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An Uncommon Season, 3/6
To Jensen's great pleasure, the lessons he shared with Jared at Gentleman Jackson's saloon had shown him a heretofore undiscovered talent. He rode and hunted, of course, and had taken fencing lessons alongside Joshua. He enjoyed all of that, but found the boxing was an especial diversion, and one that he took to with ease. Jackson himself often spent more than the usual few minutes with him, and Jared more than once gave over his own time for Jensen to gain a few more pointers or tips.
After a time, Jackson felt Jensen needed more challenge than simply sparring with the same partner afforded him, and so Jensen found himself in the ring with any number of the ton, including, on one memorable occasion, Lord Byron himself. Danneel was beside herself with excitement, though publicly she only teased Jensen that perhaps he should take a page from the poet's book and learn a charming turn of phrase or two. She was much taken with this idea, repeating it on several occasions. Jensen should have been annoyed with her, but it was not at all like Lady Ross; he could only be happy to see his dearest friend again.
Most often, though, Jackson would call Jeff Morgan into the ring to work with Jensen. Jared asked once if Jensen felt it awkward, sparring with another gentleman he knew. Jared had become a friend, so Jensen could admit he was far too occupied trying to dodge the very serious facer Morgan seemed determined to plant him.
"You're much quicker than he," Jared said, laughing. "Good, that."
"Very," Jensen agreed, too winded to insert the proper level of acerbity in his words. Jared laughed more, as though he knew exactly how far toward the devil Jensen might wish him. The brief break was over, though, and Jackson was calling for the next round, so Jared took pity on Jensen and doused him with somewhat-cool water from the ringside bucket before sending him back out to meet his doom.
Not only was the time spent at Jackson's salon beneficial in a physical way, it also allowed Jensen the opportunity to know Jared better. Soon it became decidedly odd for Taylor not to be announcing Jared's name at some point during the afternoon, and most evenings, even the ones with other social engagements, found them dining together, whether at Jensen's table or at White's, that most venerable of gentlemen's clubs that Jared's family on his mother's side had long belonged to.
While Jensen quite enjoyed the many diversions of town life, he found himself very much looking forward to an excursion put together by Miss Bush under Lady Graham's auspices. It was all quite informal, a trip early in the day by horse and carriage to Bexley with a picnic and time spent viewing the ancient abbey, but it was an opportunity to ride somewhere that was not Hyde Park. For all that the estates around Richardson Hall had long since become familiar and stifling to Jensen, he missed being able to truly ride every day, and how clear-headed it left him.
Jared quite understood, and so, when Taylor came to Jensen the afternoon before the excursion to inform him that the grooms had relayed that Jensen's gelding was favoring his off-foreleg, Jensen had no need to paste on an indifferent face for Jared as they hurried out to see for themselves.
"At least it's a minor strain," Jared offered, as they exited the stables and stood in the mews, debating how best to accommodate this change to the usual afternoon Promenade. "He should be right as rain in a few days, not that that is of much use to you today."
Jensen insisted he was fine with a stroll, that Jared should go on and ride, but Jared stood firm in keeping their appointment to spend the afternoon together. Despite the late hour, he offered to send to the livery and have his blacks harnessed to the phaeton for the afternoon. In the end, after much discussion, Jensen allowed Jared to choose, and it was decided a brief walk along Rotten Row was much simpler and not insupportable.
"I don't suppose we'll need to walk much," Jared noted, with the unconscious entitlement of one who had a half-dozen horses available for his every whim and thus had no notion that it was anything other than great sport. "Not if we don't choose to."
Indeed, they had barely made their way out of Cavendish Square when they were hailed by Mr. Murray. He did not offer to take them up, as he was fully occupied with both his somewhat skittish team and the high-flyer in the seat next to him.
"Covent Garden?" Jensen murmured, as the young woman carelessly adjusted the rather large brooch she had pinned to the shoulder of her barely fitting gown, flashing a dimpled smile and an overly excessive display of bosom at Jared.
"Astley's Amphitheater," Jared answered, blushing. "She is on stage, I believe."
"I would be very surprised if she were not," Jensen answered, as the carriage disappeared along the crowded avenue.
"He is quite besotted," Jared added, somewhat unnecessarily. "She expressed a desire to take part in an afternoon promenade and there was nothing but he must satisfy her whim."
"I'm certain his trustees will hold well with that desire," Jensen said, and Jared laughed.
"Well, there might also have been his own desire to drop those gentlemen into an early grave," he agreed. They continued along their way, exchanging greetings as they went.
Jensen firmly expected Jared to be swept up into an acquaintance's carriage, but to his surprise it was his own name he heard being called as they entered the Park, and turned to find Sophia seated alongside her cousin in his curricle.
"What disaster has befallen you; I do not believe I have ever seen you on foot," Sophia called to them. Jared explained the predicament, and there was much dismay expressed when Jensen added that he must beg off the outing to Bexley the next day.
"Of course you must not put your horse at risk," Sophia said. Jensen was braced for the wonder that he did not have a second mount, or for the suggestion that he hire a hack for the day, but she only continued, "I should offer you a place in our carriage but I am afraid it will be quite tedious. I know you longed to ride."
"I am promised to take Miss Cortese to visit a cousin and must drive my blacks. Diablo will allow no one but me on his back, but perhaps you might find my chestnut not too ill-behaved," Jared offered, but doubtfully. Jensen knew he was having much trouble with the horse; for Jared to offer, he must think Jensen overly disheartened. While Jensen was more disappointed than he might have imagined, it was part and parcel of keeping a horse past his prime, no matter how great a heart he had.
Jeff could perfectly discern the disappointment in his cousin's voice. Sophia was an intelligent girl, quite full of sense and not at all taken in by the whirlwind of attention. Her favor consistently fell to Mr. Ackles, and other than the regrettable lack of money in the family Jeff could not fault her decision. While Jeff knew she was looking forward to playing the hostess, he had some strong suspicions that the entire outing had been organized with Jensen's tastes in mind, and Sophia was truly cast down at the thought of him not enjoying it.
"Perhaps I might be able to help," Jeff heard himself saying. Sophia turned to him with hope dancing in her eyes, and it was for that reason, Jeff assured himself, that he put forth a plan to see how his new mare, the one he'd gotten off Weatherly, might suit Jensen. It had nothing to do with the flash of emotion he caught crossing Jensen's face.
