Good Earl Gone Bad (19 page)

A wave of relief washed over Hermione. “Of course.”

Then, stepping back a little to survey herself in the pier glass, she stared for a moment at her reflection. She'd never have considered herself to be a particularly timid person. It felt some days as if she had come out of the womb fighting and hadn't stopped since. But the beauty in the glass had a hint of doubt in her eyes. And for a moment Hermione wondered if this pretty girl would find it a bit easier to go through the world than the old Hermione had. She could not help but admit that a part of her was looking forward to marriage because it might give her the chance to re-create herself a bit.

Not that there was something wrong with the old Hermione. She had done what she had to do given her circumstances. But perhaps marriage would let her share the fight sometimes. Jasper's shoulders seemed strong enough for that.

A flicker of doubt made her wonder if it was a kind of betrayal to admit that she was tired of carrying the burden on her own all the time. But it was true, and she was deciding here and now that denial—which had been her constant companion since she'd got old enough to understand her father's vices—would have no more place in her life.

She only hoped that Jasper would make it a moot point anyway.

“Are you ready to go?” Ophelia asked, with a suspicious tremor in her voice.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione exhaled, took up her reticule and surveyed her bedchamber. Most of her things had been moved to the Mainwaring town house yesterday. It was not a room to which she'd had any great attachment, since she and her father had only moved there a few months ago. All her sentimental tears had been shed when they left the Upperton town house. Which made today's departure easier, to be sure.

“I am,” she said, turning to give her friends both hugs. “Thank you for your help. Both of you. I could have done it on my own, or with my maid, but it meant more to have my dearest friends at my side.”

“I wouldn't have missed it,” Ophelia said with a grin.

“Now,” Leonora said with finality, “let's go downstairs before some freakish mishap occurs and ruins your gown.”

They were laughing as they descended the staircase, but the giggles died when they reached the entryway of the house and saw that Greentree was in deep conversation with a lady dressed in all black.

“Who is it, Greentree?” Hermione asked, a sense of foreboding making her voice sound weak to her own ears.

“It is Miss Fleetwood from next door, my lady,” said the butler with an air of disapproval. “I have assured her that you are not receiving but she will not take no for an answer.”

Curiosity made Hermione step into the doorway so that she might get a better look at the woman whose scream she'd heard earlier in the week. “Nonsense, I have time for a short chat, though I do not think much longer than that.”

She did not elaborate on what her reason was for cutting short the meeting, but figured an unexpected guest didn't deserve to know. “Come with me, Miss Fleetwood, and we can speak in the small sitting room. Do you mind if my friends accompany us?”

Perhaps startled at being welcomed so soon after being denied entrance, Miss Fleetwood nodded, bemused, and followed Hermione and the other two ladies into the sitting room.

“Pray be seated, Miss Fleetwood,” Hermione said, gesturing to an armchair near the fire. “We haven't been properly introduced but I am Lady Hermione Upperton and these are my friends Mrs. Frederick Lisle and Miss Ophelia Dauntry.”

She took a moment to examine her guest, now that they were in a well-lighted room.

The other lady was rail thin, and her complexion indicated that she'd had perhaps been ill, for there was a sallow look to it. Her light brown hair was shiny, however, and had been dressed by someone who knew what they were doing. And her gown was fine enough. Not for the first stare of fashion, but neither was it the work of some village seamstress.

“I thank you, my lady,” said Miss Fleetwood, her voice hesitant, as if she hadn't spoken in some time. “I can see that you and your friends were on your way to some social engagement. I do not wish to keep you. But I did so wish to thank you for coming to my rescue the other day.”

“So it was you who screamed,” Hermione said, a little bubble of triumph rising in her. She knew she hadn't imagined it. No matter what Mr. Fleetwood had said.

“It was,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I know my brother lied to you, but he is very protective of me. And he has done his best to see to it that I'm not disturbed.”

“And why is that, if you don't mind my asking, Miss Fleetwood?”

At her bold question, Hermione could feel Ophelia stare at her with shock. But the lady clearly wished to be asked about the matter and Hermione was not one to mince words.

