An Uncommon Season, 4/6

[topaz119]

It came as no surprise to Jensen that Mrs. Parker maintained private rooms for favored patrons. Nor was it in any fashion a shock that Jeff was one of those favored patrons. Jensen would admit to some envy that a few words brought out brandy the likes of which hadn't been seen in London in Jensen's lifetime, and again that the chef appeared to personally discuss what he might serve them, but he felt those were events worthy of at least a small frisson of base emotion.

Once the brandy was decanted and served, and the waiters finished laying a small table in front of the room's fireplace and withdrew, leaving them in privacy, Jensen said, "I should beg your pardon for my heavy-handed interference earlier. I found quite suddenly that I was appallingly tired of Sir Robert Phillip and the demands he feels free to make upon your time, but it is of course not any of my concern."

Jeff laughed softly, but there was as much bitterness as humor in the sound. "I'm not certain why it took me so long as it did, but I'll wager I'm equally tired of his demands."

Jensen stretched his legs in front of the fire and watched the light of the flames dance on the brandy in the glass he held, unsure of what precisely they were doing here in this quiet room.

"I should also beg your pardon for the insult implied by my behavior toward your cousin," Jensen said. "Truly, I am--"

"No," Jeff said quietly. "I had no call to accuse you as I did. She herself most strictly bade me to tell you she understood if you had no wish to speak with her. She would know far better than I if your affections were engaged."

"No," Jensen admitted. "I have grown very fond of her, and I dare say she of me, but I do not believe anyone's affections were engaged."

Jeff did not say anything, but he watched Jensen steadily, and Jensen found it easier than he had imagined to offer an explanation. "It was not that I had lost her, it was that I had contemplated going to her and telling her I had failed in seeking out the major and making official the understanding we had reached before she knew any different."

"Obviously, you did not," Jeff said.

"No, but seeing her receive the major--the strength of her emotion, and the knowledge that I had thought to deceive her--I believed it best not to see her again. But that, of course, was nothing but my own guilt and convenience."

"My cousin," Jeff said, "was deliriously happy when I took my leave of her. Whatever temptation you might have had, you did nothing but bring her joy by your actions. Whether or not you see her again is entirely at your discretion."

The waiters returned at that moment, bringing in an assortment of the chef's creations; Jensen seized gratefully upon the interruption. He thought Jeff did, as well; in any case, the beef was tender and delicious, sauced quite perfectly to go with the brandy, and the accompaniments were equally distracting, so that a relative ease had fallen between them when Jeff cleared his throat.

"You may have guessed that there was as much personal as business between Robert and I," he began.

"I had," Jensen said simply. "You'll forgive my speculation, but his dislike of my riding Melete seemed to go beyond that which could easily be explained absent some... warm emotion."

Jeff didn't answer for a long time, finally nodding and saying, "You can name it jealousy, and there was a time when that might have mattered, but the personal between us is long since history. It's unfortunate that the business has always been entwined with that." He took a breath. "If I were to be brutally honest, I should say that the business was what drove the personal, at least on his side."

"Jeff--" Jensen started to say, but Jeff held up his hand and Jensen subsided.

"You know," Jeff said slowly. "I don't think there is any one person who knows the full story. I'm not sure if I'm ready to tell it, but I should think some of it might be obvious."

"Sir Robert works for the Foreign Office, for Lord Castlereagh," Jensen said slowly. "And you, you have lived abroad for …?"

"Twenty years," Jeff answered.

"You're known to travel and, at least on the surface, care little for what happens to England or her armies, but … that is not strictly true, is it?"

"It was a game, when he first approached me," Jeff said. "I had spent time in a half-dozen cities; I had a reputation such that I could move from country to country without anyone the wiser. I heard things, sought out information. Robert made use of what I heard."

There was more that he wasn't saying; Jensen was sure of it, but he said nothing, allowed Jeff to tell it as he wished.

"I was paid for anything I heard," Jeff said, his tone faintly mocking. "Don't think I did it out of the goodness of my heart, out of some misplaced sense of pride in England." He crossed his arms in front of him, stared into the fire. "And there were other, more personal reasons."

"At first," Jensen said, more sharply than he intended. Jeff jerked his head up, though, his absorption in the flames--and his thoughts--broken, and Jensen could not bring himself to rue his less-than-politic tone. "You said it was a game, but only at first."