"The pretty roan?" Jared asked, clapping Jensen on the back. "Splendid! She deserved a good situation."
As Jeff's bays were taking great exception to being held to a walk, swift arrangements were made for a meeting at the livery stable Jeff was using, and he let the horses have their heads. Sophia squeaked and clutched at the sides of the curricle as they swept around a corner at a brisk pace.
"Cousin," she reproached. "How can you be so kind one moment, and turn me inside out the next?"
"It is only a trot," Jeff answered, grinning down at her. "What might a full gallop do?"
"I should need Lady Graham's vinaigrette," Sophia admitted, before adding, with a sly good humor, "I may be faint-hearted in a carriage, but I should like to see you keep peace between Fraser and Umberto."
As Lady Graham's house was perpetually balanced on the knife's edge of domestic warfare between the kitchen and the butler's pantry, Jeff could not help but shudder. "That, cousin, is entirely to your credit."
He held the bays to the trot for a full turn around the park before setting Sophia down in front of Lady Graham's house and taking them out along the river for a better run, returning to the livery stable just as the two other men arrived. Jeff handed off the bays to the groom who came running up, and asked the stablemaster to bring out his new mare. When she arrived, to the surprise of no one except Jensen himself, she went straight to him.
"There!" Jared exclaimed. "I told you she would remember her preference." As he also kept his stables at this livery and had missed his customary afternoon ride in order to keep company with Jensen, he proposed a turn or two about town. "After all, we should not leave the success of tomorrow's outing to chance."
"Of course not," Jeff said, dryly, but who was he to argue with any scheme that got him out on horseback? It took but a few minutes for the grooms to have their mounts ready, and they were off, Jeff on his Ixion, Jensen on the roan mare, and Jared on a monster of a black stallion that did his best to tear apart the small courtyard in front of the stables before he could be brought under control.
"This is my Diablo," Jared said, with a breathless laugh, "and he is more than a little annoyed with me for ignoring him in favor of the chestnut I've been trying to break in."
"I can well believe the stories you tell about him," Jensen said, circling around them. "Bloodshed and all."
"He is the only reason I am here," Jared said, with far more gravity than Jeff had ever seen from him. Diablo's coat gleamed everywhere but for a long, curving scar over his left haunch, as though he had taken a blow to protect Jared's weak side. "There were several occasions when a lesser horse, with a lesser heart, would have doomed me--he truly earned all honors and accolades." Diablo did not gentle under the praise; on the contrary, he did his best to dash Jared into the courtyard wall. "And the occasional ill-tempered ride," Jared added, back to the breathless laughter.
"Morecomb surely did not see him before he made that wager," Jensen said, keeping a healthy distance between his mount and Jared's.
"Not at all," Jared answered cheerfully. "He took me aside the other night at White's, you know. Offered me one last chance to cancel the whole affair. Said he felt badly about taking advantage of my inexperience with the area, how I shouldn't assume the roads would all be like they were here in the city."
Jeff could not help but laugh; he'd ridden some of the mountains in Portugal and Spain, where the Peninsular armies had pushed through to France. Half the time he suspected the Hussars had ignored the roads completely in favor of the entertainment of riding cross-country.
"I assured him that I was confident I could handle such roads as would be found in the wilds of Essex, so he might continue his preparations for the mystery package to be delivered for my retrieval."
Given that all three of their horses were fresh and clearly wanting for some exercise, they quickly settled on a spirited ride to Wimbledon and back. Though it was late afternoon and both Jared and Jensen were promised to look in on Lady Sefton's ball, both claimed they were in such desperate need of a good, hard ride they would risk the lady's wrath at their arriving late, should it come to that.
It did not--indeed, Jeff was certain that Diablo could have had Jared back in time for tea--and all three of them were well-satisfied with their excursion as they slowed to a trot on their return and worked their way through the crowds on Piccadilly, debating on a name for the mare. Jared had an entire library of horrible ideas; Jensen apologized for the overdone nature of his, but favored a variety of goddesses within the Greek pantheon; Jeff found himself playing referee, and enjoying himself immensely. They had decided during the ride that it would be best for Jensen to keep the mare overnight at the stables behind his house; they were some few blocks from Cavendish Square when they had the misfortune to overtake Sir Robert Phillip, finishing his own afternoon promenade with his daughter and wife.
"Mr. Morgan," Robert called, punctiliously polite as always. That Jeff knew he used formality as a smokescreen to mask and blur those parts of the truth with which he did not wish to deal was irrelevant. The illusion of formality was for those watching--it wouldn't do, Robert had explained a very long time ago, for anyone to know what Jeff had truly been to him. "I wonder if we might have a word."
When Jeff did not immediately answer, all eyes swiveled to him. He read irritation in Robert's; a vague animosity in Lady Phillip's. Jared might have been curious but was too well-bred to show it, while Jensen... Jensen might be exactingly polite to the Phillips, but for another of those swift seconds, Jeff read nothing but cool contempt in his eyes as they flickered over the family.
As Miss Phillip was acquainted with Miss Cortese and had many friends in common, Jared dropped back to ride next to her, while Jensen did the same with Lady Phillip. From the brief snatch of conversation Jeff heard, Jensen was managing with the most banal of topics, stretched to excruciating lengths. Jeff bit back a grin at the unassailable politeness of it all and wondered if Lady Phillip had any idea that Jensen was anything other than the most boring of gentlemen.
"Sir," Robert was saying, and with no small effort Jeff brought himself back to their own conversation. "I have had word from a mutual friend in St. Petersburg; I wonder if you might have had the same."
This was generally Jeff's cue to step in and assure Robert and those who took what Jeff delivered and made sense of it that he would look into the matter, but since Jeff had--with increasing firmness and decreasing civility--made well known his intention to travel no further than the lake over which his villa in Italy looked unless it was upon a personal whim, he only answered, "I have not, and don't expect to." He could not help adding, "I feel certain my letters explaining that I must decline, in order to tend to business of my own, were forwarded to you."
Robert forgot himself long enough to glare at Jeff before the mask of sober politeness fell back over his features. "They were, but since this would not be the first time we have heard such sentiments from you, only to persuade you otherwise, I felt it likely a personal inquiry might bring about a more favorable reply."
