Jack (The Jaded Gentlemen Book 4) (27 page)

For she’d kissed Jack back, and that had been something of a puzzle. The fellow kissing Miss Hennessey had known exactly what he was about. The lout
who’d been the beneficiary of Lucy Anne’s holiday kiss under the mistletoe had been utterly uninspired, from what Jeremy had seen.

Lucy Anne had found him uninspired, and her opinion decided the matter.

“Miss Hennessey might fancy you more than you think,” Jeremy said, which was awful of him. Miss Hennessey was a lovely woman, and probably
accustomed to men stealing kisses. “She did take the dog cart out last night, and I’m told her destination was that darts tournament. Perhaps
she wanted to admire your deadly accuracy with Cupid’s arrow, hmm?”

Jack closed the scented box with a snap. “Madeline took out the dog cart?”

“You and Pahdi took the sleigh, and it’s not like the snow is fresh-fallen. We still had a foursome at whist, and Mama doesn’t begrudge
anybody an occasional social outing.”

“The Weasel was very crowded,” Jack said, rising. “I was intent on keeping the peace and leading my team, which objectives were not
always in the same direction. You’ll choose a puppy for Miss DeWitt?”

Jeremy stood as well. He’d come in here, thinking to sort through his situation regarding Miss DeWitt aided by recourse to Scripture, but a snippet
of Ezra had gone ’round and ’round in his head, about being too ashamed and embarrassed to ask for the Lord’s guidance… and that
had led to recollection of the kisses engendering his embarrassment.

Such lovely, lovely kisses they’d been, though far too few in number. Lucy Anne was a quick study, also fragrant, lusciously endowed, adorably
inventive with her hands, and sweet to the tongue.

“I will certainly choose a puppy for the lady,” Jeremy said. “I’m your brother. It’s the least I can do.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d understand. You might lurk about under the mistletoe too. Miss DeWitt is apparently a great
believer in holiday traditions, and what can a few friendly kisses hurt?”

“Exactly my thinking.” And Miss DeWitt’s too, apparently. Praise be to the generosity of the Benevolent Creator.

“I’m off to deliver one of the little beasts to Candlewick, and my thanks, Jeremy, for being such a sympathetic ear.”

“You’re welcome. Any time. My pleasure.”

Jack strode off in fine good humor, while Jeremy went to find Miss DeWitt. The lady should be free to choose her own puppy, after all.

“My brother thinks I should pay you my addresses,” Jack said, signaling the horse to walk on. Madeline sat beside him in the dog cart, with one
whining, wiggling puppy in the compartment designed for the very purpose of transporting canines. Because the little beast moved about, made noise, and
pawed at the walls surrounding it, Jack felt as if he were sitting on a small riot.

“I think you should watch the road, Sir Jack.”

Sir
Jack. Madeline had been in this off, remote mood since Theodosia had joined the household the previous day. Mrs. Hickman’s health was remarkably
improved, while Madeline’s mood was not. Jack’s disposition wasn’t much better, but he hoped he’d at least given Jeremy a nudge in
Miss DeWitt’s direction.

“I’ve been driving these lanes for years,” Jack said. “I can see you and the infernal mongrel safely to our destination. Will
visiting Candlewick be awkward for you?”

“Yes, but Mr. Belmont has spoken, and so I must appear. He was ever one for issuing edicts and speaking in imperatives.”

The part of Jack that admitted to insecurity delighted to hear the brilliant Axel Belmont spoken of disparagingly, except that Madeline both liked and
respected Belmont, and petulance was foreign to her nature.

“Madeline, what’s wrong?”

For long chilly moments, she said nothing. All manner of thoughts skipped through Jack’s mind while the puppy whined and fretted in his box.

Would the Candlewick staff resent that Madeline had found a better, if temporary, position? India wasn’t the only place with an oppressive caste
system.

Was Madeline still exhausted from her ordeal with Theodosia? The older woman seemed to be rapidly on the mend, but such a close call had doubtless given
Madeline a fright.

And then, as the Candlewick lane came into view, one of those busy, March-hare thoughts came to a complete stop in the center of Jack’s awareness.

“If you are with child, Madeline, we shall marry.”

The look she sent him broke his heart. Incredulous, affectionate, wry, and despairing.

“You withdrew. I’m not likely to be carrying.”

