Chapter 35
D inner was an elaborate and lengthy affair. Frankie sampled a parade of courses: soup, broiled salmon, braised beef and tongue, roast, Yorkshire pudding, cherries, and glazed cake, and began to understand why the Houndsbury house party was considered the grandest event of the summer. Everything from the fine linen tablecloths to the gleaming silver candlesticks, the servants that acted with swift and prompt attention, and the outrageously expensive wine, reminded Frankie of how far from home she was. How lonely Jasper must have been on his ascent to the top! Frankie was intimidated, and she’d been raised by the son of a baron. She could not imagine the amount of fortitude it must have taken Jasper to breach the barrier the upper class so diligently fortified with their silly customs, rules, and lavish displays of fortune.
The women were outfitted in bright silks and feathers and scents, while the men cut dashing figures in crisp cravats and tailored coats—although none were so fine and imposing as Jasper. When Lady Charlotte rested her fingertips on his forearm and gave a charming, tinkling laugh at something he’d said, Frankie had to turn away and smile blindly at the man beside her. She had no idea what her dining partner was talking about. All she could think about was Lady Charlotte, who appeared to be a genuinely sweet and adoring woman, and the way Jasper was listening to her every word as if his very life hinged on it.
“You are staring,” Frankie’s mother said through tight lips. She lifted her wineglass and took a dainty sip.
“What?”
“You are staring at Mr. Jones.”
Frankie was indeed staring again. She tore her eyes away and lifted her own glass. “This has a been a lovely dinner, has it not? Have you heard the gossip about Lord Wexler?” She’d hoped to distract her mother, but she should have known better. When her mother had determined to say her piece, she said it.
“Francis, I saw how that man looked at you today when he returned the flower to your hair. Worse, I saw how you reacted to him.”
“How—how did I react?”
“You leaned into him as if he were your safe harbor.”
Frankie’s heart fluttered in her breast. “You are mistaken. Mr. Jones and I—” Have only kissed. Are only here to uncover a nasty plot. Will never be together. “—are here to find me a husband.”
“Francis,” her mother said gently, setting her glass on the tablecloth. “I know you think I am hard on you, but it is only because I do not want to see you hurt. Mr. Jones is a known rake, which means if he expresses interest, there is only one thing he could want from you. You must not allow him to ruin your reputation when you finally have a chance to secure a good marriage match.”
Frankie stared into her wine, her mother’s words hitting their intended mark, but for a different reason. Frankie knew Jasper’s reputation as a rake was carefully cultivated and mostly untrue, but if her mother thought there was something between them, it was possible others might, too. She could not allow that, not when she had a chance to make headway with Lord Devon. Not when she was so close to getting answers.
For the rest of the dinner she did not look at Jasper once, even though she could have sworn she felt his eyes on her.
When the guests reconvened in the parlor for after-dinner games, Frankie was more than ready to get away from Jasper, her mother, and the effervescent Lady Charlotte. She did not have long to wait before Lord Devon appeared at her side.
And so the ruse began.
Jasper was in a foul mood by the time the party guests reassembled in the sitting room. During dinner, Frankie had been sending him secretive little glances until her mother had spoken to her in a voice so low Jasper could not catch what was said, but Frankie’s shoulders had stiffened and her cheeks had whitened. He’d throttled the impulse to jump across the table and grasp her by the chin and shout that whatever her mother had said, it wasn’t true. But then she would not even look at him afterward; instead, she had allowed Lord Tharlowe to entertain her for the rest of the meal. Jasper would occasionally catch snatches of their conversation, all of it tantalizingly fresh and interesting, while he was bored stiff by the very dull Lady Charlotte on his left, and the so-icy-it-hurt Lady Evelyn on his right.
Drinks with the men afterward had been just as tiresome. Jasper did not hold a title, but he was still easily one of the most powerful men in the room because he had something the others did not: information. He was the keeper of London’s darkest secrets and debts, bets and failings, wins and losses. He knew more about the ton than the most adept gossip rag—but his knowledge was not for discussion or sale. He would not have become king of London’s hells with loose lips.
