Chapter 24

Jasper and Beatrice arrived late to the apple picking. Benedick was improving rapidly thanks to the salve supplied by Lady Milthorpe’s housekeeper, and he was standing well enough that Jasper had considered bringing him. But after looking over his dog, he determined Benedick was still in some discomfort and probably didn’t need to be walking around on sore paws for the better part of the morning. Jasper finally decided to leave the big mastiff in the dubiously tender care of the kittens and jogged down the stairs with Beatrice trotting after him.

He strode toward the orchard at a rapid clip, and Beatrice whined in complaint. The mastiffs liked to romp occasionally, but such big dogs weren’t built for running long distances. Patting Beatrice’s wrinkly head, he slowed his stride.

He was anxious to speak with Eleanor. Her stilted behavior at breakfast made it clear that she was now regretting the intimacies they had shared last night.

He hoped he could offer her some reassurances on that front. The passage of eight hours had done nothing to dim his conviction that Eleanor Weatherby was the woman he was meant to marry. Still, he thought he should heed the advice he had recently given to Felix and slow down. No matter how perfect she seemed for him, their acquaintance was a short one. He would be wise to hold off his proposal until the end of the house party and focus on spending time with Eleanor to see if they were truly as compatible as he hoped.

Arriving at the orchard, he saw that Lady Milthorpe’s guests had already spread out. Jasper looked around but saw no sign of any of the Weatherby sisters.

Fortunately, he had Beatrice. “Find Felix, old girl.”

Beatrice was all too happy to search for one of her favorite people and promptly turned to the left. Surely enough, they soon found Felix, surrounded by all four Weatherby sisters, as well as Lady Francesca, who was chatting with Clarissa.

Pippa noticed them first. “Beatrice!” she exclaimed, squatting down to scratch the droopy-eyed dog behind the ears. “Are you going to pick apples with us this morning?”

“She informed me on the walk up that she mostly plans on napping beneath a tree,” Jasper said.

“After a couple of hours of picking apples, I just might join her,” Pippa said.

Jasper snagged a basket. Catching Eleanor’s eye, he smiled. “Shall we?”

Her brows descended, and her lips flattened into a thin, straight line. Jasper couldn’t parse precisely what was going on behind those hazel eyes, but he could read the displeasure radiating from them well enough.

If anyone else noticed Eleanor’s disquiet, they said nothing of it. Pippa and Felix were already strolling off, arm-in-arm, with Beatrice trotting at their heels. Clarissa was up on a ladder, dropping apples into a basket held by Lady Francesca while they prattled away.

Jasper glanced around, looking for the final Weatherby sister.

Eleanor spotted her first. “Kate!” she called toward a slight figure in a pale blue dress who was attempting to slip behind a tree. “Won’t you join us?”

Kate narrowed her eyes at her sister as she emerged from her hiding place. “I thought I would sketch the proceedings,” she said, brandishing a sketchpad and roll of pencils.

“I think you should pick apples,” Eleanor said through clenched teeth. “Lady Milthorpe has gone to a great deal of trouble to plan this entertainment.”

“Which is why I thought she might appreciate a sketch to commemorate the occasion,” Kate replied, already scurrying away.

“Kate!” Eleanor snapped. “Kate, come back here!”

Jasper seized her hand, placing it on his arm and clapping his own hand on top so she couldn’t escape. “Let’s see what apples are over here, Miss Weatherby,” he said as he towed her into the far reaches of the orchard.

Once they were out of earshot of the other guests, Jasper released her. She glared up at him, eyes sparking. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out what the hell is wrong. You’ve been acting strangely all morning.”

“I haven’t been acting strangely at all. I’m trying to help you!”

“Help me?” Jasper peered down at her, dumbfounded. “How are you helping me by pretending I don’t exist?”

Abruptly, the anger left her face, leaving only sorrow behind. “Look, Jasper—I saw the way you and Lady Francesca were laughing together this morning.”

