Chapter Nine

D espite posing as a recluse while his heartwound refused to knit, there was one invitation Jasper could not refuse: tea with the Duke and Duchess of Hovington. These were Lady Georgiana’s parents. Or, he should say, Mrs. Taverston’s parents. She had lost status by marrying Reginald. And the lady might have been a countess!

It was funny, he supposed. Thankfully, the so-called wits at his club had moved on to more current sources of amusement. The only part that still rubbed was picturing the arse he’d made of himself in front of his brothers. He didn’t blame Reg—the poor fellow had clearly been suffering pangs of conscience along with his love pains. But Crispin had played the sham for all it was worth.

Reg and Georgiana returned to London last night in preparation for next week’s ball honoring Georgiana’s cousin’s debut. Very late in the Season, but poor Alice Fogbotham was low in the pecking order. Jasper accepted that invitation as well. He supposed it was time to stop hiding from Society.

He walked the approach to Watershorn, the stately ducal home, climbed the steps, and pounded the knocker. The butler admitted him into a high-ceilinged, well-illuminated, landscape-decorated entrance hall that managed to simultaneously welcome and impress.

Reg and Georgiana waited there. Georgiana, red-blonde, statuesque, always beautiful, somehow looked more so. And Reg? His shorter, darker, bookish brother? Jasper had never seen him looking so…so comfortable .

Jasper chose a paternally fond smile to greet them when nothing more natural sprang to his face.

“Jasp,” Reg said, drawing him into a two-armed embrace.

Were they now a family that hugged? Well, so. He hugged back. Next, he turned to Georgiana. He started to bow, then stopped, shrugged, and held his arms open. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Sister?”

She stepped into his arms, and he hugged her as well.

“How was Binnings?” he asked. It was an old family property, now in Crispin’s hands. Crispin had suggested the newlyweds honeymoon there. Jasper meant, of course, what was the condition of the property; no one had been there in quite some time, but the faint reddening of his brother’s face made him realize the alternative interpretation of the question.

Georgiana answered smoothly, “Absolutely lovely.”

“The grounds need tending,” Reginald said, apparently realizing what Jasper was actually asking. “I wrote Crispin about replacing the gardener.”

Now they were assuredly all talking about the same thing.

“Crispin may prefer it overgrown,” Jasper said. One never knew with Crispin. “And how are you finding Cambridge?”

“The house is perfect for our needs.” Reg turned and smiled at his wife. “But Georgiana is overhauling it anyway. I am given to understand it is something brides do.”

Jasper wondered fleetingly if there was a nursery involved. How galling it would be if Reg sired a son before he did.

Georgiana said, “I’m so glad you’ll be coming to Alice’s ball.”

“How could I not? I’m looking forward to it.” He glanced about. “Is she here?”

“No, she went for a carriage ride with Hazard.”

“Hazard?” Jasper blinked. He understood their friend had done his part to raise Alice’s prestige and divert attention from the Jasper-Georgiana-Reginald morass, but he hadn’t realized that the two were still playing a role.

Georgiana nodded, a rather bemused look on her face. She said, “Oh, don’t ask me. I haven’t the faintest idea. Come in.” She swept her hand toward the parlor. “There is no reason to stand out in the hall.” She led the way, and Reginald fell into step alongside Jasper.

“How are you doing?” Reg asked in a lower tone.

Jasper’s heart warmed a shade, grateful to be asked. Father’s last weeks had taken a toll on them all.

“As well as can be expected.” He paused. “No, better, I suppose. Parliament is taking most of my attention.”

Sitting in Parliament was, in fact, eye-opening. For the last several years, joining in the small gatherings of peers discussing politics in Father’s home, Jasper had said little and nodded much, his opinions forming, as it were, at the old earl’s knee. He had thought Father’s stance would be easy to emulate.

“And that is a good thing?” Reg pressed, his skepticism showing.

Father had said Jasper’s guiding principle should be “Church and King.” And, when in doubt, listen to Liverpool. Unfortunately, that was proving overly simplistic. He voted Tory, of course, but had made the mistake of listening, truly listening, to the speeches on both sides. He was disturbed to find his conscience sometimes leaned Whig.

“I’m learning quite a bit.”

Reg grinned. “That is a good thing.”

Jasper laughed. For his brother, learning was not simply a good thing, it was the only thing.

They entered the parlor. There was a small, unnecessary fire in the hearth. Some people could not abide the appearance of a cold hearth even in summertime. The windows were open for the little breeze they might afford. The duchess was seated on a plush, pale blue Grecian couch. The duke rose from his straight-backed chair to greet them.

“Iversley, welcome.”

“Your Grace.” Jasper made a small bow. He bowed also to the duchess. The deuce—the last time he’d seen her had been at the wedding, where his role as best man and jilted quasi-fiancé provided elements of farce. “It is good to see you again.”

“Come in. Join us, please,” the duchess said. “Reginald says your mother and Lady Olivia are doing well?”

