Chapter Thirteen
Lord Fairhurst entered White’s, the most exclusive of London men’s clubs, precisely at four o’clock in the afternoon in a fit of aggravation. He had spent a good part of his day trying to ferret out information about Richard Dorchester and had learned precious little of importance.
Hopefully his brother-in-law, the Marquess of Dardington, had had better luck with his inquiries. They were due to meet at the club this afternoon to share information. A quick scan of the room revealed that Dardington had not yet arrived. Jasper fervently hoped that was due to the fact that his brother-in-law was more successful in this quest, and not reflective of Jasper’s own anxious, early arrival.
A waiter discreetly approached Jasper as he waited in the doorway. “May I serve you some refreshment, my lord?”
Fairhurst slung his greatcoat over the servant’s outstretched arm, and then handed over his hat. “I am meeting the Marquess of Dardington. Bring us a bottle of your finest claret the moment he arrives.”
“As you wish, my lord.” The waiter bowed respectfully and disappeared.
Jasper cast an eye at the leather chairs clustered around the dark mahogany tables, searching for a quiet alcove. The moment he spied a suitable location, he headed directly toward it, exchanging only the barest of greetings with the various gentlemen who called out to him, displaying an unusual lack of common courtesy.
Jasper seated himself in a comfortable chair near the fireplace, facing the entrance. The marquess did not possess the same diligent sense of punctuality as Lord Fairhurst, yet he could be counted upon to arrive within an acceptable time frame.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Dardington said as he approached the table. “I needed to stop at the jeweler and pick up the bauble I commissioned for your sister’s birthday. It was difficult to make a final decision about the design, but the jeweler exceeded my expectations after I told him that I have always liked how my beautiful wife looks draped in sapphires.”
The marquess absently patted his breast coat pocket, and Jasper could clearly discern the outline of a large box. He could only speculate on how magnificent and expensive this little “bauble” was, for the marquess was more than generous with his wife. It was acknowledged among society that Lady Meredith possessed one of the finest jewelry collections in all of England, rivaled by few except for royalty.
“You spoil my sister rotten,” Jasper declared.
“She is more than worth it.” The marquess grinned smugly. “These trinkets please her. Besides, Meredith has always been very adept at saying thank you.”
Jasper managed a smile through his sudden stab of envy. His sister’s marriage had begun on even rockier footing than his own, yet clearly they had made a great success of it. Perhaps he should ask Dardington for his jeweler’s card.
A waiter interrupted the conversation by promptly delivering the wine that Jasper had requested earlier, then quietly asked if anything else would be needed. He was dismissed with a casual wave and the men were left in private.
“Despite an exhaustive morning of calls and conversations, I have had little success in uncovering anything noteworthy about Squire Dorchester.” Jasper leaned back in his chair and tried not to look as anxious as he felt. “What have you heard?”
The marquess took a sip of his drink before speaking. “By all accounts, the man is a perfect gentleman. He comes to Town several times a year for fittings with his tailor and to partake of society, though this is the first year that many of my acquaintances have been introduced to him.
“According to those who claim to know him best, Dorchester possesses a keen knowledge of horseflesh, is known to be a gaming partner who has the grace to lose just a bit more coin than he wins, is obliging enough to dance with a less than attractive sister or ward if asked, and is inclined to pick up the tab after a round of drinks or a hearty supper.”
Jasper drummed his fingertips on the top of the table. “Claire mentioned that he holds a similar reputation in their community, but both she and my brother feel there is something unsavory about the squire.”
Dardington considered, then shook his head. “’Tis hard to make an assessment of the man’s character when I have not had the opportunity to look him in the eye. Yet my own reckless bachelorhood makes it difficult for me to fathom the existence of such a paragon. No gentleman is that perfect or proper unless he is the dullest sort of man.” The marquess grinned. “Except for you, perhaps.”
“No longer.” Jasper frowned at his brother-in-law, amazed at how calm his voice sounded. For a considerable time now he had dealt with nearly all situations in a manner that would keep his reputation above reproach, regardless of his feelings.
But now reputation and propriety were taking a far distant second to his emotions in any matter pertaining to his wife.
“No one had the courage to state it bluntly to my face last night or even this morning, but I was definitely left with the impression that Dorchester’s behavior in the card room was considered my fault,” Jasper continued.
The marquess’s eyes met his with a touch of sympathy. “I too had heard such rumors, but thought it best not to mention it to you.”