He frowned. “Lady Francesca? What does she have to do with—”

“I know you’re courting her,” she said, cutting him off. “That she’s the leading candidate to be your future duchess. There’s been a fair amount of gossip about it.” She wrung her hands. “I’m trying not to ruin things for you.”

Jasper bit back a groan. If only she knew whom he was really considering for the role of Duchess of Norwood. “Eleanor, I’m not going to marry Lady Francesca.”

She held her hands out in front of her, taking a step back. “It’s all right. Really, it is. She would be perfect for your”—she squeezed her eyes shut, as if the word was difficult to say—“your bride. She’s well-bred. And pretty. And extremely knowledgeable about Shakespeare.” She was looking everywhere but at him. “I like her. I really do. She’s nice. And she’s not snobbish. She’s struck up quite the friendship with Clarissa.”

“Eleanor. Look at me.”

She did not comply but continued in a rush, “And this morning, it seemed like you were finally developing a rapport—”

“Would you care to know why we were finally developing a rapport?”

She continued as if she had not heard him. “—and it is truly not my intention to stand in your way. I quite like the idea of you being married to someone like that. A woman of substance and good character, with whom you share some common interests—”

“Eleanor.” He seized her by the shoulders. Finally, she lifted her gaze to his.

For all her talk about how happy she was that he was supposedly marrying Lady Francesca, her expression was forlorn.

Paradoxically, this pleased him. Eleanor wasn’t as indifferent to him as she liked to pretend.

But it gutted him to see her upset, so he wanted to reassure her with all possible haste.

“The reason you found me chatting companionably with Lady Francesca this morning is because we finally cleared the air.”

She frowned. “Cleared the air? What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t want to marry me,” he said firmly. “She is, in fact, terrified of the prospect. Both of her older sisters died in childbirth. As I am sure you noticed, she is extremely petite, and the thought of marrying a great hulking fellow such as me filled her with dread. But her parents, who would very much like their daughter to be a duchess, would put considerable pressure on her to accept me were I to propose. We only began to develop a rapport, as you put it, after I promised her that I would not issue her an offer of marriage.”

A pair of pink splotches appeared on Eleanor’s cheeks. “That’s… that’s… I didn’t know that.” She cleared her throat. “Well, the gossip was that there was another candidate. Lady Josephine, I believe.”

“I eliminated Lady Josephine from consideration almost immediately. She would enjoy being a duchess and spending my money. But we have nothing in common.”

The splotches on Eleanor’s cheeks turned crimson. Her eyes were fixed upon the grass. “I… I see. Still, I am sure you will resume your search for a bride after the house party is over. You would not want to be seen spending too much time in my company.”

Jasper weighed his words. He did want to go slowly, to get to know Eleanor better before issuing a proposal. How to reassure her without making promises when he was not completely sure?

“I will certainly endeavor not to do anything that would tarnish your reputation,” he said carefully. “But I awoke this morning excited at the prospect of spending the day with you. Surely it will not hurt anything to spend an hour or two in each other’s company, picking apples.”

“You’re probably right.” She nodded tightly, still not looking at him. “Very well. Let’s get on with it, then.”

“You don’t have to look so grim about it,” he said, strolling over to a nearby tree. He set the basket down upon the ground and reached for a high branch, pulling it down so Eleanor could reach the fruit.

“I am trying to be circumspect,” she said tightly, plucking apples from the branch and dropping them into the basket.

This wasn’t working. What he needed was a new approach.

It occurred to him in a flash. “Let us talk of something else, say, Shakespeare. What do you feel is Shakespeare’s best play? I think it is The Two Gentlemen of Verona.”

She looked at him, horrified. “The Two Gentlemen of Verona? That is quite possibly Shakespeare’s worst play! It is incohesive, incoherent, and the ending is—”

She broke off, squinting at him. Jasper was trying to keep a straight face, but not succeeding particularly well.

She threw her hands up in annoyance, but she was smiling. “You were jesting! Of course, you were jesting. The Two Gentlemen of Verona is atrocious.”

