Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

" H ave a seat, Emily." Papa gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

It creaked when she sat, and she felt the wooden slats through the well-worn cushion.

"Peter Mathis has returned from London."

"How splendid." She forced the words to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. Her stomach didn't swirl, nor did her heartbeat quicken as it did at the mention of Jacob's name.

"He visited me at the church office."

"Oh?" The pastry she'd eaten for breakfast turned to stone.

"He's asked for your hand."

Her head ached as if her blood had thickened into sludge. Jacob's voice pressed through. You are worth risking my heart for. There's something uniting us. It's real, tangible. Undeniable. Can't we trust God to cover the sins of your parents as He's forgiven the sins of my past?

Papa studied her face. "Do you want to marry Peter?"

She swallowed. Wasn't that what was expected? Mr. Mathis was the safe choice. With Jacob, there were so many insurmountable obstacles. Could she take such a risk with her future?

Papa awaited her answer.

"Er—yes. Of course."

His brows sloped together. "Are you certain? You don't sound?—"

"Mr. Mathis is the best option for me. We've grown up together, and he plans to remain in Sylvanwood. He's a God-fearing man with an upstanding reputation, and I shall not lack for anything. I'd be fortunate to be his wife."

Papa laced his fingers and leaned over his desk. "Have you prayed on it?"

Had she? Until she'd met Jacob, marriage to Peter Mathis had seemed like a foretold event, but now?

Don't you think God will provide a way?

"Seek God's will in this matter," Papa said. "Ask for His wisdom, and He will provide." Papa reached across his desk and squeezed her hand. "Sleep on it and let me know tomorrow."

Emily swallowed. Papa was right, but was she brave enough to heed God's answer?

M athis had returned.

Jacob overheard Miss Dorsham saying as much to her mother as she climbed out of the carriage alongside Miss Neves in Fairford, where Lady Simmons hosted a pre-Season soirée. After they'd alighted and entered the manor, alive with music and chatter, he snapped the reins, and the horses trotted toward the stables to park and be watered.

Jacob joined other coachmen, except this time, instead of driving near the center of other carriages to eavesdrop, he stopped along the outskirts so he could sneak into the party as a guest.

Emily had come by and finished the painting while he'd been calling upon Lord Copeland to question him regarding the events on the night of the highway robbery. He'd hoped she would change her mind regarding his invitation, but she had not.

With Mathis back to lay claim upon Emily, Jacob wanted to get this night over with so he could finish wooing her before she married the wrong man.

To add to his problems, he'd received a letter from Lieutenant Scar informing him to take caution. Lord Benton had returned to Sylvanwood to reunite with his wife, and most likely, to seek out Jacob for retribution.

Jacob had to ensure Mathis didn't propose to Emily, identify and root out the jewel thieves, avoid falling into Miss Dorsham's marriage trap, and watch his back for the bullets Lord Benton would surely implant there if given the chance.

After a young groom approached to water the horses, Jacob left his driver's hat on his seat and snuck around the stable, ducking under the window to remain unnoticed even though twilight had fallen. He shrugged out of his driving overcoat and hid it among the branches of a nearby maple tree. He checked his cravat to ensure the knot was straight and tugged on the bottom of his kerseymere jacket before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his invitation. With a brisk stride, he dodged a passing carriage and scooted behind a boxwood hedge, peeking to ensure no one was watching. He rose and jumped over the low stone balustrade railing, sauntering up the steps to the footmen at the front entrance. Between two fingers, he flicked out the invitation for the butler, who led him through the gallery foyer.

With Benton's arrival in town, it was for the best that Emily hadn't accepted his invitation to accompany him to the party, but what he wouldn't give to look upon her face as the footman opened the double doors to the ballroom. He could imagine Emily's joy at the explosion of colorful gowns. She'd be memorizing the scene, absorbing every aspect to capture on canvas later. And while she painted, he'd have the excuse to visit and aid her in remembering details, such as how Lord Grimwold smirked or how Lady Simmons raised her hands as if conducting an orchestra.

As he stood in the ballroom's entrance next in line to be announced, stuffy heat wafted the aroma of expensive perfumes and colognes through the air. Music drifted down from the second-floor mezzanine, where the orchestra musician played a quadrille as guests danced below. People mingled around the dance floor's edge as servants carried drinks and silver platters of finger sandwiches to a refreshment table in the corner. In a row under tall, corniced arches, the terrace doors stood open, but the chilly night air did little to cool the room.

