anarchy, had any delicate sensibilities at all set her laughing again.

 

Fourteen

“It's lovely, Hermione,” Ophelia said with an awe in her tone that made Hermione tremble a little.

“Truly, Hermione,” said Leonora, who stood with her hands clasped before her, tears threatening.

Her friends had come hours early that morning, saying they were there to help her dress for the wedding, though Hermione was perfectly able to do so on her own.

Well, with her maid, but still …

“I was so hoping you would choose the deep blue. I'm quite pleased you did,” Ophelia said now, stepping back to survey Hermione from the tip of her gleaming dark hair to her fine kid slippers.

“I may not be the fashion plate that you are, Fee,” Hermione said with a half smile, “but I know what looks good on me, at the very least.”

“You do indeed,” said Leonora with a grin. “Who would have thought?”

“I hope you will agree,” Ophelia said, turning to rummage in the bag she'd brought with her, then turning to raise a fine cashmere shawl in triumph, “that this looks good on you, indeed.”

Without waiting for Hermione to respond, Ophelia opened the fine fabric and showed her the intricately patterned wrap. Unfurling it, she wrapped it carefully around her friend's shoulders. “There, that should do it.”

“Something old,” Hermione said, pointing to her gown.

“Something new,” Ophelia said, gesturing to the filigree hairpin she'd given as a bridal gift.

“Something borrowed,” said Leonora, arranging the ends of the shawl over her bosom.

“And something blue,” said Hermione with a sweep of her hand to indicate the skirt of her blue gown.

“Can you use the same item twice?” Hermione wondered with a frown. She wasn't of a particularly superstitious nature, but considering the way in which this match had come about, she was not going to tempt fate if she could help it.

“Of course!” Ophelia said, though a small indentation between her brows belied her confidence.

“Your eyes count, do they not?” Leonora asked.