"Then Bonaparte rose to power and I did it not for Robert or for anything he pretended he would give me, but to put a stop to the spread of the empire. "

Jensen wanted very much to know what Sir Robert had promised Jeff, but again he resolved to allow Jeff to speak as he saw fit.

"And now?" Jensen asked.

"Now I have a house, and a little land," Jeff said. "Now I can visit Vienna for the opera, instead of for the rumors. I can travel... wherever I might want."

Jensen nodded; even had he not felt much the same desire to see places beyond his life's thus-far-limited scope, he could hear the yearning in the other man's voice. They sat quietly for some minutes and Jensen knew he should leave well enough alone, but something deep within him called to know more. It was as though the other man was an enigma, one that it was vitally important for Jensen to understand, and he heard himself saying, "Sir Robert's jealousy--it can't be denied, but that's on his part. It doesn't mean there was in truth anything for him to be responding to, except I cannot help but think..."

Jeff stood abruptly and crossed to the small sideboard to pour himself another brandy. He did not meet Jensen's eyes as he spoke. "Robert was ever skilled at reading my moods. It made it that much easier to gain what he wanted."

The level of self-loathing in Jeff's voice propelled Jensen out of his own chair and across the room, and he understood suddenly that it was not so much Jeff he had been looking to comprehend, but himself as well, and that so many pieces of the whole were now falling into shape.

"He sadly miscalculated this time," Jensen said, pleased at how steady his voice sounded, no matter how hectic his heartbeat. He could see everything he meant to do playing out in his mind's eye, even as he wondered at his own daring in taking these first steps. "Unless he wished to gain this."

Jensen took the glass from Jeff's hand, moving with deliberation. Jeff made no move to stop him, not even as he drew Jeff's head down so that he could press their mouths together. He was aware of the enormous possibility of disaster looming around his actions, but that voice inside him insisted this was necessary, and worth risking much to accomplish, even as another part of him knew nothing but trust in Jeff's own actions toward him.

At first, Jeff was simply still against him, but before Jensen could think that this would prove to be the time he shouldn't have heeded that voice, Jeff sighed into his mouth, his arms coming up to draw Jensen closer, and Jensen stopped thinking. Jeff took control of the kiss, but carefully, deepening it slowly, tasting Jensen with exquisite thoroughness, until Jensen could not help but shudder against him. When at last they broke the kiss, both of them breathless, Jeff's eyes were all but black, and his face was flushed. Jensen knew a savage satisfaction at provoking such a response, but then Jeff's mouth came down on his once more, and he turned his attention to more pressing matters.

The kiss was less sophisticated this time, as though Jeff had seen the wildness Jensen couldn't keep completely submerged, and wanted more of it. Jensen met him with equal intensity, sliding his fingers into the hair at the base of Jeff's neck and holding him close. Jeff made a low, desperate noise deep in his throat and took Jensen's mouth as though he had no intention of ever relinquishing it. Indeed, Jensen had no intention of allowing him to do so, at least not until there was a discreet knock at the door and Jensen found himself standing alone, his heart pounding and his breath caught somewhere in his chest. Jeff had half-turned toward the door, but Jensen could see that he was as affected as Jensen.

The servants in Mrs. Parker's establishment were extraordinarily well-trained; no one entered the room until they were bid, and once inside, there was not the slightest indication of familiarity. The table was cleared, and Jeff consulted as to whether the decanter of brandy should be removed, and then the two of them were alone again, and Jensen had no idea how to proceed.

"Perhaps we should end the evening," Jeff said, after some few moments of silence. He sounded calm and steady, as though that small sound that had fired Jensen's blood had been nothing but Jensen's imagination.

Jensen swallowed hard and endeavored to keep his voice equally steady. "Perhaps we should."

It felt to be the coward's way out, to allow Jeff to usher him from the private room, and then to allow him to be swept off by Mrs. Parker while a footman hailed Jensen a hackney, but Jensen could not think how else to proceed. He hesitated at the front door, for it was not how he wanted the evening to end, but he heard Jeff's quiet laugh from the other room, and as a cab had pulled up, decided it would be better to continue on his way and try to make sense of everything that had happened before he tried to address it with Jeff.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mary-Louise was not at all taken in by Jeff's pretense at calm, but she played along with it. As it was a lively night at the tables, Jeff thought it was perhaps more accurate to say that she ignored him and his mood and spent her energy as she should, at making her livelihood as secure as possible. Given the complete confusion of his thoughts, his taking the bank at the faro table was not the best of notions, but he somehow managed not to bankrupt his account before he managed to extricate himself from the position and consider his next move. It was still somewhat early; Ferguson would not be expecting him for some few hours yet.

