Chapter Twenty-Five
Jasper
Jasper saw no reason to stay at the ball now that Jane was gone.
Hetty. Now that Hetty was gone.
He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to referring to her as such, even if it was her name. He had no problem with it, in fact it seemed to suit her, but he had fallen in love with her as Jane. It would take some time to think of her otherwise.
Everything had happened so quickly. One minute he was on the verge of professing his love for her, the next she was gone.
Letting her go had been the right thing to do, hadn’t it? In the moment, it had seemed like the quickest way to bring her back to him, but now he wasn’t sure. They had parted so reluctantly, so hesitantly, that Jasper was certain where he stood with her, even if they hadn’t had a chance to say it. But now he pictured her slipping easily back into the life she’d had before, discarding him. Would it be that simple? Was there any room for him in Hetty’s old life, or would she come to forget him, too?
Jasper’s world was rapidly crumbling down around him. He thought of Hetty’s cousin, the baron. He knew nothing of the man, but that wasn’t unheard of. His first instinct was to distrust him, but how could Jasper have accused him of anything? He knew Hetty, not Jasper. He had ostensibly grown up alongside her, known her through the loss of her mother, the loss of her father. What right did Jasper have to keep Hetty from the only family she had left?
And yet, he couldn’t help but think it had been a mistake to let her go.
He turned away and Lucian called out after him, but Jasper’s mind was elsewhere. His friend had stood beside him as he watched the woman he loved leave him, but Jasper hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
He needed…well, he needed her , but a drink would suffice for now.
He was on his second scotch when Lucian and August caught up to him.
“Jasper, what on earth was that all about?” asked Lucian, who had witnessed Hetty leaving and Jasper’s descent into melancholy both.
“What do you know of Lord Claremont?” he asked between sips.
Lucian’s brow furrowed. “Not a thing.”
“Would Edgar know him?”
“Perhaps, as he tends to know everyone,” Lucian began. “Jasper, what’s happened—”
Before he could speak, Isobel came upon them in a rush, sporting a conspiratorial grin. “Beatrice claims she saw Jane leaving the ball with a man not ten minutes ago. Normally, I’d admire the woman’s spirit, but that doesn’t sound like our Jane, does it? No doubt Miss Bea is mistaken.”
Jasper opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to find the words to explain what had happened that night.
Isobel, sensing his rising panic, turned serious. “Jasper, where is Jane?”
The question sliced through him so cleanly, so effectively that he staggered forward, scotch sloshing out of his tumbler.
August’s steady arm helped to right him. “What is it?”
Helena arrived, concern creasing her features. He swallowed thickly, noting his friend and siblings looking at him as though he were mad. Perhaps he was. “Jane found her cousin tonight. Lord Claremont, a baron.”
He studied them to see if the name sparked any immediate familiarity. Isobel’s jaw dropped, but Helena, who hadn’t heard of Hetty’s departure, clapped her hands together in surprise.
“Goodness, did she really? Where are they?” she asked, looking around the ballroom. “I do so wish to know her family.”
Jasper choked on the last sip of his drink. “They’re gone.”
Isobel’s eyes narrowed upon him. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Her cousin insisted they depart immediately. Something about easing the suffering of her aunt. They’ve thought she was dead all this time.”
“And you just let her go?” Isobel whisper-shouted.
“What right do I have to keep her?” he replied, matching her quiet but urgent tone.
His sister only glared at him. “Did you consider that Jane might be in danger with this man?”
“Her name isn’t Jane, it’s Hetty. She is a woman we never truly knew, with a life we don’t belong in.” Jasper had been so reluctant to trap her, even before they had found her cousin. Hetty had needed freedom more than anything else. The freedom to forge her own path, to live a life of her own choosing. So he had guarded his true feelings from her in order to preserve that freedom. It was a move he’d regretted as soon as she’d left the Banfields’ ballroom. “No matter how much we may wish otherwise,” he added, knowing that in his effort not to capture Hetty, he might have pushed her away from him instead. The thought was excruciating.
“Rubbish,” said Isobel dismissively. “I know you don’t believe that, Jasper, so why are you saying it?”
“Did this man have proof he was who he said he was?” asked Lucian, ever logical, ever calm.
“Well, no, none despite the fact that he knew who she was, even when she didn’t. You should have seen her when she heard her name. Her entire demeanor changed. It fit her like a glove.” Isobel opened her mouth to argue, but Jasper intercepted her. “He knew of her grief as well as her name, Izzie. He knew her father had died. He and her aunt have been staying with her since he did.”
Helena looked between her siblings. “Why are we acting as if something terrible has happened? Didn’t we hope Jane—Hetty would find her family?”
“Yes,” Jasper started.
“We didn’t expect said family to rush her away from us,” said Isobel bitterly. “It strikes me as suspicious.”
“I agree,” said August, speaking up for the first time in a while.
“Do you?” asked Jasper, somewhat sarcastically.
“I do,” he replied evenly. “What use is there in separating her from us, unless something sinister is afoot?”