A small spurt of anger rose in the back of Jasper’s throat, but it quickly faded. “’Tis of no importance. The days when I was so ridiculously stiff-necked about such things are coming to an end.”
“I am very glad to hear it. Still, it seems unfair that you are garnering the lion’s share of the blame for Dorchester’s boorish behavior.” Dardington shrugged his shoulder’s philosophically. “I suppose some men lead charmed lives.”
“Dorchester is the kind that makes his own charm.”
A frown touched the marquess’s brow. “If what you suspect is true about his real character, then he is a clever man, who could cause some real trouble. He believes that you, not your brother, married Claire months ago in Wiltshire, so the squire is bound to think it odd that your marriage is only now becoming known throughout society, and that you have waited so long to acknowledge her as your wife.”
“If questioned about it, I can only hope that I am better at manipulating the truth than Dorchester, even though I believe he has had far more practice at it.” Jasper finished the small drink he had poured for himself. “The last thing I want is for Claire to be touched by any scandal.”
“Back to protecting the family reputation?”
“She is my wife, Dardington. Her feelings are most important to me.”
The marquess cleared his throat. Then he placed his hands on the table and leaned closer. “’Tis a rather amazing feeling to find a woman you wish to see sitting across the breakfast table every morning, is it not?”
Jasper nearly dropped the empty glass he held. Dardington had clearly gotten it all wrong. “It is not uncommon to have a proper regard for one’s spouse,” Jasper said stiffly. “There are many in our class who would benefit greatly by adopting a similar attitude.”
The marquess laughed. “I have known you for years, yet I would never have taken you for a man who allowed his heart to rule his head.”
“I would hardly classify myself in that category,” Jasper replied in a huff.
The marquess looked unconvinced. Jasper replayed the conversation in his head and realized he wasn’t being truthful. This was harder than he thought, admitting how much Claire had come to mean to him.
“I did discover one potentially troublesome fact about Dorchester,” the marquess said, brushing away the lock of hair that fell over his eyes. “His nearly constant female companion these past few weeks has been Miss Rebecca Manning.”
Jasper let out a low whistle of surprise. “That could be trouble. Miss Manning is not feeling kindly disposed toward me these days. Not that I blame her. She has every right to feel hurt and angry. Though it could not be avoided, I treated her shabbily.”
“A woman’s scorn is not to be taken lightly,” the marquess declared. “In addition, Miss Manning is one of the few people outside the family that knows the truth about your marriage.”
Jasper set aside his empty glass. “She cannot say a word about it, for if she tells anyone, she too will be embroiled in the scandal.”
“Not if she paints herself as the affronted maiden,” the marquess countered. “Such a tact could elicit sympathy for her position, especially from other females.”
Jasper shook his head. “’Tis far too late for that approach. If she wanted it known, she would have leaked the truth about our relationship within days of learning about Claire.”
The marquess stared at him skeptically through the veil of smoke drifting through the air. Though they were seated in relative seclusion, so many gentlemen availed themselves of the opportunity to enjoy a peaceful cheroot or pipe of tobacco that the rooms at White’s were often clouded with smoke.
“Nevertheless, I recommend you stay on your guard,” Dardington suggested. “Women sometimes pick the most damn inconvenient time to be dramatic. The activities of the Season are starting to reach a frantic pace. With musical evenings, soirees, several major balls every night, plus daytime teas, luncheons, picnics, and at-homes, there is no way to avoid seeing Dorchester or Miss Manning.”
“I promise to be careful.” Jasper rubbed his chin. “It might be advisable to employ a few discreet Bow Street men to keep a watchful eye on the squire. What do you think?”
“I strongly agree. My father has excellent connections in that area. I’ll have him arrange things for you. Discreetly, of course.”
“Thank you.”
The two men tousled momentarily over the bill. After Jasper signed it, they left the club together, promising to meet again at the same time the next afternoon.
Lord Fairhurst’s coach was waiting in its customary location on the busy street. He set about completing the remainder of his errands, and then returned home. As he handed the family butler his greatcoat and hat, Jasper realized the evening candles had already been lit.
Drat! It was far later than he thought. “Have my mother and Lady Fairhurst left for the theater?” Jasper asked.
