Chapter Seven

V anessa was not natural mistress material. It took effort, and she had yet to master the basics even though it had already been two months.

She understood the main requirement was to accommodate Jasper in the bedchamber, though to her…surprise? enlightenment?… said chamber was not actually that often required. On the whole, his inventiveness was playful and certainly not vexing; even so, after enduring rather primitive conditions with poor Henry, she sometimes wished Jasper better appreciated the benefits of a reliably soft bed. And pillows thereupon. She quailed to imagine his intentions for the pianoforte. Hopefully, he understood the delicate instrument was not designed to bear weight.

Still. She believed he was satisfied, more than satisfied, with their bed sport. It was in other areas she feared she fell short.

Mistresses were supposed to be amusing. They soothed the brows of their harried lovers and provided them with light, untaxing conversation. Poor beleaguered Jasper had taken up the burden of initiating conversation himself. Also, although he evidently wished his mistress to be frivolous and require pampering, Vanessa could not be that woman. And now, Jasper seemed to feel it was his responsibility to entertain her .

Could she be a more troublesome mistress?

He wished to attend the theater. She could do that. She would show him that she could.

“Magnificent!” he exclaimed, beaming at her proudly.

“It will take me a few hours to prepare.”

“Of course.” He pulled her close and gave her a resounding smack of a kiss on her lips. “Show me what you will wear.”

That took the wind from her sails. He thought she would not know how to dress for Society, even though he’d provided her with more than adequate clothes.

Two days after they signed the contract, a modiste had appeared at the door, having been instructed to create, from scratch, an entire seasonal wardrobe. Vanessa cringed, cast back to a time when her father would bestow similar gifts upon her. If given his way, she would have worn hideous things, clothes that shouted: Look how much money my father has. Look what you may possess in exchange for your title .

Of course, this was different. Jasper’s chosen modiste had taste. They agreed upon nearly everything: a variety of day and evening dresses, lovely, delicate underthings, and even a few night rails she thought Jasper would appreciate. But she ordered fewer dresses than the modiste suggested, knowing she wouldn’t wear even half of those.

Vanessa knew how to dress well. But let her lord master supervise her first public appearance if it would set his mind at ease.

“My gowns are in the dressing room. Would you like to choose?”

He made a sour face. “No, I would not like to choose. I simply want to see it.”

“Why?”

“If I say, you will not be surprised.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You will refuse.”

“In that case, I emphatically do not wish to be surprised.”

“Vanessa, you cannot go to the theater without jewels. And, except for that very lovely piece you’ve stopped wearing, I have never seen you in jewelry.”

Her necklace. A very thin chain of gold with the tiniest sapphire pendant. Henry had given it to her. It was kind of Jasper to call it lovely. She knew it was, but most wealthy men would scoff.

And, of course, Jasper was correct. She could not go to the theater naked of jewelry. She’d be embarrassed to do so. And it would reflect very poorly on him.

She sighed. “I won’t refuse. Just a moment.”

Her shift was on the cold tile floor. She reached and snagged it, then pulled it on over her head. Jasper could prance about unselfconsciously without clothing, but she had not mastered that art.

She went to the spare room, studied her evening dresses, and chose a blue-black gown, sparsely decorated with tiny, deep red scrolls. The neckline was squared off, but the cut of the bodice nevertheless accentuated her bosom—which, frankly, needed accentuation. The short, puffed sleeves would draw attention to her glove-encased arms. She liked her arms.

She returned with the dress slung over her shoulder, then shook it out and held it before her.

“This one.”

Jasper regarded it a moment, then nodded, satisfied, and said, “Rubies, if I can find a set on time. Otherwise, it may have to be garnets. Unless you have a different preference.”

“I am willing to be surprised.”

He started, then smiled.

Jasper was profligate with his smiles, using them skillfully in myriad, differing situations. He was better with them even than most women. Vanessa was learning which ones to discount. But there were some that she stored away in her heart, banked like an ember, for some future date when she might need the warmth.

