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An Uncommon Season, 5/6
Jensen was quite happy to see Joshua--truly, he held his brother in great affection--but between Margaret's arrival and the unexpected dramas at Danneel's, the time spent reviewing opportunities with Kripke, and a long night at Lady Jersey's ball confounding the gossips, Joshua arriving on the doorstep meant another day was fading toward dusk and he was no nearer to understanding what had possessed him to act as he had with Jeff Morgan than he had been when he had done it. Dinner this evening was to be en famille, and thus early, though Meg would complain vociferously of not being able to follow town fashions, but Jensen knew that Joshua would invite his company for a few hands of faro at White's after, and another evening would be past.
It did, indeed, happen much that way. Jensen focused his attention on his family as best he could, but as much as Joshua's enthusiasm over such improvements to the estates as he'd been able to accomplish in the last months cheered him to see, the conversation still centered on how best to administer farmlands. It was not something Jensen had ever enjoyed, and now, with the added distraction of needing to puzzle out exactly what had happened in that small, private room at Mrs. Parker's, Jensen was very nearly done in by how very much he did not care what might best be grown where.
Jensen was promised to call on Sophia the next afternoon; he half-hoped, half-feared he might see Jeff while at Lady Graham's--feared, because he could not begin to decide what he might say; hoped, because he found that each time he contemplated seeing Jeff again, it was with the greatest of anticipation.
The whole of the next morning was nothing but wasted time; Jensen could not focus his attention on any single thing long enough to think two coherent thoughts about it. Margaret, he knew, felt this was due to the unease he must naturally feel in calling on the young lady to whom he had been so close to proposing. She was much given to sympathetic looks and what she believed to be cheering advice, and since Jensen could not admit the truth--that it was not Miss Bush but her cousin who was disordering his thinking--he was forced to suffer her tender ministrations throughout the morning.
It was with the greatest of relief that Jensen escaped the house after a light luncheon and made his way along the leafy streets to Grosvenor Square. The sounds of a piano filled the house as a footman led him up the stairs. Sophia looked up from the pianoforte as the double doors opened, and even from across the drawing room, Jensen could see the happiness in her eyes. She crossed the room quickly and took both his hands in hers, and Jensen could not help but be happy for her as well.
"I am so glad you felt you could come," Sophia said. "I should not have blamed you if you decided you wanted nothing more to do with me, not after the dreadful scene I caused."
"I cannot think of anyone who had a better cause for such emotion." Jensen pressed her hands in his, and followed her to the settee. Fraser arrived with tea, and in the jumble of explanations and plans and details, Jensen was able to ignore that he was listening for Jeff Morgan's voice even as he was describing the sudden upheaval of both his siblings joining him in town and Collins near-apoplexy at the state of Joshua's wardrobe.
"He is almost resigned to my uncaring and unfeeling attitude--I am, after all, only the younger brother, and I do deeply appreciate whatever magic he works on my boots. That the earl himself is completely indifferent is like a mortal blow. He has been heard muttering about standards and setting examples."
"Well, I am very grateful you are not a Dandy--they are most ridiculous to see, with their shirt points so high they cannot turn their heads and their stripes and polka dots enough to give one a headache. My cousin wears only--oh!"
Sophia jumped to her feet and hurried to the small desk under the window. "My cousin--I had completely forgotten to tell you. He has decided to return to Italy--most suddenly, and I am certain Lady Graham is very unhappy with him, but he left me this letter for you, as he said he knew that you would be calling on me. "
The letter Sophia handed him had his initials written in bold, heavy strokes; when he broke the seal, the note inside was nearly as minimal, only asking him to call on a Mr. Somerset at Hoare's Bank at Temple Bar at his earliest convenience. Jensen stared at the paper as though he had mislaid a part of it, but no, he had it all. It was simply that there was nothing of the personal about it: no hint that the writer and the reader had been anything but acquaintances, not the slightest implication of intimacies shared in a small private room.
When he finally looked up from the paper, Sophia was watching him, a small, worried crease between her eyes. "Jeffrey was most... distracted as he entrusted me with this," she said. "He said that had you any questions, they would be answered in the interview. You do not think there is anything wrong, do you?"
"No," Jensen responded automatically, and not altogether untruthfully. No matter his personal issues, and no matter that he could not imagine why he was being asked to meet with a banker, he had no feel for anything ill coming of it.
"Perhaps my cousin has some commission for you to execute," Sophia offered, doubtfully. "He did take his leave abruptly."
"Yes," Jensen answered. "Yes, of course." He put as good a face as possible on it, and though Sophia did not seem wholly taken in by his attempt, she did him the courtesy of changing the subject to an innocuous topic, and a few moments later, when Jensen begged leave to go, she did not press him to linger, merely pressed her hand to his and offered him her thanks once again.
Outside the house Jensen hesitated, but did finally decide that delaying the appointment would not be helpful. He found a cab and made his way into the City. He was not sure what he expected, but it was not to be ushered into a well-appointed office immediately upon giving his name. He was greeted by a distinguished senior partner who, after exchanging pleasantries regarding the weather and other sundry topics, opened several files and said, "I'm given to understand that you both have a personal account with us, and that you are authorized to draw on the earl, your brother's, account." When Jensen confirmed the information, he continued, "In light of the particular circumstances here, I did not wish to assume to which account the monies are to be deposited."
He looked up, clearly expecting Jensen to have an answer at the ready; his pen poised to record it. "Should you wish to use an account at a different bank, it would mean a slight delay but we would, of course, be happy to accommodate your requirements," he assured Jensen.
"I--beg your pardon," Jensen said, after a long moment in which the words he'd just heard refused to resolve themselves into those that made sense. "Monies?"
"The ten thousand pounds to be transferred from Mr. Morgan's account." There was more; Jensen heard vague noises that he could identify as words, but he could not have repeated them, not even at swordpoint.