"I'm sure it's quite safe to leave," Mary-Louise said, appearing silently at Jeff's elbow as he hesitated in the hall. "Mr. Ackles does not strike me as the type to hover just out of sight, ready and waiting to waylay innocent travelers."

When Jeff could not even summon the presence of mind to glare, she took some pity on him, reaching up to stroke the back of her hand across his face. Her words were, nevertheless, brisk and to the point. "Whatever it is, my love, you're far better off seeking it out. We both know what disasters come about otherwise."

She sent him off then, and if Jeff felt like little more than a tiresome schoolboy to be dealt with, he supposed that wasn't all so far from the truth. He was most certainly acting like one, and over nothing more than a kiss, which, while it might have been unexpected, was not--could not be--anything, really. The streets were quiet, dark between the streetlights, and grown familiar enough over the last weeks that Jeff could allow himself to wander while deep in thought.

Whatever might have happened, whatever intimacies he might have shared on this evening, Jeff reminded himself that he could not lose sight of the cold, sober facts of the matter. Jensen had come to town to marry, and to marry an heiress. He had his duty before him, and Jeff knew him well enough to know that he would discharge that duty honorably. And while Jeff was reacquainting himself with the realities of life, he might also remember that no matter how eager Jeff himself might have been for those intimacies, his desires were not of paramount importance.

He would not let himself repeat the mistakes of his youth.

He looked up from his wanderings to find that he had led himself to Grosvenor Square, and was coming up to the entrance to his grandmother's house. At the very least, he decided, he could leave word with Sophia that he had executed his commission for her. Though the hour was late, Fraser opened the door before Jeff could reach for the bell, as if he had been keeping watch for visitors.

"Her ladyship is in the Blue Saloon," he informed Jeff. "Or did you wish to speak with the young miss?"

"No, don't disturb either of them," Jeff said--with some cowardice, he admitted. "I can accomplish my mission by means of a note."

"Very good, sir," Fraser said, as if there were nothing at all odd about a cousin of the house declining to pay his respects to the mistress. He showed Jeff into the library with no sign of the agitation that had marked his carriage earlier in the evening. Indeed, there was not so much as an extra crease in his coat, nor a hair disordered. Jeff rather thought Fraser would be in rare perfection for quite some time to come in order to make amends for what Jeff was certain he felt had been a sorry lack of presence previously. He ensured Jeff had paper and ink, and withdrew, leaving Jeff to pen a brief note, assuring Sophia that Jensen was quite fine and would be calling on her shortly.

His own duty thus discharged, Jeff left the note with Fraser and very nearly made his escape, being halfway to the front door when his grandmother called to him from the staircase landing.

"Good God, Jeffrey, what do you, sneaking about my house at this time of the night?"

"It's not so late," Jeff pointed out, turning and looking up at her. Fraser, he noted, had silently withdrawn. Jeff sorely longed to follow. "Had we attended the assembly tonight we shouldn't be in for nearly an hour."

"Yes, well, we didn't." She still wore her afternoon dress, and held a small crystal glass in her hand. "Come upstairs and join me. Fraser prepares a fine orgeat, but I suppose you'll do fine with just the brandy."

She turned and swept back up the rest of the stairs to the first floor, leaving Jeff to follow. The Blue Saloon was a small, comfortably furnished room at the front of the house. By day, it would afford a fine view of the square from the small table placed in front of the windows; it was clearly the room where Lady Graham wrote her letters and took tea if there were no callers, a personal rather than public room of the house, the walls hung with family portraits and, to Jeff's mild shock, several of the watercolors he himself had done over the years.

Lady Graham seated herself in front of the small fire; at her wave, he poured himself a small brandy and refreshed her glass from the decanter Fraser had obviously used to mix her favorite drink. He declined the implicit offer to take the second chair, and instead moved restlessly about the room.

"Do stop prowling," Lady Graham said after a bit. "Is there a particular reason for your perturbation this evening?"