The butler announced Jacob's arrival. "Lord Jacob Langford Warren."

Two women swiveled in his direction—Miss Dorsham and the Duchess of Charlton.

Miss Dorsham flashed him a smile less enthusiastic than usual. Still, her gloved fingers moved to her chest, where a low-cut bodice exposed a broad expanse of skin and displayed a sapphire-and-diamond pendant on a thick gold chain. Her cloak had hidden the jewelry earlier, but now, desperation for a husband clung to her in the form of a statement piece necklace.

At Miss Dorsham's side, the duchess, Sarah, eyed him with cool reserve. She was the perfect person to give Miss Dorsham fortune-husband-hunting advice.

Jacob was new to prayer, but he quietly asked God to help him with his unforgiveness toward Sarah and for the strength not to fall back into his old libertine ways. He greeted his host and hostess, who asked about his brothers.

Jacob was glad for the diversion. "Alex is on a trip to Prussia, and I've received word that Robert and Nora shall visit my aunt and me in Sylvanwood soon."

"The marquis and marchioness?" Mrs. Simmons fanned herself. "I do hope you are throwing them a party. It would be well-attended—the event that starts the Season."

If his aunt were here, she'd swoon at Lady Simmons's suggestion. "I'm afraid they will be visiting more for business than pleasure. My brother intends to check on the progress of Brownstone Hall."

"Then, I shall call upon the marchioness while she's in town." Lady Simmons said.

"I plan to convince them to attend Miss Dorsham's coming-out party for her kickoff of the season." Emily would have no choice but to be present at her closest friend's party. He would use it to be seen with Emily and show Sylvanwood his intentions toward her. Mathis was long overdue for some competition, and Jacob would bring his all to the ring in this match.

"How splendid." Lady Simmons perked up. "I plan to be there." She tapped her index finger on her cheek. "But now I must rethink my choice of gown."

He stopped next to a marbled pillar with a bust of Lord Simmons's father and searched for Benton or anyone who seemed unduly drawn to jewelry and other baubles of the wealthy. The highwaymen's attacks hadn't been random. The leader must have inside knowledge of high societal events and chose the carriages of those bedecked in jewels to rob. If Jacob had to guess, one of the bandits was a member of the ton.

A familiar face caught his eye. Jacob strolled to the perimeter of the ballroom to stand shoulder to shoulder with his handler.

Lieutenant Scar wore black except for a snowy white cambric shirt and cravat. He leaned against a pillar and sipped a drink, watching his wife converse with a group of ladies.

Jacob kept his voice low. "I didn't expect to see you here, Lieutenant."

"Tonight, it's Lord Scarcliffe." He nodded to his lovely wife. "Abby desired to attend, and I conceded, knowing someone should be here to guard your backside." He issued him a sideways glance. "On your ten."

Jacob gazed to where Lord Benton stood red-faced with a half-empty glass in his hand. A nearby footman collected three empty glasses from off the table. Benton was well on his way to getting foxed.

"And the missus?"

Lieutenant Scar gave the slightest tilt of his head to the right. "On your two."

Lady Benton clung to the arm of a young buck, laughing as if the man were the cleverest fellow in the land. They strolled onto the terrace. The night breeze caught her skirts and curled them around the bloke's legs like a lover's embrace. Hopefully, the young fool understood the consequences of the path he treaded.

"Any leads?" Scar sipped from the glass he held.

"Nothing conclusive, but I'm narrowing the suspects."

"Indeed."

Jacob glanced to make certain no one was within hearing range. "Whoever it is walks among us or is tipped off by a guest. They seem to have inside knowledge of who is wearing the family valuables."

Scar rubbed his chin, and his gaze roved the room.

"From eyewitness accounts and hearsay," Jacob said, "it seems we're looking for two or three men. They're skilled riders and use the heath or forest to take a driver by surprise. One of them is of small build, around five foot five, but he stays on his mount and points the pistol at the coachman while the other, who's taller at five-foot-nine or -ten with a local accent, collects the goods. Recollections were hazy on the third, a shadowy figure lingering in the woods that may or may not have been their imagination. They mask their faces. Copeland thinks he saw a lock of blond under the bandana but wasn't certain when pressed. It was dark, and it could have been a trick of the moonlight."