“I have been ill, Lady Hermione,” she said with a frown. “Very ill indeed. And unfortunately, I had news after your encounter with my brother that has not helped matters. My fiancé, you see. He was…”

The lady's voice trembled and, to Hermione's surprise, tears shone in her eyes.

“It's all right, Miss Fleetwood,” said Ophelia, handing the other woman a handkerchief. “Take your time.”

“Thank you, Miss Dauntry,” said Miss Fleetwood, visibly reining in her emotions. “It's just that Tony's death was such a shock. I cannot imagine that anyone would ever wish to murder him. It's unthinkable.”

“Murder?” Hermione asked. First Saintcrow and now Miss Fleetwood's fiancé? It was a wonder the streets of London weren't running with blood!

“Yes,” Miss Fleetwood said with a sniff. “Tony, Lord Saintcrow, that is, was murdered in his own house. And the worst thing about it is that they do not know who did it.”

*   *   *

At Miss Fleetwood's words, Hermione felt faint. “Did you say Lord Saintcrow?” she asked, trying not to show just how uncomfortable Miss Fleetwood's confession had made her.

“Yes,” Miss Fleetwood said with a nod. “I understand that he had some business dealings with your father? That is why I am here, Lady Hermione. I wished to know if perhaps your father knew something that might help the Bow Street runner my brother has hired to find out the truth of what happened to him.”

Good God, Hermione thought with an inward gasp. Mr. Rosewood had been hired by Fleetwood? What a coil!

“I'm afraid my father and I aren't that close, Miss Fleetwood,” she responded truthfully. “Indeed, though I did know that my father had lost some horses to Lord Saintcrow in a card game, I have no notion of the particulars of the affair. I did meet your fiancé once, but it was brief. He was quite handsome, though.”

She added that last in an attempt to say something good about the man. After all, she'd not been his biggest supporter after he stripped her of her grays in the presence of the entire membership of the Lords of Anarchy.

“Oh, he was handsome, indeed,” Miss Fleetwood said with a flash of animation that made Hermione realize just how beautiful she must have been before her illness. “And he was a good man. If a bit wild. I blame his driving club for some of that, of course. Tony was never so ungoverned as he was after he joined the Lords of Anarchy.”

Was there no other way in which the late Lord Saintcrow might have been entangled in Hermione's life? she wondered. Perhaps he was secretly the editor of her friend Leonora's poetry. Or was Ophelia's long-lost brother? Must he also have been a member of the Lords of Anarchy?

Though, if that were true, why hadn't he been driving out with the club that day in the park? She was new enough with the club that she didn't know the name of every member, but if Lord Saintcrow was so involved with the club that his fiancée complained about his exploits with them then one would think he'd have been with them in the park.

Aloud she said, “I am well acquainted with the club.” And since it would be easy enough for the other lady to find out, she added, “Indeed, I have only recently been admitted to the membership.”

At Hermione's admission, Miss Fleetwood's eyes widened. “You? But you are a lady. Surely ladies do not belong to such clubs.”

“It is only recently that they began admitting ladies,” Leonora spoke up, loyalty for Hermione in her voice. “Indeed, Hermione was the first lady to be admitted to the club. It was a true honor, bestowed upon her because of her excellent driving.”

A silence hung between them for a moment. Then, perhaps sensing that further condemnation of “such clubs” would do her no good in her present audience, she said, “I mean no disrespect. I am sure that you are not one of the members who pushed my Tony to take more and more risks. But there are some men among the membership who … well, I will say only that I hope you know what you are about.”

“No insult was taken, Miss Fleetwood,” Hermione said with a speaking glance at Leonora. Really, how was she to learn what the woman had against the club if her friends made her stop talking? “Perhaps you can tell me what happened and then I might be prepared for such behavior myself? For I admit I've only been a member for a few weeks. And I have not yet participated in any club activities.”

But the moment had passed. “It was nothing, Lady Hermione. Truly. I was probably only imagining things. If I'd known someone like you was a member I would have been less foolishly afraid of the club. Indeed, I think ladies must always be a softening influence on men, do you not think?”