*

Jasper shielded her. They arrived unfashionably early so that he would have no one to greet in the crowd outside. He steered her up a back stairway and ensconced her in the shadows of his semi-darkened box. He behaved as if she were a duchess he was escorting, sitting beside her without closing the space between them. Not for Jasper the carelessly sprawled thigh or artlessly draped hand. But of course, she’d known he would not crassly proclaim his ownership of her. It was more subtly done.

Most people did not attend theater to watch the play, but rather to observe the audience. She was aware of the craned necks and the opera glasses tilted in her direction, but she kept her own eyes upon the stage, partly because she was afraid of who she might see. Yet, she reassured herself, even if she were recognized, it would not be by anyone who would approach an earl’s box.

It helped that the play was delightful. A well-acted comedy. It pleased her to discover that she and Jasper were laughing at the same lines and that when he leaned to whisper a comment in her ear, he echoed the thoughts in her head. However, the evening reinforced her impression of him as a man who thrived in public places. As the newness of their arrangement faded, he would certainly wish, more and more, to draw her out. To accommodate him, she would find herself on display.

He was going to learn things about her; perhaps more than he bargained for.

Midway through the play, the curtain came down and some houselights were lit, allowing Society to see and be seen. Vanessa tensed. Jasper had said they would let people come to them. She suspected she was such an object of curiosity that they would.

“The lad that plays the coachman is better than the lead, don’t you agree?” Jasper said.

“Yes, he’s very good. But he is too slight of build to carry off the role of the highwayman.”

“They could pad him up with layers.”

“I suppose they might. They obviously have done so with Lady Agatha.”

The flighty heroine was impossibly buxom.

Jasper cut a look at her and grinned. “How disillusioning.”

“Have I spoiled the play for you?”

A reverberating clamor sounded at the door to the box, and then two gentlemen tumbled in. The air grew redolent with gin fumes.

Jasper grimaced, then stood, offering a hand to her. She touched it as she rose.

“Mrs. Wardrip,” he said, “may I present to you Lord Carleton and Mr. Stevenson.”

She nodded. “Good evening. I trust you are enjoying the play.”

The Stevenson fellow merely goggled, but Lord Carleton stumbled forward, snatched her hand from Jasper’s, and planted a slobbery kiss upon the back of it.

“Delighted,” he said, though the word was garbled. “Why has Jasper kept you hidden?”

She retrieved her hand and iced her voice. “Has he?”

Jasper waved his hand before his nose. “God, Carleton. Did you leave any for the other patrons? Step back, if you would. You are making our eyes water.”

Carleton took an obliging step backward, nearly tumbling, while Stevenson guffawed.

“What lovely friends you have, my lord,” she murmured.

His face darkened. “They are not representative of the lot.”

“Oh, come now!” Carleton protested. “We’ve seen you slide under the table at Lionsmead—”

“That wasn’t because he was foxed,” Stevenson said, shaking his head. “He had an assignation.”

The two laughed uproariously. Vanessa felt a strong wave of longing for Lydia, who would clap the men’s heads together and shove them out the door. Oh, but so-called gentlemen were not to be shoved.

The door clicked open, and a third man entered. He appeared to be a few years older, though perhaps that was simply because he was sober. He was better dressed as well, with an elaborate twist in his neckcloth and a very high shine to his boots. He raised a quizzing glass to his eye and studied the two drunkards, then lowered it and sighed.

“I do beg your pardon, Lord Taverston. It was my turn to tend them tonight, but I turned my back and they escaped.”

He managed to sound very bored and very droll.

“Mrs. Wardrip,” Jasper said, and Vanessa was certain she did not imagine the relief in his voice, “this is Viscount Haslet.”

“I answer only to ‘Hazard,’” the man said. “Though I assure you there is no significance to the name.”