That did not stop others from trying to pry, however. He’d spent the ensuing hour dodging invasive questions and giving outright refusals when necessary. This, he thought bitterly, was reason number thirty-two he avoided house parties like the pox. Only when Frankie and Cecelia went up to bed later that night, Frankie’s cheeky wink at the bottom of the stairs easing some of the strain he felt, did he finally relax. One day over, six left to suffer through.
If Jasper had thought the house party would improve over the course of the week, he would have been sorely mistaken. The following days were filled with more mundane conversations and sly prying than he’d had to endure in quite some time. At least when the night ended at his hell, he went home to the quiet of his house. Here, there was a never-ceasing stream of entertainment and socializing that ground on his waning tolerance.
It did not help that Frankie’s mother was doing the best she could to pack Frankie’s days with outings and excursions with every bachelor in residence. Frankie was promised to take strolls, play games, and listen to music with dozens of suitors, although she spent most of her evenings in the sitting room charming Lord Devon and giving Jasper rage-induced fantasies about ruining the already impoverished man.
As the days stretched interminably, Jasper’s patience began to thin. Although Frankie and Cecelia seemed to be having a splendid time, he could not wait until he could sweep them into the carriage and take them home again. The constant vigilance was tiring, but what was getting even older was seeing his Frankie enchant and laugh and share her sparkling wit with men who thought they had a chance in hell with her. None of them were good enough for her.
After another elaborate dinner on the sixth day, Jasper entered the sitting room to rejoin the women after cigars with the gentlemen, and immediately sought out Cecelia and Frankie with his eyes. Frankie was promenading the room with Lord Devon, while Cecelia and Madam Margaret tried to convince Lady Charlotte to play the piano. Mrs. Turner was sitting on the settee, her eagle-like gaze assessing Lord Devon along with other potential suitors in the room. When she saw him, her lips pursed.
Over the past week, Mrs. Turner had made her dislike of him clear even though he had given her daughter a dowry. He was low-class, an upstart, and he had an unsavory reputation. It did not help matters that he could not seem to stop undressing Frankie with his eyes. For that grievance he could not fault her mother—if a man looked at Cecelia the way he was looking at Frankie, he’d bloody the fool’s nose.
Frankie gave a fake laugh at something Lord Devon said. Jasper knew it was fake, because when Frankie truly laughed everything about her sparkled and her spectacles slid so far down her nose they nearly reached the tip.
“Shall we play a game?” Lady Houndsbury asked the mingled guests, clapping her hands together cheerfully.
Lord help him. Jasper lifted a snifter of brandy from a tray and tossed it down his throat. Reason number fifty-two he hated house parties: parlor games.
“How about blindman’s bluff?” someone called out.
“Played that two days ago. Why not charades?”
“Forfeit!”
“Sardines!”
“Sardines it is,” Lady Houndsbury said. “We all know the rules, do we not? One person will hide and the rest of us will go look for him. When you find the hidden player, you must then join him. The last person to find the group must pay a forfeit.”
Several sly glances zipped across the room. Everyone loved a Victorian house party that allowed for sanctioned sneaking off.
“Who volunteers to hide?” Lady Houndsbury asked.
Cecelia, the blessed thing, volunteered immediately.
Lady Houndsbury smiled. “You have one minute to hide, dear. And lest we end up searching all night, I must confine you to the first two floors.”
Cecelia squealed and raced out of the room.
Jasper groaned inwardly when the irksome Lord Tharlowe chose him as a partner, and frowned when he saw that Lady Evelyn had chosen Frankie. He could not fathom her motives, especially after her rude comments earlier that week. Did she intend to harangue Frankie as they searched the vacant corridors?
