A Lady Would Know Better

Chapter Twelve

Jasper

Jasper stepped away from Jane hastily, suddenly very aware of how it would have looked if one of their guests had been the one to walk into the gallery and seen them doing…whatever it was they had been doing.

For his part, Jasper had been smothering the desperate desire to lay claim to Jane’s mouth under the watchful and unwelcome eyes of his parents. He had been ready to take her right there against a wall, damn the consequences.

“This cannot happen again,” he told her, though he was mostly speaking to himself. Mr. Darcy howled again from the floor. “We cannot do this.”

She looked disappointed but not surprised by his vow. “Because of who I may be?” she asked sarcastically, reaching to pick up the small kitten and cradling him against her chest.

“Precisely that,” he replied seriously. “And especially now that Mulgrave Hall is playing host to a party, filled with reprehensible noblemen.”

“I must say, they sound charming,” she said while tickling Mr. Darcy between his oversized ears.

“You cannot trust a single one of them, Jane.” He couldn’t blame his friends for what was in their nature. There was a time when Jasper might have behaved as callously. It was what had made him pull away from his friends when he’d lost those dearest to him. He couldn’t bear to play at normality with them, which they would undoubtedly expect much sooner than he was ready.

“Truly?” she asked, her voice catching a bit.

He grimaced. “I’ve made them sound rather monstrous, haven’t I?” Jane nodded. “I’m simply trying to prepare you for the reality of noblemen.”

“Are they all?” she asked. “Noblemen, I mean.”

“Of varying degrees,” he replied. “If I had to guess, I’d say Isobel invited Clarence Meadows, who is an actor but also the illegitimate son of a duke, which is enough for most members of the Ton to accept him, even though he will never inherit the title. And then there’s Mr. Edgar Ashwell, the second son of an earl, like I was, and Mr. George Selby, who is the son of a baron, and finally Sir Lucian Hill; as a knight and a physician, he is both the least and most noble among us. You needn’t worry about him, to be fair. The rest I’d keep my distance from.”

“Isobel said she invited six of your friends,” said Jane, scratching Mr. Darcy under his chin. “You’ve listed four.”

“Oh, then I suppose she’s invited Edgar’s sister, Lady Louisa, and George’s sister, Miss Beatrice Selby.”

Jane raised a brow. “Allies?”

“You stand the best chance with them, yes. Much more honorable than their brothers, in any event. They knew me before,” he said, attempting to explain the gulf between who he was then and who he was now in as few words as possible. “It’s more mischief than actually harmful behavior. I simply suspect you aren’t ready.”

“Perhaps you underestimate me, as you do Viola,” she replied, not looking away from the kitten in her hands.

He thought it possible, but felt the urge to hide Jane away from the lot of them nevertheless. “Jane, I only wish to—”

“Shouldn’t you go greet your guests?”

He could tell she was disappointed with him. “Will you be all right?”

“I can manage a simple walk to my chambers. I’m quite tired, really. Perhaps I’ll take a nap. I suspect you’ll be busy, so I will endeavor to keep my distance from you, my lord.”

Is that what he wanted? Judging by the bolt of displeasure, it was the opposite of what he desired. But then, with Jane, he often found himself doing precisely what he shouldn’t. Perhaps it was better this way. The house party could serve as a barrier between them. Christ knew they needed one, especially since he’d considered ravishing her in the middle of the gallery, under the imperious gazes of his many ancestors.

“You know you can ask for anything you require, anything at all.”

“Just not from Battersby?” she teased, allowing a small bit of warmth between them.

It might as well have been a crackling fire for how it warmed Jasper. “May I suggest seeking a more agreeable servant first and only calling upon him as a last resort?”

Suddenly, Helena appeared in the same doorway that Battersby had departed from. “Jasper! You are being a terrible host,” she hissed, wincing as she pressed her hand to her lower back. She still carried the pain of the accident that had taken her husband from her. But every time he tried to push her to seek a new treatment or consult with a new physician, Helena changed the subject. Still, he made a mental note to ask Lucian about what could be done.

“Is it really a mark against me if I never wished to be a host in the first place?”

“Why don’t you ask Aunt Adelaide?” She looked over his shoulder and noticed he wasn’t alone. “Jane, there you are. Are you ready to be Miss Danvers?”

Jane curtsied, wobbling a bit in the delivery, thanks to the furry bundle she clutched close to her chest. “Miss Jane Danvers of Buckinghamshire, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Helena exchanged a slightly harried glance with Jasper. “We’ll do our best to keep you away from the hounds,” she assured her, extending her hand for Jane to take. “Jasper, your friends are milling about like louts in the drawing room, aside from Lady Louisa and Miss Beatrice, who are no doubt being scandalized by Isobel as we speak. Oh, and Lucian.”