"I think it is time I returned home," Jeff said abruptly. "I assume you have no further need of my services--Sophia is well-settled with her major, is she not?"

"She is," Lady Graham said. "Even if I could conceive of Hubert rousing himself from his books long enough to object in any sort of constructive fashion, she will not be denied this, she has already told me as much. I should imagine the banns will be read beginning this Sunday and they'll be married before the month is out."

"You sound well-satisfied with that," Jeff said.

"Why should I not be? Oh, yes, she could have married any one of a number of fine families, but this will suit her well. It will suit the both of them well, if the display of emotion shown this afternoon is any indication." She sipped at her glass. "Don't look at me as though I should rather she marry for connection alone. I am perfectly able to approve of marriage for other reasons; I did so quite happily for your parents."

The mention of his parents gave Jeff some pause; having died while he was still in school, they were not often the topic of conversation.

"I will confess that your mother was quite my favorite," Lady Graham said. "She had spirit, and intelligence, and was quite handsome, if not in the fashion of the time. You have much of her in you, and were she still with us, I have no doubt my son Graham would have received a tongue-lashing he'd yet be cowering from over the nonsense that sent you to the Continent in the first place." She eyed Jeff severely as he--there was no other word for it--boggled at her. "As for the rest of it, I find I am quite weary of these constant rumors that seem to circulate about you."

"Ma'am--" Jeff began, but she fixed him with a stern look and he subsided.

"I am not a fool, Jeffrey," she said. "My drawing room hosted more than one rout that was little more than an excuse for the Foreign Office to meet with their contacts in an unremarkable manner; I perfectly understand that rumors of the sort that always seem to swirl about you are vital in making your work possible, but I am also of the opinion that this is no longer something in which you are engaged."

Again, Jeff could only stare, but as she sighed and all but tapped her foot in impatience, he made a herculean effort to collect himself. "You are not wrong, ma'am," he said. "Though I am quite certain I don't wish to know how you know what you do," he muttered.

"Very well, then," Lady Graham said. "I shall have a word or two with Castlereagh. Obviously, it does not need to become public knowledge exactly what you have been engaged in these last ten years, but the right people can certainly hear the right rumors and put the pieces together."

"I--thank you?"

"Quite possibly, you might show your gratitude by spending a bit more time in this country," Lady Graham said. "That thief of a valet would do well in the northern estates."

"Of course, ma'am," Jeff said, resolutely not thinking of all that had happened during the evening, and how none of it made him in the least inclined to spend a minute more than he had to in England.

"See that it does not end here," Lady Graham said. She stood with a sigh, and accepted Jeff's arm as they left the room. "Please tell Fraser I shall retire for the evening." She hesitated at the top of the stairs, speaking without turning around. "I fear you have lost your way, Jeffrey. Not because of whatever ridiculous scandal you've been led to believe embarrassed the family, but because I used to see passion in you, and now..."

"It has been a long war, ma'am," Jeff said, not entirely untruthfully.

"It has, but it is well and over and I should like to see you alive again." She looked at him then, one swift glance that he could not read, and then made her way down the hall to her rooms. Jeff walked wearily down the steps and bade Fraser a good night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jensen had barely breakfasted the next morning when there was a commotion in the front hall and he came out of the morning room to find Taylor supervising both footmen in the unloading of a welter of trunks and portmanteaus, and his younger sister descending from a much muddied and travel-stained coach.

"Jen!" she called, flying up the front steps to cast herself into his arms in an exuberant hug.

"Margaret?" Jensen tried not to sound completely bewildered, but it had been a very long, and for the most part sleepless, night, and he was not at his most astute early in the morning. "What are you doing here?"

"You write the most appallingly lacking letters, dearest, but Danneel has kept me abreast of all your doings and I came to see Miss Bush, for Danneel says she believes her to be your choice and I would meet her before she is my sister."

"Meg," Jensen groaned. "Good God, tell me you did not come from Devonshire alone?"

"Of course not," Margaret said indignantly. "I am not such a gaby as that! I have dear Miss Somerset with me, and Kane rode atop the coach with a pistol in his pocket for our protection. Oh! Miss Somerset!" She turned and hurried back down to the carriage, calling over her shoulder, "She could not sleep well in the carriage, poor thing, but she did not feel it proper for us to spend the night in an inn, so she is quite undone."

