1. A Lady Suffers a Surprise

April 1815, Weatherstone Manor, Mayfair

The last strains of the orchestra's final selection reached Persephone's ears when the dowager countess spotted her town coach and waved at the driver. He had managed to position her equipage in a most convenient location in the queue of other vehicles awaiting their owners in front of Weatherstone Manor, the Mayfair location known for always hosting the first ball of the Season.

Parker tipped his hat as he opened the coach door. "My lady," he said, offering his gloved hand in assistance.

"You know me too well if you've timed your arrival for this very moment," Persephone commented as she placed a silk-gloved hand in his and took the step up and into the velvet-lined coach.

"I never left, my lady," he replied. "Nice night to watch the stars." He closed the door before his mistress could reply and then bounded up and onto the driver's seat. A moment later, and the coach pulled away from the pavement.

Persephone settled into the blue velvet squabs and sighed in relief as she extracted her feet from her dance slippers. Wiggling her toes, she had a thought to simply leave her shoes off when it was time to make her way into March House. Who would notice if she entered the townhouse barefoot?

In the middle of taking a deep breath, she stopped and sniffed. The air inside the coach bore an unfamiliar scent. A cologne unlike anything her late husband had worn. Walter's usual parfum brought to mind leather and musk, a rather manly odor for a gentleman who wasn't.

This cologne was spicy. Citrusy. She sniffed again and then gave a start when the sound of a snore suddenly filled the coach.

"Who's there?" she asked in alarm as she straightened on the bench.

A snuffle-snort was followed by a moan and a groan and a "bloody hell".

Stuffing her feet back into her dance slippers, she pressed herself as far into the corner of the coach as she could. "I say again, who is there?" she asked, managing to sound more annoyed than frightened.

"Where the hell am I?" a male voice asked from the other side of the coach. From the way the prone form moved—a long lump rising on one side—Persephone realized the man had been sleeping and was now propped up on an elbow. She reached over to the window curtain and drew it back so the light from the coach lantern illuminated the interior.

"Ack!" the man complained as he lifted a hand to shield his face from the sudden glare.

Persephone gasped. "Lord… Lord Wilmington? Is that you?" She dropped the curtain, but the gathered panel remained parted enough to allow some light into the coach.

Another moan and groan sounded as he moved to sit up, although his head ended up in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. "If I am, you have my permission to shoot me. Put me out of my misery," he whispered hoarsely. The coach jerked hard when the wheel dipped into a hole left from a missing cobble, and he barked a curse.

"Lord Wilmington?" she repeated.

He lifted his head and regarded her in the dim light. "You have me at a disadvantage, my lady," he said.

"Jack, it's me. Persephone March," she replied. "What are you doing in my coach?" Other than the sound of the spinning wheels and the clopping of hooves on the cobbles, there was silence for a time, and she wondered if the intruder had passed out.

"Your coach?" he murmured before he groaned again.

"Whatever is wrong with you?"

Jack straightened and allowed his head to fall back onto the top of the squabs. "What day is this? It feels as if I've drunk an entire bottle of brandy. And not a good one, either." One of his hands went to the side of his head to hold it, as if it required assistance in remaining on his neck.

"It's the first Tuesday after Easter," she replied. "Lord Weatherstone's ball?" she added, sure that would give him enough information to sort his loss of time.

"I… I don't recall being there," he murmured before he inhaled sharply. "Wait. Yes, I do. I arrived at the same time as the Marquess of Reading," he commented. "I remember being thirsty... went for the punch..." He straightened. "That's it. Someone must have poured a good deal of brandy into the punch," he stated.

Persephone scoffed as she leaned forward in an attempt to get a closer look at her passenger. "Jack, trust me when I tell you the punch was definitely not spiked. A bit too much orgeat, but... there were no spirits in it," she said as she placed a hand beneath his chin and lifted it slightly. "Although you do look as if you're drunk," she accused.

"I feel like I was," he replied, grasping her hand to bring it to his lips. He pressed a kiss on the back of it. "Not now, though." He let go of her hand, and Persephone quickly pulled it away.

Jack pushed his hand over his head, his fingers leaving furrows in his dark hair as a wince crossed his handsome features. "If it wasn't alcohol, then how do you explain this splitting headache? And my tongue feels as if it..." He paused, his grimace accompanying a most unpleasant sound.

