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JASPER FOUND HIS FRIENDS and strode toward them. He pulled his hat down to shield himself from the sunbeams that danced about him. This was the best sort of day in England.
It was almost magical.
Brightling waved him over, and Jasper joined him.
“When are the other guests arriving?” Brightling asked.
“Oh, they’ve all arrived,” Jasper said easily.
Brightling’s eyebrows rose sharply.
“Do you find something surprising?” Jasper asked.
“I merely expected more guests,” Brightling said.
“I’ve selected the very best ones,” Jasper said.
Brightling nodded, no doubt conscious of the compliment. “You’ve never invited the Carberrys here before.”
“Hence the urgency with which to schedule a gathering,” Jasper said.
“Er—yes.”
Brightling, despite his considerable capabilities in botany, had not developed an equal expertise in all subjects. Jasper was certain the man had not even hosted a party before. Miss Carberry’s distaste for such events was no doubt something with which Brightling and she might exclaim over, in the peculiar mating ritual in which couples determined the most trivial similarities and exclaimed over them with an excitement best suited for other occasions.
In Jasper’s opinion, a shared love for chocolate and croquembouches hardly sufficed in creating a happy marriage. Since Jasper did not suffer from shyness, he’d immersed himself in balls and house parties when not fulfilling his parliamentary and estate overseeing duties. He was accustomed to seeing hopeful expressions of debutantes transform to pride as they secured marriages, then transform to a less heartwarming sourness as they resigned themselves to unhappiness. Though everyone was eager to encourage people to marry, they were less prone to encourage appropriate diligence.
Brightling’s lips veered into an uncharacteristic downward position.
“You’re frowning,” Jasper said.
“I had a thought,” Brightling said.
“I can see why you’re so reluctant to think, given your reaction,” Ainsworth said, and the others chuckled.
Brightling pouted. “I merely thought Jasper might have invited Miss Carberry in the hopes of marrying her off to one of us.”
Though Jasper believed in the virtues of veracity and had never considered himself a truth evader before, he hesitated to confirm Brightling’s suspicions.
Ainsworth laughed. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard all day. And I spent the morning peer reviewing scientific articles.” He shook his head, with the air of a man whose day had overflowed with ridiculousness, and yet had still not been sufficiently prepared for more.
“There’s nothing to laugh about,” Jasper said shortly.
“But Jasper...” Ainsworth protested. “Surely I needn’t explain the inappropriateness of a match with her? And the hilarity of you, head rogue among rogues, to take on matchmaking duties with the zeal of a matchmaking mama... Why, it would be incredible. Utterly impossible.”
“Any of you would be lucky to wed Miss Carberry.” Jasper’s face heated, and he rounded his hands into fists. “She is a woman of the utmost integrity.”
Love was unlikely to come to these stalwart friends of his if they felt it planned. These men considered themselves leaders, as any man might do who regularly met with royals, and who commanded ducal estates. These men were wary of the prospect of manipulation. Despite their obvious respect for Jasper, a man was unlikely to leave his marital happiness to a man he’d first met clothed in a skeleton suit and carrying a hobbyhorse.
No, this was not the time for Jasper to confess everything. Even the most cursory supposition indicated that any confession would lead to mockery. Though Jasper would not mind being called Cupid, even if the word were accompanied by chuckles that would not serve to get anyone married.
And Miss Carberry needed to marry.
He’d promised her.
“Naturally I do not harbor any desires to be confused with an arrow-wielding baby,” Jasper said stiffly. “Even if we do share similarly cherubic curls. I have no desire to marry off Miss Carberry.”
“Of course.” Ainsworth shot an irritated glance at Brightling. “It is obvious that was an absurd suggestion.”
“A man might be fortunate to marry Miss Carberry,” Jasper said staunchly, “but the process of marrying her off is a task for her parents.”
Brightling gritted his teeth, and Jasper decided to halt his protestations. No need for the other dukes to mock Brightling. After all, Brightling’s intuitive prowess had been correct.
Jasper cleared his throat. “I simply invited her because I found her intriguing. And I—er—wanted to learn about Mr. Carberry’s business.”
“You find trade intriguing?” Ainsworth asked.
“I find everything intriguing,” Jasper said. “Now, who wants to play tennis?”
The others nodded, and Jasper beamed. None of his friends could best him in that sport. A man is bound to be wounded after being beaten while playing tennis, and in that state, a man is certain to take interest in a lovely, concerned female.