"I have set the maids to making up rooms for Lady Margaret and Miss Somerset," Taylor said before Jensen could so much as open his mouth. "MIght I inquire as to whether we should expect his lordship as well?"

"I somehow doubt Lady Margaret received his blessing before she left, so, yes, I'd say that we should be expecting my brother shortly," Jensen said, with a sigh, and went to assist a nearly prostrate with exhaustion Miss Somerset from the carriage and consult with Kane on how long it had taken them to make the journey, trying to determine if it was worth sending John the footman back to Richardson Hall with news of the safe arrival or whether he would merely cross Joshua on the road.

"I left a very clear letter, in my very best handwriting," Margaret protested. "I do not see why Joshua should feel the need to follow me!"

"I'm so very sorry, sir," Miss Somerset said as Jensen insisted she take a seat in front of the small fire. "I begged Lady Margaret to consider her actions a trifle more carefully, but when she declared herself ready to journey alone, I thought it more prudent to accompany her."

"No, no, of course it is not your fault," Jensen soothed, shooting Margaret a glare that she blithely ignored. "I will wager it was you who called Kane, as well, which was most sensible of you." Taylor arrived with tea and toast, with which everyone fortified themselves until the rooms were declared ready and Miss Somerset tottered off to collapse. Margaret, meanwhile, caught Jensen by the arm and sweetly suggested that he could take her riding with him.

"I have an engagement in the City, one that I cannot break," Jensen sighed. His weekly meeting with Kripke had resulted in several fine opportunities; Jensen could reschedule, of course, but time was often of the essence in such matters and he did not wish to miss out if he could help it. "No," he added, fixing his sister with as stern of a stare as possible. "You may not ride out accompanied only by a groom."

"Pffft," Margaret said. "As though Hyde Park were any challenge."

She did not exaggerate: she was a fine rider, a natural horsewoman, but it was still not at all open for discussion and Jensen knew his sister well enough to know that would not mean a thing to her.

"Perhaps you could spend the morning with Danneel," Jensen suggested, and was immediately rewarded with yet another enthusiastic embrace. He sent Margaret off to make herself presentable and made arrangements for a footman to deliver a note to the Ross townhouse asking if it would be acceptable for Margaret to spend the morning. Danneel wrote an immediate invitation, and all was well until Jensen remembered the reason for Margaret's journey in the first place.

"Meg," he said, as they walked the neat streets between Cavendish and Berkeley Squares. "It will soon be all over town, but Miss Bush and I--we will not be marrying."

Jensen wasn't sure of what reaction he might have been expecting but it was certainly not for Margaret to nod thoughtfully and take his arm, saying, "Well, Danneel writes that she is quite lovely and all that is amiable, but... I could not see any sign that she thought the two of you in love. That is why I came, to see for myself before you made an offer and persuade you not to sacrifice yourself."

Fortunately, they had arrived at Berkeley Square, so Jensen did not have to weather a storm of questions--it was more on the scale of a small squall--and Margaret, overcome by the magnificence of Ross's townhouse, managed to behave with decorum as they were shown into the drawing room to wait for Danneel.

"Are you certain it will be all right for me to spend the morning?" Margaret whispered, as she caught sight of the portrait of Danneel in the Grecian ruins. "She is not otherwise engaged?"

"Of course I am not engaged," Danneel said, coming into the room in a flutter of iced pomona green lawn, the Ross pearls as usual at her ears and wrists. "And I should have canceled anything that I might have had, dearest." She embraced Margaret warmly, and Jensen almost missed the brittle edge to her manners. She caught him looking at her, and shook her head very slightly before turning back to Margaret and rushing on. "Good heavens, look at how lovely you've grown--you are going to have them all fighting to the death over a dance with you very shortly."

Margaret relaxed under the familiar attention, and did not seem to notice anything amiss. Jensen stayed long enough to hear plans of a small shopping excursion before taking his leave, Baines showing him to the front door.

"Mr. Ackles," Lord Ross called as he descended the grand staircase into the front hall. "By God, is it not enough that I must hear how delightful it was that you escorted my wife to all and sundry, now I must need see you in my own house before the sun is barely risen?"

His voice was bitter and rancorous, his handsome face marred by the sullen twist to his lips. Jensen knew a certain impatient irritation with the man, who had so much and could not seem to find happiness in it, but he attempted to keep his own voice temperate. "It is early, my lord, to be sure, but my sister visits unexpectedly from Devonshire. As she is very fond of Lady Ross, and Lady Ross my sister, the morning, before any engagements, seemed an excellent time for a call."

