Chapter Fifteen

J asper felt the rebuke as if Crispin had appeared in the flesh to slap sense into him. He stared at the letter and repeated, muttering, “Crispin.”

Here he had been congratulating himself on his success. Vanessa’s success. He didn’t think she understood just how much of a triumph the day had been. Especially after those lines had appeared in the Post, designed to make a mockery of everyone involved.

And Father! Jasper had never loved him so much. When he’d presented the dilemma, Father sighed and said, “Hilyer is a dog.” He agreed to publicly acknowledge his son’s paramour—no small favor to ask—all while sparing Jasper the moralizing that was a father’s prerogative.

And Lady Posonby. What a stroke. How had he not thought to approach her first? The woman was an unabashed bluestocking, but her birth was impeccable. She made it her life’s work to defy societal conventions. And she led a small, tough cadre of like-minded daughters of the ton. Vanessa would have friends. She would probably have to spend time reading poetry or Wollstonecraft, but if she could face down Napoleon’s finest, she could hold her own with Rose.

If that little peep in the Post was Hilyer’s worst, they had already won. But Jasper had one more card to play. The following night, Hazard would be hosting a private party at Brooks’s. His club. He invented something to celebrate. Hazard was choosier about his friends than Jasper was. As a consequence, men clambered to be included in his set. Hazard invited many of them, even the few peers who still regarded the marquess as worth knowing. He did not invite the marquess, who would arrive at Brooks’s to find the gaming room essentially empty and the doors of the party swing back, closed to him. Jasper, not even a member of Brooks’s, would be there. The Prince Regent as well. A decided coup to obtain that commitment. Jasper could not imagine how Hazard had finagled it—unless he had lent Prinny more money than he admitted.

If Hilyer blustered—and he would—he would find himself tossed out of his own club on his ear.

The devil. Jasper had been so busy congratulating himself on the way he was “protecting” Vanessa, that he’d lost sight of the reason she needed protection. Crispin reminded him. He had taken a grieving widow and made her his paramour.

Vanessa looked white about the mouth.

“Why does he feel he deserves an explanation? Is he your confessor? Is he mine?”

“I don’t think being angry with Crispin serves any purpose,” Jasper said wearily. “He sees through defensiveness. He exploits it.”

“Defensiveness? Jasper, aren’t you the one who keeps saying we must not be ashamed?”

“Yes. Yes, and we should not. You, especially, should not.” He heaved an enormous sigh and confided in her. “It is important to me to have my brothers’ respect.”

“That’s only natural, but—”

“No.” He laughed a little. “I think it is unnaturally important to me. They are—” She waited for him to find the words. “Talented,” he finished. “It is as though God asked, at my conception, which talents I would most wish to have, and then he allotted them to my brothers. Which is actually a wonderful God gift.” His jaw ached from clenching. “It is so very humbling.”

“You cannot tell me you have not been gifted with enough.”

“Reginald is brilliant. Eye-wateringly, stare-at-the-sun brilliant. He is six years younger than me, and I swear, by the time I was twelve, I knew not to challenge him on anything factual. Or for that matter, mythological. But I don’t particularly envy him that peculiarity.” He sniffed. “No, I am jealous of his aim.”

“His what?”

“His aim. Gentlemen are supposed to be able to shoot. Vanessa, I cannot keep my eyes open when I pull a trigger. I have a terrible tendency to jerk my arm at the last moment. God alone knows where the bullets end up. Even Olivia laughs at me.”

“Jasper, that’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, and I know it.” He didn’t want her to think he was merely whining. “I could see the fun in it. But Reg, who is near-sighted to boot, can put a bullet through the center of a target at fifty paces. Probably farther. And he never trained himself. He plucked up my father’s pistol the first day he was permitted to shoot with us and boom.”

“For Heaven’s sake.” Her lips twitched as if she was picturing his dismay when it occurred.

“And then there is Crispin. He should have been Father’s heir.”

“You can’t say that. You are the very image of the earl.”

“He has authority.”

“ You have authority. You just wield it more nicely.”

“And he plays the piano. By ear. He will look at sheet music, out of habit, I suppose, but he doesn’t need it. And he plays with an emotion that brings my mother to tears.”

“That’s hard to picture.”

“I know. Which is also annoying. He does not give the impression of being a musician. Meanwhile, I cannot even sing. My family will not even tolerate my humming.”

At that, Vanessa laughed. “Yes, well, I have heard you.”

He gave her a weak smile. “These are but small examples. I look at them, with their many talents, and I look at myself…sometimes I wonder why they don’t scorn me.”

“Jasper!”

“That is self-pity, I know. Or you may accuse me of false modesty if you wish. I know I have gifts.” His lip curled deprecatingly. “I am handsomer.” Then he shook himself. “The devil, Vanessa. You must want to slap me. I’m thrown off balance because Crispin just did slap me. I don’t owe him an explanation. Of course, I don’t. Nevertheless, I’ll hie off to the drawing room and try to compose some sort of response.”

