Chapter Twenty-One

B ack from Chaumbers, at home in London, Jasper sat in the library of all places, reading a collection of Walpole’s papers. Hazard’s hero. Parliament would open again in a couple months and, this time, Jasper wanted to understand the opposition better. He wanted to not simply vote Tory because it was what Taverstons had always done, but because he believed in the positions he would be espousing. The problem was, that it was hard to argue against some of what Walpole said.

Some, but not all. Even Hazard disagreed with Walpole’s vehement anti-papism. Of all the Tory’s steadfast dictums, Jasper was now finding that refusing to grant basic rights to Catholics stuck most in his craw. Reg would certainly agree with Hazard that religious discrimination against Catholic Englishmen, even against Irishmen, was blatantly wrong. And Jasper trusted no man’s opinions more than those of his brilliant brother.

Good God. Imagine if his maiden speech before Parliament was a cry for Catholic Emancipation. The stir that would cause. Father would roll over in his grave.

Could he do it? Break from the Earl of Iversley mold? If the cruel world they inhabited was one of their own making, should he not work to change it?

He closed the book in his lap, thinking, and grew aware of a pulsing in the room. Like the air was gathering momentum for a storm. In fact, the house, the dull tomb of a house, had developed a chatter. A noise. Which was absurd. His mental energy was insufficient to create a thunderclap. Yet he was not imagining it. There was noise.

Before he had a chance to rise and investigate, the library door clicked open, and Crispin strolled in. As if returning from an evening promenade in the park.

“Hallo, Jasp. The library? Really?”

The deuce.

Jasper vaulted from his chair and crashed across the room to wring his brother in an embrace. For a moment longer than Jasper expected, Crispin held on.

Then Crispin stepped back. “Do we hug now?”

“Don’t blame me. Reg started it.”

Crispin’s eyes widened. “Good God!”

While Jasper laughed, Crispin paced a few steps and then sat in Jasper’s chair. He picked up the book Jasper had dropped, scanned the title, dropped it, and rose.

“I’m in the wrong house. That explains.”

“Sit down. Tell me everything. When did you get back?”

“Ship got in yesterday.” He plopped back down.

“And you had better things to do last night than be hugged by me?”

“Yes.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and lounged. “Long boat ride. Men have needs.”

Jasper snorted. Very likely Crispin had reveled the night away in Southwark. Equally likely, he’d been in meetings at the War Office from debarkation until dawn. He was still in uniform, red cutaway jacket with gold buttons, white pantaloons, and waistcoat—the crisp cleanliness suggested duty rather than pleasure, but with Crispin, it could go either way.

Wellington’s success at Vitoria was evidently as impressive as the dispatches for public consumption made them out to be, though perhaps it could have been more complete. But there was more to it. There was always more. The army was pushing on into France. And Crispin would be as tight lipped as ever. Still, he might have something burdensome to talk around.

“So, Lieutenant Taverston, Vitoria? I will grant you five minutes to boast of your deeds.”

“That is Captain Taverston to you.”

“Captain?”

Crispin shrugged. “I may have been mentioned in the dispatches.”

“Crispin!” He took a proud step closer. “That is wonderful! Congratulations!”

Crispin cringed. “You aren’t going to hug me again?”

“No. But tell me! What you can of it. I want to know. More than what came in that letter of yours. I could have sworn you’d been drinking by the—”

“I had. Paid for it dearly. But just in the common way. So there is that.”

It was unlike Crispin to refer to the uncommon way of it. For a moment, Jasper was nonplussed.

“I don’t want to talk of war, Jasp. My throat is raw from it. I feel I’ve been grilled over a firepit.”

“Bathurst? Liverpool? I hope not Canning.”

“Let us speak of love, instead. Yours.”

“Ha.” He grumbled and turned his back. “There is nothing to say.”

“I was hoping to hear a word from Vanessa. But she is stubborn. She has a right to be, I suppose.”

“Enough, Crispin. I was wrong. Don’t rub salt in it. I should’ve married her, not taken her as a mistress.” He walked farther away, to the window to look out, so as not to look at his brother. But Crispin’s gaze was inescapable. It seared holes through his back. He repeated his mea culpa . “I should have married her.”