Jensen was rewarded for his calm tone by the very aggravation that swept over Ross's features at it. The satisfaction Jensen felt at seeing that deserved an entire Sunday lesson dedicated to its wickedness, and was not at all helped by twin peals of laughter from the drawing room--one clearly that of a young girl, the other easily recognizable as Danneel's--and the sudden abashment in Ross's eyes. It was that embarrassment and its perfect betrayal of Ross's true belief that goaded Jensen into adding, "As for my escorting your wife, I should imagine that would be easily remedied by your own simple presence. Since that would appear to be more exertion than you wish to expend, I can only conclude this entire exercise little more than a Cheltenham drama more worthy of my still-in-the-schoolroom sister than a peer of the realm."

An angry flush reddened the older man's face; his jaw clenched so tight Jensen very nearly could hear his teeth grind together.

"Have a care, sir," Ross ground out as he came down the stairs to stand in front of Jensen, "or you shall be hearing from my second."

"I should be delighted," Jensen snapped in return. "As should any gentleman--" he drew the word out and eyed Ross contemptuously-- "whose sister, be she that only in affection rather than blood, were so insulted."

Ross was ready to answer, Jensen could see it, and marveled a bit at how uncaring he himself was to be facing a challenge, but as he drew breath the door to the drawing room opened, Danneel and Margaret spilling out, still very near to helpless with laughter. It did nothing for Jensen's temper to realize it was as happy as he had seen Danneel in the entirety of his time in town.

"Jensen--we had thought you long since off to your City appointment," Danneel said. "Have a care or we shall kidnap you along with us while we refresh Margaret's ribbons and..." Her voice trailed off as she took in the full import of the scene before her. "What is wrong?"

"Lord Ross is unhappy with the time we spend together," Jensen said, arching an eyebrow at Ross.

Danneel paused for the briefest of moments, but long enough for the light to fade from her face, and it was Jensen's turn to grind his teeth. Before he could say anything, she shrugged lightly and continued on her way toward the staircase.

"How very dog-in-the-manger of you, Ross," she said, affecting carelessness. "I should think you might be happy. After all, you insist your possessions be displayed to their best, and we were often told how striking a couple we made, were we not, Jen? Perhaps we should have listened to everyone and married. We didn't," she said, turning her head to smile at her husband, her smile edged with a bitter mocking, "because as dearly as we love each other, we agreed there could hardly be two people more likely to make each other miserable if forced together."

Struck dumb by the desperate unhappiness in her voice, Jensen could only stand as she gathered her skirts to ascend the staircase. "I wish you will not give another second's thought to it, Jen. Lord Ross has his pretty ornament, and I--" Her voice faltered a second. "I--"

"Danneel," Ross said, and Jensen was at least somewhat satisfied that he looked as thunderstruck as Jensen felt. "I--"

"It is of no matter, Douglas," Danneel said, her voice regaining its strength. Looking at Jensen, she added, "After all, it is a very good match that I made."

She swept by them, calling to Margaret, who stood round-eyed and open-mouthed at the door to the drawing room. "Come, Meg--we shall call for my dresser and see what bits I have that are more suited to your coloring than mine before we try the shops."

She waited on the landing until Margaret skittered past them, sketching a quick curtsy to Lord Ross and pressing her hand to Jensen's in passing. Jensen held himself perfectly still, the anger building inside him, until they disappeared along the upstairs hall and he heard a door close in the distance.

When he brought his gaze back to Ross, though, not hiding his emotions in the least, the marquess only held up his hand and shook his head.

"No, no, you are quite right in your fury, but I swear that is not how it is--how could she think I--" He closed his mouth with a near-audible snap and shook his head again. "I should go to her, should I not?"

He looked to Jensen with more uncertainty than Jensen should have believed possible. It alleviated some of the irritation Jensen felt with him, but that was a deep well, and not one he was likely to ascend from soon. Before Jensen could marshal the energy to answer with at least a pretense of civility, Ross answered his own question.

"No, no, I shouldn't." He ran his hands through his hair, disordering the perfectly arranged waves to the point where Jensen would not have been surprised to hear later that his valet had wept at the sight. "Words are not what's needed here, and neither, I'll be bound, are overwrought and lavish gifts as gestures."