Jasper went cold. He had thought he’d made a mistake by letting her go, but he hadn’t allowed himself to fully consider the possibility that she might be in danger.
August continued. “Hetty did flee from her former life, did she not? Perhaps she was escaping him .”
Jasper dropped his empty glass to the marble floor, where it shattered, spraying those in his immediate vicinity with Lord Banfield’s best single malt. He was numb. A riot of thoughts took over his mind. He had to find her. Had to save her.
He began to walk toward the staircase before Isobel stepped in his path.
“Precisely where do you think you’re going?”
“To get Hetty,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Did she happen to provide you with an address and directions before you sent her off into the unknown?”
He froze. “No.”
“Then let us perhaps come up with a plan before setting off into the snow without a destination in mind. Not all of us can rely on being rescued by stern aristocrats before morning.”
Before they could return to the group, Edgar appeared in their path. “Izzie, you missed our waltz,” he said, his tone lightly chiding. He looked at Jasper and then back at Isobel, a realization dawning. “What’s happened, then? Has August absconded with someone’s fiancée?”
Isobel grimaced. “Would that our problem were that simple.” She looked to Jasper, who nodded and walked back to where they had started. Isobel began explaining everything to Edgar, from how they found Hetty injured in the road to how they’d lied about her identity to protect her. By the time they reached the rest of his siblings, he was almost caught up.
“And Jane—Hetty insisted on coming tonight, certain she would find the truth of her past.”
“In a way, she was right,” August added.
“We all knew it was terribly important to her, and I suspect her excitement was rather contagious. I am trying very hard not to blame my brother for letting her go.”
Jasper gritted his teeth. “I am not her keeper, Isobel. And while the baron seemed suspicious, he might also have been overcome with relief at seeing her alive. Until we know otherwise, I’d rather not assume the worst.”
Edgar had taken everything in rather calmly, despite the fact that he’d just learned the Maycotts had lied to him since his arrival. “Well, I suppose the only solution is to find her and ensure that she is well.”
“Which is what I am trying to do—”
“Without a destination in mind,” replied Isobel.
“Sutton House,” he said, suddenly remembering what Claremont had said. “Her cousin said they’ve been staying at Sutton House since her father died.”
Isobel looked around. “Anyone heard of it?”
They all shook their heads.
“Is the Claremont seat called Sutton House?” Jasper asked Edgar in particular.
“How would any of us know that?” asked August.
“Viola would,” Isobel replied morosely before her eyes lit up. “ Burke’s !” she exclaimed, rushing away in the direction of the Banfield library. Helena and the others moved to follow her, but Jasper stopped them.
“It’s going to look rather suspicious if we all tear off for the library. Stay here, there’s a chance Hetty will come back.” Helena nodded and August took up another flute of champagne.
When Jasper gave him a look, he shrugged. “Better I pretend all is well, no?”
Just before Jasper went after Isobel, he turned to Edgar, an idea fresh in his mind. “Find me Simon Griffith, will you?”
Edgar accepted the task without question and sank back into the crowded ballroom.
It didn’t take Jasper long to track his sister to the library. They had played there with Lady Cordelia often enough as children. It was less than half the size of the Mulgrave Hall library but likely contained as many books stuffed in its shelves, giving it the appearance of barely regulated chaos. It had charmed him as a child, but now, when he needed to find one book in particular? He cursed the mess.
Isobel was already searching on her hands and knees. “What if they don’t have an updated edition?” she called over her shoulder, knowing it was Jasper. The dusty library was hardly conducive to a tryst. They wouldn’t be interrupted.
“If the title predates the man, I’m sure we’ll be able to glean something from it.” He joined her at the lower row of cobwebbed books. “What makes you think it’ll be here?”
“ Burke’s isn’t exactly kept near for light reading, unless you’re Lady Viola Maycott.” She ran her gloved finger along the shelf, disturbing a shocking amount of dust. She tsk ed. “Lady Adelaide would have this maid sacked immediately. Ah ha!” she cried, pulling a familiar red tome from the depths of a shelf. “1860,” she said. “Likely won’t contain anything useful about the current baron, but may give us information as to the family’s holdings.”
She flipped to the correct page and they both began reading it in silence.
CLAREMONT, BARON (Charles Warwick,) of Bassett, co. Southampton; b. 24th June, 1818; m. 4th August, 1845 to Celia Louise, daughter of Rev. John Clive, rector of Highfield, by whom he has issue Thomas Warwick, b. 11 th March, 1847; s. as 4 th baron at decease of his father 28 th August, 1844.
“A son born in 1847, that matches the man I met,” said Jasper.
“Viola would be positively thrilled to know we’ve finally come to understand the utility of Burke’s ,” muttered Isobel, still reading. “Motto, Ventis secundus ,” She paused. “‘Favorable winds’? That’s not exactly descriptive, is it?”
“I’d take favorable winds over blasted endurance.”
“Strikes me as rather opportunistic in a motto, but moving on.” She cleared her throat. “Seat, Aldermoor House, Southampton. Not exactly close, is it?”
