Chapter Ten #2
A pudgy blur sped into the room, yipping happily. He tried to jump onto the settee with Joy, miscalculated the height, hit his chest with a soft thud, then fell back and landed with a grunt.
“Let me help you, old boy,” Jansen said, bending to let the wriggling pug sniff his knuckles before he picked him up and deposited him on the settee between himself and Joy.
“Oh my, Ignatius.” Joy laughed as she petted the snorting little dog that always looked as though he were smiling. “I am happy to see you, too, but you appear even more wiggly than usual.”
“He is always like that after a bath,” Fortuity said. “But if Quill were still with us, he would be much calmer. He is a gem around him. It’s as if he understands that Quill is a baby and must be coddled and protected.”
“And the cats tolerate him?” Jansen asked.
“Oh, yes.” Fortuity laughed. “It is as though they understand that sweet Ignatius is totally harmless.” Her mirth faded, making her smile sad. “And how goes capturing that rotten blackmailer?” she asked Joy.
“Not well at all. Seri is ready to tell Chance everything and call in the Bow Street Runners.” Joy folded her hands in her lap, wishing the subject hadn’t been broached.
“I think that a wise idea,” Jansen said quietly. “I know you didn’t wish to explain your club to your brother, but after two failed attempts at capturing the dirty cove, I don’t feel we’re left with much of a choice.”
Joy slowly shook her head. “Chance will have nine kinds of fits.”
“Chance’s fits don’t usually bother you,” Fortuity said. “Why does this one?”
“Because he doesn’t like Jansen.”
“But Seri said he gave his blessing?”
“Yes, but grudgingly so.”
“A bucket of frogs, then?” Fortuity arched a knowing brow.
“I prefer eels while here in Town. Easier to come by.”
“What are you ladies talking about?” Jansen asked. “Eels? Frogs? By the bucketful?”
Still rubbing Ignatius’s velvety ears, Joy nodded. “When we were children and one of us had a tiff with one of the others, we filled the bedsheets of our enemy with either frogs or eels, then covered them with a blanket for the owner of the bed to find when it was time to retire.”
Jansen chuckled. “And your parents allowed this?”
“Our parents allowed us to work through our battles with no interference as long as no one picked up a weapon that might actually do bodily harm. We were allowed to learn diplomacy, reasoning, and the art of getting along firsthand.”
“What a novel approach to parenting.” Jansen chuckled again. “As the eldest, I was expected to set the example for the young ones and help them get along.”
“More is always expected of the elder siblings,” Fortuity said with a pointed look at Joy. “As the fourth child of eight, I enjoyed the pleasure of being in the middle. Chance, Serendipity, and Blessing were considered the eldest after all the rest of us came along.”
“Merry is the baby,” Joy said. “She is a little spoiled, but not too badly.”
“It appears to me that with seven sisters, your brother is a master of diplomacy,” Jansen said.
“He is a master of being a horse’s arse,” Fortuity said at the same time as Joy. They both bubbled with laughter at the disparaging chorus about their brother.
Joy fidgeted with her reticule, making it crackle so much that Ignatius barked at it.
“Why in heaven’s name did you not leave that with Thebson?” Fortuity asked. “You know it would be secure with him.”
After a deep breath and a hard swallow for courage, Joy worked open the drawstring bag and drew out the note. “Because of this.” She handed it to Jansen. “It is the latest from the blackmailer.”
“When did you get this?” He stared down at the folded bit of paper with the broken seal.
“Yesterday.”
“And nothing since?”
“No.”
He opened it and read it aloud:
I am not pleased. How dare you frighten my delivery boy? You will pay. Even more. Just you wait and see.
“That sounds ominous,” Fortuity said. “You must call in the Bow Street Runners. The time for secrecy is over.”
“I soundly agree,” Jansen said. He tucked the note into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Do you still have the previous notes?”
“I do.” Joy’s heart sank. She dreaded what Chance would say. For the first time in her life, she realized that her brother’s opinion of her mattered more than she liked. He would be disappointed in her. Again.
Jansen reached over and took her hand. “It will be all right, my angel. I swear it will.”
“I simply hate having to get Chance involved. This is my problem, and he should not have to be a part of it.”
“The blackmailer dragged him into it with the first threat. You had no control over that.”
“Yet and still…”
“I know, my love. Yet and still.”
