The next morning, after another night spent in sleeplessness, Hermione went downstairs to find, to her surprise, her father seated at the breakfast table as if nothing much had happened in the last few days.
Staring for a moment at him, or rather at the papers which he was skillfully employing to hide his face from her, she was struck by just how detached from him she now felt.
They’d never been particularly close. Even when the death of her mother might have brought them together. But she’d never realized just how unreliable Lord Upperton was until these last couple of years. She had made her debut from her aunt’s house, along with a cousin the same age. And when the cousin had married and moved away, Hermione had gone back to live at Upperton House with her father.
They’d managed to get along well enough, she supposed, but then Lord Upperton had begun to behave with the recklessness that had characterized his actions of the last few days. He gambled frequently, was drunk more often than not, and as evidenced by his loss of her grays, in his desperation for the next game, he’d grown callous. He would do whatever it took to ensure his continued access to the gaming tables.
Even betray his only child.
“I am surprised to find you here,” she said, before crossing to the sideboard and filling a plate with more food than she could possibly eat. “I thought perhaps you had chosen to take rooms elsewhere.”
When she turned to take a seat, he lowered the paper to the table.
Hermione bit back a gasp. Lord Upperton looked dreadful. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles, his skin tone was sallow, and he looked as if he’d not slept in weeks.
Taking a seat in the chair the footman held out for her, Hermione glanced down at her plate unseeing. She was unable to look back in her father’s direction for a moment, so she took a deep breath.
“Why would I take rooms elsewhere when I’ve only just leased this place?” he asked querulously. “Doesn’t make any sense, daughter.”
Finally able to school her features, Hermione looked up at him again. This time noting the details she’d missed earlier. The burst blood vessel on his nose, the spot where his valet had missed with that morning’s shave. She wished she could feel some sort of affection for him. But all she felt now was a sickly cocktail of disappointment, sadness, and nostalgia for the days when he’d been her beloved Papa.
“I suppose not,” she said, taking a piece of toast from the rack just to have something to do. “I suppose you’ve learned about what happened to Lord Saintcrow?”
For a moment the question hung in the air between them like the sickly sweet perfume of an aging beauty.
“I don’t know what you would have to say about it,” he said finally, taking a slurping sip of tea. “An unmarried chit like you should have no dealings with a man like that.”
Hermione sighed. “Cut line, Papa. I know it’s to him you lost my grays. He told me as much when he came to collect them just before my first promenade with the Lords of Anarchy.”
Lord Upperton winced. “I told the fellow to talk to me before he took the horses. He wasn’t supposed to take possession of them until after you’d done your bit of folderol with that damned driving club.”
She knew she shouldn’t be touched by the knowledge that he’d not deliberately set out to humiliate her, but she was. At the very least it meant he had some feeling for her. And that was better than nothing.
Even so …
“The point is not when he arrived to take possession, Papa,” she said, remaining firm despite her angst, “but that he came to collect my horses at all. You know full well that they belonged to me, outright.”
But he waved that objection away. “You know as well as I do, daughter, that what’s yours is mine. A father must be able to dispose of a daughter’s belongings. Especially if they are leading her into activities that could endanger her.”
“My horses weren’t leading me into anything,” she said, her voice rising with indignance. “If anything they were keeping me sane. I certainly would have run mad if all I had to occupy my time with was listening to other ladies prose on about needlework, or the latest fashion. And besides that, I purchased them with my own money. I believe that makes them my personal belongings.”
“We won’t quibble about technicalities, Hermione,” her father said coolly. “What’s done is done. What I wish to know is if you’ve settled things with Lord Mainwaring yet.”
And just like that she went from being mildly annoyed to angry.
“If by that you mean to inquire whether he has told me about the card game you lost to him, thereby giving him my hand in marriage,” she said through gritted teeth, “then, yes, I have settled things with Lord Mainwaring.”
“But what’s this?” he asked, looking as disappointed as child whose ice has melted. “I thought you’d be pleased. Fine, strapping man like that? You couldn’t have done better yourself. And I do know how you dislike parading around the marriage mart. This way you don’t have to!”
“That’s not the point, Papa,” she nearly shouted. “You might as well have offered me up to the highest bidder! I am well aware that you’re within your rights to give my hand to whomever you wish, but did you have to do it in such a blatant spectacle?”
“Do not raise your voice to me, Hermione,” Lord Upperton said sharply, all traces of childishness gone. “I did what I thought best for you. As your father that is my right. If you do not like the way I went about it, well then, you will simply need to get past that. I feel sure Lord Mainwaring will be more than adept at polishing away the tarnish of how the betrothal happened.”
“It’s not a betrothal, Papa,” she said, pressing her fingers over her eyes to keep the tears that threatened from falling, “it is a marriage, which we will undertake at the end of the week at the very latest. I suspect Mainwaring will come here today to discuss the settlements.”
Instead of looking chagrined at her disappointment, he singled out the thing that would most impact him and his plans. “Oh, I cannot possibly meet with the fellow today. My head is aching like mad. And I promised the Countess of Amberley that I’d take her for a drive in the park this afternoon.”