He paced in quick, agitated strides up and down the entry, pausing in front of Jensen as though surprised to find himself not alone. "I should also beg your pardon. I've been appallingly rude, on more than one occasion. I can only offer the explanation that the rapport you share with my wife was the most pointed of reminders of everything I had thought to have and did not."

"It is a friendship born of a thousand of Danneel's ill-advised schemes, and nothing more," Jensen said. He could not quite bring himself to be truly cordial--which was not lost on Ross--but he did manage civility.

"Yes," Ross said, quietly. "Yes, of course--I told myself that, and that whatever else, I could trust Danneel not to be playing me false, but... you are very easy with each other and each reminder made me suffer that I could not find a path to the same."

"She would welcome it," Jensen said, with equal quiet. "She would not have accepted your offer if she did not desire your attentions, no matter what title came with it."

Ross nodded thoughtfully, lost in reverie. Jensen prepared to take his leave; before he could do so, a footman appeared, announcing that the grays were ready, and Ross said, "You had an appointment in the City, I believe? Might I offer you a ride?" He smiled--quite possibly the first genuine smile Jensen had seen from him, if a bit rueful and abashed--and added, "Feel free to send me to the devil."

Jensen remained severely tempted to do just that, but he was late, and Lord Ross's grays would make the trip into the City with far greater speed, not to mention comfort, than any hack Jensen might summon. He was prepared for awkward silence, but traffic was heavy enough that Ross had no attention to spare on idle talk. It was not until Jensen was about to step down in front of Kripke's offices that Ross spoke.

"I must beg of you one more favor." The horses fretted at holding; the groom jumped down and went to their heads, simultaneously calming them and leaving the way clear for a more private conversation, which Jensen had no doubt had been Ross's intention, especially when he added, "As it is in Danneel's best interests, I hope you will not reject me out of hand." He paused long enough for Jensen to nod in agreement. "You attend Lady Jersey's ball tonight--I would ask that you not cut me. If we are seen to be on amiable terms, it will alleviate some of the talk my ill-humor has already fueled."

Jensen did not answer as he stepped down from the phaeton, but once on the street, looked carefully at Ross who returned it with as open a countenance as Jensen had seen on him yet. "For Danneel, my lord," Jensen said eventually, stepping back to allow the groom to remount. Ross let the grays go, and Jensen turned to attend to business.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ferguson took the news of Jeff's desire to depart London with an arched eyebrow and such a bland countenance that Jeff very nearly cracked and invited his opinion, just to avoid what he knew would be weeks of unspoken amusement at his own expense before Ferguson deemed he had suffered long enough and told him in no uncertain terms how much of a dolt he was. Jeff endured a full day and night of it before he sought refuge with Jeremy.

"I'd say I had no idea why you put up with the insolence," Jeremy said, when he apprised himself of the situation, "but between his size and the knife in his boot, I should think he's been more than useful over the years."

Jeff had once, more than a half-dozen years earlier and deep in his cups, let slip the smallest of intimations of his occupations. Jeremy had seized upon it, and quietly and carefully put together enough pieces of the true story to stun Jeff with it the following year. Kept me quite entertained, sorting out what I knew of your whereabouts and what Castlereagh's people were up to at the same time. Nearly gave m'father a convulsion, seeing me read the paper. Worth every bit of time I put in it right there.

They did not speak of it, not once Jeremy saw the truth of it in Jeff's eyes, but it was something, knowing that at least someone other than Ferguson knew what Jeff was about. As it was also a premonishment of how even the slightest hint could be his unraveling, Jeff had redoubled his efforts to deflect notice from his activities, taking the greatest care to only expose those parts of his life that would support the impression of the rakehell lost son of the family, interested in little more than horses and whatever game of chance might cross his path.

No one, not even Ferguson, knew of the accounts that held the monies Jeff had accrued over the years, payments for the information he collected. Ferguson had his own stockpiles, of course; half of everything Jeff had received since the day he'd insinuated himself into Jeff's life, but no one was better at keeping his cash at the ready and asking no questions than a man who'd carved a life from grim beginnings on the mean streets of Edinburgh out of little more than his wits and having nothing left to fear.

