Chapter Six

J asper knew a few things about his new mistress and was learning others.

First, she was very, very pretty. She was not beautiful. At least, she was not startlingly beautiful; not, for example, like Earl Darlington’s look-alike twins. Their alabaster skin and bow lips disadvantaged them, as gentlemen could not decide which of the beauties to court, so ended up courting neither. Or both. He himself had decided upon neither.

Or, at the opposite end of the social spectrum, there was the groin-tightening beauty of the queen of the demi-monde, Henrietta Pindar. He’d gone so far—this was well over a year ago—as to make inquiries. He learned that he could, by spending a year’s allowance in one fell swoop, bed her once. To his embarrassment, he’d actually considered it. She was said to know secrets . But thankfully Crispin, whose regiment had not yet been posted and was still in London, smacked him on the side of the head.

“Her secret is a mirrored ceiling. She will straddle you so that you can watch yourself be taken by ‘the most beautiful woman in the world.’” He snorted.

Jasper had envisioned something more mystical. His interest flagged. But rallied. “How would you know that?” His brother’s funds were nonexistent after he’d purchased his own commission.

Crispin sneered. “Sources. Save your blunt. Hire a doxy, close your eyes, and use your imagination.”

Jasper never learned Crispin’s sources, but he recognized sense when he heard it.

And, everything considered, had he not “saved his blunt,” he would not have taken the lease on his townhouse. Things would not have sorted as they had. The thought made him inexpressibly grateful. Vanessa’s skin might sport blotches of freckles, darker on her left cheek than the right, her chin might be a little too severe and her eyelids a little too heavy—but only if one analyzed her individual features. To gaze upon her face as a whole was to see its rather sublime prettiness. He gazed upon it a lot.

He did so now, while she remained sleeping. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating her side of the bed. There was nothing he would rather look at than her form beneath a tangled white sheet. One perfectly shaped arm flopped at her side; the other, under her head, propped her splayed chestnut-brown tresses. Her hair carried a scent of tree bark. Not flowers. Bark. He couldn’t explain it, but it was the headiest fragrance he’d ever inhaled.

The second thing he knew was that Vanessa was an energetic lover. Not in the performative way of women paid to please, thank goodness; he’d always found that off-putting, after the fact.

Before Vanessa, he had indulged in a few very brief affairs with women interested in such. Sex was hurried and furtive and while there was a certain allure to that sort of energy, it could grow tiresome. Hence the brevity of the affairs.

Sex with Vanessa was an altogether different experience. They shared a togetherness, a coequal desire to please and be pleased. He felt it also in his heart, if that made sense. “Energy” might not be right; perhaps he meant passion .

But how ridiculous to try putting it into words.

The third thing he knew was that she was brave. Following the drum was not for the faint of heart. Before Vanessa—it seemed his life was now divided into “before Vanessa” and “now,”—he hadn’t ever questioned the day-to-day reality for soldiers’ wives. After formalizing their arrangement, as she still seemed reluctant to speak of those days, he’d made discreet inquiries elsewhere.

Most soldiers did not bring their wives. They could not. Numbers were restricted and there was a lottery of a sort. Those chosen were told at the last possible moment so as not to create dissent in the ranks before ships were even boarded. Women were afforded no official military protection. No allowances were made for children, even though they inevitably arrived. Wives were given some food, but only a mere fraction of the soldiers’ meager rations. In truth, a good part of the reason that any women were permitted to accompany their husbands was for the role they played in foraging for extra sustenance. Not to mention all the other tasks they performed without maids or cooks or laundresses. They slept on the ground. They traveled on foot all the miles the men traveled and then some. It all strained credulity. Especially the fact that when a soldier died, his wife’s rations were cut off. There she would be. On the damned Peninsula. With no way to return home and no means of support.

Yet wives were assets. They provided comforts. A soldier would not be cold in his grave before his friends lined up at his widow’s “door” and awaited her choice. Jasper thanked God that Crispin had extricated Vanessa from that.

Why did women go? He’d asked that one night—na?ve earl’s son that he was—of the tavern bawd who’d brought him his ale. He paid with a crown to loosen her tongue, then had to refuse other favors, to the amusement of Carleton and Waverly. Because, she explained, the government provided nothing at all for the wives left behind. Not a farthing.

These were not women who had other resources. Their husbands joined the army because they had no choice. They needed to take the King’s Shilling. They might have intended to send their wages home, but most found a pittance could not stretch that far.