*
It had taken some artful negotiation, but with Fortuity’s help, Jansen convinced Joy to let him handle the issue of the blackmailer in an effort to delay any confrontations with her brother.
He didn’t know if the Bow Street Runners could address the matter without speaking to Broadmere, but it was his hope they could—for his angel’s sake.
He laid out each of the blackmailer’s notes on his desk, studying them.
The three were written in the same hand.
Decidedly feminine. Maybe. Some men were known for their flowery script.
It was a mark of breeding and education.
No matter how hard Jansen tried to write with such artistic swoops and whirls, his evil left-handed scratchings, as the headmaster had always called them, were often barely legible.
But his forced right-handed writings were even worse.
Oftentimes, he couldn’t read his own letters whenever he attempted to do the socially acceptable thing and write with his right hand.
A light knock on the door interrupted his study of the papers. “Yes?”
Aurelia entered and added her notes to the collection. Again, they were all identical except for the wording between the threats to Joy and the threats to Aurelia. “By the way, Ambrose is heartbroken. You need to speak with him. Again.”
“I warned him about Lady Serafina.”
“No. A different lady, and I use that term loosely, shattered his soul this time, as he puts it.”
Their brother had a flair for the dramatic. “And who is this lady who is guilty of shattering his soul?”
“A lightskirt from the theater. She discovered a lord willing to take her on as a mistress and keep her in the manner to which she wishes to become accustomed. As soon as she received the key to her cozy little nest, she informed Ambrose that his services were no longer required.” Aurelia sighed.
“You know he falls in love with every woman he beds.”
“That is not an appropriate manner of speaking for a lady, Aurie.”
“I am not a lady—I am a miss.”
Jansen blew out a heavy sigh. They’d had this particular conversation before. “Be that as it may, you should strive to always behave like a lady. Agreed?”
She rolled her eyes but nodded. “So will you speak with him today? Before he either shoots himself or drinks himself into oblivion?”
“I will speak to him after I meet with the Bow Street Runners. I expect them at any time.”
“I shall leave you to it, then.”
As Aurelia headed to the door, Jansen couldn’t help but think something else was wrong. She wasn’t her usual exuberant self. “Aurie.”
She paused with her hand on the latch. “Yes?”
“Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You know very well what. What is troubling you?”
“You are a good man, and just because Chance Abarough was born with a ridiculous title attached to his name, he thinks himself better than you. It is not right, and I am bloody well sick of it!”
Jansen rounded the desk and went to give her hand a consoling squeeze. “It is the way of things, dear sister. You know that.”
“You are a better man than he could ever hope to be!”
“What is it the vicar always says? We are all equal in the eyes of the Almighty?”
She snorted. “And yet some are more equal than others, according to Polite Society.”
He affectionately chucked her under the chin. “My Joy’s opinion is all that matters. You know she looks at things the way we do. She did not allow her brother to separate us, now, did she?”
“No. Sweet Joy is a reasonable person.”
“Then cease giving Broadmere any further room in your pretty head. He is not worth it.”
“I shall try, but it will not be easy.”
“Nothing worth having is ever easy, and peace of mind is worth having.”
Aurelia snorted again. “Don’t forget about Ambrose,” she said as she stepped out into the hallway.
“I shall speak to him this afternoon. I promise.”
After a nod of approval, she swept down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.
Jansen leaned against the doorpost, staring after her long after she was gone.
It wasn’t like Aurelia to let societal prejudice get her in such a stir.
But then again, she had always fought on his side.
Even when they were children, and she was a tiny little thing, she valiantly stood against anyone who might tease him.
The memories made him smile. He and Aurelia had always been close.
Poor Ambrose had often said he was the odd man out, and sadly, he was correct.
“Mr. John Rathbun of the Bow Street Runners, sir,” Severns said from behind him.
Jansen turned and greeted the man with a polite nod. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Rathbun.”
“You served with my brother against the Ottomans,” the gentleman said. “Saved his life, in fact. When we received your request, I was honor bound to give your case priority.”
“I knew your name seemed familiar.” Jansen escorted him into his office. “Your brother is a good man. How is he?”
“Sadly, he passed this past December,” Mr. Rathbun said. “The war failed to kill him, but consumption did not.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Rathbun. As I said, your brother was a fine man.”
“Thank you, sir. Now…your case?”
“My intended, Lady Joy Abarough, is being blackmailed.” Jansen went to the liquor cabinet and held up a glass. “A drink for you, sir?”