Since he did speak the truth--on more than one occasion Jeff had allowed himself to be persuaded into changing his plans--Jeff could not fault him. The tiniest of emphases on "personal," however, rendered what might have been a reasonable statement into something that had Jeff's teeth grinding, as though a word from Robert might override Jeff's own wishes. He found it particularly insulting to think that Robert believed that Jeff bowed to his persuasions for reasons having to do with ancient history between them and not for anything that might do with the overwhelming need to bring Bonaparte down.
"I've business to attend to," Jeff managed to reply through a jaw clenched tight against the other, less prudent words that begged to be set free, "and since our... arrangement has always been of an informal nature, I don't see that I need to go into my reasons any further."
"Yes," Robert said, and Jeff remembered that not-quite sneer, how it flashed out at those Robert felt did not merit more than the pretense of civility. "I understand that you are much seen in the drawing rooms about town this year, and your acquisition of several new horses has inspired much speculation of your permanent return amongst those who care about such things. They look to your young cousin to benefit from your extravagance--the odds are shortening that Lady Graham will effect a marriage soon--but remember that I know the signs and can see that your intentions clearly lie elsewhere."
He swept a look over Jensen and the horse he rode, a look that did not precisely succeed in achieving the cool amusement he clearly wished it might, and, with not-quite-polite bows to Jeff and his companions, gathered his family and rode off.
To Jeff's unspeakable relief, the turn for Cavendish Square was a scant half-block away and then there was the flurry of settling the mare in her new quarters and providing Jensen's grooms with such information about her as they might need. While he was fairly certain Jared had been far enough back, Jeff could not pretend that Jensen had not overheard Robert's last statement, nor missed the speculative look in Robert's eyes; and he had not the slightest idea how he might explain them if asked. Jensen, however, did not press him for answers, though he did favor Jeff with several long and thoughtful looks, and Jeff was able to make his escape with a minimum of fuss.
Jared's pursuit of Miss Cortese continued with much enjoyment on both parts so far as Jensen could see, with many meetings at the assemblies at Almack's, private parties, and the grand ball or two. When Jared approached Jensen to ask if Jensen might be inclined to escort Miss Bush to a balloon ascension while Jared did the same with Miss Cortese, Jensen could hardly refuse the scheme.
He duly presented himself at Jared's rooms on the morning of the event and, after some debate, convinced Jared that the short journey to the fields where the ascension was to take place did not call for his phaeton and a team of four; that his curricle and the matched blacks would be sufficient. Jared had an uncommonly fine eye for horseflesh, but his ideas of necessary energy and stamina owed much to his battlefield experiences on the Peninsula and were not always the best suited for peaceful gatherings. His groom had had the same idea, so there was no further delay in setting out to meet the young ladies.
Miss Bush made the journey with Miss Cortese and her mama in the latter's barouche, accompanied by a coachman and groom, leading the way to the open fields. Jared's team was fresh and energetic, but he kept them under control effortlessly and handed the reins over to the groom with some reluctance. Jensen carefully did not smile at the longing in his friend's face to take his team through their paces, but then Jared caught sight of Miss Cortese, and everything but his delight in escorting her disappeared.
Jensen offered Miss Bush his arm and they made their way carefully across the field. After a few paces, Miss Bush nodded to the other couple and leaned closer to Jensen to murmur, "If we lag behind, they will not feel as though they should be obliged to make conversation with us." Her face was grave but her eyes danced as she continued, "I don't know if you have noticed, but neither of them can think properly when the other is around and it is quite exhausting trying to converse with them when they are like that."
Jensen nodded, slowing his pace as unobtrusively as possible. He endeavored to match Miss Bush's serious expression, but could not help a tell-tale quirk of his mouth as Jared trod on, Miss Cortese hurrying to match his pace and not looking the tiniest bit put-out about it.
"I don't think they should even notice we're not there," Miss Bush said, with the slightest hint of laughter.
"They are very much diverted by each other," Jensen agreed. He kept Jared in sight as the crowds grew larger, but did not otherwise interrupt his friend. The day was quite fine, no clouds to mar the skies nor threaten the fine dresses of the ladies with a sudden shower. The balloon itself was a magnificent sight, made of silks arranged in a harlequin pattern of greens and golds and purples, straining against the ropes that held the basket attached below it. It was picketed to the ground, the guide ropes held by some twenty stout young men. The crowds surrounding it came from all of the city--the fashionable young ladies and gentlemen to one side, working-class tradesmen on the other, all with a sprinkling of soberly dressed barristers and businessmen. An excited murmur rippled across the field as the balloonist approached the giant basket, swelling into a cheer as the guide ropes were cast off and the balloon slowly began to rise.
The men on the ground played out the ropes carefully until the balloon was but a speck in the sky. There was a moment or two of excitement as the wind picked up and the ropes snapped taut and all but dragged the lighter of the men off their feet, but they were clearly accustomed to the task at hand, and with much shouting and coordination, they brought the balloon back under control. Jensen procured some lemonade and a hearty pie for a bit of refreshment, all the more novel for its less-refined qualities. The balloon might stay aloft for some hours, or it might be cut loose and chased until it grounded, but for this occasion, the men on the ground merely played out the ropes and then carefully drew it back down. It was still a magnificent sight as it slowly came to rest on the field again. As they departed, Jensen and Miss Bush once again lagged behind Jared and Miss Cortese. Jared had greatly shortened his stride this time, and his head was bent low so he should not miss a word of her conversation. They were every inch the happiest of couples.
"I hope you don't think me forward," Miss Bush said quietly, "but as dear as I find them, I am not looking for such devotion."
"A love match is not such a bad thing," Jensen answered, after a bit.
"I cannot argue," Miss Bush said. "I had hopes of one. Great hopes," she whispered. "But he had a cornetcy, and served on the Duke's staff and--" Her voice broke for a moment, but only briefly. "It has been almost a year now, since Waterloo, and his family has heard nothing. His batman was found, but--"
She stopped then, and allowed Jensen to guide her across the field.
"I had not thought I would marry," Jensen admitted after a few moments' silence. "Our circumstances have dictated it, however."