“If you are—”

One wheel hit a deep rut, and the dog shifted from whining to barking. No barking on earth was more vexatious than nervous-puppy barking. Jack brought the
cart to a halt and passed Madeline the reins.

“This puppy won’t live to see Candlewick if that noise continues.” Jack climbed down and unlatched the compartment housing the dog. The
little wretch was wagging his tail and trying to jump about, which resulted in knocking his head against the roof of the compartment.

“You don’t like confinement,” Jack said, lifting the puppy out, “and you miss your family, and that’s all very
understandable. Miss Hennessey will comfort you in the midst of your ordeal, but if you soil her skirts, I will have Cook turn you into sandwiches.”
 

Madeline accepted the wiggly beast when Jack handed him to her. “You mustn’t speak to him like that, Jack. They understand more than you
think.”

Jack
understood more than Madeline thought. She was upset, for example, but also demonstrating the legendary tendency of Hennessey women to hoard their burdens.

“Vicar has agreed to accept a puppy, Jeremy is giving one to Miss DeWitt, and Dr. Higgans has already paid for his. That leaves only the one, which I
will happily purchase if Theodosia is willing to part with it.”

The puppy had no dignity, cuddling against Madeline’s chest, and attempting to lick her chin through her scarf. His tail thumped furiously against
Jack’s thigh.

“You’re a puppy salesman?” Madeline asked, dodging doggy kisses. “That’s very kind of you. When did you accomplish
this?”

“Vicar Weekes and Dr. Higgans were at the darts tournament. I accosted them both, and left them in no doubt as to their need for a dog.”

Jack made the turn up the Candlewick drive and brought the horse down to the walk. Being a drive rather than a public thoroughfare, the way was snowier.
Then too, his discussion with Madeline was not yet concluded.

Madeline, though, had buried her face against the dog’s neck. When she looked up, her expression was furious.

“Higgans can attend a darts tournament on a winter night, but he can’t treat my ailing aunt. I hope the puppy you choose for him has a contrary
nature and is prone to biting and incontinence.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange, but I’ve already delivered Higgans a public tongue-lashing.”

“You did what?”

“I berated Higgans in public, albeit civilly, for neglecting the care of a decent woman, a widow no less, who would have died rather than ask Higgans
for help. I further informed him and the general gathering that he’d be sponsoring a darts team next year, as Tavis has decided that the proceeds
will go to benefit the widows and orphans.”

“Jack Fanning, you are daft.” Madeline kissed him, and the puppy might have contributed to the effort as well. “You gave Higgans a
birching in front of half the shire. I hope you don’t fall ill in the near future.”

“I enjoy reliable good health, and my own mother is a very competent nurse. I can understand why Theodosia would rather shiver herself to death than
ask for help from those who refuse their charitable obligations. Which reminds me, why weren’t you on hand to witness Higgans’s
thrashing?”

“I told you I wouldn’t attend. Bad enough that my aunt is imposing on the household, but for me to have turned around and left her so I could
spend the evening with a lot of drunken yeomen… no, thank you.”

In India, Jack had learned to live by his wits. If the colonel’s smile had looked a bit nervous, Jack had known to investigate the orders cheerfully
slapped into his hand. If the guides had stopped chatting among themselves, Jack had kept his pistol loaded, and told his men to do likewise.

And still, he’d nearly died in a dank, stinking cell, forgotten by all charged with ensuring his welfare.

His instincts told him that Madeline was hiding something—an opinion, an emotion, a decision, a hurt, something.

“If you didn’t attend the festivities at the Weasel, Madeline, where did you get off to?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You took this very cart out last night, and Jeremy was under the impression you went to the Weasel. I didn’t see you there, and clearly you
were not in attendance. Where were you?”

“I… This is the least restful creature I have ever met. We shall call him Bounce.”

As in bouncer?

“I went to visit Aunt Hattie,” Madeline went on. “Hattie was very concerned for Theo, particularly when your note mentioned no call from
Higgans. Hattie was pleased to hear that Theo is improving by the hour.”

Jack brought the cart to a halt in the Candlewick stable yard, and a groom came forth to hold the horse as Jack climbed down.

Madeline could have sent a stable boy to Hattie’s with a note, could have asked Jack to stop by on the way to the village, could have let the matter
wait until this morning. She’d have him believe that—in typical Hennessey fashion—she’d seen to the matter herself, at night, in
the middle of winter, without a groom to accompany her.

