Chapter Three

T he Taverstons’ home at 8 Grosvenor Square was palatial as were most all of the homes rounding the square. Lord Jasper Taverston, the fifth Earl of Iversley, had been born there and had grown up running up and down its halls. He loved this house. He appreciated its comforts, luxuries, and pleasant memories. Even so, he could not inhabit the entire monstrous dwelling by himself. Having plentiful staff was not the same as being surrounded by family. The emptiness echoed.

Even the designed-to-appear-intimate morning room felt cavernous. Jasper pushed aside his untouched plate of kippers, snatched his coffee cup, and headed for the stairs. The clacking of his shoes on the marble floor sounded very nearly ear splitting.

Ascending the long, wide, central staircase felt like climbing a mountain. He nearly had to grab the banister and haul himself up. It was depressing to look out over the next several days, weeks, and months, and know there was nothing to look forward to. Crispin had gone back to his regiment. Reg was squirreled away with his new wife. And Vanessa had vanished into thin air.

In the last six weeks, he had made three trips back and forth between London and Chaumbers, his father’s—no, the bloody devil, it was now his —country estate, trying to see to the myriad things that had to be done. And mostly failing. Damn it . He was still without a steward and couldn’t hold the position for the man he wanted much longer.

At Chaumbers, at least he’d been allowed to grieve; mourning his father, of course, but also using that acceptable grief to mask his unseemly pining for his mistress.

That was in private. In London, in public, he must move on. He had dutifully taken his seat in Parliament, listened to speeches, and met with numerous lords on both sides of the aisle, partly for political purposes but also to receive their condolences. When men started to treat him more as a young peer than a bereaved son, he saw that it was time to curtail those comforting visits to the countryside and trust that Mother and Olivia, his sister, were coping on their own.

Well, they had each other.

Father’s— his, damn it —second-floor study, with its small windows and funereally dark décor, had become his breakfast parlor of choice. He set his coffee cup on the desk, an overlarge boxy piece made of mahogany. It had been Grandfather’s. Father had always hated it but would not get rid of it. And now, Jasper sighed, he would keep it as well.

He sat, picked up the morning newspaper, failed to read anything, and finally laid it back down.

The one bright spot had been Reg’s wedding to Georgiana. His youngest brother looked contented. One might even say that he looked happy. And Georgiana was radiant. Jasper had once imagined she would make him a perfect countess, but she was a more perfect sister-in-law. A fortunate turnabout, really. She was too chilly for his taste.

Naturally, his friends had ribbed him for the ludicrous failure of his courtship, but it was kindly meant since ignoring the farce would have been awkward. And since no one in the world could think badly of Reg, those who knew them accepted it for what it was: an unexpected love match.

No. All well and good to tell himself that. The truth of it was that he was sick to death of arses slapping his back and telling him his botched suit caused them financial ruin. They had all laid their wagers at White’s upon expectations of his success. Har-har-har !

Good God! How could he be both desperate for company and yet sickened by it?

At least the matchmaking mamas were biding their time. Or perhaps he was simply adept at avoiding them. He accepted no dinner invitations and attended no ton functions. He was not only in mourning but had soured on the prospect of marriage.

He rose and paced. His footsteps fell along worn spots in the carpet. Apparently, his father had been a pacer as well.

What he needed was to see Vanessa. Not to beg her to take him back. He wouldn’t put her through another parting, not for all the world, not even to do it correctly this time. But he needed to see her for practical reasons. To settle things.

He had been to the house, the one they’d shared for four years. Four years! Though “shared” might not be the correct word. He’d leased it for her, but when in London, he spent most of his evenings with her and was often, usually, still there in the mornings.

Once he’d established that she left no letter for him, and no indication of where she had gone, he told his man of business to dispose of everything and cancel the lease. He wanted no reminders. He had to let go. But how ridiculous of her to disappear like this! Almost…spiteful. She knew how worried he would be.

Well and so, he was bringing to bear the full force of his newly enhanced authority. He’d sent a card to Vanessa’s solicitor, asking him to come around to the house for a meeting. Summoned by an earl, Mr. Collingswood had no option but to come.

Jasper piddled away the morning perusing the newspapers, still retaining nothing from them. When his stomach began rumbling, he rang for sandwiches. Thus fortified, he studied the text of a speech that his friend, Viscount Haslet, would be reading on the floor sometime in the next few weeks. Nitpicking about a new tax on leather. Hazard was a Whig. Jasper was a Tory from a long line of staunch Tories. Sparring over politics could prove diverting.

Jasper had taken off his jacket and shoes and was sipping tea and marking a few points on Hazard’s speech when Finley appeared at the door. Finley, the under-butler, was in charge since Peters was still at Chaumbers. Finley did a fine job but had a nervous edge that could be irksome.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Collingswood is here, my lord.”

“Good. Bring him up.”