The butler nodded. “Twenty minutes ago, my lord. The earl decided to stay at home for the evening. A new shipment of books on the architecture of the ancient Greeks arrived today. The earl has retreated to the gold drawing room with several of the volumes. Will you be joining him for dinner later this evening?”
“Probably,” Jasper muttered unhappily.
A well-produced theatrical performance was one of the few society diversions that Jasper did not find tedious, and he regretted being absent from tonight’s event. But he regretted even more the missed opportunity of introducing Claire to the delights of a professional London production.
When the outing had first been discussed, Claire had confided to him that her experience of the theater was limited to the rare appearance of a traveling troupe of actors in the village and the yearly Christmas pageant enacted by the youngsters of the community.
She’d been filled with excitement at the prospect of attending a Covent Garden event, and her enthusiasm had heightened Jasper’s own anticipation of the evening, not only to enjoy the play, but to relish Claire’s reactions.
He suspected she would not sit politely, affecting a faintly bored and disinterested countenance, like so many of the others in the audience. Instead, Claire would most likely listen raptly to every word and show an honest, open appreciation of the skill in which the actors delivered their lines.
Jasper entered the drawing room and found the earl seated in comfort near the fireplace, engrossed in a book.
“Brinks told me that my wife and Mother have already departed for the theater,” Jasper remarked as he brushed some imaginary dust from his trousers. “I was hoping to accompany them tonight, but the traffic on Bond Street was nearly impassable, and I arrived home too late.”
The earl looked up and blinked distractedly for a moment, his mind clearly still wandering the streets of ancient Greece. Jasper paused while his father’s brain switched back to the present.
“I got the impression that your wife wanted to wait for you, but of course your mother wouldn’t dream of being late,” the earl replied, closing his book and setting it aside. “You know how crowded it becomes, and she is determined to avoid the crush by whatever means she can devise.”
“Were they alone?”
“No. Lord Berkley was with them. He’s a good sort and can always be counted upon to escort your mother to these things.” The earl attempted to stifle a sigh. “I find his conversation deadly boring, but your mother thinks he is very droll and amusing. Apparently, he knows a considerable amount about ladies’ fashions and exhibits a great wit when critiquing a female’s ensemble.”
The earl looked completely mystified by the very notion, and Jasper had to agree with his father on this point.
“Why didn’t you go with them? I thought you liked the theater?”
“I do. But I know that if I want to enjoy a play, I cannot bring your mother with me. ’Tis maddening how she must always leave before the end of the performance. Thankfully, Berkley never seems to mind.”
“Did Mother mention if they were attending any parties after the play?” Jasper asked. “Or going somewhere for supper?”
“She said nothing about that, though I suspect they will come directly home. Going to the theater usually gives your mother a headache.”
Jasper’s brow lowered in annoyance. “If she doesn’t like the crowds, is not especially interested in the performance, and gets a headache, why does Mother bother at all?”
The earl stared at him in confusion. “Everyone attends the theater. ’Tis expected. However, tonight, your wife wanted very much to see the performance, so your mother made the arrangements.”
“I wish they had waited for me,” Jasper replied glumly.
“It was probably best for you to stay behind. Or if you absolutely must go out tonight, attend another event,” the earl advised. “It might look suspicious if you are seen so often in your wife’s company. It just isn’t the thing.”
The door opened and both men turned toward the doorway. Jasper looked at the butler, and then looked past the servant to the gentleman striding confidently into the room.
“What a delightful surprise to find you both at home, though I cannot fail to notice that you resemble a pair of elderly maiden aunts, all cozy inside for an evening of embroidery and gossip. Why aren’t you out enjoying the many social delights of the Season?”
There was a moment of stunned silence as the two men simultaneously examined their uninvited guest. Finally, the earl sprung into action.
“Jason, my boy!” The earl moved forward and grasped his son’s arm. “You scoundrel. Where have you been? We’ve got half of Bow Street scouring the countryside looking for you.”
Jason grinned sheepishly. “I’ve been traveling, Father.” Jason’s smile faltered when he turned toward his sibling. “Fairhurst.”
“Good evening.” Jasper’s heart lurched at the sight of his twin brother, but he displayed no emotion. For weeks he had been almost desperate to speak with Jason, but now that he was finally here, Jasper felt uneasy and uncertain.
They had been nearly inseparable when they were boys and even closer as they became young men, spending practically every waking hour together, testing their limits, and breaking all the rules of polite society. Yet, somehow, somewhere, they had taken diverging paths.