“He didn’t come?”

“No, I sent him to the Smithfields’,” she said patiently, as though explaining to a child. “Do you think anything happens in this manor without my knowledge?”

Jasper was surprised but relieved, knowing Mrs. Smithfield was in good hands with Lucian. “Thank you, Helena.”

She quirked a brow at him. “Believe it or not, it was Battersby’s idea. Now go! There’s only so long I trust any of your friends unsupervised.”

He nodded. “Let it be known that I still plan on murdering Isobel for this.”

“Your friends are under the mistaken assumption that you want them to be here. Let’s not make it so obvious that you don’t.”

Jasper nodded, and with one parting wave from Jane, they were gone.

Which left him alone under the portrait of his parents, the one he had done his best to avoid since they’d died. It loomed over him, demanding he be brave when he hadn’t felt that way in ages. But that wasn’t quite true. Jane had made him feel…if not brave , then perhaps daring. He had done things these past few days the old Jasper, the one laboring under the weight of his many tragedies, wouldn’t have dreamed of.

He could look at a damn portrait.

He gave it a cursory, testing glance, not knowing how it would feel to see their faces again.

Pain enveloped him. Immediate. Crushing. Gasping.

But it was not the type of pain he had anticipated. It was not the all-encompassing agony he had felt in the early days without them, the pain he had worked diligently to avoid by building rituals and adhering strictly to rules he had made for himself . He had needed to survive and be strong for his siblings, and that pain had not allowed for it.

No, this was the pain of missing them, and while it robbed him of breath, it was endurable.

His mother’s warmth and his father’s steadfast nature reached out from the painting, like fine tendrils of memory wrapping themselves around him. It was the pressing of a bruise—it smarted, but there was strange relief there, beneath the hurt of it.

I miss you. He wasn’t sure if he said it aloud or simply felt it with every fiber of his being.

A deep breath shuddered through his chest, and he stood taller, feeling a slight bit more capable now that he had faced them and survived. And Jane had seen them, too. He had shared a part of himself he hadn’t thought he could, and she had seen them as they were when they were living. It was the best he could have hoped for.

Jasper turned on his heel and made to leave, feeling like something had been accomplished.

It wasn’t until he left the gallery entirely that he realized he hadn’t shown Jane the portrait of his brother. But perhaps that was for the best. There was only so much memory Jasper could endure in a single day.

…

Jasper spent the walk to the drawing room sifting through his myriad of feelings. It was not an activity he enjoyed, but he was beginning to suspect the sheer weight of them might drown him.

Namely, he focused on his feelings about Jane.

The woman was a hurricane who had stormed into his world and blown everything apart, including the carefully crafted defenses Jasper had been relying on in order to keep moving forward.

And she had awoken more than simple lust in him. Jane had the unique and maddening ability to dig deeper than Jasper was willing to delve, like, say, into whether or not he believed in the concept of true love. He could not recall having so frank and philosophical a conversation with anyone before. Even with Annabelle, the topic of love had not extended much further than that which they’d shared for each other. But Annabelle had known a different Jasper, a man who had been unmarred by tragedy.

Would she even recognize him now? Would it matter if she did, or didn’t? Jasper had believed grief would always be a knife, but in the year he’d spent without her, he thought maybe it had changed its shape. Less a knife, and more like a stone sinking through him, weighing down his steps.

But these few days with Jane had somehow lessened the burden, causing him to feel light in a way he hadn’t expected he’d feel again. Was it that she’d entered his life like the sudden brilliance of a comet cutting through the sky, but would vanish just as quickly? Could he be less guarded with her because she was a stranger? One who would recover and return to whatever life she left behind her, and so it was safe for him to tell her things he’d never tell someone who intended to stay? Someone permanent? Someone quite the opposite of Jane without-a-surname, who was as fleeting as she was beguiling?

So, if his grief was no longer a knife, what was it that stabbed through him now, and why did it carry with it the sour taste of guilt? He realized he didn’t have time to parse that particular emotion, as he rounded the corner that would take him to the drawing room, where several of his friends awaited him after more than a year of silence on his part. Like Annabelle, they knew the old Jasper, but unlike Annabelle, they would have to contend with the new one. He would have to don a mask for them and hope it was enough.

He could hear them already, their laughter echoing through Mulgrave Hall’s empty corridors. Jasper paused to steel himself at the doorway, then he entered.