After a certain amount of confusion on Jensen's part, and consternation on the part of the several partners who flooded into, and then out of, the small office--confusion including Jensen examining the sparsely worded but specific instructions Jeff had left with the bank--there was in fact nothing more to be done. The bank held instructions for a legitimate transfer, such instructions having been issued in person to a senior partner, as well as confirmed in writing. When Jensen asked what possible reason might have been given for the transaction, he was met with stiff, somewhat offended assurances that the partners of Hoare's would not presume to inquire into the personal matters behind any financial transaction.
They did, however, have a note addressed to Jensen, and sealed with a signet crest that matched the ring Jensen knew Jeff wore on the small finger of his right hand. The partners withdrew that Jensen might read in privacy, but when he broke the seal he found inside but a single sheet of paper that read I've no doubt you'll use it well, signed with a strong, heavy JDM.
In the end, they left it that the entire sum would be deposited in Jensen's private account, the bank awaiting any further instructions from him as to the disposal of same, and Jensen found himself back out on the street a bare forty minutes after he had walked into the building, as confounded as he had ever been in his life. He stood in front of the bank long enough that a cabbie nearby called to him, offering him a ride.
As he could easily imagine ending his day in the Thames given his distraction, Jensen took the man up on his offer and spent the time to Cavendish Square lost in thought. He was no closer to any sort of clarity when the cabbie pulled up outside his house, and could only be thankful when Taylor informed him that Joshua had taken Margaret to see a performance at Astley's Amphitheater and for a celebratory supper following. He himself asked for a light dinner on a tray in the study and withdrew to try once again to make sense of the afternoon. He had not gotten far--in fact, had gotten precisely nowhere--when there came a knock on the front door, and he heard Jared greeting Taylor.
"In the study?" Jared's voice was coming closer, as though he was bounding up the stairs. "I'll announce myself," he said, as he opened the door. "Jen, I have news of the best sor--" He stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Jensen, who supposed he must present quite a sight after some hour of pacing and having stripped off his coat and neckcloth. "By God, Jen, what has happened?"
"No one has died," Jensen said. "But beyond that, I could not begin to tell you."
"Try," Jared answered, as put out as Jensen had ever seen him. He splashed brandy into two glasses and rang for Taylor, desiring him to send up more food. Eyeing the brandy, Taylor suggested a platter of such breads and cold meats and cheeses as could be found in the kitchen. Swallowing quickly around the burn of the liquor, Jensen could only agree. Throwing himself into a wingback chair in front of the fire, Jared held his peace until the food was brought and Taylor withdrew, and then fixed Jensen with a glare.
"Now, Jen."
Jensen told it as best he could: the letter Sophia had given him, the warm reception from the partners at Hoare's, the instructions they had, the brief note enclosed therein. It was not until Jared said, musing, "I had not thought you so close," that Jensen realized he had not given any consideration to how he might explain so extraordinary a gift.
"I--we--" Jensen floundered for words, and to his horror, felt his face heat, and knew he was flushing deeply, his fair skin allowing no part of his mortification to pass unnoticed. He turned away from Jared, not particularly wanting to see his reaction, expecting at the very least for Jared to leave. He could not think of what other--far worse--reactions Jared might have, but Jared was only silent for a long while, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and uncharacteristically subdued.
"I joined the Third as a cornet just as the Duke--he was Wellesley, then--brought his focus on taking Spain. We fought several skirmishes--I can't even remember the names now--and then we were at Ciudad Rodrigo, in support. It was a hard-fought battle and I thought myself well-blooded, at least until the following weeks when we were seconded to Badajos, to fortify Craufurd's Light in the assault." He paused and Jensen heard him swallow hard.
"They said Wellington wept on the field as the sun rose and all was revealed," Jensen said quietly. The French had known the assault was coming; they had spent their time well, fortifying the walls, creating deadly hazards in the ditches in front of them. The assault had commenced during the night, hoping for surprise, but the Light Division had been very nearly annihilated, losing nearly half their numbers in an hour. They fought on; it was victory but at a horrific cost.
"I have heard that, too," Jared said. "I--cannot tell you how I came through that night. I cannot tell you how many of my own men I rode over as they fell, because to stop would be to lose everything. When Craufurd finally took the walls, the blood ran like a river in the ditches in front of them. I--" He stopped again, but only briefly, and when he spoke again, his voice was firm. "I swore that morning I would not waste any minute of what I had been given. We wear the honors for Salamanca and Vittoria, but Badajos is where I count my life defined."
Jared stood but did not otherwise move, neither toward Jensen nor toward the door. "I tell you this not to take away from your cares but to impress upon you how little I hold with what others say is right or wrong. Whatever you might wish to divulge, I will hold it commended."
Jensen remained still; in truth, he was somewhat overwhelmed by all that Jared was offering, and how easily he offered it. He and Danneel had shared much when they were young, but in his life, Jensen could not think of another man who had so offered.
"You will not shock me," Jared said, very, very quietly. "You will not disgust me or cause me to revile you. Not with anything you might say."
"I could not begin to tell you what it is between us," Jensen said finally. "Not because I lack faith in you, but because I cannot work it out in my own head to start." Jared nodded and took his seat again, and Jensen resumed pacing, but more slowly and thoughtfully. "I should not allow it to matter, what is between us. It should not affect what I might do with the money."
"Do you intend to keep it?"
"The bank has instructions not to accept a deposit of any kind not from Morgan himself," Jensen answered, and Jared grinned.
"No detail left unaddressed, eh?"
"Apparently not, save the one that explains what the blasted man meant by it all."
"He meant for you to shed the duty you bear," Jared said, in the patient tone one might use on a child, and then when Jensen did not know how to answer, added, "Must I truly explain what that means to you? I should think that beauty in your stables speaks for his intentions, much less ten thousand pounds."