Jasper had consciously turned away from the irresponsible behavior, the nefarious habits, and indulgent lifestyle, whereas his twin embraced an excess of indecent pleasures and immersed himself in vice.
Though the diversions so eagerly sought by his twin seemed almost tawdry to Jasper, it did not diminish the feelings of brotherly love that had been strongly forged between them since birth. And he mentioned his sincere hope that someday, despite their differences, they could restore their friendship and mend the rift between them.
But first there had to be explanations—and accountability for actions that made little sense. Marrying a woman and using his twin’s name and title was a good place to start.
With his hidden emotions running high, Jasper politely shook his brother’s outstretched hand. Then he took a deep breath, drew back, raised his arm, clenched his fist, and punched his brother square in the nose.
The Covent Garden Theater was one of the most popular in London. Claire could hardly believe she was actually there. She was enchanted by the entire experience from the moment she stepped out of the carriage, climbed the long staircase, and passed through the heavy curtain screening the doorway to the family’s private box.
Though subjected to numerous, wide-eyed stares from the other patrons, Claire settled herself in one of the seats at the front of the box, determined not to miss anything. Yet, as she took in all of her incredible surroundings, Claire felt a sharp pang of regret that Jasper was not by her side.
She had secretly been hoping that he would surprise her and somehow magically appear, but as the music started and the curtain lifted, Claire knew he was otherwise occupied for the evening. Though she repeatedly told herself it was the way things were done in his world, husbands and wives leading separate lives, his absence diminished a part of her joy.
Fortunately, the actions on the stage quickly drew her in—she was soon so enthralled by the drama on the stage, she barely recalled that she was in the theater. When the curtain came down at the end of the first act, Claire clapped enthusiastically and even let out an unladylike shout of bravo to show her appreciation.
As the candles in the large chandeliers were lit, Claire noticed many of the ladies in the other boxes gathering their shawls and reticules. Claire, having no need to use the ladies’ retiring room and no wish to parade in the corridor, was hoping she would be allowed to remain in the box alone.
The arrival of an attendant carrying a chilled bottle of champagne and a tray with three glasses solved Claire’s dilemma rather nicely. With a smile, Lord Berkley eased the cork from the bottle and poured three long flutes of the bubbling liquid. Glasses in hand, the three toasted the performance and the excellent company.
A few friends and acquaintances entered the box to talk to the countess and Lord Berkley. Claire, content sipping her champagne, did not mind being excluded from the conversation. When addressed, she smiled and nodded politely, easily deflecting the common question regarding the whereabouts of her husband.
For her own salvation, she pretended to be unaware of the many pairs of eyes avidly watching her, though Claire could not help but wonder what their real thoughts were behind their oftentimes false smiles.
At the start of the second act, Claire felt an odd sensation grip her, a persistent, eerie feeling of being observed. She peered curiously into the darkened theater, but soon realized it would be impossible to verify if she was in truth under scrutiny.
Deciding she was just being fanciful, Claire drained the last of the champagne in her glass and dismissed the chill that swept down her spine. So far it had been a lovely evening, and she was determined that nothing would unnerve her tonight and spoil her enjoyment of the play.
As the play progressed, Claire was eventually able to tune out the babbling of those individuals who had miraculously lost interest in the performance and were now rudely gossiping among themselves.
Suddenly, Claire felt a sharp tap on her shoulder. She turned in alarm and beheld the countess motioning toward the exit.
“Is something wrong?” Claire whispered in a concerned voice. “Have you taken ill?”
“Oh, no, dear. How sweet of you to worry.” The countess smiled. “It is time for us to leave.”
“Now? You wish to leave before the end of the performance?”
“Naturally. ’Tis the only way to avoid the crowds and traffic. The lower lobby can become quite suffocating when it is jammed with so many people.”
“But we will miss the best part, when Laertes and King Claudius and Queen Gertrude and Hamlet all die.” Claire turned beseechingly toward Lord Berkley, hoping for an ally to support her argument.
“Ah, so you are familiar with the story. Delightful. It is therefore unnecessary for you to wonder about what happens next,” the older gentleman said.
“Precisely.” The countess agreed. “If you want to refresh your memory on the particulars, I am certain Jasper can assist you in finding a copy of Hamlet in the library at home. He owns a complete set of all the Bard of Avon’s works and has read them several times.”