Chaos erupted all around him, as three men shouted their raucous greetings. Five, if you counted his brothers, who joined in the chorus, as though they hadn’t seen him at breakfast.

“There he is!” cried Selby as he crossed the room to grasp Jasper’s arm, his full cheeks ruddy from the cold.

“The Earl of Belhaven himself!” added Clarence, his wry expression dimming none of his good looks. “Deigning to mingle with us lesser beings.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Clarence. It’s not as if you can help being a bastard,” replied Edgar before Clarence whipped his hat directly in his face.

“How were the roads?” Jasper managed to choke out almost normally.

“Bloody awful, but Mother Nature herself could not deter us, Belhaven,” said Clarence, automatically adopting the title in place of his name. His father’s title. Christ, it was Anthony’s more than it would ever be Jasper’s. Clarence didn’t mean anything by it. Jasper was the blasted Earl of Belhaven, and nothing would change it. Still, he found he couldn’t bear it.

Selby seemed to pick up on his discomfort. “Our coachmen are recovering in your kitchens as we speak, Jasper,” he said, switching to the name they had always known him by.

“We may have promised them copious amounts of ale and good company for their troubles,” said Edgar. “So I do hope Battersby has retired. It’s good to see you, Jasper.”

“And you, Edgar.” He stepped back, taking them in. “It’s good to see all of you. Even Selby.”

They all laughed, but Clarence quirked a brow wickedly. “That’s Lord Selby, now.”

Jasper looked to Selby. “No,” he started, dumbfounded. “How?”

His friend looked at the ground. “We lost my father six months ago. Apoplexy.”

Jasper clutched his shoulder, knowing news of Lord Selby’s untimely passing likely lay in the pile of unopened letters he had been avoiding. He wished he could have been there for Selby. God knew he had some experience with loss. “I’m sorry, George.”

His friend shrugged. “I knew you were overwhelmed with your own affairs. And besides, we all know my father was a reprobate.”

“But still.” He knew his self-imposed exile meant he had missed their joys, but he hadn’t thought he would miss their sorrows, too, or how it would feel to know he could have helped them. Perhaps becoming a recluse didn’t only damage him. Perhaps it damaged everyone he held dear.

But it wasn’t about how he felt. He swallowed whatever else he meant to say. “How does it feel to be Lord Selby?”

“A great deal like being his heir did, since I’d assumed his duties long ago. At least now I don’t have to run everything by him first. It was a bloody daunting task finding a sober hour in the man’s schedule.”

Clarence clapped them both on the back. “You’ll be heartened to know, Jasper, that my dear father still lives. Though I suppose his death will bring little material difference to my life. Might be nicer to say I’m the bastard son of the dead Duke of Rosemont. A drink?” he asked, taking on what should have been Jasper’s duty.

“Yes, drinks for all,” replied George. “And enough talk of our blasted fathers, dead or otherwise.”

Clarence got to generously pouring scotch from the crystal decanter, passing libations out to his devoted friends.

“Yes, what’s this about your sister’s guest?” asked George in between sips.

“Heard about that, did you?” Jasper asked, eyeing August, whose eyes shot upward innocently.

“Come now, Jasper. It’s not often we meet fresh blood outside of the Season.”

“She’s all but betrothed, George,” he replied, with no small amount of menace in his tone. “Do try to behave honorably.”

“Speaking of honor, where is Lucian?” asked August.

Clarence collapsed onto a nearby chaise, his scotch already drained. “Visiting the sickbeds of Wrayford’s less fortunate. What else? You know, it goes against my better judgment to allow so upstanding a man into my confidence.”

“He makes up for it in his lack of nobility, don’t you think?” asked George.

“He does indeed, the scoundrel,” replied Clarence. Jasper had not been in so lively a conversation in a year. It was as overwhelming as it was oddly welcome. Comforting, even, to be swept along without much effort.

“Are the rumors of his imminent betrothal true, do you think?” George asked Edgar, who tended to know these things because of his exceedingly well-connected sister.

“To Miss Abigail Bunworth?” asked Clarence.

“Indeed,” Edgar replied. “She is quite accomplished, as it were. She runs a school for foundlings in Cheapside.”

“Someone must, I suppose,” said Clarence as he helped himself to another scotch. “How fares Lady Louisa?” he asked brightly.

Edgar glared again. “Why do you ask?”

“My aim is innocent!” he insisted, arms raised, scotch sloshing in his snifter. “I seek only to ascertain how many titled buffoons I must vanquish in order to win her.”

Edgar did not laugh with the rest of them. “I would sooner see her wed to George, Clarence.”

George brought his hand to his chest, deeply affronted. “How did I get dragged into this?”