"I should like to have a home of my own," she said presently, in a quiet, steady voice. "And a family, for I have many cousins, but none to whom I am particularly close. Lady Graham was very kind and brought me here so that I might meet a greater number of people than I should have the opportunity to know in the country."
"I have a sister," Jensen said. "Some years younger than you, but in desperate need of someone who is not her brothers to befriend her." He smiled down at Miss Bush. "My brother's wife has known her these many years and is helpless to resist her cajolery."
"You are close to her," Miss Bush observed.
"She would not have it any other way."
"It says good things about you that you are, at least in my eyes." Miss Bush smiled. "I had not hoped to meet such kind friends while I was here, nor grow so close and so fond of my cousin Jeffrey. I feel as though I am the luckiest of women."
Lady Dersingham, Miss Cortese's mama, caught sight of them and waved them toward the barouche. Jensen could see the groom holding Jared's horses just beyond.
"Do you attend Captain Padalecki's dinner following the play at Covent Garden?" he asked.
"I do," she answered. "But I must warn you that Mrs. Siddons is a special favorite of Lady Graham; she will brook no interruptions during the play."
"I am duly warned." Jensen handed Miss Bush into her carriage and bowed slightly. "I look forward to seeing you there."
Jared was abnormally silent on the drive back, and when Jensen inquired if all was well would only answer that it was not so very long ago that he had thought it impossible that he might find such a life as the one he had now. "It puts me in mind of the friends I have had. I cannot comprehend how it is that I am so lucky as to have come home when they did not," he said. He drove on silently again, but then gave a great sigh and said, "I can do nothing for them, and you do not deserve to have to listen to me at times like this."
"On the contrary," Jensen said, with all sincerity. "It's little enough to ask."
Jared drove a small distance further in silence, as though he did not know what to say, and then changed the subject, asking Jensen's opinion on the menu for the supper he was arranging after the play. His smile said he knew that Jensen understood perfectly well what was going on, but that he'd allow Jared the diversion regardless. Jensen's said that Jared was entirely correct, and the rest of the trip passed in amiable discussion.
Even understanding more than most just how much power there was in knowledge, Jeff had no idea how Mary-Louise contrived to collect as much information as she did. Ferguson had been known to mutter the word witch in connection with her name, but only very, very quietly, and only to Jeff. Given that Ferguson claimed much Highland blood in his background, and had some not inconsiderable experience with female relatives who had the Sight, Jeff took it as a healthy mixture of respect, awe, and fear. Mary-Louise took it much less benignly, though her level of toleration increased after the fairly spectacular exit from Lisbon Ferguson had effected in Jeff's stead for her and her household in front of Field Marshal Soult's advancing forces.
However she managed, Jeff had, over the years, come to trust her information implicitly, so that when she passed along to him that there were indeed faint eddies of respectability emerging in the rumors that generally swirled about him, he did not doubt that his grandmother had begun her work. More interesting was the fact that Mary-Louise had been approached by none other than Sir Robert Phillip to intercede with Jeff on his behalf.
"You know quite well he would never speak to someone in my position if he were not desperate," she said to Jeff as she poured tea in her personal chambers on the floors above the gaming rooms. Her chef had sent up a variety of dainty morsels; tea was her one personal indulgence in a life built on pleasing others, so Jeff was welcome to share in what was there or not, but in this one area, there was no accommodation made for any taste but her own. "You are not behaving as he thinks you should and it is becoming an alarming issue."
"I've long since ceased caring about what Robert might think," Jeff said.
"Yes, my love, but he is just now coming to understand that," Mary-Louise said, and then added, with impressive patience, "It is not so much that he cares that he does not hold that personal sway with you--though there is some element of that, I am sure. It is that he has built so much on what you have given him over the years--he cannot see how he will continue on his path if he does not have that."
The governess arrived then with the children, who greeted Jeff politely and, when Mary-Louise told them Mr. Morgan had a home in Italy, repeated the greeting in Italian. Jeff answered them with serious intent, as befitted any children who paid such attention to their lessons--which he most certainly had never done--but then took his leave, as they only had limited time with their mother and his tiresome relationships should not interfere with that.
Upon returning to his rooms, he was somehow unsurprised to find a note from Robert, asking again for a meeting. Much more welcome was a brief scrawl in Jeremy's execrable script demanding to know where in blazes Jeff had disappeared to, and advising that Jeremy would, of course, be in the Park for the afternoon promenade should Jeff feel up to shedding his misanthropic tendencies and taking some air. Jeff felt his spirits lift just from seeing the words.
"How could I possibly resist such a heartfelt invitation?" he said not an hour later, as Jeremy slowed his phaeton and allowed Jeff to join him on the seat.
"I'm sure I don't know," Jeremy said. "Though really, Jeff--could you have at least tried for a little color?"
"Your address will just have to carry the both of us," Jeff answered, as he had for nearly thirty years. "There are still any number of years left in this greatcoat."
"You can spend your money, you know," Jeremy said, with unexpected seriousness. "No one will think less of you, and damn them if they do."
"I spend it," Jeff said, with a sigh.
"You take rooms in Clarges Street; the last time you visited a tailor was long enough ago I believe Weston thinks you dead; so far as I can tell--along with every gossip in town--there is no high-flyer sucking you dry. Aside from the occasional horse--which you end up selling back at a profit before you disappear again--how exactly do you spend this money as you claim?"
Jeff was silent for a turn or two, but then he said, "I bought a house?"
Jeremy's mouth twitched into a grin. "Yes, fine, I will speak of other things." True to his word, he spent the rest of the turn about the Park in fine form, critiquing all who crossed their path. When he set Jeff down at the Park's entrance, they made plans for dinner later that evening and Jeff knew he would not bring the subject up again.
It did not mean Jeff was not turning over what Jeremy had said in his mind as he walked the rest of the way down the street. Upon the death of his parents, Jeff had become the ward of his uncle, the current Earl, who had received him with a not-unkind announcement that Jeff was a lucky boy to have inherited as much as he did. As an adult, Jeff could perfectly comprehend what his uncle had been trying to say--he was indeed fortunate to possess enough money to allow him to live however he might choose. To a boy of ten, reeling from the loss of both parents within a week, it had sounded as though Jeff should have been happy to have traded his parents for their money. It was the start of a long and difficult relationship with his uncle, one that remained contentious to this day; and perhaps Jeff could admit the same could be said of Jeff's relationship with the money as well, as Jeremy had so pointedly reminded him.