“They are, thank you.”

He paused a moment, considering where best to sit. He supposed he should be paying compliments to his hostess. He knew he should. He stepped toward her.

The duke crossed his path.

“Iversley, I noted with great satisfaction your applause at the end of Hazard’s speech yesterday. I daresay it was not merely a measure of your regard for our friend.”

“No. Not at all. The speech was laudable.”

It was the one Hazard had asked him to read for glaring errors. It covered the Whig’s opinion on the Leather Tax, about to be increased by a pittance.

Jasper had sided, with very little thought, with his father’s party. Yes, shoemakers would find their costs increased. And yes, they would pass the cost on to their customers. But how much? A few shillings? That would hardly send Englishmen scurrying to foreigners for what were bound to be inferior shoes. The tax increase was needed to bolster the Treasury. For the war effort. And wasn’t that the most crucial issue before them? Supporting Wellington and the troops? Supporting Crispin, with every fiber of their being?

Before the debates, the text of the speech, delivered in Jasper’s head in his friend’s usual flippant, disinterested voice, had raised interesting points but had not been persuasive. Jasper had read it mainly for the barbs, directed at certain personages, that he had known would be there. He’d been amused.

But when Hazard spoke on the floor, it was in a different voice entirely. Measured, statesmanlike oratory replaced his usual affability. Some of the jocular wording was changed: his barbs were sharp. The people affected by the tax were those who could not afford a few extra pennies. Farmers. Laborers. Their children. Saddlers and shoemakers would suffer the loss of business. And soldiers themselves would be provided inferior boots by war profiteers—a gamble of a statement given there were likely profiteers in the room.

When the Whigs applauded Hazard, Jasper did too. Those beside him on the bench, his good Tory allies, chuckled at his greenness. Perhaps they found it refreshing to see a young lad cheer a friend as if it were a cricket match. Of course, they rapped his knuckles that night at White’s: no more of that, young fellow. It would be an insult to his father’s memory not to carry on the strong Tory legacy of the Earls of Iversley.

“He’s a fine speaker,” Hovington agreed. “A strong command of the issues. A shame we cannot use him more often.”

We. Hovington was one of the more conservative Whigs, but a Whig, nevertheless. It was fortunate that his new Tory-by-birth son-in-law had no interest in things political. Though Jasper did wonder what they all discussed around the supper table.

But why couldn’t they use Hazard more? He seemed to enjoy the task.

“Why can’t you?” he asked. He was just curious. Not digging for weaknesses in their strategies.

Hovington tutted. “He is too clever by half at times. And he cannot afford enemies.”

“I suppose not.” Jasper tried to sound noncommittal. “Enemies do no one any good.”

People liked Hazard too much to make open accusations. But that could change.

“Quite right.” The duke clapped him on the back. “Dare I ask if you were persuaded to cross the aisle? On this bill at least?”

He heard his father’s voice in his ear: Church and King .

He shook his head and tried to answer the way he imagined the old earl would have, but cringed inwardly, because the words, in his own voice, sounded heartless rather than sensible. “I want children in shoes, naturally. But there are charities for such things. We need to defeat Napoleon first. Then we can bring taxes down.”

His argument was simplistic, but the Leather Tax was hardly significant enough to risk alienating the men his father had worked with year after year. Fortunately, this session of Parliament would close in a week, and he would be granted a few months to better formulate his own opinions on other matters. A daunting task. An absorbing one. And one that would help keep his mind from returning to Vanessa. Though here it was again, turning to Vanessa, and that knife twist of pain in his heart.

“Enough of politics, Hovington,” his wife chastised, then shared a smile with Georgiana. This must be a common complaint. “This is a tea. You are not in session.”

Georgiana rang for tea to emphasize the point. They took their seats: the duke back in his solid rosewood chair, Reg and Georgiana on a two-seated couch, where they were at liberty to be close. Discreetly close: Reg was still Reg. Jasper sat opposite the tea table from the duchess.

Servants arrived with tea and cakes. Conversation ebbed until the servants retreated. Then the duchess turned her attention fully upon Jasper.

“I suppose you have guessed why you’re here.”

The bite of cake dried in his mouth. He swallowed with difficulty. “Have I?”

Georgiana groaned. “Mama!”

“Darling child, soon you may be as unconventional as you wish, and you, too, Reginald, dear—”

Reg’s startled expression informed Jasper that his brother had not expected to be drawn into whatever this was. Or, more likely, had thought it nothing but a tea party.

“—but until Alice is safely wed, the order of the day is propriety.”

Jasper wanted to defend Reg and Georgiana, who had done nothing at all improper—though he was willing to grant the duchess “unconventional”—but he feared he was being accused as well.

“Propriety?” He managed to lift an eyebrow at her but doubted he used it quellingly. Crispin was the effective eyebrow lifter. Jasper considered his own weapon the disarming smile. He should have led with that. It would not work after deploying the eyebrow.