Frankie shot him an equally confused look as Lady Houndsbury officially declared the game begun, and Lady Evelyn took Frankie’s arm and towed her from the room. The back of Jasper’s neck prickled. He was about to follow after them when Lady Houndsbury and Mrs. Turner halted him. He could not simply disregard his hostess and Frankie’s mother, so he suffered several minutes of the duchess’s pleasant commentary, all while his instincts screamed that he needed to find Frankie.
At last Lady Houndsbury gasped and said, “Oh my, I hope I have not put you gentlemen at a disadvantage in the game. Go, go, carry on, you two.” She ushered them out the door. “I wish you the best of luck!”
Jasper was about to take off when Mrs. Turner halted him again. Grinding his teeth, he turned and waited for her to say her piece while Tharlowe meandered out of earshot.
“Mr. Jones, I hope you know how delighted I am that you have given my daughter a new lease on life. She was certain to have died a poor spinster, and for her dowry you will forever have my gratitude. However, do not mistake gratitude for ineptitude. I do not know what your intentions are with my daughter, but I will not allow her to become entangled with a rake.”
Jasper was too impatient to find Frankie to carefully meter his words; his instincts were buzzing so loudly that his palms were sweating. The house party had remained sedate the past several days, and Lord Devon and the other seven Scott Silver investors had been unfailingly proper. It all made Jasper itchy. In his experience, this much calm meant a buildup to something explosive. “Mrs. Turner,” he said, taking a step to the side, “I know your concern comes from a place of love, but let me make myself clear: You underestimate your daughter. She is clever, sweet, and one of a kind. She is also perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”
Her mouth fell open in shock, but he did not linger to smooth over the rough edges of what he never should have said. Instead, he took off down the corridor, with Tharlowe trotting to catch up to his long strides and commenting about Jasper’s enthusiasm for the game. Tharlowe was an easygoing man with thin red hair and a cache of jokes that he’d taken pleasure in reciting the entire night. He began telling one as they raced down the corridor, but Jasper was not listening. Frankie and Evelyn were gone. Frankie should be safe with Evelyn, apart from the other woman’s sharp tongue, and Jasper tried to convince himself that he was acting irrationally, yet he could not shake the feeling that something was afoot.
Dismissing the bottom floor, which was filled with giggling sets of seekers, he took to the grand staircase, with Tharlowe on his heels.
“She is your niece,” Tharlowe puffed behind him. “Where do you think she is hiding? She is a young woman, so I imagine nowhere too dusty.”
“It is clear you do not know Cecelia,” he muttered. If anything, Cecelia would find it great fun to force everyone to crowd into the dustiest, dirtiest place in the house. He grunted when he realized Tharlowe was yards behind him. The man was slowing him down. “Let us split up. You take that corridor and I shall search this one.”
Before Tharlowe could agree or disagree, Jasper jogged down the corridor to the left. He was passing by a linen closet when he heard a noise from within. He wrenched it open and was startled when Lady Eloise and Lady Serena sprang apart. Lady Serena, a fresh-faced debutant from the previous Season and one of Lady Evelyn’s devoted followers, had swollen lips and the neckline of her gown was pulled dangerously low.
“I did not see anything,” Jasper said, and gently closed the door.
He began opening doors along the corridor, his blood rushing in his ears and his mouth turning dry. He thought about calling out for Frankie, and her name was on the tip of his tongue, when he rounded a bend and spotted a partially opened door. In the distance he heard a noisy group of sardines seekers, laughing and rustling, their voices nearing with every step.
Jasper dashed forward and shoved the door wide, just in time to catch Lord Devon springing away from Frankie with a calculated expression of guilt on his face. Frankie’s eyes were flashing with fury and her fists were clenched at her side.
“Did you touch her?” Jasper asked, his voice so filled with menace that it should have warned Lord Devon his life hung in the balance.
Lord Devon smirked. “Oh heavens, we have been caught, Miss Turner. I suppose the only honorable thing to do is marry.”