The evening of Jared's theater party saw Collins in a rare taking, as he said that it was the dreaded middle ground between the formal dress and knee breeches of a ball and the more casual attire of the afternoon for which Jensen generally wore riding dress. When Jensen set out, however, Collins had worked his usual magics, somehow contriving clothing that did not look the rusticated bore nor the foppish Dandy. He was heard to mutter that given a few thousand pounds he would have Jensen a Nonpareil, but since Jensen lacked even a few hundred pounds, that was not something upon which either of them dwelled.
By all accounts, the party was a great success. Mrs. Siddons was in spectacular form; her niece Miss Kemble also quite outstanding, and the play--a romantic tragedy in the vein of Romeo and Juliet--reduced the ladies to tears. Even Lady Graham was seen to surreptitiously dab at the corners of her eyes.
The supper that followed at the Piazza continued the evening in an excellent manner. Jared quite swept Miss Cortese off her feet by having her favorites served, all accomplished without the lady so much as answering a single question as to what those might have been. Jensen suspected a not-insubstantial payment had been made on Jared's behalf to Miss Cortese's dresser in exchange for the information, but no matter the source, Genevieve was charmed. As Jared had made arrangements for several dishes for each course, the entire party was well-served, but no one had any doubts where Jared's heart lay.
As the evening drew to a close, Lady Graham offered Jensen a spot in her carriage for the trip back to Grosvenor Square, a clear sign that she looked favorably upon his suit of her great-granddaughter. It was, of course, precisely why Jensen had traveled to London, and Sophia was eminently suitable: accomplished and well-born, not unintelligent, and most importantly for the Ackles family fortunes, the bearer of a respectable portion, one that might alleviate many of the frustrations still left from the Black Earl's legacy of debts and mismanagement of the estates.
As well, Jensen had become exceedingly fond of her. She was kind and sensitive, and he felt quite sure she would exert a calming influence upon Margaret. Faced with all these many reasonable points, Jensen knew it to be churlish to feel such hesitation in accomplishing his goal, but he allowed himself to acknowledge his misgivings, namely that while he felt--had always felt--a yearning to know more about this world, she was perfectly content with a life bounded by her home. Jensen told himself it was of no great import; it was, after all, exactly how his life had progressed thus far.
Sophia did not generally care to ride, but she drove out each afternoon with Lady Graham in the big, old-fashioned landaulet. Jensen had formed the habit of riding alongside for a turn or two, which allowed him to pay his respects but also gave him the freedom to ride a little with Jared or Danneel or whomever else he might see, and allowed Sophia the chance to invite such friends as she might see to ride along with her. While it was not a particularly smart vehicle to be seen in, Jensen had strong suspicions that Sophia used it as an opportunity to assess the motives of those she met at the constant routs and balls and assemblies, with those who failed to overlook the appearance falling quite significantly in her estimation. He could not fault her reasoning.
On the third afternoon after Jared's theater party, all appeared as usual as Jensen approached the landaulet. There was a particular crowd in the park; the Season was at last in full swing and the paths were thronged with more carriages and horses than Jensen had seen yet. Danneel's Grey Lady was in high spirits; Danneel had all that she could do to keep her from bolting, and even sweet-tempered Melete--still in Jensen's stables due to Jeff neatly dodging every attempt Jensen made to return her--took exception at more than one fluttering feather or flying scarf, so it was with some caution that he reined her into a walk beside Sophia. Danneel cantered on ahead, her groom not far behind.
"Is this not ridiculous?" Lady Graham demanded, eyeing the clogged pathways with distaste. "I should like to send half these ridiculous gabys back to whatever shire they belong."
Sophia smiled at Jensen, but with some distraction. Jensen agreed that it was quite a crush, and then, leaning forward, asked if Sophia was quite all right.
"Oh, it is nothing," she answered, in a low voice, quite unlike her usual cheer. "I had thought I saw--"
She bit off the rest of her words, and shook her head slightly. To Jensen's surprise, Lady Graham did not snap or sniff, but rather said kindly, "It is no wonder--half the Expeditionary Force would seem to have resigned their commissions and chosen today as the afternoon to present themselves to society."
She glared as a trio of red-coated young men cantered by, their spirits as high as the plumes on their shakos. "It is a wonder the Duke prevailed with such a racketty corps of officers as this."
Sophia smiled again, with a trifle more cheer, and, clearly wishing to change the subject, asked Jensen if Jared had decided to speak with Genevieve's papa.
"I believe Jared has had that decided from the second he laid eyes on her," Jensen replied, only half jesting, "but he has applied to speak with Lord Dersingham next Friday."
"In my day, he would have done so before ever speaking to the girl," Lady Graham said, but again in an almost-kind tone. When Jensen looked at her in some surprise, she met his gaze calmly. "I don't say it was better then, only that it worked that way."
She seemed likely to say more, but for Sophia drawing her breath in sharply. As they turned to her, her face was white and strained and her hand shook until she clutched the side of the carriage.
"It is--but it cannot be," she whispered. Lady Graham fumbled in her reticule and produced a small bottle of smelling salts, but Sophia shook them off. "No, no, I am quite--"
She turned to Jensen. "If I were to describe someone, would you--would you approach him for me?"
"Sophia--" Lady Graham started, but Sophia, quite uncharacteristically, spoke over her.
"Would you do me that service?" Her eyes pleaded with him not to ask further.
"Of course," Jensen answered immediately. Whatever his decision about marriage, she had become more than an acquaintance in these past weeks; he would do no less for a friend.
"The man I saw wore the blues of the Royal Horse Guards. He was mounted on a chestnut gelding, riding south," Sophia said, pointing. She reached into her reticule and offered Jensen an oval locket containing a miniature portrait of a man with kind eyes. "It cannot be him, but it is twice now that I have believed that I have seen him. I would know for certain."
"Stripton," Lady Graham called to her coachman. "Return us to Grosvenor Square immediately."