*

A pile of crumpled foolscap in the bin beside the leather-topped rosewood writing table testified to Jasper’s inability, over the course of the next three hours, to find an answer to Crispin’s single word. Moreover, the brandy bottle was drained. There had only been two glassfuls in it, and he was sensible enough not to call for another. But damn. Why was this so hard?

He didn’t owe Crispin an explanation. But he owed one to himself. And he could not come up with one except that he had been captivated by Vanessa. Which was not enough.

When he heard the knocker on the front door below, he was relieved before he even knew what distraction it might bring. Then he heard Hazard’s voice and felt downright elated. Vanessa brought him to the drawing room.

“Hazard wishes to speak with you, Jasper.”

“He’s always welcome. Come in, Haz. I’m sorry but I’ve finished off the brandy.”

“Ah. That answers my question then.”

Jasper wrinkled his brow. “Which is?”

Hazard glanced at Vanessa.

“She may hear anything you have to say,” Jasper said.

Vanessa said, “Thank you, but I think I would prefer to leave you two alone.” She backed out and closed the door.

“She has been holding up very well,” Hazard noted.

“She has. Better than I am, at the moment.”

“What did Crispin say to inspire you to empty the brandy bottle?”

“Ha! Not much. What did he say to you?”

Hazard pulled a letter from his jacket. “Only requested that I give this to you, but not until I had ascertained that you had read his previous note.”

“He must have written them sequentially and the order mattered.”

Shaking his head, Hazard handed over the missive. “One of these days, one of your brother’s blunderbusses will blow up in his face. I don’t wish to be there to see it.”

“I doubt it will be this one. Not when Crispin is so thoroughly right.”

“I’m surely not the first to say your brother is an impressive man. But if I may, I’ll be the first to say his moral outrage is wearisome. Don’t take it so much to heart.”

Jasper ignored that and started to break the seal.

“Jasper, a moment.” Hazard looked pensive. He held his hands low, in front of him, fingers entwined. “You know, I suspect he is here. Crispin. In London. Your letter was wrapped in mine, delivered by hand, not by post. He was here last night or early this morning. I can’t imagine why he would be sneaking around like this.”

It irritated Jasper to think Crispin might be in London. He could have done his scolding in person, without all this drama.

“Anyone could have delivered it.”

“Yes, but letters back and forth to the Peninsula do not move this fast.”

Jasper tried counting weeks in his head. Surely there had been time enough for Crispin to hear that Lord Taverston had taken a mistress, a pretty war widow. And for Crispin to fire off a one-word response to him and a letter to Hazard. Hadn’t there been?

“Maybe he is here. He carries dispatches sometimes.” Jasper swore under his breath. “If he’s here on Wellesley’s behalf, he’s busy. He won’t be thrilled to have to deal with me as well.”

Hazard made a sound through his nose. “He doesn’t have to deal with you.” He sauntered to the door, then muttered, “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

*

J.—Never mind. What’s done is done. I understand you have marshaled your considerable forces and will soon erase H. from your world. Bravo. However. Your world is tiny and your weapons paltry. You don’t simply wound a dangerous creature. You must go in for the kill. (Metaphorically speaking.) You must destroy this letter. It is damning and you should not have it in your possession. Now—the army cannot function without rum. One hundred barrels, recently opened, were found to contain faintly rum-scented water. I suspect there will be more. You may guess how W. took the news. In short, there is a chain leading back to our friend. Use this. Frighten the blood from his veins. Mention his concerns in Ireland. Lest you shun blackmail, etc., don’t be an arse. We are dealing with treason. My dispatches are on their way higher up. Meantime—H. is nervous. Make him more so. He has gold and a cache of military secrets (ha!) that he will, should he be forced to leave England, take to France. If we try to arrest him here, there are those who will shield him. H. is too stupid to have concocted this alone. We need to catch him with both feet offshore. Make him run. Make him run and we will catch him.

—Yours very humbly, etc.,—C.

P.S. I do apologize for the Morning Post . It is piquing to see idols fall.

The devil. The very devil. Jasper dropped his head into his hands. What was Crispin digging himself into? Then he rubbed his face hard. If Crispin got himself shot…playing at espionage…

He rose and walked to the table, stuck the letter into the globe of the lamp, and watched it burn.

Make Hilyer run? What the hell, Crispin? Was this a game? Some sort of test? What if he failed? Crispin’s instructions were not very explicit.

And his irony. Bravo. Idols fall . Very humbly yours . Damn him! At least Jasper knew he was not, thank God, as arrogant as Crispin.

He sat a moment. Stewing. But then he could not help snickering, picturing his brother—face scrunched and tip of the tongue between his teeth, as when he used to attempt his abysmal poetry—in the midst of whatever all he was embroiled in, taking time out to compose an on dit for the Post . Jasper should have recognized the handiwork. Crispin was not good at everything.

But damn him. Damn him for dragging them all into this. They had all better hope he was good at whatever he was playing at now.