“It really is,” he agreed. “Almost as bad as Timon of Athens. Tell me, how did you come to the conclusion that Shakespeare started and then abandoned that play? I saw exactly what you meant as soon as I started to read it again. But I am convinced that it never would have occurred to me on my own.”

They filled one basket with apples while eagerly discussing Shakespeare. They argued passionately over which was the Bard’s best tragedy—Hamlet or King Lear—but neither of them seemed bothered by the disagreement. They continued to debate while Jasper carried the overflowing basket of apples up to the front of the orchard on his shoulder, then headed back with two more empty baskets. They filled these while Eleanor told him about her childhood growing up in Yorkshire, including her father’s failings, which were numerous.

“He went looking for a Pegasus?” Jasper snapped. “In Eritrea?”

“He did,” Eleanor confirmed. “That was the year the four of us could only afford meat once a week. If I never see another bowl of porridge, it will be too soon. We ate so much of it that year.”

Jasper scowled. “But why did he have to go all the way to Ethiopia? Why could he not economize by being an idiot closer to home?”

“Pliny the Elder wrote about the winged horses of Eritrea,” Eleanor explained. “Most people believe the story to be apocryphal. Just not my father. He thought perhaps it could be a turning point in his career.”

“Part of me would like to meet your father,” he said darkly. “I would have a few things to say to him.”

“I’m sure you would. And I haven’t even told you about the wyverns yet.”

His brows descended. “The wyverns?”

“Yes.” She looped her arm through his as they moved on to the next tree. “He had to go all the way to Tatarstan to fail to find those…”

Jasper even found himself telling her about the dark days after the deaths of his father and Felix’s mother, about how Felix had been distraught, and he hadn’t known what to do.

She made a sympathetic sound. “A feeling I know all too well.”

He set the basket on the grass so he could pull a branch laden with apples down within her reach. “I know our acquaintance has been short, but I cannot imagine you not knowing what to do. You invariably seem to do the right thing where your sisters are concerned.” He made a bleak sound. “Talking to Pippa about your recent situation brought into sharp relief how poorly I had been doing by Felix.”

She dropped a pair of apples into the basket. “Believe me, I have made a thousand mistakes where my sisters are concerned. I don’t mean to suggest that the mistakes don’t matter. But the mere act of showing up, of trying, matters a great deal. You cared enough to bring Felix back to Eton. It might not have been a perfect solution, but the fact that you wanted him with you must’ve sent a powerful message.”

Jasper shrugged. He wasn’t quite so quick to absolve himself of his recent behavior. “I can be terribly ham-fisted where Felix is concerned. As you have observed. I just can’t bear to see him hurt. To make a mistake.”

“I know exactly what you mean, and yet, mistakes are sometimes the only way we learn. Sometimes it’s little things. Clarissa never wanted to bring her cloak anywhere when she was a girl. I let her leave it at home once. She was cold, but I never had to nag her again. But sometimes it’s harder.” She twirled a fallen branch in her fingers, worrying the leaves. “I’ve known for years that my father would break Kate’s heart one day. She didn’t see him as clearly as the rest of us. She wanted him to love her so much, she convinced herself that he did. I would try to gently point out the ways his behavior was detrimental to our well-being, but she always contrived an excuse for him. The past three weeks have been the hardest on her, by far.”

Jasper cringed. Too well did he know what it felt like when your sibling was heartbroken. “Will she be all right?”

Eleanor gave him a little smile. “I think she will. She’s starting to turn the corner. Besides, she’s a Weatherby Wallflower. We’re a hardy lot.”

She made the remark lightly, but Jasper felt shame sweep over him, that he had once used the disparaging nickname invented by the papers toward Eleanor and her sisters. “I wish I had not called you that, even once. It was horrifically rude of me. I apologize.”

Eleanor waved this off. “Believe me, the Weatherby sisters are used to far worse.”

“You shouldn’t be. None of your problems are of your own making. They were all orchestrated by your father. Now that I have met the four of you, I know how stupid of a nickname it truly is. You are all handsome and talented. I honestly do not believe any of you would have been wallflowers, had you been given the opportunity to come to London for a Season.”

