Julia Justiss (12 page)

“Informal,” she said at last. Her cheeks flushing, she
avoided his glance and went instead to offer her hand to the cook. “I’m Lady Fairchild, and this is my companion, Sancha. You must be Betsy. How kind of you, ma’am, to allow us to commandeer your assistance! Many a good soldier will be singing your praises this night.”

Holding himself motionless with an effort, Tony thanked heaven that his cook and a still-glaring Sancha were present to chaperone. In his euphoria and gratitude at that renewed sense of potency, he might not otherwise have been able to resist dragging her into his arms.

Betsy dropped a curtsy. “’Tis right happy I am to meet your ladyship and help out the soldiers what fought with our Master Tony.”

“Lord Nelthorpe boasted of your skill, and looking at the bounty spread here, I see he did not exaggerate.”

“Thank ’ee, ma’am. We’re glad our master were spared to come back and help put things right—and don’t you be frowning at me, Master Tony! He tries to let on like he’s a great care-for-nobody,” Betsy told Jenna, “but there’s a good heart there, if ye but look fer it.”

“So I’m beginning to believe,” Jenna said.

Embarrassed, Tony said, “We should load up and be on our way. We’ve few enough hours of daylight left.”

“Polly ’n me will pack the provisions, if you will see ’em stowed in the cart, Master,” Betsy said.

“Sancha, assist Lord Nelthorpe, please, while I help in here,” Jenna instructed.

Hoping the cook wouldn’t feel moved to share any further details about his life and character, Tony limped out, Sancha trailing in his wake. Neither the well-worn cart that waited outside nor the unprepossessing drab pulling it, both rented from a local livery, were likely to arouse much attention, either here or at their destination.

Once they reached the rig, Sancha held out a hand for the bread baskets. “You tend to the horse, my lord. San
cha will pack the cart.” To his surprise, she gave him a glimmer of a smile. “I have much experience.”

Tony handed them over. “I did try to talk Lady Fairchild out of accompanying me.”

“There are soldiers hungry? Wives and babes also?” Sancha asked. When he nodded, she continued, “Then I do not blame you. My mistress has tended soldiers since she was a child. If there is need, no one keeps her away.”

For several minutes, the two of them worked in surprising harmony, readying the cart. When Tony turned to walk back in and tell Jenna all was ready, though, Sancha blocked his path.

“I hated what you tried to do in Spain, and still, I do not trust you. When my lady’s
esposo
and then her babe were taken, she wanted only to sit alone in her room. But today, she hurries, she tells me there is important work. She is not healed—but she lives again. Thank you.”

Touched and humbled, Tony said, “I, too, am glad.”

“And if ever again you try to hurt her, I, Sancha, will cut out your black heart.” With that, Sancha preceded him into the kitchen.

So much for their détente cordiale, Tony thought with a grin, limping after her.

All their preparations complete, they had only to wait for Sergeant Anston to arrive and provide them an armed escort to their destination. Jenna and Tony settled at the kitchen table with some fresh bread while Betsy and Sancha took theirs to stools by the hearth.

“I’m hoping Evers—Papa’s batman—will arrive within the week,” Jenna said. “If there are so many displaced soldiers gathered in just two blocks, doubtless there are countless about the city. Evers can search them out. You are certain there’s no hope of redress by Parliament?”

Tony shook his head. “I doubt it. The Tories are too
busy seeing anarchists behind every loom and hayrick to concern themselves with justice for former soldiers.”

“I wonder if that widow who accosted me at Garrett’s reception is in need. I never learned her name.” A faraway look on her face, she said, “Given what has transpired, she should be content now.”

Out of memory, Tony saw the woman’s venomous face.
I won’t be happy until you too lose all you hold dear.

The vague sense of something not quite right that had been troubling him since Jenna’s accident suddenly sharpened.
Now you have even less of him than I do,
Jenna said the countess had told her.

A prickle of apprehension made him shudder.

Jenna was a superb rider who, under most circumstances, would be very difficult to unseat. No head groom worth the title should ever have neglected to emphasize the peculiarities of a mount he was about to release to someone who’d not previously ridden that horse, even if he thought someone else might have already mentioned them.

Had someone intended to make her fall?