What Jasper could not understand, what Vanessa had indicated she was not ready to discuss, was why she had gone. Wives of common soldiers were undoubtedly common women. Vanessa was no aristocrat. She was not even gentry. But she had the manners and mannerisms of a lady. Her voice and vocabulary were cultivated. She played the pianoforte. That fact slipped out one evening and now he was determined to provide one for her, as soon as she acquiesced. Her husband could not have been a laborer or some bumpkin. Jasper could not, would not, believe it. There had been money there somewhere.

So why had they gone to war?

He didn’t know. All he knew was that she had been brave enough to do so. Now he needed to learn if any of that bravery was left.

A bit of a breeze rippled the sheet and Vanessa stirred. She opened her eyes and gave him a lazy smile. He trailed his finger down her exquisite arm.

“I fear I miscalculated.”

She propped herself on her elbow. “What do you mean?”

“I skipped Tattersalls out of impatience. But now it is a mere three o’clock in the afternoon.”

They’d spent themselves, then napped. He supposed he’d envisioned making love to her for hours on end. He’d felt so amorous he thought cavorting would carry them through until a late supper. But it was only teatime. So he was rather nervously considering asking if she played cards.

That was not true. He wanted to ask her something else. If she would assent to something. If she were brave enough.

She murmured, “Is it too late to meet up with your friends at Tattersalls?”

He shrugged. He’d rather spend time with her. “If I did, what would you be doing?”

She paused, glancing away, then back to him. “I have some sewing to do.”

“Sewing?”

“Seams to let out. I am too well fed.”

He felt a growl in his throat. When this had started, the base of her neck showed deep hollows and his fingers could, with very little pressure, trace her ribs. He’d found it worrisome. Now she was gaining a pleasing softness. A very pleasing softness.

Her words registered.

“Wait. You are sewing? Fixing clothing?” That irritated him beyond measure. He sat up, the sheet slipping down to his hips. “You have a maid. And if she has not the skill, hire a seamstress. I’m not a pauper.”

She sniffed, as if to jolly him out of his temper. “It’s not your dress.”

“It’s a reflection on me.”

At that, she laughed outright. “How? How will your set know that I am mending my own clothes?”

He had no answer for that. Instead, he considered a moment, then said, “I am wrong. If you wish to do it yourself, by all means, do it. But you don’t have to, do you see? I know ladies have expenses. I want to be generous. It hurts me to think you would scrimp rather than ask for something.”

“Still, you must see that it bothers me to ask.”

If she didn’t ask, he wouldn’t know.

“But I can’t read your mind. I can’t anticipate your needs.”

“It’s not a game I am playing.”

“I didn’t say that it was!”

Vanessa rolled from him, tucking the sheet about her, shielding herself from his gaze as she sat up and settled her feet on the floor.

Was this to be their first argument? How ridiculous.

“Vanessa, I refuse to quarrel over something so insignificant.”

“It is not—”

“Why don’t I simply increase your pin money?”

“We have a contract, Jasper. If I don’t abide by it, how can I expect you to?”

“What do you think I will do? Refuse you your ten days?”

She scowled. Rightly. He didn’t know why he’d said that. She had turned him away only five. By his reckoning, it would soon be five more. But that was all. There were a few nights he had not come to her. He informed her first that he had to spend time at the parental home because they were insistent. But those nights should not count against her ten because she had not turned him away.

“I mean,” he blurted, “that there are still ambiguities in the contract. And this is not what I wished to argue about.”

The annoyance fell from her face, and she teased him. “Do you mean you had a separate argument planned?”

“Don’t laugh. I did.”

She laughed.

He made himself smile. “Vanessa, I’m terrified that you’re bored all day long. And don’t tell me you have plenty of sewing to occupy yourself.”

“If this is about the pianoforte—”

“It is not. But we can take that up again also.”

“Well, then, I have decided to accept your generous offer. I would like one.”

“You are bored during the day.”

She was quiet a long moment, then admitted, “Sometimes I am. I’m sorry.”

“For God’s sake, don’t be sorry. How could you not be bored? You rarely leave the house.”

“I have nowhere in particular to go. Jasper, it hasn’t been terrible. You mustn’t think so. I have been…recuperating.”

That shook him. “Mourning?” Her husband was only a few months in his grave. He shouldn’t keep forgetting that.

She nodded. “Yes. But not only Henry. I–I lost others too. In truth, I lost all my friends. So many are still there. And I worry about them. Can you understand?”