"If you're going to be sick?—"

"I am not," he assured her. "But I do think I've been... poisoned or... or drugged or something," he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to struggle to remember anything from earlier that evening.

Persephone inhaled sharply. "By whom?" she asked in alarm.

"Well, if I knew that..." he murmured, his gaze going to the coach window nearest him. "Good God, what time is it?"

Her blonde brows furrowing in concern, Persephone said, "About two, I think."

"In the morning?" Jack countered, straightening on the bench seat. He hissed as his other hand joined the first in holding his head.

"Yes. Shall I have Parker take you to your apartments? Are you still at The Albany?" She started to reach up to tap on the trap door, but Jack intercepted her hand.

"No need, my lady," he replied, placing his other hand over the top of hers so he could hold onto it. "Might I be allowed to join you this evening? At least until I can sort what happened?"

Persephone inhaled softly, surprised at how he held her hand. He had done so in the past the very same way. A long time ago, when he had proposed marriage. Since she had already been forced by her father to accept the Earl of Castlewait's offer of a marriage of convenience, she'd had to decline Jack's offer.

At least she'd had the benefit of a few months of Jack's attentions. A few months of young love and stolen moments. Despite the intervening twenty years, Jack still sported his handsome good looks, although these days he appeared a bit rough around the edges. His face, tanned from daily horseback rides, displayed creases on the sides of his eyes, and a scar from a wound he'd suffered due to the tip of a fencing foil marred his right cheek. The hair near his temples was nearly white, and his usual black hair was peppered with strands of gray.

The thought of him spending the night with her at March House had flutterbies dancing about in Persephone's stomach. They hadn't been together in a bed since the week after he'd taken her virtue all those years ago. "Of course you can stay," she finally replied. "As long as you need."

He nodded and then winced as the slight movement seemed to cause him pain. "I'll be a perfect gentleman," he said. "I promise."

Persephone frowned. "And what if I don't want you to be?" she asked in a whisper, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the coach wheels on the cobbles.

His eyes narrowed, and Jack allowed a wan grin. "Is that... is that an invitation?"

Her confidence faltered. "Would you accept it?" she countered. "Or have I grown too old for your tastes these days?"

For a moment, she wished she could have taken back her last words. But Jack Kirkpatrick, Earl of Wilmington, had a reputation of late. One that proclaimed he preferred younger widows and virgins. His name was synonymous with words like scoundrel and rake and libertine. His initials were frequently to be found in the articles printed in The Tattler, London's premier gossip news-sheet.

"Don't believe everything you hear, Sephie," he replied, tightening his hold on her hand. "Or read. And you'll never be too old for me."

Persephone grinned at hearing his pet name for her. No one but him had called her ‘Sephie', not in her entire life.

"Damn, but I wish I felt better, because I'd really like to prove myself to you right now."

Excitement at hearing his claim had Persephone's insides reacting much like they had two decades ago. Merely seeing the earl filled her with desire. It was no wonder he'd been able to coax her onto a bed and have his way with her. The fact that he had known exactly what to do to incite frissons of pleasure back then had her happy to offer hospitality now. "Perhaps in the morning," she whispered.

"I'd like that," he replied.

The coach came to a stuttering halt, and the countess scoffed. "Well, I do believe we're about to shock Parker. That is, if he didn't know you climbed into my coach."

Jack furrowed a brow, an expression of worry crossing his face. "I… I don't remember getting into this coach," he said, his voice once again betraying his confusion. Then his eyes rounded. "Did you... did you arrange this? Did you have me drugged?"

Persephone scoffed, momentarily offended he would think such a thing. "I rather wish I did, but no, I assure you, it was not me," she said on a sigh. "I would have hoped you would come of your own accord, if I'd sent you an invitation."

His eyes narrowing briefly, Jack considered her words. "I would have," he whispered.

The coach door opened and Persephone, heartened by his response to her last comment, allowed her driver to help her down the step. He was about to close the door, but she held up a staying hand. "Tell me, Parker. You said you didn't drive away from Weatherstone Manor the entire night?"

The driver gave a start. "That's because I didn't, my lady. Just... I just stargazed all night," he said on a shrug.

"Were you always with the coach?"