"Yes, fine. Perhaps it does," Jensen snapped, feeling his face flush yet again as Jared collapsed into a chair and threw back his head to laugh. Jensen supposed he did cut a fine figure of obliviousness, but he did not think it was worth quite the enjoyment Jared was getting from it. And it was all very well and good, this grand gesture that Jeff had made, but it did not play out as simply as Jared might seem to think.
"Jared." Jensen waited with ill-concealed impatience. "Jared, only listen for a minute and answer me this dilemma and then you may have your entertainment at my expense for as long as you wish."
Jared composed himself with some difficulty and gestured to Jensen to go on.
"Since you have all the answers this evening, tell me this: should I keep the money--and how can I not, with the burdens it will lift--it relieves me of the need to marry, but... I cannot go to him with that debt between us."
"I cannot think it will matter," Jared said, sobering completely and giving the matter his attention. Jensen was once again grateful for Jared's easy acceptance. "He has already set his declaration--"
"No," Jensen said, thinking of the quick self-loathing in Jeff's voice, and even of the nature of this gift, one that was delivered by proxy, as if the giver was unworthy. He remained unsure of the precise nature of the relationship between Jeff and Sir Robert, but he understood enough to know that Sir Robert had traded upon a personal connection for his own gain, and he could very easily see how that had marked Jeff. "Please believe me when I say that it will be an obstacle."
"But one that you might overcome," Jared said, firmly. "You have his trust, do you not? It might take some time, but I have faith that you would persevere."
Jared stared at Jensen with such confidence and conviction that Jensen could not find the heart to debate him. "Perhaps," Jensen said, and then, before Jared could continue, introduced another topic. "But you said you had news? When you first arrived, before we became embroiled in my day's excitement."
"Oh!" Jared leaped to his feet, and bowed with a flourish. "You have the honor to be addressing the gentleman deemed acceptable by Lord Dersingham to offer marriage to his only daughter, Miss Genevieve Cortese."
"Famous news," Jensen exclaimed. "Surely you can have no doubts as to how she will welcome such an offer?"
"We have not discussed it," Jared said, and Jensen could not help but snort, no matter how inelegant it might sound. "Not in any specific detail," Jared amended, with a rueful grin. "I could not, not until I knew her father might accept me."
"Of course," Jensen allowed. "Had you doubts there?"
"I have land here, a rich enough estate, but only a few cousins on my mother's side. My family is on the Continent--I did not know if her father might object to her marrying someone who by necessity might spend much time elsewhere."
"But now that you have his blessing?"
"I can address her formally," Jared said, with a wide, happy smile. "I have plans to do just that, on the day after tomorrow."
"Two days?" Jensen said dryly. "I am amazed at your restraint. Should I rather be sending for a doctor?"
"Well, I am somewhat occupied on the morrow, since Morecomb has finally completed his arrangements and I can fulfill our wager," Jared said, his smile turning into something sharp and predatory. "I am expecting to finance a very handsome wedding trip. Very handsome."
"You are quite confident," Jensen said, laughing. "Too confident, perhaps?"
"It is a pleasure ride, Jensen."
"To the coast and back!"
"No one will be shooting at me," Jared countered. "It is summer--there is no snow and we are not in the mountains of Spain and Portugal. Diablo is bored, itching to be out and moving." From how Jared was prowling around the room, Jensen did not think Diablo was the only one of that pair who was itching to be on the move. "Morecomb is an idiot," Jared continued, "the kind who sat in his gentleman's club and thought that Napoleon defeated himself, that Wellington did nothing, and the men he commanded spent their time polishing their buttons and dicing. I'll wager he thinks our final march to be unconscionably slow; that taking forty days to move a thousand men and horses across all of France was insupportable."
"The Hussars do have uncommonly fine uniforms," Jensen said, with as much of an innocent air as he could muster. "I should have to think they are worthy of being kept in good order."
"Well," Jared said. "We did spend some of our time attending to them." He ran his hands through his hair. "And I might have played at hazard a time or two."
"There, you see? He is not completely a dolt."
"No," Jared said cheerfully. "Just enough of one to counter all offers. Luckily, his father's pockets are deep, for he will be paying long into the summer on this one. Murray made the trip out to the family estates to cadge an extra bit from his mother, which means that I now fear leaving her in penury should anything untoward happen. Which it will not, but the thought is there."
"It would still not be a ridiculous idea to sleep before this pleasure ride," Jensen said firmly. "Yes, I know, I am impugning the honor of the King's Own Hussars; you may have your second call on me once you have won your bet and made your intentions toward Genevieve known to her."
"And planned my wedding trip," Jared added.
"Yes, well, with that ambitious agenda, I will not worry if I don't hear from Mr. Murray before next week," Jensen said, walking down the grand staircase with Jared.
"You'll be there in the morning, yes?" Jared paused at the door, somewhat serious again. "I leave at dawn or a little before; it is a pleasure ride, yes, but there is no sense in not taking all the time owed to me."
"Yes," Jensen sighed, thinking of his very comfortable bed and how little he had slept in it lately. "Of course, I'll be there to see you off."
"Excellent," Jared said. "And Jen, do not think me unaware of how neatly you changed our subject earlier. We have not exhausted that topic or the strategies you might employ."
"You have much to accomplish in the next few days," Jensen said. "Your focus should be on your own life."
"See, you do it again," Jared said. "I am nothing if not stubborn; do not waste your time trying to distract me."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Jensen lied, with so pious an expression as to be ridiculous. Jared laughed and clapped him on the back, departing with a admonishment to arrive early the next morning for the added sport of counting how many gentlemen of the ton might beat a hasty retreat from Diablo taking offense at their cravats and waistcoats.
Jensen stepped back to allow the footman to close the door and retreated to his own room to take stock of everything the day had wrought. Collins appeared before Jensen could ring for him, collecting his boots for their nightly caretaking ritual, and receiving the news of Jensen's pre-sunrise appointment with the usual imperturbable nod.