Jasper wouldn’t need to tell Miss Carberry to be concerned: she would be, naturally. Miss Carberry had the air of a woman who wouldn’t be disappointed in a man by his inability to strike a tennis ball with consistency.
Indeed, her presence could be described as soothing.
Jasper’s heart soared, no doubt buoyed by renewed thought of his continued singledom. Obviously, his spirits were not lifted by the sheer thought of Miss Carberry. That would be ridiculous, and Jasper was not fond of the ridiculous.
When he’d spent a house party with her, he hadn’t, in truth, paid much attention to her. But he’d certainly noticed she was no creator of negative attention. She did not mock others, and when her mother had tied her to his bed, she’d not sought to take advantage of the situation and trap him into marriage. On the contrary, she’d risked her life.
His friends could do much worse than Miss Carberry.
After he changed into his sport gear, he strode toward the tennis court. Birds chirped pleasingly, butterflies danced, and even slugs slid over the ground, attempting long journeys across the grass, undaunted by their limited exterior protection.
When he joined his friends, inhaling the scent of roses that wafted through the air, his thoughts did not drift far from contemplation of Miss Carberry. He remembered the brave manner in which she’d visited him so she could merely suggest they dance together, when the next season began. He remembered her kindness to her grandmother and dog. He also remembered something else, something he’d attempted to forget.
He remembered discovering her on his bed, and the manner in which her alabaster skin had glowed underneath the candlelight. He remembered the curve of her collar bone. He also remembered the manner in which her dress had been torn, revealing scandalously bare skin. And he remembered a deliciously curved body.
He craved to touch her, to trace the curve of her bosom, the curve of her hips with his fingers, with his lips.
His heart thudded, and he blinked into the sunlight, attempting to banish the sudden thought away.
A flash of dark hair shot in the distance before him, accompanied by a sliver of navy.
Miss Carberry had been wearing a navy dress. It had been the practical sort suited for travel that women embraced.
He scrunched his forehead.
No doubt he’d made a mistake. Miss Carberry was going to visit the library, not run about his estate. Miss Carberry seemed an unlikely candidate to be overtaken by athletic impulses. He’d had the impression she was more sensible.
After all, she was quiet.
Perhaps he’d simply conjured her in his mind. He wasn’t in the habit of imagining people, and he would have suspected he’d be more likely to begin envisioning things in his mind by starting with something less complex: a lake, for instance.
Laughter sounded at some comment one of his friends had said.
He should be chatting with his friends, and not musing about Miss Margaret Carberry. After all, he was simply trying to find a husband for her: not fill his mind with thoughts of her. It was a simple task, one enjoyed by generations of matchmaking mamas, and one which Jasper intended to master.
And yet...
Miss Carberry had gazed toward the ocean. And she had seemed knowledgeable about this region. Was it possible she’d gone to the coast to hunt for fossils herself?
He frowned.
He hadn’t thought she’d abandon the comforts of the library. If she wanted to explore the coast on her own, she could do so. This was hardly Seven Dials, and he trusted her not to get swept into the ocean.
Still, his stomach tightened as it always did when considering bodies of water. Jasper may have visited the continent on multiple occasions, but he never enjoyed the sea crossing. Imagining other people doing the crossing was worse.
“Coming?” Brightling tossed the ball in the air. “Time to play!”
Jasper stared at the ball.
Normally he didn’t require any enticement to play.
And yet, even under this delightful sunshine, even with his dear friends, playing didn’t seem sufficiently appealing. His mind lingered on Miss Carberry. What was she doing now? Was she wandering over the sand? Scurrying from cave to cave? Basking in sunbeams? Had she removed her shoes and was strolling through the water? He imagined her raising her dress, so her ankles were visible. He imagined water rushing over them, lapping against her body.
The air suddenly seemed devoid of moisture.
Perhaps, since she was new, the gentlemanly thing to do would simply be to show her around. Orient her.
She probably could find the ocean easily enough. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore was the type of thing one was bound to notice. But she was still his guest, and perhaps he could point out other things.
He found himself nodding, and Brightling shot him a curious look.
“Are you quite fine?” Brightling furrowed his brow.
“Er—yes,” Jasper said hoarsely. “All’s well with me. I just realize I have something else to do.”
Brightling raised his eyebrows.
“So, I’m just going to go,” Jasper blurted, before Brightling asked more questions.
“But what about the game?”
“Play it yourselves,” Jasper shouted, jogging toward the English Channel, unhampered by the uneven ground as he moved past his gardeners’ neatly maintained paths.