Jasper slipped his shoes back on and pulled on his jacket. He checked the small mirror mounted on the side of the shelves behind the desk to be sure he looked intimidating enough. Then he stood beside the liquor cabinet and waited.

“My lord.” Mr. Collingswood entered the room and bowed. Soberly attired and straight-backed, he was the very picture of professional respectability.

“Good afternoon. I won’t keep you long. I have just a few questions.”

“Which I will be happy to answer so long as they do not involve clients of mine.”

Jasper scowled. “In fact, the questions regard Mrs. Wardrip. I do not ask you to betray client privilege, I merely wish to know how to reach her to be sure…” He stalled, then carried on, “that sufficient financial arrangements for her are in place.”

“I’m afraid that is confidential.” The devil . The man looked smug.

“Her whereabouts? Or her financial situation?”

“Both.”

Jasper changed tack. “I have in mind establishing a trust, through your office, from which she can draw funds as needed.”

“Through your office” was a tactful promise of a percentage. A bribe.

Mr. Collingswood’s mouth hardened. “I believe if she wished you to know her address, she would have provided it. And had she wished for a trust of some sort, one would have been previously arranged.”

Bloody hell. Of course, Vanessa would have availed herself of one of the few incorruptible solicitors in all of England.

Peers of the realm were supposed to command respect. Jasper had spent his life acquiring the trappings of his position: the tone of voice, manner of carrying himself, style of dress. He knew when to give an order and when to make a request. He knew how to be courteous and how to charm. He had imbibed the very essence of lordliness so that it was second nature to him now. And yet, what a sham. Crispin possessed more natural authority in his thumb than Jasper did in his whole body. The devil of it was, one could not beg a solicitor for information he was not allowed to give.

He thought of one last thing he could try.

“You could deliver a letter to her without compromising your integrity, one would think.”

Collingswood hesitated, then said, “I suppose I could.”

Gudgeon that he was, he had not prepared one. Letters had not been successful in the recent past. But this was the best he could do.

He went to his desk and pulled out a sheet of foolscap. He dipped his pen into the inkpot and thought for a moment. He could hardly offer her money outright. Nor could he beg forgiveness. Not in writing. And Collingswood was waiting.

He put pen to paper and wrote the only words he had.

He folded the paper, sealed it, and gave it to the solicitor. It felt as though he were handing over the heart from his chest.

As Collingswood took the letter, Jasper said quietly, “I hope that any investments you advised have been sound.”

Contempt flashed in the solicitor’s eyes. “My advice is always sound.”

Jasper supposed he would have to content himself with that. He pulled the bell for Finley, who appeared quickly and appeared to fidget. “My lord?”

“Mr. Collingswood is leaving.”

“Yes, my lord. And Viscount Haslet has come. He is awaiting you in the drawing room. Shall I bring him up?”

Hazard was here? They’d made no plans that he recalled.

“Yes, do. No, wait. I’ll come down.”

Finley escorted Collingswood out. Jasper lagged, preferring not to walk down with the butler and the solicitor. After a decent interval, he picked up the copy of Hazard’s speech and went down.

The drawing room was located near the front entrance. It was a pleasant, airy room entered through two tall doors that were almost never closed. As Jasper approached, he could see Hazard standing inside. If he could see Hazard, it meant that Hazard would have seen Collingswood leaving.

Still, that was no cause for alarm. Hazard might recognize the man, but should have no reason to connect the call to Vanessa.

He drew himself up and walked into the room. Hazard’s bright yellow waistcoat was unusually foppish. If things became awkward, he would tease him about it.

“Good afternoon, Iversley ,” Hazard said, teasing him . He was no longer simply Lord Jasper Taverston. He outranked Viscount Haslet.

“Haz. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Not at all. I haven’t been waiting long.” Hazard nodded toward the hall. “Wasn’t that Collingswood, the younger? Has Wilkerson let you down? If you need a new man—”

“Yes, it was Collingswood. No, I am perfectly content with my own solicitor.” He offered nothing more. He watched his old friend consider digging, then letting it go. Jasper pulled the folded speech from his pocket. He held it out. “Very nice. It won’t get the votes, but I applaud the effort.”

“Oh, I’m not expecting anything this go around. I’m laying the groundwork. I hoped you would argue something specific so I can shore up any glaring weaknesses before I speak.”

“I marked a few places. Our argument is always the same. Cost. The wars have sapped the treasury.”

“Which means our priorities are wrong.” For a moment, Hazard sounded harsh. But then he shrugged, and his more usual good humor replaced his frown. “But I didn’t come here to harangue you. I came because it is past time for you to get well-foxed and bemoan your lost days of wild irresponsibility.”

Jasper would have joked that he had never had wild days, but that would not sit well with Hazard, who knew better. Still, his days of wild irresponsibility were already far in the past. He’d been more faithful to his mistress than most men were to their wives.

“I’m in mourning,” he pointed out. “It would be disrespectful to my father.”