"Have you plans beyond seeing Captain Padalecki off?" Collins asked, carefully considering Jensen's wardrobe. Jensen was not surprised to see the coat he had discarded in the drawing room had already been retrieved and had been set aside for Collins to assess the damage Jensen had done to it by stripping it off himself. He was also not surprised that Collins was au courant with Jensen's early morning plans; it was part and parcel of his talent at being indispensable, Jensen supposed.
"I'm to take Lady Margaret riding in the afternoon, most probably with Lady Ross," Jensen answered. Collins nodded, as if Jensen were confirming what he already knew.
"As Miss Somerset's focus is turned more toward Lady Margaret's education and deportment--as it should be--and there is no lady of the house to loan her a dresser, I took the liberty of pressing Lady Margaret's riding habit, and refreshing it a bit with some of the ribbons Lady Ross sent home with her."
"That is--very kind of you," Jensen said, somewhat astonished. In his experience, gentlemen's gentlemen of Collins's caliber did not lower themselves to notice the clothing of a girl still in the schoolroom, let alone take it upon themselves to care for it. "Is there no end to your talent, Collins?"
"One's path through life is not always predictable," Collins said, setting aside the bottle green jacket and a pair of riding breeches. "Limiting oneself to what should be done, because it has always been done that way, rather than what can be done has the unfortunate effect of circumscribing one's options." He paused and one corner of his mouth quirked into an almost smile. "All of which is to say that during one unfortunate period in my life, the best possible employment was as an assistant to a modiste. It was," he added thoughtfully, "more than a bit better than starving, and I have never quite lost the knack of accessorizing a lady's ensemble."
With that, he reverted to his imperturbable mien and, having gathered the articles of clothing to which he felt he needed to attend, departed.
It was, Jensen decided after some reflection, probably best if he treated such an extraordinary confession from his most correct of valets as simply one more oddity in a series of days filled with the same. It must, in fact, take its place well behind the other events of the week, those about which Jensen must come to some kind of decision, if only that he might find peace of mind.
First and foremost, of course, was the money. Ten thousand pounds was a substantial sum, one that could fulfill any number of pressing needs of the family, everything from providing Margaret with a dowry to clearing some of the remaining mortgages to allowing certain improvements upon the estate to happen much more quickly than otherwise would be possible, thus hastening the overarching goal of returning the lands to the capacities that several generations of neglect had wrought havoc upon.
Jensen could not, in good conscience, accept such a gift--yet how could he refuse it? It would allow him to bring about everything he had set himself to right, and leave him free to pursue his own life. The crowning irony, of course, was that he could have that, but not Jeff, regardless of what Jared thought was possible. If he did not accept the money he could perhaps forge a life that included Jeff, but at a cost to his family he was not certain he could accept.
It was a maddening circle and one that Jensen could see no way to escape, and it was all the more frustrating in that it should have done nothing but make him happy. Indeed, three months earlier, in the library at Richardson Hall, had Jensen heard the news that ten thousand pounds had arrived in the estate's accounts without the need for him to marry, he would have been well-satisfied with his life. Now, he could only look at it and see all that he could not have.
And that, he decided, made him sound as if he were still in the nursery, stamping his feet and sulking over a treat denied.
If he convinced Joshua to invest part of the windfall in something other than bonds, he could make up the difference in... He found pen and paper and worked out an ambitious schedule based on Kripke's most optimistic projections, and even if he suffered no reverses it was still the better part of a decade. He was tempted to seek out some of the better vintages the Black Earl had left, but all that did was serve to remind him of everything his grandfather hadn't left, and he was back to sounding like a child again.
He could take Jared's advice and go to Jeff regardless; do his best to convince Jeff that he was not there out of any sense of obligation. He might be able to make Jeff believe that, but if he could not, it would mean an ugly end, and he thought he would rather never have the chance than see it end in such a way.
The sky had long since been dark; Jensen had vaguely been aware of the voices and clatter that signaled his siblings' return from their theater outing. All was quiet now, for all that it was not late by town standards. Jensen could hear the soft sounds of Collins in the dressing room that adjoined Jensen's bedroom, preparing for the following day, and a mad plan, born of Jensen knew not what, began to edge itself into his mind.
He had money, yet needed more. Doing things the way they had always been done would not work in this instance; Jensen was in need of actions not limited by how things should be. This plan--no, Jensen could not even call it a plan. This idea--it was not limited by what should be. Of that much Jensen was certain. It was madness, yet the more Jensen turned it over in his mind, the less the voice he listened to at the faro table, at his desk reviewing investments, objected. Before he could find a reason to be bound by what should be and not live by what could be, Jensen went to ask Collins to lay out clothing for the rest of the evening, and on his way out of the house he paused in front of the portrait of the Black Earl and thought perhaps he had inherited some of that madness after all.
Dover was not Jeff's most favorite port. Not even twenty years had completely dulled the fury and humiliation and fear that had accompanied his first visit there, with his uncle's words of shame and ignominy still thundering in his ears. It was long past, true, and Jeff could say in all honesty that he had grown past the unthinking reactions of a callow youth, but some echoes still lingered in his life, and there was no place that brought them out more than Dover.
Normally, they would spend no more than a few days in port; Jeff was not particular about the ship upon which they might sail, nor the destination. No matter where they landed, it was easy enough to hire transportation overland. On this occasion, with Jeff electing to leave London quickly and thus not wishing to spend the time to sell the pair of chestnuts he'd bought, he was forced to be more selective, and the rooms he'd rented began to take on the air of settled living. It was not providing much of a salubrious effect on his already frayed state of mind.
