Redeeming Jack (4 page)

Jack didn’t recognize the two men facing him. The third was an unwelcome surprise. The duke waved him to a chair and Jack sat opposite the two conservatively dressed men he assumed represented the Foreign Office.

“Gentlemen, this is Lord Jack Llewelyn,” the duke said. “I believe he will be able to help us in this unprecedented situation. He has my complete trust and the authority to act on my behalf.”

The older of the two men put on his spectacles and gave Jack a suspicious glare. “I am Sir Adrian West. I have the honor of knowing your father, Llewelyn. I’m certain you will do your best to help your country and not besmirch your family’s honorable name—again.”

The sneer in his voice was unmistakable but Jack let it wash over him. He was too old to be cowed by the thought of his father’s wrath. If Sir Adrian was good at his job, he wouldn’t allow his prejudices to overcome his desire to capture Mrs. Forester.

The younger man stood up and bowed, his sympathetic manner and soft features so at variance to his companions’ that Jack fought an instinctive urge to mistrust him. “My lord, I am Steven Gardiner, Sir Adrian’s secretary. I will be dealing with the day-to-day matters regarding this case.”

Jack didn’t bother to rise as he nodded to the two gentlemen opposite him. “Sir Adrian, Mr. Gardiner. As the duke says, I am happy to be of service. Now what exactly can I do for you?”

A heavily accented Welsh voice interrupted him. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself to me, Llewelyn? It’s a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

Jack drew in a harsh breath and turned toward his brother-in-law, who sat half in the shadows. Gareth’s red hair and freckles had faded in the intervening years, but his pugnacious personality seemed undimmed. The last time they faced each other was at dawn on Hampstead Heath with a pair of dueling pistols.

“Good evening, Gareth,” Jack said. “It seems as if it is the night for family reunions. I am glad to see you have recovered.” His gaze flicked over Gareth’s left shoulder, where he knew he had lodged a bullet.

Gareth’s left fist flexed and he brought his hand up to rest on the table. “I am well enough. Some wounds heal better than others.”

Jack tore his gaze away from Gareth’s intense blue eyes. They reminded him of friendships lost, loyalties betrayed and the burden of living a life full of lies. The stuffy opulence of the room and the lingering smell of boiled cabbage threatened to overwhelm him. He had to remind himself to breathe.

“I brought Mr. Evans in to help us because he not only speaks fluent Welsh but is a church pastor. He is also familiar with the area we intend to search,” the duke said, his sharp gaze moving between the two men.

Jack smiled despite his surprise at Gareth’s choice of profession. As a young man he’d sworn he would never follow in his father’s footsteps. “He is as familiar with Wales as I am, Your Grace. I’m not sure if Mr. Evans mentioned it, but we were brought up together.” Jack stood and swept a bow in Gareth’s direction. “I also have the honor to be married to Mr. Evan’s sister.”

Gareth shot to his feet, and Jack steeled himself against the anger he had deliberately provoked. “How
dare
you refer to my sister, you—”

“Gentlemen, fascinating as this family drama is, may we return to the matter in hand?” the duke asked. “Perhaps you can renew your acquaintance after our discussions.”

Jack slumped back in his chair and after a tense moment, Gareth followed suit.

“May I have the documents you collected from Mrs. Forester’s prison cell, Sir Adrian?”

Sir Adrian passed a pile of strongly perfumed letters tied with a pink bow across the table. The left side of the bundle was scorched with burn marks and smelled of mildew.

“We assume Mrs. Forester meant to destroy these. Luckily for us, when she threw them on the fire, they smothered the flames.”

“She had a fire, in prison?” Jack commented.

A tide of red suffused Sir Adrian’s mottled cheeks. “It seems as if Mrs. Forester found ways to get around her jailer,” he said stiffly.

“I’ll wager she did.” Jack grinned, and Sir Adrian turned puce. “Did she have a fine feather bed and a maid to air her clothes and style her hair?”

“It wasn’t quite like that, Llewelyn,” the duke intervened, the annoyance in his voice unmistakable, as was the glare he gave Sir Adrian. “But she certainly did live rather too well.”

Gareth laughed, a harsh sound in the comfortable room. “You’d not know about being imprisoned, would you, Llewelyn? I seem to remember you fled after our duel to avoid that very fate.”