"A short, potentially blond local man." Scar exhaled. "Not much to go on."

"I've been posing as the Dorsham driver, and guess who draped herself in the family valuables tonight?"

"By your bidding?"

Jacob shook his head. "Of course not. Miss Dorsham is in want of a husband."

"I see." He scanned the room until he found the young woman. "Indeed, that would be tempting. I've posted lookouts on the post road in Bibury."

"Good. The moors there offer bandits plenty of hiding spots."

Scar nodded. "I'll also trail you a few minutes behind."

"But your wife?"

"Laurel House isn't far from here. Her brother will see her home."

The orchestra struck up a country reel.

"How's your son?" Scar sipped his drink.

Jacob couldn't stop a grin from spreading. "He's like me—an adventurer. Christian loves racing toy boats and adores horses. He's not afraid to get muddy and not shy of adults." His smile fell. "He's been raised well. The Thompsons are good folk."

"But…?"

"No buts. They're tremendous, which is why I haven't yet told my son I'm his father. I'm still praying about the best course of action."

"Praying? So you've become religious?" A spark lit Scar's eyes.

"I told you they're good folk. Mr. Thompson is the local vicar. He's got me repenting, praying, and desiring to mend my ways."

Scar chuckled. "God will do that to you."

"He has a daughter, Emily. She's the one who put an arrow in Benton's shoulder. She saved my life. She has the face of an angel and makes me want to better myself, the kind of person she'd set her cap for."

The lieutenant jerked back his chin. "You're besotted?"

"I am."

Scar grabbed a drink from a passing footman's tray and handed it to Jacob. "Cheers to a better man."

They clinked glasses and drank. Scar's voice lowered after he swallowed. "Marriage mart mama on my twelve."

"Lord Warren." Lady Dorsham's voice boomed.

Jacob cringed.

"And Lord Scarcliffe. What a delightful evening. Lord Warren, I know you're acquainted with my daughter Phoebe, but I don't believe Lord Scarcliffe has had the pleasure."

Scar bowed his head to Miss Dorsham, who trailed her mother. "Delighted to meet you, but please excuse me. My wife beckons."

Jacob pinched his lips tight to hold back the word coward , shooting the lieutenant a look he hoped conveyed the sentiment. Lady Scarcliffe seemed surprised yet pleased when he grabbed her hand, excused her from an ongoing conversation, and led her to the dance floor.

Abandoned to face the Dorsham ladies alone, Jacob relaxed his jaw and attempted to put on a good face. "Rather a crush of a party, don't you think?"

Miss Dorsham fanned her face. "Indeed, it's made the ball insufferably warm."

Her mother's eyes sparkled. "Why don't you two take a turn about the room or take in the air on the terrace?" Lady Dorsham shooed them away. "Run along now."

Miss Dorsham tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, leaving Jacob with the choice of giving her the cut direct, offending Emily's friend and causing a scene, or strolling the room with her on his arm.

He accepted the latter option but strode the ballroom's perimeter at a quicker pace than considered acceptable, desiring to get the obligation over.

Miss Dorsham tugged his arm. "You needn't run, Lord Warren. I hold no designs that you have any sentiments for me. You've made your intentions clear, but I must continue to play the game for Mama's sake or she'll begin to question."

He forced himself to slow down and said in what he hoped was an apologetic tone, "Forgive me, Miss Dorsham. I didn't realize how quickly I walked."

Lord and Lady Copeland passed nearby. Lord Copeland's gaze swept over them, but he quickly diverted back to his wife.

Miss Dorsham tensed, and for the first time, Jacob felt sorry for the chit. "What are your plans for the Season?"

"To make a catch." She grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes. "My coming-out party is less than a week away. After that, I will leave for London, where I will hope to make a splash and receive several offers of marriage."

And if you don't?

The silent question weighed the surrounding air, but Miss Dorsham didn't know he was aware of her condition.

"You love her, don't you?" Miss Dorsham flashed him an askance look. "Don't answer that." She shook her head and closed her eyes as if irritated. "I can see it on your face whenever you look at her. I just want to know why. Why her and not me?"

"You are a lovely woman." The kind his younger self would have been attracted to, and he would have matched her flirtatious nature and added her to the list of women who'd succumbed to his charms.