“Jenna,” he said abruptly, “about your accident…you said your cousin had discharged the groom responsible?”

“Yes, I pleaded with him to reconsider. ’Twas as much my fault as the groom’s. If I’d been more alert, caught the mare’s hesitancy instantly, I might have avoided being thrown—and my child might be alive now.”

He’d meant to question her further, but one glance at the anguish in her eyes and he abandoned the attempt.

“Nonsense, Jenna!” he hastened to assure her. “No rider, however experienced, could maintain his seat when a horse reacts unexpectedly like that.”

A knock on the door signaling Sergeant Anston’s ar
rival put an end to the discussion. Tony marshaled the group and moved them out.

As they rode toward the City, his thoughts cycled back to the puzzle of Jenna’s accident. He resolved to find out more about it, and in case someone
had
meant to harm her, he’d ask for details first from one wholly devoted to her. Tomorrow he would call at Fairchild House and question Sancha.

He’d also need to consider tracking down the groom Lane Fairchild had discharged. For if someone harbored enough malice toward Jenna to set up a potentially fatal accident, she might still be in danger.

W
HILE
S
ANCHA DOZED BENEATH
a blanket in the wagon bed, Jenna sat on the box of the pony trap in the gathering darkness as Nelthorpe guided it out of the city, buoyed by a sense of accomplishment.

Seeming to sense her thoughts, Nelthorpe interrupted the congenial silence to ask, “You enjoyed our mission?”

“Oh, yes—how good it was to be back among army folk again! Though they were all absurdly grateful for the food and garments we brought, so much more remains to be done. I shall set Evers to work with Sergeant Anston to locate as many former soldiers and their families as they can, that they may be offered immediate assistance while we devise a more permanent solution—since you believe Parliament will not act on this matter.”

Nelthorpe shook his head. “Unless it’s to clap them all in Newgate for vagrancy.”

“They need more than assistance—they need occupation. Idle, feeling abandoned and threatened with destitution, even the best-intentioned of men might be tempted to misdeeds.” She frowned, her mind examining various possibilities. “Many of them come from the countryside. Though I know nothing of farming, if I were to purchase a property and put Anston in charge, he could hire experienced lads to work the land.”

“Purchase a property?” Nelthorpe exclaimed. “Would your trustees allow such a thing?”

“There are no trustees. Papa left his fortune for me to manage as I see fit, with the advice—but not under the control—of our solicitor.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “He believed I could handle it as well or better than any would-be husband.”

“So should you marry, your spouse would have no access to your funds?”

“Nothing that is not specified in the marriage contract—which, in the unlikely event that I should marry again, I would help draft.”

Nelthorpe laughed. “My dear, publish that fact abroad and your worries about fortune hunters will cease!”

“Ah, does that mean you will desert me, too?”

He paused, creasing his brow as if considering the prospect. To her surprise, she found herself a bit offended that he hadn’t immediately denied it. But then, what had she expected? He’d freely admitted himself from the first to be little more than a fortune hunter.

“As devastating a blow as that news is, I suppose I cannot,” he said at last. “After all, we made a bargain. I must allow you an opportunity to redeem me while I—” he let his gaze roam from her face to her throat to her chest “—attempt to tempt you.”

At the gleam in his eyes, her pulse leapt and the breasts he was eyeing tingled. Appalled to realize she
was
tempted, she said repressively, “That is not, my lord, a suitable comment to voice to a lady. You will direct your thoughts to the matter at hand, if you please.”

He grinned and flicked a glance at his hands grasping the reins—at almost the same level as her breasts. “Ah, that I could lavish my attention on the matter at hand.”

Her cheeks heated and that unwelcome but insistent tingling intensified, spreading from her chest down her torso. Ah, to feel his hands cupping her breasts, skimming down her belly, delving into the curls beneath—

Shocked at her wanton thoughts, she jerked her gaze
from him to stare over the horse’s head. Awakening from the torpor of grief to find herself lusting was normal enough, she supposed—but over Nelthorpe?

Having not immediately protested it, she should probably ignore his improper remark. And repress her lamentable reaction, before her body turned the siren’s song his body was crooning into a duet.