For the first time, Jack truly looked at his old friend. Vivid memories of being chained to a stone wall, hand and foot, clawed at his gut. The stifling heat of the room closed in on him and melded into the blackened hell of his prison. He glanced down at his wrists, where his frayed shirt cuffs barely covered the scars left by the unforgiving manacles. “Don’t fret on my account, Evans. I might have escaped prison in England, but I suffered for my sins in a worse purgatory in Spain.” He unconsciously rubbed at his wrist. “And I’ve been imprisoned more than once, which is more than you have, I’ll wager. You seem so respectable now.”

Something of his experiences must have shown on Jack’s face, because Gareth looked away. Jack’s wrath rose as he watched Gareth’s anger turn to pity and embarrassment. He’d rather face a French artillery regiment than that.

With a muttered curse, Jack reached out and took one of the letters laid out on the table. He squinted to read the crabbed and cramped handwriting, which crossed the page vertically and horizontally in an effort to save paper.

“Who is this Rose Edwards, Your Grace? Do you know her, Gareth?”

Sir Adrian coughed. “We believe Mrs. Edwards is a cousin of Mrs. Forester’s. From the letters, we have deduced that they were close as children and have continued to correspond throughout their lives.”

Jack ignored Sir Adrian and looked at the duke. “Are the letters in code, Your Grace?”

“Parts of them are.” He turned to address his remark to the whole table. “My secretary, Michael Waterstone, Mrs. Forester’s son, has translated some of the code for me, although the complete meaning is still unclear.”

Gareth picked up one of the letters and regarded it doubtfully. “With all due respect, Your Grace, are you sure Michael Waterstone is the best person to help you with this? Surely he is suspect because of his connection with Mrs. Forester.”

Jack snorted. “Michael wouldn’t thank you for that. He hates his mother with almost as much passion as his sister does.”

Gareth raised his eyebrows. “Are you are privy to the duke’s secrets, Llewelyn? You know Michael Waterstone and his sister well?”

“If I may intervene and save you from further embarrassment, Mr. Evans. Michael Waterstone is not only my secretary but my brother-in-law.” Gareth Evans paled as the duke continued smoothly. “Which naturally makes his sister my duchess.”

Jack tossed the letter he had been reading to Gareth. “I, too, can vouch for Michael Waterstone. His sister engaged me as his nurse-companion during the summer.”

Gareth opened his mouth and then shut it with an audible snap when the duke stared coldly at him.

Sir Adrian fussily unfolded a map and laid it out on the table. He jabbed a vague finger in the direction of Wales. “Mrs. Edwards resides on the south coast of Wales, near Swansea. I have marked the place. We are hoping Mrs. Forester has sought refuge with her.”

Jack leaned back in his chair and propped his boot on the edge of the table. He ignored both Sir Adrian’s frown and the duke’s quiet smile. “How can we be sure Mrs. Forester didn’t mean for you to find these letters? It could all be an elaborate hoax. She might already have escaped to France.”

Sir Adrian shook his head as he folded the map and gave it to Jack. “Impossible, my good man. All the ports in England are being watched. And we have no other leads. We have to follow this one.”

“What if Mrs. Edwards is already dead?” Gareth spoke into the tense silence. “What if the letters are a complete sham?”

The duke gathered up the letters and tied them up with the pink ribbon. “I will ask Michael to solve all the coded passages in the letters as quickly as possible. So far, they seem to be mere childish, girlish babble.” He glanced up at Jack, his gray eyes cold. “When Michael has finished, I want you and Mr. Evans to travel to Wales with all speed and find out the truth. If Mrs. Forester is alive, you will bring her back. All your expenses will be paid. I want this settled.”

Sir Adrian and Steven Gardiner rose and bowed to the duke. Jack continued to sit, his eyes fixed on Gareth Evans, who remained seated as well.

The duke waited until the government officials left before he, too, rose and inclined his head. “I shall leave you two to reminisce. There is a passable brandy in the decanters behind you. Please help yourselves. I will make sure you are not disturbed.”

The duke shut the door behind him, leaving Jack and his erstwhile friend in complete silence.

Gareth stirred. “Jack…”

To stop him talking, Jack got to his feet and walked across to the massive sideboard, which held five cut-glass decanters and a sparking array of glasses. Jack grabbed the brandy and two glasses and brought them back to the table. His hand was a little unsteady when he poured the brandy, and some splashed onto the pristine table. He used his sleeve to mop up the spillage.