“Bollocks. I’m not suggesting you drink a wheelbarrow at White’s and start tossing insults at peers. I’m talking about a seedy place in Southwark where no one will know you if you start singing bawdy songs.”

Jasper recoiled. “I won’t go to a brothel—”

“With me?” Hazard laughed roughly, showing teeth. “Believe me, I would not take you anywhere I would be interested in going.” He shook off his annoyance and added, “This is not a brothel, merely a pleasantly disgusting drinking establishment.”

Jasper hadn’t meant to scorn Hazard’s company—even if rumors of his predilections were true. But he had no interest in running to light skirts. On the other hand, drowning his sorrows did hold some appeal.

“I have a better idea. We’ll drink here. The liquor is better and the entertainment more refined.”

Hazard looked at him narrowly, then said, “I suppose I’ll be spared having to carry you home. Billiards or cards?”

“Billiards. Crispin had me practicing.”

“Did you win?” He sounded skeptical of the possibility.

“Once.” Jasper turned to the door, gesturing for Hazard to accompany him. “Will brandy do or will you want champagne?”

“I wanted gin. But brandy will do.”

They climbed the stairs and then strolled the hall toward the billiards room. Jasper searched for something to say, something innocuous. “I’m thinking of having the walls painted.”

“Eh?” Hazard pulled a snuffbox from his pocket. He offered it, out of habitual politeness, Jasper supposed, though he must know by now that Jasper would wave it away. He’d never seen the appeal of that particular vice. Hazard took a pinch and put it back, waiting for Jasper to continue.

“Yes, they look rather dingy. If I’m going to undertake such a project, it would be best to do it while the place is empty.”

Hazard snorted, rejecting the conversational topic for the feint it was.

Jasper stopped to speak to a footman. “George, have a bottle of brandy and a couple of glasses brought to the billiards room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. The billiards room was dark and dreary. The air smelled stale. Jasper crossed the room to push open the curtains. When he turned around, he saw Hazard leaning a hip against the table, arms crossed over his chest, looking at him with an amused irritation.

“Are you going to tell me, or do I have to wait until you are drunk and weepy?”

“Tell you what?”

“Why you were meeting with Mrs. Wardrip’s solicitor.” He smirked. “Are you about to be sued for breach of promise?”

Breath left Jasper’s chest as if he’d been struck. “I’d concede in a heartbeat.”

Sympathy washed across Hazard’s face. He must have expected Jasper would lash out, not crumple up in a heap.

“Collingswood refused to tell me what I wanted to know. He agreed to deliver a letter, but it won’t change anything.”

“Would you want it to?”

“The devil. No. I should leave her alone.” He drew in a deep breath. He was not going to lose any more of his self-control. “I’m worried about her. There is, of course, no widow’s jointure. And our contract was one between two young fools who were not looking ahead.”

“She wouldn’t accept a settlement from you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Well.” Hazard unfolded his arms and stepped to select a cue from the row against the wall. “She has family, does she not? She can’t still be that estranged from them if she’s using her father’s man.”

And that, Jasper saw, was how Hazard had made the connection. The elder Mr. Collingswood represented the Culpeppers.

“Young Collingswood is not her father’s man. He is hers. Culpepper is unaware and is to remain so.”

“Is to remain so” was enough. Hazard would not gossip. Nevertheless, Hazard was still regarding him with an intensely questioning look on his face. And Jasper realized it would not take drunkenness to unburden himself.

“When I asked Vanessa to…to have a relationship with me, I told her I’d have a contract drawn up to protect her interests.” He snorted. Remembering. “I suppose I thought she’d say there was no need. That she trusted me. All the things one expects a woman to say. But she answered that my solicitor would hardly be putting her interests first, and she would have her own man speak with mine.” He saw Hazard bite back a smile. “I thought she’d resort to some pettifogger. I was shocked to my toes when she pulled out Collingswood. It seems she and Will, as she called him, have known each other since they were children. He would not say anything to her father or to his.”

Naturally, word of his daughter’s sordid affairs returned to Culpepper despite her solicitor’s discretion, but Vanessa already considered herself cut off from her family. And, apparently, so did they.

He sniffed. Collingswood was married, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t half in love with her also.

“Will Collingswood despises me.” If there had been any opportunity for a reconciliation with her family, her acceptance of Jasper’s proposition quashed it. Jasper considered that a good thing, but others might not.

Hazard began to fussily line up the billiard balls. “Yet you think he will deliver your letter?”

“He said he would, so I’m certain he will. I’m less certain she will read it. And I’m positive it will make no difference if she does.” He should have written something else. Although nothing would have been adequate.

Finley appeared at the door with a tray. “Will this do, my lord?”

Jasper beckoned and Finley brought forth the tray. Anything from Father’s cellar would do. The man had always said life was too short to drink bad liquor. He heard the tap of cue against ball and the clicking of balls connecting.

“Cognac, Haz?” His voice sounded rough. His father’s life had been far too short.

“Start pouring, Iversley. Start pouring.”