Ferguson, never one to let Jeff's moods interfere with his own life, took full advantage of the time to further the comfortable arrangement he'd formed in years previous with a widow who ran a small boarding house not far from the docks. When Jeff growled that he was beginning to question why he paid a salary to Ferguson at all, given the amount of time he spent elsewhere, the generally imperturbable Scot drew himself to his full height and, leveling a flat glare at Jeff, inquired as to whether Mr. Morgan was truly wishing to visit the topic of Ferguson's hours and duties with respect to the wages he had been paid over the years.
Jeff glared back, but somehow managed to rein in the thoroughly disagreeable and completely immoderate reply. Ferguson allowed the cold silence to build until it was apparent that he had made the point he'd wished to make, and then took himself off to visit his lady friend, leaving Jeff to stalk and mutter about the room and frighten the somewhat simple maid with his brusque replies to her questions, so much so that he felt it necessary to forward his apologies through the innkeeper and leave a generous tip for the girl.
Given his general lack of civility, dinner brought up to the rooms seemed to be the course to set for the evening; he wasn't surprised to find the innkeeper's wife supervising and eyeing him with an expression that said she'd brook no ill-tempered outbursts in her presence. She delivered a fine meal, though, and Jeff, somewhat to his own surprise, eschewed the ale that had accompanied the food and generally sorted himself into some level of clear-headed rationality.
It was no use ignoring his foul temper; as Mary-Louise had so pointedly reminded him, pretending wouldn't do anything but prolong the misery. At the very least, he was done with London and on his way back to Italy, and, for the first time, it truly felt as though he was returning to his home, rather than someplace he only called that. And, whatever else about his time in London that had not proceeded as he might have wished, his grandmother's wholly unexpected acknowledgement of his actions during the war settled something so long ago disturbed he had forgotten he had even been carrying it until it had been set down again.
As for the other events of this most recent trip, he had not enjoyed anything beyond the most casual of connections for some years, to the point that it was quite astonishing to realize he was still capable of wanting more. It was perhaps even more astonishing--and deeply gratifying--to also realize that he had not repeated the arrogant and careless displays of temper that had last accompanied deeper feelings, even if he hadn't handled himself with what might be deemed stellar restraint. Still, he counted it as progress. By the time the he was on his deathbed, Jeff mused, he might actually have achieved some level of self-mastery, possibly even enough to be counted as acceptable for society as a whole.
A knock sounded at the door; the innkeeper's wife, no doubt, returning to make certain Jeff had not done damage to her crockery. Given that she had allowed him the barest minimum of time to finish his meal, Jeff did not feel the need to pretend any more than the barest of geniality as he opened the door. Instead of that good woman, though, Jeff found himself face-to-face with a tired- and irritable-looking Jensen, a sight so unexpected he could only gape.
"If you are expecting some sort of clever greeting," Jensen said, "I should warn you that as efficiently as the mail coaches run, it is nearly impossible to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time on them and I am far more likely to fall asleep against the wall."
"Most travelers break their journeys at an inn," Jeff said, recovering enough to step back out of the way. Jensen's caped greatcoat was damp from the fog, and his eyes, though tired, were brilliantly green in the slight pallor of his face. Jeff poured the ale he had not tasted during his supper and Jensen seized upon it with a grateful sigh.
"Most travelers," he answered, after a long draught, "are not trying to catch errant benefactors before they disappear to the Continent."
"I didn't intend for you to--"
Jensen interrupted snappishly. "Did you suppose I might merely accept your gift--ten thousand pounds, Jeff? Do you have no sense at all? I know you cannot have pockets so deep as to part with that kind of money without noticing, but even if you had, did you actually think I might take it and do nothing but think fondly of you?"
"I can assure you that I did not beggar myself," Jeff said, just as shortly, and with the barest of hopes that Jensen might be distracted enough by his tone to pass by exactly how much Jeff had not answered his true question. Truthfully, Jeff hadn't thought about it at all, not once the idea had presented itself. To think about how Jensen might have reacted would have meant not only acknowledging his own course of action, but also the reasons behind it and the futility of the entire enterprise. It was much easier to act, not think, which might actually describe his life to date.
"While I am," Jensen said, putting down his glass of ale and reaching into his coat, "exceedingly gratified to hear that--and exceedingly grateful for your offer in the first place--I cannot in truth accept it." He placed a folded and sealed paper on the table, one that Jeff recognized as the original written instruction to Hoare's. There was a second paper along with it, one that Jeff could see was a draft made out to his account.
"It's nothing that I want," Jeff said quietly. "Nothing that I need."
"Jeff," Jensen said, his voice hoarse and rough with emotion. "I cannot." Jeff stared at the paper, marshaling his thoughts for one last attempt at persuasion, and Jensen's voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "Do not put me under that obligation to you."
He met Jeff's eyes with a barely disguised look of pleading, desperate enough that Jeff could not ignore it. He closed his eyes and took the paper, turning away from the table and fumbling at the leather satchel where he kept his important papers. He would burn it later, he decided; remove all evidence. When he turned back, Jensen had sunk into the chair next to the table, tension and strain leaching out of him.
"Thank you," Jensen murmured, not smiling, but looking at Jeff with eyes that were clear and brilliant. "Both for the original intent and for understanding now."
"As one necessitated being canceled by the other, I'm not certain I've done anything worth being thanked for," Jeff said. "You're welcome," he added, deciding he sounded at best truculent, and at worst, like the sulking child he still felt lived inside him.
Jensen nodded once, and the silence that descended was more easy than Jeff might have imagined. The room faced out over the front door of the inn, several stories below, and the sounds of the street, still busy even this long past sunset, filtered through the rough glass and wood of the windows.
"It was never my intention to put you in my debt," Jeff said. A part of him insisted he should simply pretend he had never been struck by the mad notion in the first place, and he was not certain it was not right, but he did need Jensen to understand at least as much as that.
"I believe you did not mean for it to happen, but it could not help but play out that way."