"I shall return there with whatever news I find,"Jensen assured Sophia, and turned to follow Sophia's direction. He set Melete to a brisk trot, weaving between slower-moving carriages and riders, acknowledging greetings as he rode, but only enough to avoid giving rise to undue comments. Danneel would have more than a little to say about him abandoning her on her afternoon ride, but in the brief second in which he'd seen the cluster of Horse Guards riding together, they'd been heading for the main gate, which put them out onto Piccadilly and gave him only a few minutes to find them before they would become lost in the crowds.
He hesitated as he left the park, casting his eyes up and down the busy street. It might already be too late, but just as the thought crossed his mind, he caught sight of a flash of silver and the distinctive blue uniforms of the Horse Guards. He turned Melete in the proper direction and set off after the small troop. As he rode, a small thought insinuated itself into his consciousness. There could be little doubt whom Sophia had thought she had seen; Jensen was, perforce, attempting to find the very person who could negate all the efforts he had put into finding a suitable bride. The thought gained strength as he reviewed the other young ladies of his acquaintance and found them not even as desirable as Sophia. As he thought, he allowed Melete to slow to a walk, until, with a deep flush of shame, he realized he was considering allowing the officer to disappear into the throng and returning to Grosvenor Square with the news he knew Sophia expected, even though it was not what she would have hoped.
Appalled at the very thought, Jensen urged Melete forward and quickly came abreast of the officers. They turned in some surprise, and Jensen did not need to look at the miniature again to know that the Brigade-Major in the center, the left arm of his uniform pinned neatly to the shoulder so it should not hang empty beside him, was indeed he whom he had been sent to find, and his plans fell to pieces around him.
As it was a Wednesday, and thus Assembly night at Almack's, Ferguson had taken the liberty of laying out Jeff's knee breeches and stockings, ignoring Jeff's grumbles regarding the ridiculousness of the patronesses and their very strictly enforced rules on gentlemen's dress and the utter imbecility of serving nothing stronger than a claret cup to ease the sting.
"Barely drinkable claret at that," Jeff added, as Ferguson handed him a cravat to tie round his neck. Ferguson nodded, not unsympathetically, but otherwise did nothing to soothe Jeff's mood, merely assisting him into his coat and then disappearing to procure a hackney cab while Jeff added such adornments to his attire as he saw fit. Since Lady Graham had announced her intention to attend the assembly, they would travel by her carriage; Jeff had entertained some thoughts as to making the short trip to Grosvenor Square house by foot, but Ferguson clearly did not approve of such a casual attitude.
"Lady Graham will not like it," was all he said, and Jeff finally broke down and asked why Ferguson even cared. "The only person in your family who gives a brass farthing about you?" Ferguson demanded, with a look that said he had no idea how Jeff managed to feed himself if he was that stupid. Jeff was taken aback at the fierceness in his voice, and cast about for a safe change of topic.
"It's beyond me how you manage in Italy without all this nonsense," Jeff said, with a pang of longing for his house, where the doors and windows generally stood open to catch the breezes off the lake, and visitors were welcomed with wine and cheese by his eminently hospitable cook-housekeeper no matter how they arrived.
"Doesn't matter there," Ferguson said. "You're the rare commodity, the Englishman who knows everyone worth knowing; they all hang on your every word." He handed Jeff the bicorn hat that went with the knee breeches. "Here, you have to play their game."
"And what if I don't care about their game," Jeff muttered.
"Of course you care," Ferguson answered. "The less they think of you as a problem, the easier it is to pull the wool over their eyes--how else do we live?"
As it was couched in his own words, Jeff couldn't argue the sentiment, as Ferguson well knew. He did allow himself to sigh, but then called his destination to the driver and stepped up into the hack. He caught one last glimpse of Ferguson's face, and sighed again at the very satisfied look upon it.
It was a short drive to Grosvenor Square and was easily covered, as Jeff expected. That was the last thing about the night that went as Jeff expected, however. Fraser himself answered the door, looking as distracted as Jeff had ever seen him look. Given that the man had presided over Lady Graham's drawing room with equanimity through multiple changes in government and several decades of wars, Jeff could not help but stare.
"You'll forgive us, sir, but my lady and the young miss--"
At that moment, they were joined in the hall by several young cavalry officers wearing the blue of the Horse Guards. They came hesitantly out of the library, looking a bit overawed by the house but asking for their horses, while at the same time a junior footman erupted precipitously through the door that led down to the kitchens, a look of terror on his face. Jeff waved Fraser off to deal with these new challenges, waiting patiently while he listened to the stammering message imparted by the young footman--that the signor in the kitchen understood that these were extraordinary times, but he was not used to having his creations ignored and he should be obliged if someone could convey to him a time when dinner might be needed. He would endeavor to have food up to my lady's standards at any time she might name, but for that he required such a time. Pronto. The footman stammered a bit at that, but Fraser steadied him by sending him off to alert the stables the officers' mounts would be needed momentarily.
He himself visibly steeled his courage to mount the stairs to the drawing room. Jeff intercepted him.
"Extraordinary times, eh?" Jeff asked, his hand on the banister, and Fraser forgot himself so much as to nod as though Jeff were an acquaintance.
"Most extraordinary, sir," he answered, with considerable feeling.
"I'll announce myself," Jeff said. "See if I can obtain a time for you."
"Very good, sir," Fraser said, not bothering to hide his relief, which was in itself an extraordinary event. "Thank you."
"Not at all," Jeff said, running quickly up the stairs. From the events in the hall--and knowing that dinner had yet to be served--he was expecting more than the quiet scene he encountered as he opened the drawing room door. It would not have surprised him to see half the cabinet ministers and the current Earl in the room--though he supposed that Fraser's elevated level of near-distress would have required no one less than Wellington or possibly the Prince Regent himself. Instead, there were but three people in the room: Lady Graham in her customary chair in front of the fire, Sophia on the settee, and yet another cavalry officer seated next to her. Jeff's eyes flickered over the empty sleeve doubled over and pinned to the left shoulder of his uniform.
"Jeffrey," Lady Graham said, in some surprise. "What do you here?"
"Almack's," Jeff answered, in a far more civil tone than he would have thought possible, given that he stood in front of her in full evening attire. She still wore her afternoon dress, as did Sophia, and more importantly, Sophia's face showed every inclination of a storm of weeping. She clung to the major's hand and blinked at Jeffrey several times before she sprang up off the couch with a gasp.
