Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
The following morning, Jasper found himself cornered in the east drawing room by Grayson, who seemed possessed of a single track mind these days.
“I’m telling you again, old boy,” Grayson declared, with his hands clasped behind his back as he paced before the tall windows, “I ought to make it a serious pursuit now. It is high time I settled.”
Jasper lounged in an armchair, stretching his legs with deliberate ease. “You make it sound as though you were considering a new horse, Grayson. A matter of purchase and paperwork. Cold business.”
“Not cold, just practical,” Grayson replied with a grin. “A man requires an heir, a household. Maybe even someone to balance him.”
Jasper snorted. “Balance? Sounds like shackles to me.”
Unfazed, Grayson continued, “You’ve only to look around. This house party is full of suitable ladies. I daresay one of them may do very well.”
Jasper lifted his brandy glass, though it was far too early for it, and took a slow sip. He had learned long ago that nothing stopped Grayson once he set upon a subject.
“I cannot recall you ever looking so intent upon anything, my friend,” Jasper drawled. “I have to admit, it thought this marriage thing was merely a passing fancy. But now, you’re beginning to sound like a man in love with matrimony itself, which is an affliction more dangerous than the pox.”
Grayson only laughed. “Mock me if you must. But I am determined.” He paused, as if considering something, then said far too casually, “What do you think of Lady Matilda?”
Jasper’s glass nearly slipped from his hand. The name hit him square in the chest, swift and brutal, as though someone had driven a fist clean through him. For an instant the room swam. He forced the sensation down, burying it beneath a laugh that sounded harsh even to his own ears.
“Lady Matilda?” He arched a brow. “Good God, Grayson. She would make a man’s life miserable.”
Grayson blinked in surprise. “Miserable? She seems perfectly respectable to me.”
Jasper leaned forward, his tone brisk, almost careless.
“Respectable, yes. But she is also impossibly stubborn. Entirely too opinionated. Her tongue is sharper than any blade I have faced. She takes offense at everything, enjoys nothing, and insists upon seriousness to the point of tedium. A man would have no peace with her.”
Grayson chuckled, looking amused rather than deterred. “You speak with remarkable certainty. I do not recall you paying such close attention to any lady’s habits before.”
Jasper stiffened, then forced a shrug. “I pay attention when I must, which is now for the sake of a friend. I only mean to warn you, Grayson. Choose a better match. Someone softer, more pliable. Matilda Sterlington would drive you to ruin inside of a month.”
Grayson laughed again, unconvinced. “Softness has never been your taste, Jasper, though you pretend otherwise. I cannot recall you ever knowing a lady’s faults so well. Nor speaking of them with such… vigor.”
Jasper’s smile was quick, easy, untroubled. “You mistake me. It is not vigor, but honesty. I simply do not wish to see you undone.”
Grayson let it rest there, moving on to prattle about dowries and pedigrees. Jasper leaned back once more, outwardly composed. But inside, where no one could see, the echo of her name still reverberated, sharp as the blow that had first struck him.
He told himself it was nothing. That he cared nothing for whom Grayson considered. But a treacherous little voice deep down told him it might not be so.
Grayson set his glass down with a quiet clink. “There is another matter, if I may trouble you a little longer, Jasper. Business, this time.”
Jasper sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Better business than matrimony, I suppose. Go on.”
“It concerns the tenants near the south orchard, the ones by the old stone bridge,” Grayson said.
“Their irrigation channels are failing. If they are not repaired before the next planting, much of the crop will be lost. I have spoken with the steward, and he agrees. But the decision requires Aberon’s sanction. ”
“Then tell Robert,” Jasper said at once, reaching lazily for his glass. “He is master here, not I.”
Grayson hesitated. “I might. But the truth is, Robert and I are not especially well acquainted. He is civil enough, of course, but we have had little occasion to speak beyond the necessary courtesies. I should not like to impose myself with a matter of such urgency when there are others he trusts more.” His eyes flicked meaningfully to Jasper.
Jasper arched a brow. “And so you would impose yourself on me instead?”
Grayson gave a thin smile. “You and he are friends. He will listen if it comes from you. I would feel far easier knowing the message carried by one whose counsel he values.”
Jasper considered this, tapping a finger idly against his glass. He disliked the feeling of being pressed into anyone’s service, least of all a man who was little more than an acquaintance. Yet the matter itself was hardly trivial, and Robert deserved to know.
At last he inclined his head. “Very well. I shall tell him. But do not imagine I will disguise the source. He will know it was you who raised the concern.”
“That is all I ask,” Grayson said with relief. “You have my thanks.”
When he left, Jasper remained where he was, staring into the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. Tenant channels, harvests, Robert’s goodwill… it should have been a matter easily set aside.
Yet, for reasons he did not care to examine too closely, he found himself picturing a certain lady’s pale grey eyes. He imagined the cutting remark she might give, should she learn he had dismissed the tenants’ need out of laziness.
The thought made him curse under his breath. He would speak to Robert. And not for Grayson’s sake.
Later that morning, Jasper rapped his knuckles against the oak door of Robert’s study, then waited. All he could hear was silence. He frowned, tried the latch, and stepped inside, only to find the room empty.
“Damn,” he muttered, turning back into the hall.