She nodded. “Good evening, my lord.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped it across his hand, and then took Carleton by the arm, his nose wrinkling with distaste.

“I am afraid if I squeeze too hard, the gin will ooze from his pores,” he explained. “Carleton, if you recall, you promised to stand the next round.”

“Yes, I will, but—”

“I do not hear ‘buts.’” He tutted. “Lead the way.”

It seemed to her Hazard was pushing more than being led, but the two made their way back to the door without incident. Hazard beckoned to Stevenson to follow. He opened the door and ushered them through. Then said after them, “I will meet you downstairs.” He shut the door.

“Honestly, Jasper.” He crumpled the handkerchief and dropped it on the floor. “If I were your mother, I would have barred those two from the house from the moment they sprouted their first chin hairs.”

“They may well find themselves barred.” Jasper lowered his eyes. Then raised them. “Thank you.”

“That was my undeniable pleasure. However, this next is not.” Hazard crossed his arms over his chest. “I take it you are not acquainted with the Marquess of Hilyer.”

Vanessa felt as if the floor dropped away. She braced her feet and tried to keep a neutral look on her face, but she felt she might rather die than live through what would come next.

“I know the name only.” The name alone was enough to bring out Jasper’s scowl. “Why?”

“You are more fortunate than I. He was a friend of my father’s. Or so he claims. My father had many faults, but I would like to think that was not one of them. Still, on the basis of that claim, Hilyer often accosts me when he is in London.”

“You have my sympathy.” Jasper cocked his head. “I presume you did not come here merely to solicit it.”

“No. He is here tonight. He asked for an introduction. Well, for me to bring you to him to be introduced. He is enamored of his own consequence. I said no, of course.”

“Why on earth does he want to know me?”

Vanessa took quick shallow breaths.

Hazard shrugged. “I shudder to imagine. But that was not the end of it. He claimed a prior acquaintance with Miss Cul—” He caught himself. She could tell by the way his eye twitched that the slip had not been intentional. “With Mrs. Wardrip. He said she would introduce him if I would not, so it was no matter. To shorten this unpleasant account, he, too, is awaiting me downstairs, because I told him that, in that case, I would come to find you so we could meet him there. I expect he will shortly realize I lied.”

“Are you suggesting we leave?” Jasper gave a disbelieving huff of laughter.

“No. I am insisting that you leave.” He turned to her. “The highwayman is, in fact, Lord Thistlerood. And that pretty coachman is his sister in disguise.”

“Hazard!” Jasper complained. “You’ve spoiled the play!”

“Obviously, that was my intention, so you have no reason to stay. Hilyer gave me a preview of the conversation he wishes to have. As I have no desire to serve as your second—I’ve seen you shoot—I ask you to withdraw.”

Jasper turned from him to Vanessa, then back again. His face was tight, as if angry. But his anger did not appear directed at her, despite the revelation that Hilyer claimed to know her, or at Hazard, whose serious tone did not match his joking words. Jasper’s voice dropped to a frightening calm. “What did Hilyer say?”

“Nothing that is any of my business. And nothing I will repeat.” Hazard redirected his appeal. “Mrs. Wardrip, will you add your entreaties to mine?”

“My lord,” she said to Jasper, unable to control the quaver in her voice, “Viscount Haslet’s concerns may have some validity. The marquess is…an unpleasant man.” She was only stating what they already knew, but Jasper would want to know how she knew. How could this soldier’s widow possibly be acquainted with a marquess? She’d have no choice but to explain. But she could not let Hilyer confront Jasper. Not here, publicly. Not ever. “Please, my lord, we should go.”

Jasper’s expression darkened further. He didn’t speak, but he lifted her wrap from the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders. He took her elbow, his grip unnecessarily strong, and guided her to the door. Then he gritted his teeth and turned back to his friend.

“I am again in your debt.”

“Oh, probably,” Hazard drawled. “But don’t thank me yet.”