When he looked up, Gareth was staring at him.

Jack raised an eyebrow and Gareth smiled. “You would never have done that in the old days, Jack. You would have died rather than spoil your fine clothes.”

Jack looked at his much washed coat sleeve and shrugged. “I have changed. Even
I
am capable of that.” His own bitterness shocked him. He took a hasty sip of brandy and allowed it to burn a fiery trail down his throat.

Gareth took the other glass and raised it in a salute. “We have both grown up. I would not be so impetuous now.”

“You did the only thing you could, Gareth. I walked out on Carys, and you were well within your rights to defend her.”

“I should have given you a chance to explain. Even Carys was angry with me for forcing the fight upon you.” Gareth sipped at his brandy. “I was supposed to be your best friend. On reflection, I fear I let you down.”

Jack gripped his glass so hard his knuckles went white. How many times had he dreamed of Gareth saying that to him? How many times had he called himself a fool for wanting to be believed by the one person he’d trusted throughout the whole of his life?

“I never meant to walk out on Carys. I just wanted to thumb my nose at my father. I expected her to come with me.”

His words sounded harsh in the hushed room. For a moment he regretted saying them aloud. They made him feel vulnerable. They begged a response from another human being. He thought he had taught himself not to look for that anymore.

“I know that now. Carys screamed it at me after she reassured herself that I wasn’t going to die from my wound.” Gareth half-smiled. “I’m still not sure exactly why she wouldn’t come with you. She says she owes an explanation to you first before she can tell me.”

Jack turned away from Gareth and stared down at his brandy. He knew why she had refused to leave with him, but he didn’t care to bring up the subject of his wife’s lover in front of her brother. Gareth had a fiery temper, and Jack didn’t want him challenging anyone else to a duel. “One of the reasons I came back to England was to sort out the mess I left behind. I’ve been unfair to Carys and to my family. It is time to mend some fences, whether my father wishes to or not.”

Gareth put down his glass and held out his hand. “Well, shall we agree to work together for the duke? I would welcome the chance to become reacquainted with you. I don’t wish to preach, but since I’ve taken up my father’s profession, I’ve had a lot of time to consider my sins and hopefully learn how to forgive others.”

A slight uncertainty in Gareth’s normally hearty voice brought Jack to his feet. He shook Gareth’s hand with a strange sense of relief. “I would welcome the opportunity as well, but you know I am still considered a social pariah, yes? Many will condemn you for seeking me out.”

Gareth smiled properly for the first time. “For God’s sake, Jack, I am from Wales. I’m already considered only one rank above a heathen. You are just the sort of friend a man of my stamp would be expected to have.”

AFTER BIDDING HIS brother-in-law a cordial goodnight, Jack jumped out of the hired hackney cab. He had agreed to meet Gareth at the Green Man Inn on the Strand in the morning to discuss their plans. He watched the carriage make a slow turn on the cobbled street and start back toward the center of town. Luckily, Gareth had secured lodgings with a pastor friend near Westminster Abbey. Jack’s smile died. He would have been ashamed to offer Gareth shelter in his dilapidated boarding house.

With a last glance around, Jack turned his collar up and pushed his hands deep into the capricious pockets of his coat. It was strange how life turned out. As the third son of a peer, Jack had been destined for the church, as had Gareth, the rector’s son. At eighteen, neither of them had wanted a life of prayer and propriety. Jack escaped into the army, but Gareth had obviously changed his mind.

Jack could only be glad fate had placed Gareth in his path. He had envisioned a long journey into Wales to find his old friend and ask for his forgiveness. He blew out a cloud of warm breath that condensed in front of him like an opening fist. The iron bands that guarded Jack’s deepest emotions eased a fraction as he cautiously allowed himself to hope.

It stopped snowing as he walked past the shadowed façade of Covent Garden fruit and vegetable market. Ice gilded the rotting piles of produce, making them glitter like precious treasure in the moonlight. His stomach growled and he picked up an apple from the cobbles, studying it. Half of it was bruised but the rest appeared whole.

After his years in the army, when he’d been reduced to eating anything that moved, the apple’s battered appearance didn’t bother him. He rubbed the skin against his sleeve and bit into the clean white flesh, enjoying the tartness and rush of flavor. Then he tossed the core into an abandoned wicker basket on one of the deserted stalls.