Further discussion was in order, but now was not the time.

Jack took the puppy, and held him with one arm while he assisted the lady from the cart. They were met at Candlewick’s front door by Belmont himself.

“Ah, the promised puppy, and my prodigal Hennessey. Madeline, come in, and bring along Sir Jack if you must. Abigail, you must charm Sir Jack so
he’ll be distracted when Madeline admits how much she’s missed me, and how badly she wants to abandon the tedium of Teak House.”

Jack took the puppy from Madeline and shoved him into Belmont’s arms. “His name is Beowulf. He tends to piddle where he oughtn’t.
He’ll tear your favorite slippers to bits, and he’s more flatulent than a draft horse on spring grass. Miss Hennessey chose him for you.”

Mrs. Belmont came smiling down the main staircase, looking entirely too lovely for a woman with a newborn in the nursery and Belmont for a husband. Jack
had known her for years, and yet, this happy, softly glowing lady was also in some regards a stranger.

“You’re just jealous,” Belmont whispered as the women embraced, and disappeared up the steps. “I’m wrestling with jealousy
too. The little blighter in the nursery has stolen his mother’s heart. You will notice, Abigail barely spared this darling puppy a pat on the
head.”

“I notice you have no dignity, Belmont. You and Beowulf will get on famously. I have a problem.”

“Come into my study,” Belmont said, leading the way down the corridor, the puppy in his arms. “All problems admit of solutions, if one is
persistent and imbibes enough good liquor. I’ll dower our Madeline, if that’s the difficulty. Abigail expects nothing less of me. Happy wife,
happy life, as the saying goes.”

Jack closed the door to the study as Belmont set the puppy down. “Must you be so obnoxiously content, Belmont?”

“Yes, I must. I’m married to Abigail, after all. Brandy? Cognac? Armagnac?”

“Whatever you’re having.”   

The libation helped settle Jack’s temper, as did—oddly—Belmont’s company. The puppy found a box lined with an old plaid blanket
before the fire, curled up, and set his chin on his paws with a canine sigh.  

“To a happy New Year,” Belmont said, touching his glass to Jack’s. “Now, what is this problem?”

Jack took a seat in a well-padded armchair. As magistrate, he’d extracted all manner of confessions and confidences from people with whom he’d
had only a churchyard acquaintance. Belmont was a friend—a good friend—and that was all that allowed Jack to speak honestly.

“Madeline is lying to me. Prevarication is not in her gift, and even with a puppy wiggling endearingly in her arms, she could not carry off a
convincing falsehood. I’ve never met a woman more prone to honesty, and she’s lying to me.”

The baby had grown in the short time Madeline had been away from Candlewick, and that emphasized her sense of having been banished from the only sanctuary
she’d known.

“The staff is campaigning for your return,” Abigail said, taking the infant from his bassinet and cradling him against her shoulder.
“Cook pretends she can’t make her Sunday scones without you. The footmen and maids are holding a mock feud. Even Mrs. Turnbull is in on the
plot.”

Mother and child were already a mutual admiration society. The child had got a lock of Abigail’s hair free from her bun and brought it to his mouth,
which larceny Abigail apparently found adorable.

“Mrs. Turnbull hasn’t a deceptive bone in her body,” Madeline said. “Shall we sit?”

A maid would never have asked that question, but Madeline wasn’t a maid at present, and Abigail had long since become something of a friend. They
took the rockers before the hearth, the soft roar of the fire punctuated by the baby’s sounds of contentment.

“Mrs. Turnbull would have us believe she’s grown forgetful,” Abigail said, switching the child to the other shoulder. “I hope
she’s at least exaggerating, if not dissembling. Candlewick can’t run with a forgetful housekeeper. I’m preoccupied with my little joy.
Mr. Belmont’s mind is on spring and plans for his glass houses.”

Mr. Belmont’s mind was on his wife and children, of that Madeline was certain.

“Mrs. Turnbull’s eyesight is fading, and she doesn’t hear as well as she used to,” Madeline said. “She’s not forgetful,
exactly, but she sometimes can’t read her own handwriting, and she doesn’t always grasp what’s said to her.”

This had become apparent to Madeline more than a year ago, before Abigail had joined the household. Why didn’t people notice the staff that looked
after them day and night?