He would have gone on further, but a footman appeared and announced that his lordship had a visitor in his study.
“That is likely him now,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She would have liked to be a fly on the wall during these marriage negotiations. For she had little doubt that her father would do what was best for himself and that Mainwaring would instead try to do what was fair. “I’ll come say hello.”
If her father thought it odd that she wished to see the fiancé she’d just upbraided him for securing for her, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, with a groan of unhappiness, he stood up from his chair and followed Hermione into the hallway in the direction of his study.
But when Hermione stepped over the threshold, it wasn’t Mainwaring who lounged comfortably in the chair before Lord Upperton’s desk, it was instead Mr. Rosewood.
Removing his hat, which he clearly had not given to Waverly upon his entrance, Mr. Rosewood said, “Lady Hermione, it is a pleasure. I hope I find you well.”
“As well as I could be after two consecutive visits from the authorities,” she said without heat. “I do not believe you’ve met my father, the Earl of Upperton?”
As her father stepped farther into the room, she noticed that he had a bruise on his upper cheek. Perhaps Mainwaring had not been able to keep his cool with him after all. For some reason, the notion buoyed her.
“Lord Upperton,” said Rosewood, bowing deeply to her father. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to find you here. I feel as if I’ve been searching all over London for you.”
“As you can see, sir,” Lord Upperton said with an unreadable expression, “I am here in my own home.”
“I can see that, my lord, but you weren’t here yesterday. Or at any of the other places where I tried to search you out.” Rosewood shrugged. “Any other man I’d have suspected of absconding. But no, you’re here. Which will make my job so much easier, let me tell you.”
“I’m sure I am as interested as the next man to see your job made easier,” Lord Upperton said sarcastically, “but why don’t you tell me why you were looking for me. Then you can be on your way.”
“Ah, of course,” said the Bow Street runner with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “I came to ask you a few questions about Lord Saintcrow. I’m sure by now your daughter has told you all about it.”
Taking a seat behind his massive desk, Lord Upperton nodded. “She made some mention of it, yes.”
“Then you are also aware that Lord Saintcrow’s death has been deemed suspicious. I know you will do your best to help us learn what truly happened to his lordship.”
Hermione took a seat in the far corner of the room, wanting to hear what was said, but not wishing to be seen.
“What can I possibly do?” Lord Upperton’s tone made it clear that he thought an investigation into the death of Saintcrow was a waste of time. “I only met with the fellow once and that was before his murder. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but he was involved in any number of business dealings with less than scrupulous men who would not think twice about murder.”
“But you see, your lordship, I have heard from more than one source that you were involved in some rather nasty business with Lord Saintcrow only days before he died.” The big man’s brow furrowed. “I don’t mean to say that you killed the man, just that you might know who did.”
Relaxing slightly, Lord Upperton pulled a bottle of brandy from his desk drawer and poured a hefty glass. Then glancing up, he offered Mr. Rosewood a glass. But the other man declined.
“I know nothing of who killed Saintcrow,” said the earl once he’d downed the entire glass. “We completed our business and that was the last time I saw him. I wish I could help you.”
“Oh, do not be too hard on yourself,” Rosewood said with a smile. “I think you’ve helped me quite a bit.”
Rising, he gave a brief nod to Hermione, and just before he reached the door, he turned. “One more thing, Lord Upperton. Can you tell me whether Lord Saintcrow won anything from you besides the coaching pair?”
Lord Upperton nodded. “Yes, he did. A small estate in Lincolnshire. Is there a problem with that?” Hermione noted that he had the good grace to look guilty at having his earlier lie about the estate revealed.
Rosewood looked thoughtful. “No problem at all. I thank you both for your time.”
And with that, the runner left father and daughter alone.
* * *
Having finally secured a special license thanks to an uncle who was a bishop, Jasper turned Hector in the direction of Whitehall. He’d known the summons from Sir Richard Lindsey would come but was slightly vexed to have to face his mentor so soon after his unpleasant audience with his mother and sisters.
For he had little doubt that the spymaster would find Jasper’s entanglement with Hermione problematic at best.
When he strode into the older man’s office some time later, it was to find Sir Richard, scribbling notes as he read through a stack of documents. No doubt different ones from the ones that had littered his desk when last Jasper was there.
There was no mistaking the sharp glance the man gave Jasper when he entered the room. Clearly he was in for a dressing-down of proportions in keeping with the desk he now stood before.
“I am pleased to see you didn’t ignore my request for an accounting,” Sir Richard said with a raised brow as he removed the spectacles he used for reading. “I thought perhaps you would wait until after the deed was done so that I would be unable to persuade you against your chosen course of action.”
“Not at all, sir,” said Jasper with a slight bow before he lowered himself into a wing chair opposite. “I have been busy, of course, but naturally my work for the crown is of the utmost importance.”