"Cousin, oh, and you are dressed so finely." She held firm to the major's hand still, even as he rose and bowed slightly. "I do so beg your pardon, but we are--" She broke off and stared at the major again, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Somewhat disordered," Lady Graham said, very dryly. "Good God, if you are here, dinner has completely gone by the wayside. I cannot believe that madman has not yet burned the house down around us for offering him such disrespect."
"Great-grandmama's chef," Sophia smiled through her tears as she explained to the major. "He is quite talented--you will never have the equal to his roast capon--but can be very temperamental."
"Of course," the major answered, as if he were accustomed to threats of violence emanating from the kitchen. Then again, given the somewhat besotted air to his gaze, Jeff rather thought that Sophia could tell him day was night and he would answer with the same agreeable tone.
"I believe we are safe for the moment," Jeff said, arching an eyebrow at his grandmother. "But I have been charged by Fraser to determine a suitable time to pass along."
Jeff would never accuse Fraser of anything so undignified as listening at keyholes, but it was either that or the man had the hearing of a bat, because the double doors opened at that second and Fraser sailed in majestically.
"We are at your disposal," Lady Graham said, and Jeff would wager those words were not heard often. "Please relay my sincere appreciation to Umberto for sacrificing his work to our happy drama this evening."
"Very good, my lady," Fraser answered and retreated with no small relief, if Jeff was any judge.
"Oh, heavens, my manners," Sophia said. "Cousin Jeffrey, please allow me to introduce Brigade-Major Lord Freeman." Jeff bowed slightly, still a trifle bemused that this one quiet man could completely disorder his grandmother's house. "Martin, my dear cousin, Mr. Jeffrey Morgan, who has been so very kind to me these last months."
"Major," Jeff said, putting all the pieces together. He bowed slightly. "We had thought you lost."
"Only conceive, Cousin," Sophia said, with a slight hoarseness that betrayed her emotion. "Martin was found by a Prussian doctor and cared for in their hospitals."
"My German being what it was, which is to say nonexistent, it was some time before I could manage a communication," the major said, with a small smile.
"I should imagine it was rather involved," Jeff replied, carefully keeping his knowledge of the general horror of a post-battlefield hospital out of his eyes. Sophia did not need to imagine it and the major would hardly need reminding.
"And when he did organize a letter, we did not receive it!" Sophia exclaimed. "Indeed, we did not--or, well, I did not," she added, her voice faltering as she turned to Lady Graham. "You do not think Papa…?"
"I find it tremendously difficult to believe Hubert could bestir himself from his books and sermons to find the post, let alone read a letter addressed to you and take steps to conceal it," Lady Graham said, dryly. "Put the thought from your mind, Sophia. It would not be the first time a letter from the Continent did not find its way home."
"You should not blame him if he did," Major Freeman said. "It would only be his duty toward you, especially with the news of my injuries that it carried. I cannot be what he would wish for you--it was foolish of me to come to you--"
"Martin," Sophia interrupted, in as quelling a voice as Jeff had ever heard from her. Indeed, he would not have been at all shocked to hear that very tone from his grandmother. To judge from the somewhat stunned expression on his face, it came as a great surprise to the major as well. "You have only just this day been returned to me; pray do not vex me with such nonsense."
Before anyone could respond, the doors opened to Fraser's announcement that the young cavalry officers were departing and wished to have a word with the major. "Dinner," he added to Lady Graham, "will be served momentarily, my lady."
After extracting a promise from the major that he would indeed remain in Grosvenor Square for dinner and not take flight with his officers, Sophia drew Jeff aside.
"Cousin," Sophia said, in a quiet, serious voice. "I must beg a favor from you, though I am certain you should be very tired of me after this day." She smiled at him. "Well do I know your dislike of evening dress, and now you are here with no reason for it."
"I can, however, take myself off someplace with a decent cellar," Jeff said, and she smiled a little more brightly at him, even as she shook her head in mock dismay.
"I'm afraid I might interfere with that as well," Sophia said. "Mr. Ackles--Jensen--he was the one who found Martin for me. I sent him off with barely any explanation and then when he arrived with Martin--and his friends--in tow, I promptly succumbed to the most embarrassing hysterical outburst. I was so overcome, Lady Graham was contemplating a dose of laudanum to settle me."
"It was a great shock, I would imagine."
"Yes. Yes, it was--but what with all the weeping, I don't know what happened to Jensen, and--" She hesitated for a moment. "We hadn't quite come to an agreement, but I think that was very much on his mind, as it was on mine. Would you find him, and convey to him my deepest gratitude and ask him to call on me? Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"I--"
"Please assure him I quite understand if he never wishes to see me again," Sophia added earnestly.
"I'll see what I can do," Jeff answered. "I assume you were planning to meet this evening at the assembly." When she nodded, he added, "At the very least, I can look in there, since I'm properly attired."
"Not a complete waste of Ferguson's efforts," Sophia said, and leaned in to kiss him lightly. "Thank you, cousin."
Jeff took his hat from Fraser, who was looking somewhat refreshed, what with dinner being served and all further hysterics seemingly forestalled. He declined the offer of a footman being sent for a cab; weighing the options, he doubted Jensen had, after what must have been a highly dramatic afternoon, gone back to change for Almack's.
The footman who answered the door at the Cavendish Square house did not know where Mr. Ackles might have gone, but he did confirm that he'd left the house on foot, and not in formal evening wear, which eliminated Almack's at least. It still left dozens of possibilities, but Jeff had the devil's own luck, running him to ground at a hazard table at Watier's after only a brief stop at White's for dinner.
Jensen was playing with his customary attention, though Jeff knew perfectly well that Jensen had seen him approach the table. Jeff stood and watched for some few minutes, noticing the well-filled wine glass at Jensen's side and the attentiveness with which the waitstaff kept it in that state. Other than a slight flush, Jensen did not betray any sign of being the worse for wear, but Jeff would lay good money that he was at least a bottle down and showing no signs of slacking off.
"You're family; you'll have heard the news by now," Jensen said, draining his glass and gathering his winnings with an impatient sweep of a hand. He stood and hesitated briefly before heading to the back room, where play was deeper and the tone more serious. "Not that it matters much; I should think the on dits will be flying by the morning promenade."