"I would not have pressed any such debt; you would never have even seen me--"
Jensen set the tankard down sharply, cutting Jeff off, but did not speak at once. "That was too high a price," he said, eventually. "One I found I didn't wish to pay. I would see you again, Jeff--"
"And you think I've a taste for standing in the shadows, waiting for what little attention you can spare from the one you are obligated to?" Jeff could barely choke the words out past the heaviness in his chest, his throat, past the weight of bitterness still left from the years he'd done just that.
"I do not!" Jensen answered, with some indignation, enough that Jeff almost laughed at how outraged he was on Jeff's behalf, as though Jeff hadn't wasted half his life chasing something so unworthy.
You would be wrong, Jeff wanted to tell him, should tell him, but if the past had weighed on him heavily before, it was truly suffocating now, and he couldn't speak.
"Jeff," Jensen was saying. "Jeff. I did not come here solely to return your gift--I came…" His voice trailed off, and for the first time, he looked uncertain, but he breathed in deeply and continued. "I came to--I come to you."
"Jensen," Jeff said, as gently as he knew how. "I--as much as you cannot be indebted to me, I cannot be the reason you turn away from your family."
"Oh, I am not," Jensen said. "I--" He stopped, and with astonishment, Jeff realized Jensen was blushing, his freckles all but lost in the sudden flush of red on his face. "I took the money you gave me and I doubled it in a wager, so that I could have everything I wanted."
"You," Jeff started. He shook his head incredulously; surely he had not heard correctly. "You bet with that money? All of it?" His voice had risen to a near shout by the end, and Jensen's eyes flashed in response.
"For someone who so casually throws his money about, it would appear you have quite the attachment to it after all," he said evenly.
"I gave it to you so that, so that you… would not be constrained by your grandfather's idiocies. I had no idea you followed so closely in his path." Jeff was still shouting; Jensen had risen to his feet by the end of the tirade, not giving Jeff so much as an inch.
"If I recall correctly, you enjoyed watching me on that path at the faro table," Jensen said, in something close to a hiss. "You enjoyed playing alongside me, did you not?"
"Ten thousand pounds, Jensen. Ten thousand."
"I am quite aware of the amount, Jeff." Jensen's jaw was set, and his shoulders were equally tense. "It was my life on that line, so, yes, I bloody well know how much I put up." He stopped and breathed in carefully, and when he met Jeff's eyes again, it was with the cool, detached, faintly mocking look that Jeff knew meant he was already stepping back, already distancing himself. "You gave me the means to take care of those I loved, but if I did that, I could not have you. It was… a compromise, and one I did not much like. I thought it worth the risk not to have to make it."
He reached for his coat, preparing to leave, Jeff realized, and his voice grew even more distant as pushed his arms into the sleeves. "I apologize if I was mistaken in interpreting the reasons you started this in the first place, or if I've assumed too much, or if you find my actions unforgiv--"
Before Jensen could take even so much as a single step toward the door, Jeff reached for him, cutting off the rest of his speech with a kiss that was less practiced or polished and more a crashing wave of high emotion. Jensen met him equally, his cool detachment no more than a mask that Jeff was more than happy to sweep out of the way, even as he pulled Jensen closer, his hands sliding under greatcoat and jacket and waistcoat, pulling impatiently at the fine linen of Jensen's shirt and stopping only at the sudden shock of feeling warm, soft skin against his fingertips.
"Jeff," Jensen was saying, breathless and longing. "Jeff." His eyes were dazed, the green all but swallowed by the dark, enormous pupil, and his mouth was already reddened and swollen. Jeff could not resist; groaning, he captured it again, kissing it more roughly than he intended, Jensen once more matching him in intensity.
With the greatest of difficulty Jeff forced himself to stop, to tear his mouth away from Jensen's, to step back and think rather than throw himself headlong into this, dragging Jensen with him. Jensen sighed his name out once again, and Jeff very nearly lost all his good intentions.
"Jen," he whispered, far closer to a whine than he might have wished, except that Jensen did not gloat or revel in Jeff's need, only mirrored it back to him, so that Jeff was fair staggered by it all. "Jen, only wait," he managed to say, and Jensen held himself in check. "Have you--"
"No," Jensen breathed. "No, I have not even considered it before you, but I cannot think of anything else now."
"We have no need to rush," Jeff said, and Jensen did not waste words in argument, merely pressed close again, slipping one thigh between Jeff's and allowing him to feel precisely how wrong he was. "Jen," Jeff said, truly desperate now. "I would not hurt you--"
"No," Jensen breathed. "I know you would not." Without stepping back, he somehow managed to remove his coat, and then, while Jeff still stood bemused, attacked the buttons on Jeff's waistcoat with great enthusiasm, if not complete control over his hands. After the third fumbling attempt to slide the final few buttons free, he slanted a glance up at Jeff through thickly fringed lashes and snapped, "Do feel free to lend your assistance at any time."
Jeff could not remember if he had ever been so simultaneously near-frenzied for the feel and taste of another's skin and caught on the edge of helpless laughter, but he thought it a combination of extraordinary worth, even as he stilled Jensen's hands with his own and all but ripped the buttons free.
"Thank you," Jensen breathed, smoothing the waistcoat over and off Jeff's shoulders before returning to work at the buttons on his shirt. These endeavors progressed more smoothly, if only because Jensen, taking a page from Jeff's own book, simply ripped at the uncooperative fastenings.
Unbidden, Jeff's mind turned to the likely expression on Ferguson's face when presented with a buttonless shirt and he could not choke back the laughter it engendered. Jensen paused in his efforts--but did not move back so much as an inch, Jeff was happy to note--and arched a familiar eyebrow at Jeff.
"I amuse you?" Jensen drawled, and then when Jeff explained, blanched a bit before adding, "It cannot be so difficult to resew a button. We will contrive, I am sure." He returned to his self-appointed task with renewed vigor, and before Jeff could contribute any further distractions to the unfolding events, had the final buttons dealt with and was free to send Jeff's shirt to join his waistcoat on the floor.