“It’s Rupert Dupree’s fault.”

Jasper tilted his head. “That is the part I cannot countenance. I know he wrote a letter, claiming that the four of you were fortune huntresses.”

Eleanor snorted. “He did more than that—he jilted Clarissa.”

Jasper’s brow descended. “He what?”

“He jilted her. Lady Milthorpe had somehow arranged for a match between him and Clarissa. He would have none of it, as he made clear in the cruelest, most public manner imaginable.” She laughed. “I’m surprised you don’t remember. I am given to understand that all of England was talking about it.”

Jasper held up his hands. “I’m sure you’re right. I don’t pay much attention to the gossip rags. I remember hearing the nickname, but obviously not the details behind it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Eleanor’s gaze was sharp. “What doesn’t make any sense?”

“I know Rupert Dupree. We were at school together. He’s younger than me but older than Felix. And that doesn’t sound like him at all. He might be as dumb as a post, but he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

Eleanor snorted. “Clarissa has a clipping of the letter. She takes it with her everywhere, like some kind of dark talisman. I’ll show it to you, and we’ll see if it doesn’t change your mind.”

“I would like to see it. Not that I disbelieve you. I’m just struggling to square the notion of Rupert doing something like that. If you could have seen how kind he was to Felix when he first came to Eton, and there were so few boys his age…” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s disappointing that the fine young man I knew apparently turned into a cad.”

“He certainly did. And I would not recommend mentioning to Clarissa that you’re friendly with Rupert Dupree, or Rotten Rupert, as she calls him. She tries to pretend she doesn’t care, but his rejection wounded her. I know it did.”

“I will bear that in mind.”

Across the grove, some movement caught his eye. It was Felix and Pippa. “Look,” he murmured.

Peering through the branches, he watched as Pippa and Felix both went to drop an apple in their basket at the same time and almost bumped heads. Pippa pressed a hand to her heart and started to step back, but Felix stepped forward, framing her face. A charmingly awkward dance ensued in which they tried to figure out which way to tilt their heads, and then Felix pressed his lips gently to hers.

He grinned, nudging Eleanor with his elbow. “How about that?”

She was giving him an incredulous look. “Who are you?”

He laughed. Jasper wasn’t quite sure himself.

But one thing he did know—he liked this version of himself, the man he was under Eleanor’s influence—far better than who he’d been at the start of the week.

That was worth mulling over.

He scooped up their basket, which was full. “Come on. Let’s bring this to the front.”

The apple picking was winding down. At the front of the orchard, they encountered Felix, who couldn’t stop grinning, and Pippa, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet. Jasper did his best to keep his features neutral, not wanting to spoil their moment by revealing what he and Eleanor had witnessed.

He found Beatrice sitting with Kate near the entrance. Kate stood as he approached, opening her sketchbook. “I couldn’t resist sketching your dog. I hope you don’t mind.”

Jasper leaned in to look at the sketches. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “I say, Miss Katherine—these are outstanding!”

They truly were. She had drawn a dozen different poses, not only of Beatrice sitting and lying, but of her in motion as well. Jasper was no artist, but he did know his dogs, and these looked precisely like Beatrice. More than that, he fancied that Kate had captured Beatrice’s personality.

He had assumed that Felix, who didn’t have a critical word for anyone, had been exaggerating Kate’s talent. Not a whit—she was as good as any artist he might find in London.

Jasper wondered if he could convince Kate to make a formal portrait of the mastiffs. He had the perfect spot for it in his study.

Together, they headed back to the house. Jasper was pleased that he’d been able to discover the cause of Eleanor’s earlier reticence and even more pleased by how their conversation had gone. He was more convinced than ever that she was his ideal life partner.

And he would see her again at luncheon, this afternoon, and then, tonight.

When she would come to his bed.

As they walked back to Milthorpe Manor, Jasper had to restrain himself so he wouldn’t bounce on the balls of his feet just like Pippa.