A memory flashed in her mind of just how very … hard Jasper had felt the other day in her arms. Was she blushing? she wondered. Then, she remembered. The wedding! Jasper!

“Oh dear, Miss Fleetwood,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I am afraid that my friends and I must be off. I just recalled that we have a very important appointment.”

She rose, and took the flustered Miss Fleetwood's hand. “I am so pleased that you stopped by. And I do wish to hear more about Lord Saintcrow and what happened to him. If there is anything I can do to make the situation more bearable, I hope you will let me know.”

“You are too kind, Lady Hermione,” said the other lady with a smile. “I vow, I do not have very many friends. My brother is often so protective that he frightens off anyone who dares to get close. That is why I was so happy to have Tony.”

“Then you will have to come to tea once I am settled in my new home,” Hermione said impulsively, even as she was thinking of how soon she could recount Miss Fleetwood's tale to Jasper. “I will be at Mainwaring House in Grosvenor Square.”

The brunette's brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”

“We are on the way to Lady Hermione's wedding to the Earl of Mainwaring, Miss Fleetwood,” said Ophelia, clearly eager to be off.

Miss Fleetwood's gasp was evidence enough of her surprise.

“I'm sorry, Miss Fleetwood,” Hermione said, even as she and Hermione were handed into the waiting carriage by the lingering footman. “Do come for tea, though!”

And leaving a stunned Miss Fleetwood in their wake, Hermione her friends set out for St. George's Hanover Square.

*   *   *

“Where are they?” Jasper demanded for the fifth time in four minutes as he and the duke of Trent stood, along with Lord Upperton in the vestibule of St. George's Hanover Square.

“I am sure my daughter will arrive soon, Mainwaring,” said Lord Upperton with the grin of a man who was about to be relieved of a great responsibility. He was also, perhaps, pleased by the marriage settlements he and Jasper had worked out the day before which added to his personal coffers considerably. “I left orders for Greentree to have the carriage brought round at precisely nine-thirty.”

“Perhaps there is traffic, Mainwaring,” said Jasper's mother. Given the way she and his sisters had reacted to the news of his impending nuptials, he'd been surprised when all three requested to attend the ceremony, but he'd agreed easily enough. It would be better for everyone concerned if he and Hermione were able to begin married life on good terms with one of their families.

“She will be here,” said Trent. “Just be patient. You know how Lady Hermione is. It's entirely possible she chose to drive herself.”

At the notion of Hermione driving a coach and four to her own wedding, Jasper couldn't help but laugh. Leave it to him to marry the one lady in London who just might do so.

Even so, he doubted somehow that Miss Dauntry and Leonora would allow such a thing to transpire.

Just then, the doors were opened by a liveried arm, and a breathless Miss Dauntry stepped in, followed by Leonora.

And finally, Hermione.

Jasper took a moment to drink her in.

Her dark hair, which always appeared to be shiny and tidy, was today dressed in a looser, more feminine style which left a single curl to caress her neck. The blue morning gown was one he'd seen her in before, but paired with a brightly colored cashmere shawl it was more festive somehow. She was at once familiar and someone entirely new. And she would soon be his.

“Will I do?” she asked with a smile that told him she knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

“I believe you will,” he said with a grin, offering her his arm.

“I am sorry we were late,” she said in a low voice as they walked in an untidy procession to the front of the church. “I had a very interesting visitor. Which I will tell you about later.”

“Tease,” he said, not giving a fig who her visitor had been. All he cared about now was making this beautiful, stubborn, maddening woman his.

“I see everyone has arrived,” said the bishop with a brisk nod, as Jasper and Hermione and their guests took their places.

And then the ceremony began.

If he were entirely honest, Jasper would admit that he did not recall a word of what any of them had said. At least not beyond Hermione's firmly uttered, “I will.” When the clergyman was finished, he pronounced them man and wife, and before he knew what he was about, Jasper had lowered his head and kissed her—restraining the flare of passion he felt anytime she was in close proximity.