He passed through the gallery, the dining room, even glanced toward the terrace, but there was no sign of Robert. He had nearly resigned himself to waiting when a faint murmur of voices reached him from the far parlor.
Crossing the corridor, he paused at the half-open door. He heard a woman’s gentle tone, followed by a softer one. He recognized it as Matilda’s immediately. And then, a sound he could not mistake: a baby’s faint coo.
He knocked once, more from habit than necessity, and pushed the door open.
The scene before him stopped him short. Evelyn sat upon the settee, smiling faintly, but it was Matilda who held the child.
The babe was nestled in her arms, her pale grey eyes lowered with rare tenderness and her lips curved in the smallest, unguarded smile.
One slim hand steadied the infant’s head with exquisite care, while the other gently traced circles upon the little bundle’s back.
Jasper froze, and the words caught in his throat. He had thought of her as fierce, guarded, even sharp-edged. Never had he imagined her softened like this, having her whole countenance transformed by something warmer than he had believed possible.
For one breathless instant, he could do nothing but look.
Evelyn’s bright eyes lifted as she noticed him. “Your Grace. Did you need something?”
The question jolted him back into himself. He straightened, his expression settling into its usual mask of indolence. “I was… ah… looking for Robert. Grayson charged me with a matter to put before him.”
Evelyn gestured toward the child in her sister’s arms. “Robert has stepped out with the steward. But you are welcome to sit with us until he returns.”
Jasper’s gaze flicked once more to Matilda. She had not looked up at him, but her cheek bent toward the baby’s crown in quiet affection. The sight unsettled him more than any sharp remark ever had.
He cleared his throat, suddenly restless. “I should not intrude.”
And yet, though his words said one thing, his feet made no move toward the door.
“Oh!” Evelyn exclaimed suddenly, rising from the settee.
“I have just remembered, I promised to speak with Mrs. Alton about the baptismal arrangements. How fortunate that you are here, Your Grace.” She turned to her sister with an angelic smile.
“Two godparents, together at last. You may mind your godchild for just a few moments.”
Matilda’s head snapped up, her grey eyes wide. “Evelyn! You cannot possibly—”
Jasper, equally taken aback, held up a hand in protest. “Now, really, madam, I am hardly—”
“Nonsense,” Evelyn said with a breezy wave, gathering her skirts. “You are perfectly capable. Between the two of you, the baby could not be in safer hands. I shall be but a moment.”
Before either of them could marshal further objection, Evelyn swept gracefully from the room, with the door clicking shut behind her. Silence descended, broken only by the baby’s soft coo and the quickened pace of Jasper’s own pulse.
Matilda gasped again, staring down at the child as though betrayed. “She cannot mean it.”
Jasper exhaled, half a laugh, half a groan. “I fear she does. And so we are conscripted, Lady Matilda. Two unwilling sentries.”
Her eyes flashed to his, suspicious and defensive as ever, but there was color in her cheeks, and the sight of her with the infant still made something twist in his chest.
He shifted uneasily, aware of the absurdity of it all. Him, Jasper Everleigh, Duke of Harrow, trapped in a parlor with the one woman who could rattle him, and a child he had never in his life known how to hold.
“I suppose,” he said at last, tone dry, “that if the child begins to cry, we may simply take turns glaring it into silence. You have the advantage in that skill.”
The baby stirred in Matilda’s arms, shifting with a soft whimper. She adjusted him instinctively, with a touch that was gentle and sure. Jasper found himself watching every movement.
“You see?” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “You have all in hand. There is no need for me to interfere.”
Her head snapped up. “Interfere? You are his godfather, Your Grace. Surely you might show some responsibility.”
“I accepted the title for Evelyn’s sake,” he drawled. “I never intended to be pressed into active duty.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “What a pity. I was under the impression godfathers were meant to protect and guide.”
“Guide, perhaps. Protect, certainly. But rock and coddle? I think not.” He made a dismissive gesture. “That is firmly within your domain.”
She let out a sharp little laugh. “Coward.”
He arched a brow. “Coward? I simply prefer not to risk dropping the child. My hands are not—” He stopped himself, curling them slightly at his sides, conscious of the faint scars hidden beneath his gloves. “Not accustomed to such delicate burdens.”
Her gaze flicked to his hands, thoughtful, but she said nothing of it. Instead she extended the baby toward him with shocking boldness.
“Then you had better accustom yourself,” she said crisply. “He will not break.”
Jasper took an involuntary step back. “Good God, woman, have mercy.”
Matilda’s lips curved into a smile, dry and merciless. “You can face down half the gentlemen of London in a wager, but one small child sends you running?”
He shot her a look, which was half affronted and half amused. “You take unholy delight in my torment.”
“Indeed,” she murmured, her lovely eyes gleaming.
And though he meant to resist, her steady gaze and the maddening curve of her smile compelled him forward. He held out his arms stiffly, as she carefully transferred the child into his keeping.
The baby settled against him, warm and impossibly small. Jasper went still, scarcely daring to breathe.
“There,” Matilda said softly, with that flicker of amusement still in her voice. “Not so fearsome, after all.”
He looked down at the infant, then up at her. For once, he had no clever retort. Only the unsettling realization that she had maneuvered him into this moment and that he did not altogether mind.