“I am glad to hear you say it, lad,” Sir Richard said, the slight burr of his native Scotland revealing itself as it always did when he was incensed. “For I did wonder for a moment whether your work for us was uppermost in your mind when you chose to sit down to a game with Lord Upperton. Especially considering that his home’s proximity to the Fleetwoods was one of the reasons for you to further your friendship with Lady Hermione. I hardly need to tell you how difficult it will be to watch the Fleetwoods’ comings and goings if Lady Hermione lives with you in Grosvenor Square.”
“Logistics aside, sir,” Jasper said with the plain-speaking he knew his mentor valued from him, “I could not, as a gentleman, allow her father to marry her off to someone else, either. At least I am acquainted with the lady, and despite my misgivings about her strong opinions, I am rather fond of her. Marriage to another man would not only lead her to a great deal of unhappiness, but might also remove our only connection to Fleetwood.
“And,” he continued, knowing that this was his true trump card, “she is a member of the Lords of Anarchy. Which will be quite useful if we are to discover whether there is some link between the club and the ring of thieves.”
“If, that is,” Sir Richard said with a frown, “your suspicions about Fleetwood’s dealings with the Lords of Anarchy are correct. We have not, to date, seen the man attend any of the meetings or ride out with the club.”
“That is because he works with them not as a member, but behind the scenes.” Jasper leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I do not know what it is that Fleetwood has to do with the club, but my gut says it’s important. And I am quite sure now that the club itself is dealing in stolen horses. I overheard Lord Payne admit as much at the Comerford ball when he thought he wouldn’t be heard.”
Jasper told him about the conversation among Lord Payne and his cohorts, putting special emphasis on the bit where they discussed orders and deliveries. “My gut says that Fleetwood wasn’t just a curious horse enthusiast the day he visited Hermione’s stables, either. He was looking to see which horses she had there. Perhaps because the horses in question had originated with their ring of thieves.”
“Your gut,” Sir Richard said with a shake of his head. “I know your famous gut hasn’t let me down before, Mainwaring, but I must tell you that I am far more comfortable when it’s your head for calculations and figures that you ask me to trust. I can see the numbers and calculate them in my own, slow, way. Your gut I must take on faith. And that, I do not mind telling you, is something that I have a bit of trouble with.”
It was an argument of long standing between the two men. Though Mainwaring’s nearly incredible ability to speed through calculations was one of the reasons Sir Richard had sought him out in the first place, he had his own doubts about the bone-deep convictions that led him to conclusions that might in other circumstances seem mad. But Jasper lived with both abilities for so long that he had learned to trust himself. He could not explain how he knew there was a connection between Fleetwood and the driving club, but he was damned sure it was there.
“I realize that my marriage to Lady Hermione might present a divergence from our initial plans for surveilling the Fleetwoods,” he said now, “but it’s a matter of honor, sir, and I will not leave the lady in the lurch for you or the crown.”
“Well,” Sir Richard said with a frown. “That is a fine speech, but I would like to know how you intend to continue the investigation once you are wed to a lady who seems damned close to the suspects in this inquiry and might even be guilty of Saintcrow’s murder.”
“That’s not fair, sir.” Jasper was willing to listen to Sir Richard’s chastisement of him, but he was damned if he’d let the man accuse Hermione of murder. “She had nothing to do with it. I know. I was there.”
“What do you mean, you were there?” Sir Richard’s eyes blazed. “Explain yourself!”
Jasper told him about how Hermione and her friends had descended upon Saintcrow’s residence the day of the murder and found him already dead.
“So you do not know, in fact, that the three ladies are innocent of the crime,” Sir Richard said. “Just that when you arrived they were upset from seeing it.”
“You don’t really believe that three gently reared ladies are capable of slitting a man’s throat over a pair of contested horses?” Jasper asked, aghast.
Sir Richard tilted his head. “I do not, as it happens. I think it rather more likely that he was killed by one of his confederates. But I am not the only one you need to convince of it.”
“No,” Jasper agreed. “There is a runner who has been questioning Hermione and her father over the matter. He isn’t positive that she was one of the three veiled ladies that were seen coming from Saintcrow’s house on the day of the murder, but he has his suspicions, I think. And I do not think he will be dissuaded by our marriage. If anything, he seems like the sort who will work harder to prove she did it because of her elevated rank.”
“Then do what you can to protect your lady, man,” Sir Richard said with a vehemence that startled Jasper. “I am content with what you’ve learned so far about the theft ring. Just continue to watch Fleetwood and maybe look further into his possible connections to the Lords of Anarchy. It cannot be a coincidence that a club of driving aficionados has such close ties to a horse-theft ring. If I were horse mad and wanted access to the best carriage horses I could find without paying full price for them, I might not look too closely at where my steeds came from.”
“It has crossed my mind that Lady Hermione’s horses, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, might not have the most pristine ownership records.” Jasper hated the thought, especially given how heartbroken Hermione had been when she lost them. But it was a possibility he had to look into. “She’s asked her man of business to send copies of the bill of sale and we’re still waiting on that. In the meantime, I’ve purchased them from Saintcrow’s heir, so if they do turn out to be stolen we can see that they are returned to their rightful owner.”
“Good man,” Sir Richard said with approval. “I hope for your lady’s sake that they turn out to be what they purport to be.”