Jeff inclined his head and followed silently--there was nothing to be said; Jensen's assessment was quite unassailable. The gossip would indeed be flying by morning; little doubt of that.
"As I'm fairly certain I'm no longer the front-runner for your cousin's hand, I confess I'm unclear as to why you're here," Jensen said, with a reckless air.
"My cousin asked me to find you, to express her gratitude and to ask you to call on her tomorrow."
Jensen played silently for a while before saying, in a much subdued voice, "I cannot think that would be wise."
Jeff thought of Sophia's earnest face, still blotched from the kind of tears that would take hours to ease, and knew a flash of irritation followed swiftly by a deep disappointment. He played his own hand without comment, cashing out at the first opportunity.
"I hadn't thought you to be the kind who counted coup on the Marriage Mart," Jeff said, his bloody temper getting the best of him yet again, for reasons he would not examine too closely. "It would appear that I was mistaken. My apologies." Jensen jerked his head up, eyes widening at the insult, then narrowing.
"If that is your opinion of me, perhaps it is just as well I did not offer for your cousin." Jensen spoke in a low tone, quiet enough that no one else at the table might hear his words, but the icy politeness in his voice could not be mistaken. "You may assure Lady Graham that your family has avoided an unfortunate entanglement with a fortune hunter."
Jeff did not know any of the other gentlemen at the table, but every one of them wore identical looks of avid interest as they waited for what might happen next. Jeff pushed away from the table and strode swiftly out of the room, out of the club, before he offered any greater insult.
Once on the street, out of the overly warm rooms of the club, Jeff took several calming breaths and decided he would look in at Mary-Louise's. It seemed a better plan than returning to his rooms. He would only brood if he did that, and Ferguson would offer little comfort. He had taken no more than a few steps back toward St. James Way, though, when he heard his name being called, and turned to see Jensen following him.
"I'll be certain to convey your regrets to my cousin." Jeff bit off each word with care. "She does, in fact, hold you in some regard; for her sake, I'll keep the explanation as simple as possible."
"I am quite fond of her, as well--" Jensen said.
"Apparently not enough to do her the courtesy of seeing her face-to-face," Jeff said, with some heat, and perhaps it was time to be honest and admit, if only to himself, that he was less concerned for the slight done to Sophia and more done in by his disappointment in his own mis-estimation of the other man's character. "Or is it that you are so overcome by your love--" Jeff pretended not to notice Jensen's minuscule flinch at the savage sarcasm in his own voice--"that you are unable to face your loss."
Jeff had thought Jensen to be intelligent and as unaffected by the circumstances of his birth and family as was possible, but he could not see any reason for the refusal to call upon Sophia other than the sting of a petty, wounded pride.
"Don't you mean to ask whether I'm so overcome by the loss of your cousin's money that I must go and sulk?" Jensen snapped. Here on the street he did not bother to modulate his voice or his tone, and Jeff was taken aback by the passion directed toward him. He was used to cool and collected from Jensen, and indeed had often wondered if there was anything more under the surface calm. It was, to be sure, not the most discreet location in terms of discovering that yes, there was quite something more. Heads were turning as the gentlemen of the ton made their way to the gaming club, but it would not be the first time Jeff had been part of a public scene, even if it had been quite some time since it had last happened in London.
"Well?" Jeff asked. "Is that what it is?" He was rather sure that it was not. Sophia did possess a rather handsome annuity, but there were any number of girls this season who had more, and whose families would be delighted to underwrite the Black Earl's debts in exchange for an alliance with even a second son.
Before Jeff could receive an answer, he was hailed yet again, and turned to find none other than Sir Robert Phillip regarding him--and Jensen--with some level of distaste. Robert had ever valued a handsome public face. Jeff could hardly suppose a career in the diplomatic circle should have changed that.
"You will excuse my interruption," Robert said, "but I sent a note to your lodgings earlier and as it is a matter of some importance I--"
"Felt it necessary to interrupt a private conversation?" Jensen drawled, every inch the son of an ancient peerage addressing a new-made, and rather insignificant, baron. Robert flushed at being taken to task, and Jeff reflected upon how, for someone who so publicly valued good manners and breeding, he did not scruple to disregard them when it suited his purpose.
"I assure you--" Robert began, but Jensen cut him off once again.
"I assure you, that private conversations can indeed take place in public places, and that you are, most definitely, interrupting one." Robert's face suffused darker, a heavy, mottled choler that Jeff was certain he had caused to be seen a time or two on his uncle's face. Before Robert could regain command over his voice, Jensen added, with a perfect, indifferent calm, "But since your business is with Mr. Morgan, we should defer to his assessment of the relative importance of your interruption."
He turned to Jeff, arching one eyebrow inquisitively, and Jeff knew a sudden impulse to laugh, though whether it was for the notion that he'd needed rescuing or for the fact that Jensen had, indeed, rescued him, he could not say. He looked past Jensen to Robert, seeing as if for the first time the needy, grasping mask to his face.
"We've had this conversation, sir," Jeff said. "I find that I am no longer convinced of my necessity to England's causes, and will have to decline your offer."
"Sir!" Robert sputtered, going so far as to grasp Jeff's forearm and pull him a step or two down the walk. "Jeffrey--I know that your family does not fully apprehend all that you have done, nor appreciate your service, but should I schedule an appointment with the Earl--"
Jeff did laugh, then. "My uncle is most appalling full of his own consequence. I doubt you could get an appointment with him in the next year."
"Then perhaps Lady--"
"My grandmother already knows," Jeff said, with a smile that was pure delight in the face of Robert's patent disbelief. "She informs me that she stands on no ceremony with Lord Castlereagh, but were I you, I should look to see who in your office might not be as dedicated to your policy of secrecy as you would wish."
Jeff took a step back, pulling his arm free and straightening his jacket. "It hasn't been about the family for quite some time now, Robert. Bonaparte is done. So am I. And to satisfy all questions, you were, indeed, interrupting a private conversation."
Turning his back on Robert felt far more significant than walking down St. James Street, and his voice was not quite smooth as he informed Jensen, "I had a vague plan to look in on Mary-Louise, should you care to continue our conversation there."
"Mrs. Parker's it is," Jensen said, and they made their way quietly toward St. James Way.
Epilogue