“I’d be a beast if I could not.” He drew a breath. Blew it out. This was not the time to ask her to attend the theater. That much was obvious. But she was bored. His greatest fear was realized. He was a boring man. “What can I do? The pianoforte, certainly. Would you like…” He wracked his brains for something to offer. “A companion?”

“A companion? Do you mean a paid friend? A chaperone for your mistress?”

He groaned. “I’m at a loss.”

“You’re sweet. And I appreciate that you care. But it is time that I need. Time that I don’t mind spending doing mindless things. Tell me this: What did you intend to argue about?”

“It doesn’t matter. We may leave it for another day.”

“It does matter. And not because I am paid to be biddable. I want to know because I care.”

His heart actually ached. He spoke from it.

“I feel, sometimes, when I am going about in town, that I am your jailor.” He waited for her protest. Then hurried on when she made none. “I want to be with you. But I want the rest of my life as well. And I know you don’t like to be left alone—”

“I don’t feel imprisoned. And I certainly don’t wish for you to feel imprisoned alongside me.”

“I’m not expressing myself well.”

He threw off his part of the sheet and rose from the bed. He stepped to the washstand to splash water on his face. He avoided the mirror, fearing he would look dissipated, but then glanced anyway and saw he did not. Well, he had not been drinking. And he’d slept well. This was ridiculous. He was standing naked, worrying about how his face looked.

He turned to see Vanessa’s eyes fixed upon him. He snatched his banyan from the bedpost and put it on. He could be tempted again, but did not wish to be. He sat on the edge of the bed. Cleared his throat.

“You don’t eat fish unless there is nothing else. Because once, long ago, you ate a piece of fish that had turned.”

A little smile curved her lips. “You can, if you must, wear a poorly turned neckcloth but you will not abide one with a smudge.”

He chuckled. “You hum in your sleep.”

“You snore. Not often. But like this.” She made a snorting sound that was convincingly piglike.

“You have a wart on your left big toe.”

“I certainly do not!”

“Why do you think I am so enamored of your right foot?”

“It is a callous. My left shoe fits poorly.”

“Then I will buy you new shoes.”

She swung her feet back onto the bed and settled back against the propped pillows.

“I will graciously accept.”

He felt his smile grow. “You eat your eggs unsalted. You are a madwoman.”

“Are those two things?”

“No, just one.”

“You always say goodnight twice.”

“Do I?”

“Always.”

“Now I will catch myself doing it.”

She giggled. Giggled like a little girl. He sighed. He loved this game that they played, learning the small things about one another. But he wanted more. “Vanessa.”

“Jasper?”

“You are a social woman who misses the company of her friends.”

She was silent a long moment and he was afraid he’d misstepped. At last, she answered quietly, “I am. I do. Though I had very few playmates as a child. I learned late the value of friendship. If there was anything good about that year…” She tossed her head. “And you are a gregarious man with many friends.”

“I like people. I like being around people.”

“Of course you do. And people are drawn to you.”

“You cannot know that.”

“It’s easy to guess.” She reached across the bed and squeezed his arm. “Jasper, what are you fishing for?”

“We have established, I think, that I like my life. What I have been trying to ask is if you would be willing to share in it a little more.”

She pulled back her hand. “A little more?”

“Only as much as you are comfortable doing. Not hostessing a party for my lecherous friends, or whatever other nonsense your solicitor implied I would be demanding. I have no intention of parading you about as my paramour.”

She set her jaw. “What do you intend?”

He took a huge breath, like a boy about to plunge into a cold lake. “There is a play I would not mind seeing. Tonight. We have a box—my father does—at the theater. It is as private as anything can be in a public theater. My parents are not in town. The box will otherwise be empty.”

“You wish me to go to the theater with you?”

“We can stay in the box during the intervals.” He could not make the rounds with her on his arm. “And let others come to us.” He had a few friends who almost certainly would. No ladies, of course. It would be horribly improper for a lady to acknowledge his mistress. Even so. There must be someone who would befriend Vanessa privately, if he asked it of them. “But, of course, I understand, if it is too much…”

She shook her head. She looked grim. But to his surprise, she said, “I will do it.”

“You will?”

“I can either live my life afraid of censure, or I can accept it as I have chosen it.” She fixed a look on him. “Yes, I would like to attend the theater with you.”

The third thing he knew, the most important thing: Vanessa was brave.