Scooting as far away from Nelthorpe as the narrow bench allowed, she brought her thoughts back to the plight of the army families. “There should be a school for the children. A little boy with a cherub’s smile tried to filch one of my earrings right off my ear while his mama and I talked this afternoon. Fortunately he wasn’t skilled enough to manage it without my noticing, but it indicates how imperative it is that we get the young ones off the street before they become totally steeped in vice.”

“Or turned over to a magistrate by a prospective victim less compassionate than you. I hope you told the lad’s mother. He should be given a good thrashing.”

“Discipline is as important as constancy in the managing of a troop, and I imagine it’s the same with children. While the little ones learn their letters, perhaps the mothers could be schooled as well. Most of them are excellent managers, having had to scrape by for years on very little. With proper training, they should make superior housekeepers and cooks. And of course, any farming endeavor will require grooms, smiths, carpenters, and other craftsmen as well as farm workers.”

“This begins to sound like quite an undertaking.”

“Papa left me quite a fortune. It would please him to know I was using it to help army families build new lives. And…it will give me something useful to do with mine.”

“And what of our bargain? In all this excess of do-gooding, I hope you will not forget that!”

She smiled, the idea forming even as she voiced it.
“Indeed not. You can assist me in my ‘do-gooding.’ After all, what better way to reform a character?”

He groaned. “I had more in mind assisting you to attend balls, routs, musicales and Venetian breakfasts.”

“I suppose we could fit in a few…between visiting needy folk, inspecting properties and then staffing and equipping the farm once the purchase is complete.”

He shot her an aggrieved glance. “Perhaps my character doesn’t need quite that much improvement.”

He’d just, she immediately realized, provided her an avenue of escape from the unsettling temptation of his company. “I imagine it doesn’t. ’Twas a ridiculous bargain anyway. Why don’t we call it off at once?”

A look almost of dismay flashed across his face, too swiftly for her to positively identify it. Then he shrugged, the picture of bored hauteur. “If you think so little of upholding the vow you swore to honor the dead of Waterloo, I suppose we could. Or perhaps you are prepared to concede I am already their equal?”

He had her and he knew it. Casting a jaundiced eye over his deceptively bland demeanor, she snapped, “Prepare yourself to visit the needy and inspect properties, then.”

“If I must, but I certainly shall not depress myself by thinking about it ahead of time. Have we not had enough of duty and sacrifice today? ’Tis time to contemplate a bit of pleasure to reward ourselves for such an excess of virtue. What function do you attend tonight?”

“My cousin and Lady Montclare are urging me to go to Lady Winterdale’s musicale.”

“Then I shall sit beside you, whisper in your ear until you blush and make all your other swains jealous.”

“And I shall rap you with my fan if you’re impertinent, keep you at arm’s length and dismiss you entirely if I cannot make you mind your manners.”

“Sounds delightful,” he pronounced with a grin. “When and where shall I meet you, my dear Jenna?”

“I am not your ‘dear Jenna,’ as I’ve been meaning to point out. You should address me as ‘Lady Fairchild.’”

“And so I do, when we are in company. But I began calling you ‘Jenna’ long ago and I’m afraid it’s too late for me to unlearn the usage. In fact, given our long association, why don’t you call me ‘Tony’?”

Ignoring the invitation, she replied, “As
I
recall, you usually referred to me as ‘Miss Montague,’ in a singularly odious, top-lofty tone.”

“Did I?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “What an arrogant ass I was, to be sure!”

“Was?”

His grin turned into a chuckle. “Still am, you mean. Ah, did I not warn you that my character needs much work?”

Recalling the courtesy he’d shown her here in London and the depth of his concern about the former soldiers, she replied, “Perhaps less than I used to think.”

His grin faded. With slow deliberation, he focused on her a hot, lingering glance that sparked a thrill of feminine awareness all the way to her core. “Are you sure about that?” he drawled.

Doubtless he knew exactly the effect that look produced in her, the wretch. She mustn’t forget he’d earned the rake’s reputation that followed him to the army. Squelching her response, she replied, “Lord Nelthorpe, a gentleman does not fix on a lady such a gaze.”

He returned an innocent look. “What gaze?”

“The gaze that says he wishes he might relieve her of her garments on the spot,” she continued tartly.