What he felt for Emily was different. There was nothing self-serving in it. He wanted her to feel adored, loved, and valued. He desired to make her smile more, laugh more, live more. If she wished to be a member of the Royal Academy, he'd use his influence to give her the greatest chance possible, and if she wanted a simple life in Sylvanwood, he'd send for the rest of his things and become a gentleman farmer. Now, when he envisioned his future, she stood by his side. She made him a better person.

He slowed his steps, peering at Miss Dorsham. He would explain, but bitterness was etched in the tight lines around her mouth. Emily had done nothing to deserve her friend's resentment. Pure jealousy drove Miss Dorsham.

"Why can't you be happy for her?" He probably should have kept the question to himself, but his desire to know overwhelmed his training as a gentleman.

Her nostrils flared. If he'd expected any softening in her eyes, he'd have been disappointed.

"Must you always cast her in the shadows? She's been a good friend and stuck by your side when you haven't deserved it."

Her eyes flashed, but the anger fizzled. She lowered her chin. "I don't know why I treat her so. I guess I'm jealous, even though she's a penniless by-blow." Miss Dorsham clasped a hand over her mouth. "I shouldn't have said that."

By the look on her face, she'd said exactly what she meant, hoping to give away her friend's shameful secret.

This walk couldn't end fast enough.

"Miss Thompson confided in me, but that is not something you should mention unless you intend to harm the person you call your friend." He turned to leave, unable to tolerate her presence any longer.

Miss Dorsham clung to his arm. "That's just it. She's good. Emily would take my secret to the grave." She blinked rapidly. "I can't be good."

Jacob sighed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, passing it to her. "I believed I couldn't be good either."

She wiped her tears. "That's why I thought we'd make a brilliant match. We're alike."

He gave her a moment to regain her composure. When she did and faced him again, he explained. "But Emily and the Thompson family have shown me I can have a second chance to redeem myself. They act as though my past doesn't define my future. They believe that, despite my mistakes, God still loves me."

A sob tore from Miss Dorsham's lips.

Several people glanced their way, including Sarah, who eyed him with a stern look.

He ushered Miss Dorsham out the French doors onto the terrace.

"My parents see me as a pawn to make connections and gain entrance to more of the tons's parties, drawing rooms, and events. I tried—" A sob choked her voice. "But you're right." Tears streamed over her cheeks, and she wiped them away, soaking his handkerchief. "Emily never has treated me that way. She's loved me despite my faults, and how I've hurt her."

"Miss Dorsham?" Sarah's voice approached them from behind. "I do hope Lord Warren is being a gentleman."

Jacob turned to defend himself. Sarah had become even more beautiful with age, shedding the softness of youth for a more mature look, but the malice that had flashed in her eyes as a young girl now held steadfast.

Miss Dorsham swallowed. "We were merely talk?—"

"Why don't you run along and freshen up before rumors spread about why you cry so easily?" Sarah arched a sculpted eyebrow.

Miss Dorsham paled, the moonlight tinging her face a cornflower blue. After bobbing a curtsy, she left, and Jacob inwardly grunted. Cornflower blue? Indigo versus violet? Emily was rubbing off on him.

"I came out here to save you." Sarah ran her fingertip down the lapel of his jacket before striding to the railing, presuming he would follow, as he always had. Should he engage in conversation or walk away? His curiosity won out, and he moved to stand beside the balustrade but maintained a safe distance between them.

Sarah faced him. "I know we've had our differences, but since you were my first, I still hold you in high regard."

First love? She'd never returned his sentiments.

"I admit the physical attraction between us has always been strong, and I was disappointed when you declined my offer."

To warm a married woman's bed? Even the rake he used to be had set a boundary line there. "You were married."

She snorted. "All you cared about was finding your son."

Our son —but he'd stopped correcting her long ago. "What do you want, Sarah?"

"To warn you." She turned and leaned against the railing. "You're being manipulated. Miss Dorsham plans to trap you into marriage at her coming-out party."

"How so?"

She shrugged. "I don't know the details, but I'm assuming by someone discovering the two of you alone. She's desperate to wed and pawn off another man's by-blow as your own."

"I'm aware."

Had Sarah's eyes widened in the lamplight? Was she surprised he already knew?

"But are you also aware"—her gaze narrowed—"that Miss Thompson has been aiding her?"