“Hetty didn’t look like she had come all the way from Southampton when we found her.” He recalled that she’d still been warm in his arms, her hair mostly dry despite the storm that had raged around them. There was no way she had gone more than a couple of miles.
“And her cousin wouldn’t ride for half a day in order to attend a simple country ball.”
“So she must be closer. Perhaps Lord Claremont has another home.”
“I doubt it,” came a gravelly voice from behind them.
Isobel and Jasper stood with a start, the former swearing as she hit her head on the shelf. Standing in the doorway were Edgar, August, and Lord Simon Griffith, the owner of the Arondelle, a notorious gentlemen’s club in St. James’s. He was a man whose reputation was only eclipsed by his father’s debts, debts he would eventually inherit. But there was nothing Simon Griffith didn’t know, no secret buried so deep he couldn’t uncover and use for his own gain. He wasn’t a man one wanted as an enemy, but as an ally, he could be devastatingly useful.
“Lord Simon,” said Jasper with a nod, unsure of how to address the estranged son of an ailing duke. Outside of the ballroom, formalities could be done away with. He had more pressing matters to deal with than whether or not Simon and Isobel had been properly introduced.
“Simon,” the man corrected with a flick of his dark hair. Jasper supposed he was handsome, but his air was mocking, cruel even. He carried an alabaster walking stick that looked more like a weapon than an aid. “It’s been what, a year and a half since you graced my tables, Belhaven? Has your father’s title changed you so?”
“Will your father’s?” Jasper shot back, finding some of the old Jasper in his tone, despite the fact that he was relieved to find Simon so unwilling to pretend as though the Maycotts hadn’t lost so much. After an evening of being treated delicately, his frankness was a welcome reprieve.
Simon studied him coldly and then grinned, his expression warming the room. “What can I help you with?”
“Lord Claremont,” Jasper said, stepping around the desk. “What do you know of him?”
Simon pondered briefly before leaning against the doorframe. “Claremont owes my club a staggering sum. I’m shocked he showed his face tonight, though I’m never one to mix business and pleasure.” The Arondelle was a gambling club, and Simon its exacting proprietor.
Isobel looked to Jasper. “As a guest of the Banfields, he must be known to them.”
“I took the liberty of informing Banfield of Claremont’s…unsavory nature. It seems he is not, strictly speaking, an invited guest of theirs. It is only Lady Banfield’s kindness that prevented her husband from having the man forcibly removed.” He poured some of Lord Banfield’s finest liquor into a tumbler and shot it back with ease. “I would not be so kind.”
Of that, Jasper was certain. “So he is as slippery as we feared.”
Simon shrugged. “He has a weakness for both cards and women that will eat him alive, if I don’t manage it first.”
“Do you know where he might be staying?”
Simon shook his head. “He hasn’t dared return to his home in Mayfair since absconding on his debts. I’ve men looking for him, but he’s evaded them so far. And as I said, I came here tonight for pleasure, or I would have gone after him myself.” He tossed the cane from one hand to the other, threat implied.
“You don’t seem overly concerned,” said August.
Another wolfish grin. “As you well know, August, I always collect on my debts.”
Jasper wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Helena joined them, a silent but calming presence in the library that did not go unnoticed by Simon, whose eyes lingered on her a bit too long for Jasper’s liking.
“Have you heard of a Henrietta Davenport?” he asked.
Slowly, Simon tore his eyes away from Helena. “Never. Is she rich?”
The man thought of nothing else. “Her wealth is of little importance. We are looking for a place called Sutton House. Are you familiar with it?”
“I know little of the Surrey countryside. And I think you’ll find her wealth matters a great deal, especially if Claremont is involved.”
“You believe something criminal is afoot?” Edgar asked, surprised.
“I believe you know very little of what men like him will do when backed into a corner.”
Jasper’s blood went cold as the pieces began to fall into place. A desperate man, with nowhere to turn, informed of the sudden orphaning of his wealthy cousin? It likely seemed too good to be true to Claremont. But how would he access her inheritance? They were long past the days of marriages between cousins, even amongst the aristocratic. Would Claremont have attempted more nefarious means?
And then he had it, the last piece of the puzzle. Hetty hadn’t been fleeing some unknown assailant when she rode out desperately into the night, but rather her own family. If Claremont revealed his intent to take control of her inheritance, whether by force or otherwise, Hetty would have fought him fiercely. Jasper was sure of it. And if she’d fled, it was only because she’d had no other choice.
He sat back on the edge of the desk, the borders of his vision darkening at the thought of Hetty, his Hetty—a woman brave enough to set out in a storm twice rather than allow others to dictate her future—being at the mercy of some bastard who knew just how to snare her.
Hetty would have done anything to know her past. To know herself. And Jasper, the bloody fool, hadn’t been able to disappoint her.
Now she was gone. And who could he blame but himself?
“What does that mean?” asked Isobel, no mischief in her tone now, only fear.
“It means Hetty is in danger,” replied Jasper, every muscle in his body tensing. “And I’ll tear the whole of Surrey apart to find her if I must.”