“Even if he very much wishes to?”

Instead of a teasing tone, his voice now held an undercurrent of…longing. Startled, she felt her face heat.
“Certainly not. Such wishes should be directed toward more suitable objects—among the muslin company.”

“Ah. True ladies never experience such wishes?”

She opened her lips to affirm that, but honesty made her hesitate. Mercifully, at this moment they reached the Fairchild House mews, saving her the necessity of a reply.

“You may let us down here, Lord Nelthorpe.”

The gleam in his eyes as he brought the cart to a halt told her he knew she was evading an answer. After helping them both alight, he thanked Sancha, who nodded and headed back toward the house, and gave Jenna a deep bow. “Until tonight, my lady.”

“Goodbye, my lord. And thank you for taking me with you. It…it was good to feel useful again.”

The rogue’s grin returned as he brought her fingers to his lips. “Putting you to good use shall always be my pleasure.” Chuckling once more at the reproving look she sent him, he climbed awkwardly back into the pony cart. “Now, to return this magnificent equipage before any of my acquaintance sees me driving it.”

“Is the ruin of a reputation built on so little?”

“Indeed it is,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Keep that in mind.”

“And the reforming of one?”

“Is much more difficult than the losing. Keep that in mind as well.”

“I shall.”

With a nod, he set the cart in motion. Jenna watched until he’d guided the vehicle out of sight.

With his recently acquired limp and his newly developed compassion, she mused as she strolled back to the house, Anthony Nelthorpe was a much more complex—and, she admitted, compelling—man than the arrogant, insensitive viscount who had repulsed and attracted her in Spain. Just when she was prepared to condemn him
and his provocative remarks as being little better than the rake of old, he startled her with some display of concern—for her, for others—that prevented her from dismissing him so easily.

Betsy, his cook, had told her he hid a good heart under his casual rakehell manner, hinted that the influence of his dissipated father had prevented his developing it. Jenna was halfway inclined to believe her.

Perhaps his character didn’t need work so much as the opportunity to reveal its true dimensions, she concluded as she took the stairs to her chamber. Although whenever she voiced a more hopeful opinion of his character, Nelthorpe was quick to deflect it with another innuendo-laden remark or heat-inducing glance designed to scatter her thoughts.

He succeeded only too well. Surely she shouldn’t be responding to Nelthorpe’s enticements! But then, she was a passionate woman whose passion had long been restrained.

Given the ease with which Anthony Nelthorpe seemed to be loosening those fetters, perhaps her own character needed more work.

She was about to open her door when she felt a touch to her shoulder. With a gasp, she whirled around.

“Jenna, excuse me,” Cousin Lane exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No matter, cousin. I was woolgathering and did not hear you approach.”

He looked her up and down, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “When Manson told me where you had gone, I couldn’t believe it! But seeing you in that…apparel, it no longer seems so fantastical a notion. Please, Jenna, assure me you didn’t go into the stews of east London!”

“I’m afraid I cannot. Oh, Lane, I’d heard there are soldiers there, still dressed in the bloodstained tatters of the uniforms they fought in at Waterloo! Widows and
children, starving, some homeless. I had to see for myself if such a report could be true.”

“If discovering this was so important, you should have sent one of the servants who has relations in those areas. Merciful heavens, Jenna, the rookeries around Seven Dials are so dangerous, even Bow Street runners hesitate to go there! You could have been robbed at the least, at worst—” He shuddered, looking so appalled she felt a pang of guilt.

Jenna took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry to have worried you, but I’m not a witless female who faints at dirt or danger and must be protected from the realities of life. I’ve seen worse, and I’m quite competent at handling the pistol I took with me.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. “I know you are a remarkable woman, Jenna. Which only makes your safety even more important to me.”

Though she regretted worrying him, she didn’t wish to encourage the heated look now glowing in his eyes. Gently she withdrew her hand. “I do appreciate your cousinly concern. But since Nelthorpe told me—”

“Nelthorpe!” Lane cried. “I might have known that reprobate was responsible for this! Damme—dash it, could there be any more telling demonstration of how unsuitable an escort he is for you? Though I imagine he’s intimately acquainted with London’s stews, he ought to be shot for exposing you to such peril!”