Parker's eyes darted to the side. "I... I might have stepped away a few times. To get a better view of the sky," he admitted in a halting voice. "There's a rather large tree on the one side of the Weatherstone property. It was in the way."

"So... no one gave you any coins to look the other direction or... or to take on a passenger?" Persephone pressed.

His eyes rounding in confusion, Parker shook his head. "No, my lady. Nor would I have accepted," he claimed.

"All right then?—"

"There were a couple whom I thought seemed out of place, though," he added as his gaze turned to his mind's eye. "A… a few hours ago."

Persephone's gaze darted to the interior of the coach. "What do you mean?" she asked, well aware Jack had moved closer to the door so he could listen in on her conversation with the driver.

"They wasn't dressed right for a ball, is all. I just thought they was there to watch the arrivals like some of the common folk do. But usually the onlookers take their leave after most of the guests have arrived, and they were still there after you went into the house."

"Oh?" she responded. "This couple… when did they leave?"

Parker shrugged. "I didn't take note, my lady, but it might have been about the time a gentleman was leading another out of the house. Drunk, like. Dressed all fine, but stumbling about, barely able to walk."

Persephone's eyes rounded. "Would you recognize the gentleman if you saw him again?" she asked, just as Jack emerged from the coach.

Parker gasped, one hand going to his chest before he stepped between his mistress and Jack, as if he intended to provide protection. "It's you. The drunkard," he said in shock.

"Drugged would be the more appropriate word," Jack remarked, directing a look of annoyance at him. "Any idea who escorted me out of Weatherstone Manor?" he asked. "Was it just one person? Or two?"

Shaking his head, Parker glanced back at Persephone. "Just the one. I haven't seen him 'afore," he said. "But he was about your age, I think. Seemed to know you, given how he was talkin' to you. Cursin' at you, mostly."

Jack winced but didn't say anything.

"Was this man you speak of… was he dressed for the ball?" Persephone asked.

Parker furrowed his brows and thought for a moment. "Well, yes. Dressed as fine as you, sir," he said with a nod to Jack. "He didn't have a hat on, though. But you did."

Persephone and Jack exchanged quick glances. "I don't remember that," Jack said. He poked his head back into the coach, and after a moment of rummaging around, he emerged with a top hat in one hand. "Well, it's a hat, but it's not mine," he murmured.

"How can you be sure?" Persephone asked. The black beaver looked like any fashionable men's top hat of late.

Jack turned it over and aimed it so the coach lantern could illuminate the label inside the hat band. "I only buy hats from Fitzsimmons and Smith in Oxford Street," he said. The label in the hat he held was for a shop in New Bond Street. "Which means my hat is probably still back at Weatherstone Manor."

"Or the man who escorted you out of the house has it," Parker said, obviously intrigued by the unusual events of the evening.

"Perhaps a good night's sleep will have your memory returning, Lord Wilmington," Persephone suggested. She turned to Parker. "If you remember anything else about what you saw this evening, will you please let me know? Or… or tell Bentley?" she said, referring to the butler of March House. She took Jack's proffered arm.

"Of course, my lady," Parker replied. "Will you be needing the coach again tonight?"

Chuckling, Persephone shook her head. "Of course not."

The driver hesitated, obviously bothered that he was unaware of the earl's presence in the coach. "If you'd like, I can go back to Weatherstone Manor," he offered. "Ask about his lordship's hat. And return this one at the same time," he added, pointing to the hat Jack still held.

Persephone inhaled softly and turned to gauge Jack's response. When he merely shrugged, she said, "That's very kind of you." She was about to fish a few coins from a pocket in her gown, but Jack beat her to it, pulling several from his waistcoat pocket. He gave them to the driver.

"Be sure to give a coin or two to the footman who assists you," he said. "Especially if he shares any news with you."

"I will, my lord," Parker said as he took the hat.

"Should you acquire Lord Wilmington's hat, simply leave it on the hall table if Bentley is no longer up and about," Persephone requested, deciding she didn't wish to be disturbed. Although she sensed Jack's growing unease, she knew he needed to sleep off the effects of the drug—or whatever it was that had him so discombobulated.

"Yes, my lady."

"Good night, Parker."

"Good night, my lady," the driver replied, watching as Lord Wilmington led Lady Castlewait to the front door. He hurried back to the coach and set the horses in motion.