“I have a quibble with that, but we will come to it.”

“Leave it, Crispin.”

“Who says you should have married her?”

“Everyone thinks it.”

“Surely not.”

“Crispin.” He turned to confront him. Anger building slowly. He didn’t want to be angry. Not with Crispin and not with himself. “Don’t play your games with me.”

“I understand why you did not. Honestly. I do. She’s a commoner. And while that occasionally does not prove a barrier to men of our ilk—money, beauty, even that strange intangible called ‘love’ have been used as excuses—you don’t make excuses. Not when it comes to duty. You just do it. And earls marry blood; it is their duty to carry forth the line.”

“You think I’m cold.”

“I admire you. I won’t repeat that ever, but it is true.”

Again, Jasper was nonplussed.

Crispin, of course, had more words. “Yet I have never known an aristocrat who did not possess a quirk. It’s a duty, too, I think, to do one thing wrong. You’re allotted one mistake. It’s courteous to use it; perfection is obnoxious.”

Jasper groaned. “You will play your games regardless.”

“Granted, you were due a blushing virgin on your wedding night.”

“Stop.” His tone threatened.

“But she was a pretty young widow. Widows are acceptable enough. Even for you.”

“Stop.” He used his earl’s voice.

“You could have married her.”

Damn, it. Nothing stopped Crispin once he began. So Jasper surrendered.

“I know that. Do you think I do not thrash myself every day? I was a different man, then. A blind one.”

“Not so different,” Crispin murmured. “Say it again. What you should have done.”

“I should have married her! Now go to hell.”

“That, your verb tense, is my quibble. Though I’m not thrilled with the imperative, either.” The damn eyebrow arched. “So you say that you thrash yourself with this daily? Do you envision these your dying words?”

“The mistake is made. I can’t go back and undo it.”

“My God.” Crispin laughed his disbelief. “Your head is thick. Move forward. Not back.”

“If you have something worthwhile to say—”

“Marry her. Is that plain enough?”

Jasper stared. “You’re a lunatic. I can’t marry her. Not…God, Crispin. You aren’t na?ve. Don’t pretend to be.” He cut off any rebuttal. “It’s my fault. I accept that.”

“Exactly what do you accept? Say it aloud.”

Jasper’s anger was now well and truly stoked. No one could needle him as thoroughly as Crispin could.

“That I ruined her. I did. Is that what you want to hear? She was my mistress. Everyone knows—”

“Here is that ‘everyone’ again.” Crispin sighed, rolling back his shoulders.

Then he rose, striding to a cabinet where Father kept liquor stashed. The old earl was not a secret tippler, but he liked a nip before bed and didn’t always want to be after the servants. Jasper kept his nips in the study rather than the library. But Crispin? Jasper watched him with concern. Crispin did not drink spirits. It made him ill. Yet he’d gone straight for the cabinet?

Crispin took out a bottle and poured a hefty glass. He set the bottle back and brought the glass to Jasper.

“Ha! That look on your face. Did you think I meant to swill it?”

Jasper said, “Or throw it at me.” He took the glass. “Why does this feel you wish me to brace myself, rather than console myself.”

“You don’t deserve to be consoled.” Crispin stepped away. “Tell me more about this ‘everyone,’” he said, moving to the bookshelves. “This ‘everyone’ who says Vanessa is ‘ruined.’ Tainted. Dare I say a—”

“Don’t!” Jasper slammed the glass down on the windowsill, shattering it. Shards of glass littered the carpet. Brandy dripped down the wall.

“The Prince Regent? Wellington? Are they everyone?”

Both were flagrant adulterers. And Wellington’s older brother had married his longtime mistress. It could be done. But society shunned the woman. That argument held no water.

“Or are you more concerned with the good opinion of everyone close to you?” Crispin wrinkled his brow as though he were considering the question. “Your friends? Surely you don’t fear Hazard will take you to task for impropriety?”

“Leave Hazard out of this.”

Something in his tone alerted Crispin that Hazard was out of bounds. He acknowledged that with a nearly imperceptible nod.

“It is Carleton then. Or Penworthy. Men whose respect you cannot bear to lose.”

“Crispin, shut up. You’ve made your point. We are all base creatures.”