“No offense, George,” Edgar added, not looking away from Clarence.

“Much taken,” George replied incredulously.

Edgar ignored him. “If you so much as glance at her, Clarence, I will beat you within an inch of your life.”

“You say that, Ashwell,” replied Clarence, kicking his boots up onto the table. “But deep down you must desire me as a brother-in-law.”

“I detest even the idea of it.”

“You’ll come around.”

“My father would never consent to my sister marrying an actor , and I know you far too well to even entertain the notion. You forget we have seen you at your worst.”

After considering it, Clarence shrugged as though Edgar had a point.

Edgar sighed deeply. “Christ, must we talk only of betrothals and women? I get enough of that from my mother.”

“I’d much rather discuss less marriageable women,” said August from where he was sprawled lazily on the chaise next to Clarence. Freddie sat next to him rather more upright, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Have you made that opera singer your mistress yet, then? I saw her at Simon Griffith’s club not three nights hence, looking rather lonely.”

“Miss Clara Bradshaw?” August asked with a quick exhale, emptying his lungs. “She’s far too expensive for me, Clarence. And besides, why would I want to be tied down by a woman?”

“I hear Simon will be the Duke of Radcliffe soon enough, now that his wretched father has taken a turn for the worse,” said Edgar.

“Serves the devil right, but I doubt Simon will much enjoy his new title,” replied August with a wicked grin.

The conversation faded as Jasper tried not to be bothered by the idea that, in his absence, his brother had assimilated rather fully into his group of friends. It was a rather childish emotion, jealousy. It only bothered him that August had seemingly had little time for his family, but perhaps all the time in the world for carousing with Jasper’s friends and entertaining opera singers.

In a way, it made Jasper feel replaced, but he swallowed his discomfort. It would serve him no purpose.

“Have you met her then yet, Jasper?” asked George. “She’s a sight to behold.”

“Who?” he asked, George’s description conjuring up images of Jane’s silvery eyes in the moonlight.

“Clara Bradshaw,” George replied as though it was obvious. Jasper supposed it was.

August cleared his throat. “I hardly think an opera singer of less-than-stellar repute would entice my brother out of the bowels of Mulgrave Hall.”

“Come now, Jasper used to have a soft spot for winsome sopranos,” said Clarence. “There was a time when we couldn’t get him out of Covent Garden without a bit of muslin on his arm.”

“Yes, well, that was before…” Edgar paused and the room fell suddenly silent. There was little Jasper could imagine doing to remedy the situation, save for evaporating into thin air. “That was before,” Edgar said, a note of finality in his delivery.

They were spared further agony by the sudden appearance of Lucian and the ladies.

“See, what did I tell you,” Lucian began as the room jumped quickly to their feet. “Of course, the gentlemen are prepared to receive the company of four lovely ladies.”

It took not even a second for Jasper to note that Jane was not among them. There was Helena, giving him a searching look, and there was Isobel, looking as mischievous and unbothered as ever. To their left was Edgar’s sister, Lady Louisa, a woman famous for her lush figure and sparkling wit, and George’s sister, Miss Beatrice, a pale slip of a woman with a sour countenance and a grievance tucked away for every occasion.

While the rest of the room greeted the women, Lucian found his way to Jasper’s side.

“Mrs. Smithfield’s joints are arthritic,” he said, dispensing with pleasantries altogether. “Taking up her husband’s share of the farm work has not been easy on her. I advised that she apply heat and stay off her feet as much as possible so as to avoid a flare-up. She didn’t seem to think rest was possible.”

“I’ll see to it that she does,” said Jasper, already formulating a plan to ensure she and Charlie got all the help they needed. “You went on horseback?”

He nodded. “And Helena sent me with a basket of food and warm clothing. Their spirits were lifted, at least.”

Jasper clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Lucian.”

“Gentlemen, apologies for the delay, though I can assure you we are worth the wait,” quipped Isobel with a slight, rather masculine bow and tip of her nonexistent cap. “Now which of you would like to pour me a scotch? I fear we don’t have much time.”

Miss Beatrice blanched as Clarence jumped to action, procuring snifters for Isobel and Lucian in record time. Jasper had learned long ago not to attempt to limit his sister, as she would do what she liked, regardless of his intervention.

“Where are your lovely chaperones?” asked George, looking over their shoulders fearfully, having been on the receiving end of Aunt Adelaide’s wrath on more than one occasion.

“Blessedly engaged in a game of whist,” said Lady Louisa. “It would seem my aunt and Lady Adelaide have nurtured something of a grudge between them that dates back many decades.”

“Who is their fourth?” asked Clarence, sidling closer to Lady Louisa.