Jensen paused for the span of a breath or two, then drew the back of his hand along a path that started at Jeff's collarbone and ended just above the waist of his riding breeches. For all that it was a skimming, light touch, the barest contact against his skin, Jeff's heart beat hard in his chest and his breath came heavy and labored well before Jensen lifted his hand from Jeff's skin and prepared to trace a second path. That one started at the opposite collarbone, but ended at the same spot, and Jeff's hand shook as he caught Jensen's and brought it to his mouth.
"You will make me come undone," Jeff said, as he pressed a kiss to Jensen's palm, letting his tongue brush the skin there as well.
"I should like that," Jensen murmured, before he turned his hand to trace another feather-light path along Jeff's mouth, his jaw, laughing softly as Jeff lost his composure enough to catch his wrist and pull him along as Jeff stumbled backwards toward the second of his rooms and a bed. The rooms were thankfully small, as Jeff had chosen the inn based on proximity to the harbor rather than the grandeur of its accommodations, so it took only a few steps to achieve his goal, and then he could bring his attention to bear on stripping Jensen of such clothes as could be removed while kissing him incoherent.
Jeff paused in his mission to reduce Jensen to senseless babbling only to deal with their boots; once they had been removed, he returned his mouth to Jensen's skin with alacrity, bent on finding what might make him tremble against Jeff, applying himself to his task with such focus that it took Jensen's fingers twisting in his hair to break his attention.
"Jeff," Jensen was saying breathlessly. "Jeff, only wait--we have a bed, one that you have quite pointedly dragged me to--" He was flushed and laughing, but Jeff could see a darker red around his wrist, where Jeff had indeed dragged him across the rooms. Jensen saw where Jeff's eyes had landed and, cupping his jaw, brought Jeff's eyes back to meet his own. "My skin has ever marked easily," he reassured Jeff. "You have done me no harm. Indeed," he added, his voice dropping to a whisper and the humor in his eyes shifting to something far more wanting, "I find it most... fitting to be so marked." He brought his wrist to his own mouth, kissing it lightly before offering it to Jeff.
With self-control he did not know he possessed, Jeff managed to do nothing beyond brushing his lips across the proffered skin, and was rewarded by Jensen laughing softly and pulling him forward so that they both tumbled down on the bed.
"You distract me greatly," Jensen said, with equal parts frustration and humor. "I cannot complete any one thought without some new desire pushing it aside." It was a sentiment Jeff felt was only fair, as he had himself lost all ability to to think with any coherency beyond the most basic. "I had meant to say that we should take advantage of this bed you had dragged me to, but then...
His voice trailed off as if he had discovered yet another new craving, and as much as Jeff might want to know, he reminded himself that he had more than enough right in front of him, and time to discover the rest. Before Jensen could give voice to any more distractions, Jeff took his mouth in an unhurried, thorough kiss and brought his attention back to his own original goal: to reduce Jensen to irrationality. When he finally paused to allow Jensen to breathe for more than a desperate breath or two, he thought he was performing admirably, to judge from the hectic flush that suffused the fair skin under his hands and the disjointed phrases Jensen had been gasping in his ear.
To be fair, Jeff allowed that he himself was not far behind, and when Jensen pushed his breeches down and off his legs, offering himself to Jeff's view, any small coherency Jeff might have retained was swiftly swept aside. He had planned to take great care with Jensen, to ease him into the pleasures Jeff so desperately wanted to give him, but at the sight of Jensen so blatantly open and wanting, Jeff could not hold himself in check. He rolled Jensen under him and held his hips against the mattress, the knowledge that his fingers were biting into that fair skin enough to leave his mark again an especial goad, and relaxed his throat to swallowed Jensen down as swiftly as he could.
Jensen's cries became wordless and his hands knotted in Jeff's hair, his wanton enjoyment urging Jeff on, so that all his intentions to draw out the sensations were swept completely away in the driving pleasure of Jensen so deep in his throat Jeff could not breathe. It took only a few seconds for Jensen to climax and Jeff tasted him eagerly, as aroused as if he himself had been the one receiving pleasure.
"Jeff," Jensen gasped, his fingers still tangled in Jeff's hair, and it took precious seconds for Jeff to realize they were pulling so Jeff might follow their direction and slide up to lie next to Jensen, instead of staying sprawled between his legs.
"Yes," Jensen murmured, as he took Jeff's mouth with his own, tasting himself with a low, broken noise, before nipping sharply at Jeff's bottom lip and demanding Jeff's attention. His hands worked quickly at the buttons to Jeff's breeches, and he did not stop until Jeff was as naked as he was himself, their legs tangled together and their breath mingling.
Jeff could not repress the helpless, greedy noise he made as Jensen took him in hand, elegant fingers exploring his length, teasing at the head. He stroked Jeff slowly at first, less an uncertain hesitance and more a careful exploration, but at every gasp and moan Jeff made, his touch grew more assured, until he whispered against Jeff's skin, "I told you I should like to see you come undone. You will not deny me, will you?" and Jeff could not help but do exactly as Jensen wished.
Jeff could not begin to recall the last time he had lain abed, the warm, heavy weight of a lover draped pliantly across him. Jensen was all but purring as Jeff stroked along the line of his spine. Experimenting, Jeff stilled his hand, and the purr turned to an aggrieved grumbling.
"By all rights, you should be fast asleep," Jeff told Jensen, returning obediently to the petting motion. "It is twelve hours by mail coach from London."
"Mmmm," Jensen agreed. "And yet…"
"Stubborn," Jeff murmured, and Jensen laughed, a soft breath of air ghosting across Jeff's skin.
"Indeed." Jensen stirred a bit, shifting and moving to settle more comfortably. "I find I am not quite ready to give up enjoying the spoils of my day."