“That isn’t my point. Who is everyone , Jasper? Your family? Will Reginald judge you harshly? Will I?”

“You always do.”

“Not always.” Crispin rubbed a hand over his eyes. A momentary illusion of weariness. Or maybe not an illusion. “Mother and Olivia?”

Jasper nodded slowly. “Mother would be disappointed. And I could not—expose Olivia to—”

“Oh, bollocks. You prig! You unworthy prig!” Crispin shouted. Then lowered his voice. “Mother adapts. That is what she does. And Olivia will be her own person no matter what you expose her to. Good God. This is Vanessa we are talking about. Not some disease.”

“I know it’s Vanessa, damn it.”

“Then who is everyone, Jasper?” He leaned forward. Earnest. Almost menacing. “Tell me. Who is this everyone who believes Vanessa is unacceptable? A ruined woman. Who? In whose eyes does it matter?”

Jasper ground his jaw. Crispin stood glaring. Waiting for him to speak. If he did not, Crispin would answer his own question. And Jasper could not bear it. He couldn’t bear to be so accused. Because he had no defense. He was guilty and knew it.

“Mine. You want me to say it matters in my eyes.”

“Is she acceptable to you ? To you, Jasper? Or is she not?”

Jasper crumbled. Leaning against the window, turning his head, he felt hot tears in his eyes and shook his head hard to dash them away. What had he done ? His shoulders heaved. He caught his breath. Desperate not to break down in front of Crispin. Not to break down at all.

“Have I pulverized you sufficiently?” Crispin sounded bored. “Are you mush? God, Jasper. Buck up. I didn’t even use the thumb screws.”

Jasper whirled on him. Snarling. But there was something in his brother’s eyes that stopped him cold. Something deadened. And behind that, something…dying. What had this war done to him?

“I suppose,” he said, his own myriad emotions flushed away in a wave of compassion, “that Britain is fortunate to have you.”

“Huh.” Crispin backed away. “But my brothers, not so very.” Then he coughed. He sank into the nearest chair, a spindly lady’s chair that made Crispin, with his height and his skin-and-bones frame, appear macabre. “Sometimes…sometimes I get carried away.” Then he gave the weakest smile Jasper had ever seen him attempt. “I was joking about the thumbscrews.”

“I will choose to believe that.”

They were quiet for a long moment.

Jasper surprised himself by breaking the silence. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where she is. No one knows. Except Collingswood.” He practically spat the name.

“Well.” Crispin turned up his hands. “If you found her, what would you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“That isn’t the right answer.”

“Apologize abjectly. Propose. On my knees. Beg if I must.” The ton be damned. He would bully Vanessa’s entrée into it or be done with it. Abandon London for Chaumbers and never look back.

“And if she says no? And means it? If she won’t have you?”

“If she truly does not want me back, then I-I will have to let her go. I can’t make her life a misery. I mean, I have. But I won’t again.”

Crispin put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. Unfolded himself. He nodded. Like a soldier accepting his orders.

“Give me a few days. There may be something I can do.” He started for the door.

“Crispin! Wait, Crispin. Do you know where she is? Damn it. You’ve known all along?”

“I knew where she was. That doesn’t mean I know where she is. I said, ‘Give me a couple of days.’”

He walked out the door.

Jasper stared after him. He should not, still, be astonished by Crispin. But he was. Every time. A few days to sort out his brother’s mess over four years in the making? Crispin had made no promises, yet Jasper felt light with hope. If only he could prove to Vanessa that he believed her to be a perfectly acceptable countess…

And then it came to him. How he might convince Vanessa. He’d have to hurry if he had only a couple of days before Crispin…what? Brought Vanessa back to London? Arranged a meeting elsewhere? What did he mean by he might be able to do something? Crispin, damn it!

All at once, his frustration ebbed, then turned inward. Crispin . He should have asked after Crispin’s health. Not that he would have answered. And it would have annoyed him to be asked. But he appeared thinner, did he not, than he had a few months ago at Chaumbers? Jasper should have looked closer. Was he thinner?

The devil. Jasper was the elder, the head of the family. How could he have allowed Crispin, once again, to take charge and then disappear?