Isobel grinned. “Battersby, naturally.”

Edgar cleared his throat. “Where is your school friend, Helena?”

It was then that Jasper emerged from his stupor. Keeping up with his friends had tasked his mind so fully that he hadn’t thought of Jane since determining she hadn’t arrived with his sisters. Which meant she was somewhere else entirely, and that was an ominous thought indeed.

Helena offered a placid smile. “Oh, Jane is retiring. She should join us soon.”

“Is she ill?” asked Miss Beatrice, her lip curling in a sneer.

Helena and Isobel exchanged a quick glance. “There was an accident,” interjected Isobel. “But she is much recovered, if a little fatigued.” Miss Beatrice did not look convinced. Isobel continued. “I assure you, she is in quite good health.”

But Jasper didn’t believe her.

After their abrupt parting in the gallery, Jasper had walked straight to the drawing room, which didn’t leave Jane much time to get to her room and change for dinner, let alone fall asleep. Had she finally tired of his constant vacillation and left Mulgrave Hall for good? Having only recently regained feeling in his toes after following her out into the storm earlier that day, Jasper was not prepared to do so again. He clenched his fist at his side, knowing he couldn’t ask his sisters without raising suspicion.

“I daresay I spend much of the winter burdened by one illness or another,” offered George diplomatically.

But illness was a topic Jasper did not wish to tread upon. Sensing his discomfort, Helena took over. “Miss Beatrice,” she said brightly. “Do tell us about your latest charitable endeavor.”

Miss Beatrice sniffed mildly, but anyone could see she was pleased the conversation had steered her way. “Myself, along with the other members of the Belgravia Benevolence Committee, seek to raise funds to restore the grounds of St. James’s Park. We will be hosting a series of musicales and bazaars to that end. I’m sure you’ve all received your invitations.”

“Are the grounds not in rather good shape to begin with?” asked Clarence with a bemused smile.

Miss Beatrice glared at him. “And what do you think prevents a sudden decline into disrepair, Mr. Meadows?”

The rest of the conversation was lost on Jasper, who was facing a sudden decline of his own. Was Jane truly unwell? Had he not noticed due to his own damn selfishness? He thought back to the heated moment they had shared in the gallery—she hadn’t seemed ill. If anything, she had seemed wholly alive, glowing despite the pale, wintry light, her cheeks and nose still pink from the cold—or was it desire?—and Jasper himself alive with the all-consuming need to warm her, touch her, hold her. And she had certainly felt vibrant—her skin so perfectly soft and delicate, her body deliciously curved and supple. Standing there, cradling her between his hands, everything Jasper wanted had felt within reach. He needed only to grasp it. Why hadn’t he?

And what if it was too late?

But he and Jane were an impossibility. A man could not be too late to seize something that would never be his. How many more times would he come to the same realization?

It didn’t matter. Jane was still missing from the drawing room, and until he knew she was all right, he would be unsettled.

Slowly but surely, Isobel found her way to his side, drawn perhaps by the look of unbridled concern he was unable to disguise.

“She was sleeping when we went to retrieve her,” she said in a voice so low that no one but Jasper would have been able to hear her. “And it didn’t seem wise to wake her. Viola has been instructed to watch for her and send for one of us if needed.”

“I must go—”

“You mustn’t,” Isobel replied as firmly and quietly as she could. “Please remember, Brother, that Mulgrave Hall is no safe place for secrets at this time.” She looked around them to be sure none were listening. “Not when everyone present has brought a ladies’ maid or valet who would love nothing more than to ingratiate themselves with the household servants, namely Battersby, by providing a bit of choice gossip, like, say, the Earl of Belhaven visiting an unmarried woman’s chambers.”

Jasper clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached. “What if she needs me…” Isobel’s eyes widened. “Us,” he corrected hastily. “What if she needs us ?”

Isobel’s mouth was a flat, disapproving line. “She is a grown woman, Jasper. You need to trust that she can handle herself.” After a beat, she continued. “Speaking of which, I must say you’re handling yourself rather well.”

Everyone else in the drawing room was engaged in conversation, laughing and sipping their drinks happily, utterly unaware of Jasper’s rising panic. In a way, it was the rousing success he had thought impossible before his friends had arrived. He should be relieved, but all he felt was worry.

Jasper gave her the smallest glare out of the corner of his eye. “I feel as though I am barely treading water.”

Helena stood and the room fell silent. “Shall we retire and ready ourselves for dinner?”

Everyone rose as Isobel whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “But you don’t look it, and that’s what’s important.”

It wasn’t the reassurance she thought it was.