Claire opened her mouth to protest, but the countess had already left, and Lord Berkley was politely holding the heavy curtain aside waiting for her to do the same. With great reluctance, Claire picked up her beaded reticule, cast a final, longing glance toward the stage, and followed her mother-in-law into the semicircular corridor running behind the boxes.
Lord Berkley soon joined them, gallantly offering each lady an arm. The empty corridor allowed them to easily walk three abreast down the long staircase, through the lobby, and out the front doors.
Outside on the pavement, Claire was forced to admit on this point her mother-in-law had been correct. When they arrived, there had been a long line of coaches traveling at a slow crawl to the front of the theater, but now the street was nearly deserted. All that could be seen was a small blur many blocks away.
“Ah, that must be our carriage approaching,” the countess announced. “John Coachman knows that I always like to leave the theater no later than eleven o’clock. I must commend him on his punctuality.”
Claire, thinking about the well-staged and, no doubt, superbly acted final scenes of the play she was missing, was paying limited attention to her surroundings until she heard the rattle of a fast-approaching coach. She looked up in startled surprise and beheld a heavy, old-fashioned, black carriage at the end of the road.
It swayed drunkenly, careening wildly from side to side. Claire blinked, hardly believing what she saw. She was not standing in the roadway, yet somehow managed to be directly in the path of the heavy, out of control vehicle.
The thud of flying hooves echoed in her ears as Claire stood frozen in place, watching with wide-eyed horror as the grim-faced coach driver tried to rein in the wild team of horses.
“Watch out!” a male voice screamed.
She heard the voice and registered the extreme danger, yet shock and fear held her immobile. Try as she might, she was incapable of moving. Her head buzzed, her lungs felt tight, and her breath came in great gulping gasps.
As the coach barrelled ever closer, the final thought that struck Claire’s mind was that she would never see Jasper again. Never hold herself close to his chest and rest her head against his broad shoulder; never tenderly or passionately kiss his lips, or feel his arms wrapped around her body in warmth and comfort.
The horrific rattle of the wheels hitting cobblestones paralyzed her utterly. And then, amazingly, miraculously, Claire felt a pair of strong hands grip her shoulders and haul her backward a mere split-second before the coach flashed past.
Abruptly, the street was silent. It took a few moments for Claire to realize that disaster had been averted—that she was still in one piece, with all her limbs intact, frightened, but unharmed. She staggered sideways, but the arms that held her were like an iron bar keeping her upright.
In the distance, Claire could hear the countess’s voice battling hysterics, and the deep, soothing tones of a male voice—Lord Berkley?—encouraging her to remain calm. The hysterics slowed and Claire was grateful the older woman was listening to the advice and winning control over her emotions.
Claire lifted her chin and stared at the stars in the night sky; then took a deep, full breath. There was dampness in the air, perhaps it would rain later, despite the twinkling stars. She pressed her hand to her mouth to smother the jerky, nervous laughter that suddenly bubbled to the surface.
How bizarre to be thinking about rain when she had nearly been trampled to death! If not for the courage of a stranger, she would never again have had the chance to feel the cool wetness of falling raindrops on her skin.
Claire turned, trying to thank her mysterious savior, but she lacked the strength to perform such an awkward motion. Deciding to allow herself a few more moments to recover, she remained sprawled in the stranger’s arms.
And then she felt the hand planted in the small of her back glide downward over the curves of her bottom.
In light of the fact that her life had just been saved, Claire decided to ignore the gesture, but when the same hand very deliberately molded and squeezed her behind, she knew she could no longer pretend ignorance.
“I must thank you, sir, for your brave rescue.” Claire tilted her head back and glanced up.
Her rescuer met her eyes and smiled wolfishly. “How very fortunate that I was here precisely when you needed me, Lady Fairhurst.”
“Squire Dorchester? My God, is it really you?” Claire whispered in shocked disbelief. He tightened his hold, and Claire struggled to fight down the faintness and giddiness that threatened to overtake her.
“Are you pleased to see me?”
His eyes gleamed like polished steel. He grinned again and moved his hand suggestively over the lower part of her body.
Claire shuddered with revulsion. Her skin felt icy, her stomach hollow. She sucked in a deep breath, frantically gathering her wits. But the shock of her near-fatal accident and the identity of her rescuer proved too difficult to overcome. The darkness closed in on her mind; her eyelids fluttered shut; and for the first time in her life, Claire fainted.