There was little Jeff could say to answer Jeremy, not least because they were seated in a fashionable coffeehouse with tables set convivially close together. He settled for raising an eyebrow in agreement; it was true enough that Ferguson had proven himself indispensable a dozen times over. He was as quick with his fists as Jeff was himself, and if Jeff was a better shot, Ferguson had few qualms about using the knife in his boot to its best advantage. The fact that he could play a bang-on imitation of a gentleman's gentleman added a special touch that Jeff tried very hard not to think about, for fear of inciting a paradox of Euclidean proportions and the headache to go along with it.

"So he's not approving of this removal to Italy, eh?" Jeremy eyed Jeff with some amusement. "I should imagine he has his reasons."

"I should imagine he does," Jeff said, a trifle testy at the undertone to Jeremy's words, the one that implied Jeremy not only knew Ferguson's reasons, but heartily agreed with them.

Jeremy kept his silence on the topic after that, turning the conversation to the latest on dits, touching lightly upon the subject of Sophia and Major Freeman--"By God, Jeff, the ladies are swooning at the romance of it all"-- before dwelling with a touch more indecorous amusement at the apparent rapprochement between Lord and Lady Ross.

"Not one waltz was struck up that Ross did not claim for his own with his lovely marchioness, not one, Jeffrey, and he made a point of especial civility toward Ackles in between, so that I must consider what additional arrangements might have been made."

With any other person, Jeremy would have affected an enthrallment at the possibilities; with Jeff, he merely arched an eyebrow and grinned lazily, as though he knew how ridiculous Jeff found his gossip. Not the facts--Jeff knew Jeremy was top-notch at finding every detail--but that was only half the entertainment value.

At Jeff's less than agreeable expression--and what Jeremy might make of that, Jeff did not want to think, other than to hope that he was not happy that someone so recently attached to his own cousin might be a part of a less savory "arrangement"--Jeremy shifted to a digression on fisticuffs, a soothing if bland stream of gossip and boxing cant that filled the jagged edges of things unsaid. It was not until after they'd paid their tab and taken their leave, making their way toward Jeff's rooms, the bustle of the streets effectively rendering their conversation private, that Jeremy said, "Italy is all well and good, and I can conceive that you must miss it, but have a care you're not confusing what's gone before with what is now."

With that singularly unhelpful comment he took his leave of Jeff, declaring he was promised to accompany his mother in calling on a vapid old aunt and he'd be sure to let Jeff know if he survived the obligation. Jeff stood in front of the tall, narrow house where he'd been taking rooms since his first return to London and debated his options. Ferguson would be in full leave-taking mode, tearing through all the bits and pieces they'd managed to accumulate in a few months in an effort to organize before packing. Jeff should, by rights, be making his own arrangements, finding buyers for the horses he'd not be bringing back to Italy with him, and settling outstanding accounts with sundry tradesmen. Instead, he found himself taking the short walk to Cavendish Square. He had not the slightest idea of what he might say, except that possibly Jeremy had spoken the truth, and the past with Robert was not the present.

Even with Jeremy's lazy surety ringing in his ears, Jeff could not entirely believe himself to be so fortunate. Jensen had had an entire day to think through his actions; that Jeff had not heard from him began to take on a less benign countenance than Jeff had previously been able to cast upon it. Despite his increasing sureness he continued on, not pausing until he rounded the final corner and beheld a flurry of activity in front of Jensen's house.

A muddy and travel-stained coach-and-four stood in front of the gate, the horses well-blown and equally muddy, and there was much commotion as the front door opened and a young girl, still in the schoolroom to judge from the flying hair and skirts, came tearing past footmen and butler to greet the neatly dressed country gentleman descending from the coach. Her demeanor was equal parts welcome and remonstration and was returned in like. Jensen followed at a slightly more sedate pace, but still clearly welcoming; and even from across the square Jeff could see the family resemblance.

Jeff could not deny how clear the affection was between the three; even with the scolding being administered, there was much laughter and teasing. Jeff stood on the corner and forced himself to acknowledge that whether or not Jensen regretted the intimacies he'd initiated with Jeff, he had come to London to find a wealthy wife, and for reasons that had everything to do with the love he saw before him. Jeff could not see Jensen breaking with that duty, or, more importantly, finding happiness or self-respect if he did. Jeff would not be the one who brought that down on Jensen. With that thought, he turned back to begin his preparations to leave.

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One || Two || Three || Four || Five

Epilogue