"It's good to know my place in all this," Jeff said dryly. He meant nothing by it, only idle teasing, but Jensen lifted his head from where it had been pillowed on Jeff's shoulder.
"Not like that," Jensen said, leaning in to brush his mouth along the edge of Jeff's jaw, smiling in satisfaction as Jeff could not help but shiver at the touch. He settled himself once more, and Jeff resumed his stroking, somewhat bemused. After a few moments of quiet, Jensen sighed. "You think me over-sensitive, but I have seen how easily something such as this can go awry, and I would not have that happen over casual words."
"I would hardly be one to call expertise on how to best engage with another," Jeff said, bemusement giving way to a rush of something he would not identify, not just yet. Instead, he kept his attention on the feel of Jensen pressed against him. "It seems a good enough plan to me."
Jensen made a low sound of agreement, less a word than a hum, comfortable and familiar.
The candles guttered low, flickering out one after another, the room narrowing down to the bed and the slow, regular breath against Jeff's skin. Jeff thought Jensen asleep, was certain of it. When the last candle sputtered and died, though, Jensen spoke into the darkness.
"If I ask--not now, but later, when you are ready--will you tell me why you so easily thought I would have you as nothing but a plaything?"
After a few moments of silent contemplation, Jeff found that it was not impossible to speak. Possibly it was the darkness, but he suspected it had more to do with the person asking. "You understand that I was... not someone I now take much pride in being when I was young. Very full of my worth and my breeding and my family, never couldn't have exactly what I wanted--" That was not precisely true: Jeff could have everything but that which he most wanted, his family intact, but he had not understood that for too long a time. "Robert was no different, or so I thought. I wanted him and I got him, until he told me that of course we couldn't be together. He was just embarking on a career with the Foreign Office, and he did not have the advantages of wealth and family, so he could not, he informed me, waste his life away as I did. A wife and family were expected of him, and he had just the young lady in mind. I reacted predictably, one giant explosion of distemper that ended with my uncle packing me off out of the country in front of an inquiry into dueling--which did happen, though I at least had the barest of sense and deloped, rather than killing the imbecile whom I fancied had insulted me."
"A duel that ended in delopement is hardly grounds for eternal exile," Jensen said quietly, and Jeff could only shrug.
"It was as good an excuse as any for my uncle to rid himself of my intemperance, as he called it. I spent the next few years in much the same way, until I received an inquiry from Mr. Phillip himself, asking for a meeting. I, of course, thought he'd come to his senses and I was prepared to be magnanimous and take him back, which was exactly what he was counting upon. He spun me a pretty tale: that if I assisted him, found him the information he needed, his star would rise so high it could easily be overlooked that his marriage was in name only."
"A simple-enough proposal," Jensen said, though it sounded as though he spoke through gritted teeth.
"One that I could not quite ever bring myself to believe, even while I did exactly as he asked." Jeff kept his hand moving on Jensen's back, as though he might be a living version of the worry beads Jeff had seen men use in his travels through the Ottoman Empire. "We continued on in that fashion for some number of years, and eventually he added the extra enticements that he would be sure my family would hear of it, that it would counteract my shameful behavior. He did not ever think I would continue on without some reason of personal gain, and I found it easier to let him continue on in that manner."
"We have spoken of this part before," Jensen said. "When it ceased to be a game for you."
"Stopping Bonaparte became paramount--it was chilling to see how easily he rolled through country after country. It was important, yes, but..." Jeff stopped and searched for words so that he might make Jensen understand. "Even at the beginning, it was ever something I took great pleasure in--the games, the rush of walking out of a room with precisely what I wanted to know and no one the wiser to my knowledge. It is addicting, to the point of madness, I think." He fell silent again; Jensen did not press him, but only waited patiently. "The weight of it grew, though, and the precariousness of living a second life below the surface of the first, even as it became less possible to walk away."
"And now?"
"Now, I... cannot say, precisely, except that I have a house, and no one to answer to but myself." It seemed an inadequate answer--it had been a year since Waterloo; surely Jeff should be able to know something more of what he might want--but it was the truth. Jensen did not seem to mind the vagueness, only nodded into Jeff's shoulder as though he might have made perfect sense.
"I will say his name once more and then we might never speak of him again should you wish it that way," Jensen said, after another pause, and then waited for Jeff to agree. "Would I be right in assuming that the baronetcy so recently conferred upon Sir Robert has much to do with your work?"
"It would seem so," Jeff answered. He had never followed what happened with the information he passed on to Robert, but Robert had said as much and he was not one to share credit if not strictly necessary.
"So I thought." Jensen sighed. "Such a fine opportunity lost, Jeff."
"A fine opportunity?" It was not at all late, and Jeff had not, in fact, over-indulged as he might, but it had been an eventful evening, and Jensen's point of thought eluded Jeff.
"On St. James Street that night--there I had the most perfect excuse to put into practice everything I've learned from Gentleman Jackson, and I did not, because it might have caused a scene." Jensen sighed again. "Now that I more perfectly comprehend how he has profited from your efforts, I assure you such an oversight will not happen again."
He was quite matter-of-fact about it, so much so that Jeff was catapulted into a helpless amusement that could not be denied, nor its laughter suppressed. Jensen did not join him, though he did not seem to take offense, and waited Jeff's mirth out with some serenity.
"While I don't actually require rescuing," Jeff said, when he could catch his breath, "I do thank you."
"I think," Jensen said, tightening his arm around Jeff. "I think what you require is someone to care about what happens to you." His voice remained matter-of-fact, but he pressed closer, as if loathe to allow even the smallest distance between them.
"Would that be you, then?" Jeff asked, his voice catching deep in his chest.
"I believe it would be," Jensen said, arching up so that he could take Jeff's mouth in a kiss that felt like a promise.
Epilogue
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