“Alice and Hazard have been spending far too much time in each other’s company. I understand the initial rationale, and truth be told, I encouraged them. But he’s hardly about to ask for her. And even if he did, we would not allow her to accept.” The duchess seemed on the verge of losing her composure and finished with a huff. “They may well enjoy each other’s company, but enough is enough.”

It felt odd to admit to himself that he agreed with every word she said. “And so?” he prompted.

“Well.” She drew a deep breath. “You may be disinclined, and I certainly have no reason to expect—”

“Mary—” Hovington tried to interrupt, and at the same time Georgiana said, “Mama!”

“I merely wish to ask Iversley to claim Alice for the first dance.”

Jasper smiled his relief. “I would be delighted.”

“And then dance the next with Georgiana. We’ll ensure it is not a waltz.”

His smile faltered. Granted, a country dance was not as intimate as a waltz, but still, how awkward .

“You see,” the duchess went on, “we must squelch any lingering rumors. This ball will be the first opportunity for the ton to assess how we feel about…” she swirled her hand, “everything that passed. Our friends, of course, know that we are all excessively pleased with matters.” She squeezed a smile at Reg. “But people will say—”

“That I am small consolation,” Reg finished.

Jasper was appalled. Were people actually suggesting such a thing? But Reg laughed. He didn’t seem to care. “And what am I to do, Lieutenant?” He lifted his hands in a shrug.

The duchess laughed as well, turning a little pink at the throat. Evidently, Reg had found his own way to deal with his mother-in-law. “I don’t expect Alice will ever be left unpartnered. Not at her own ball. But if you see such a disaster may be imminent, do not allow it.”

“I would not,” Reginald said with a brisk nod.

“And then I would like both of you Taverstons to keep Hazard at bay. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but he really must withdraw. Or else agree to ask her in full expectation of being refused.”

Georgiana protested. “You can’t mean Hazard is scaring away Alice’s suitors. I thought she was succeeding wonderfully.”

“At first, yes. She had several admirers. Four were, I thought, very likely candidates. But she shows such a marked preference for Hazard’s company, I fear Mr. Gamby has begun looking elsewhere and Sir Mikton has stopped sending flowers.”

Georgiana’s expression grew worried. “Should I speak with her?”

“I have.” The duchess bit her lip. “But yes, a word from you might do more good. She merely tells me they are ‘only friends.’” Her voice dropped to an impolite mutter. “As if the ton permits such a thing between a bachelor and an unmarried lady.”

Jasper came back to the point. Which was evidently a battle plan. “So I am to dance charmingly with Alice. Then pleasantly with Georgiana. Then head Hazard off if he appears to be approaching Alice. It sounds simple enough.”

The duchess nodded. “But you mustn’t show a preference for Alice.”

Reg said, “And you certainly must not show a preference for Georgiana.”

His wife slapped his arm.

The duchess continued, “And you and Reginald must display warmth toward one another.”

“More of a challenge,” Jasper said dryly.

“And, of course, you must also dance with some of the other ladies.”

Jasper felt a wave of exasperation. He knew to do his duty at a ball. He would not leave wallflowers tapping their toes and holding back tears.

“Have you prepared a list?” He regretted the edge in his voice.

“Nonsense. You are not my project.” She hesitated, the expression on her face hovering between offense and guilt. She opened her mouth and then closed it. Then she said, “However, if you wish a suggestion, you might show favor to Miss Felicity Brewer.”

He knew her. A pretty chit. A little colorless. But then, compared to Vanessa, every woman lacked color. Miss Brewer had nothing particular to recommend her. Was her mother friendly with the duchess?

Courting intrigues wearied him. He asked outright, “May I inquire why?”

The duchess pouted defensively. “I suspect Sir Mikton’s bouquets have been diverted to her sitting room.”

Jasper’s jaw dropped. Matchmakers were cutthroats!

And then, two things happened at once.

Georgiana cried, “That is too much, Mama! It isn’t fair to raise Felicity’s expectations and ruin her chances with Sir Mikton. Moreover, if Alice had wished to hold his attention, I’m certain she could have done so.”

While she argued, Hovington stood and marched across the room. A flask appeared from some hidden pocket. He’d unscrewed the cap before reaching Jasper’s chair. Then he splashed a bit of something into Jasper’s tea.

“And this is why we don’t allow them in politics.”

Jasper smiled weakly and raised his cup in solidarity.

But then Reginald spoke.

“On the contrary, Your Grace. Were we to allow them charge of weightier manners, we should not find ourselves floundering in half so many quandaries.”

Jasper would have laughed, but he was ninety percent certain his brother was not joking. He raised his estimate to one hundred percent when he caught a glimpse of Georgiana’s expression. Love and awe. The beauty there made his eyes sting.

Or maybe it was something else: the realization that a fortunate man might be granted one opportunity in a lifetime to be loved in such a way. And he had squandered his chance.

Ah, God, Vanessa . How sorry he was.