by Shirl Henke
Demned if he had not become fond of the boy, even if he was a wild colonial, with an unorthodox ancestry on his father's side. Still, in a strange way, Alex had become his surrogate son, a fact he had never been able to confess to the lad. A pity he could not invest his title on Alexander Blackthorne. What a royal uproar that would cause about the ton!
Seeing his nephew begin to arise from the chair, he glided into the room. "Mind if I join you in a drink, my boy? You may pour... since it would appear you've already had ample practice tonight," he added, eyeing the nearly empty decanter of his best brandy.
Alex ignored the remark and rationed out the last of the amber liquid between two cut-crystal snifters. "You're out late."
"You're in early," Monty countered. "I must say you've exceeded even my wildest expectations as successor to my rather dubious claim to fame as a cock of the game. But then, I have tutored you well." He raised his glass in salute.
Alex chuckled, returning the toast. "I served quite an apprenticeship in Georgia with my cousin Rob. Even though he's the eldest, my Uncle Quint used to say—"
"Quintin Blackthorne is not your uncle. I am your uncle," Monty interrupted sharply, then caught himself as Alex stared at him, startled. "That is to say," he continued more urbanely, "he is merely your father's cousin, hence your own, two degrees removed."
"He and my father were raised as brothers," Alex replied, amazed at this most uncharacteristic outburst of jealousy. He could see Monty was embarrassed by the revelation and hastened on to add with an affectionate grin, "I've always called him uncle, milord."
"You've no need of shirttail backwoods kin," the baron replied with a nod of appreciation for Alex's wit. "You now reside in the Great Wen. By the by, where the deuce have you been keeping yourself the past few days? I ran into Chitchester and Forrester, who were lamenting at Whites this evening that they haven't seen a whisker of you in nearly a week."
"Well, they wouldn't have found me at Whites in any case."
"I'm aware of your penchant for the ... shall we say, more gamey side of London," Monty replied with amused disdain. "I'm only surprised that you have deserted your sad bluestocking's side so soon."
"My absence was on Miss Woodbridge's behalf, but why should you be interested?" Alex replied with an edge in his voice. Damnation! He was heartily sick of everyone speculating about his relationship with Joss.
"No particular reason, other than the gossip that's begun over what Suthington will do with her."
"Suthington? What the hell does that old goat care? He never before evinced a grain of concern for her or his only brother. He could not even be bothered to attend Elijah Woodbridge's funeral."
"Yet he has taken her in. Speculation is rampant about how the two of them shall deal together, old Everett the tight-arsed Tory and Miss Woodbridge, the crusading Whig."
Alex set down his glass and looked at Monty. "What do you mean, he has taken her in?"
"You didn't know? You must have been far underground in your delicious dens of iniquity. It seems Miss Woodbridge was to be put out on the streets. Something about her landlady receiving a more lucrative offer to let her apartment. And the Methodist mission officials declined to leave a female without proper male guidance in charge of the charity school. Without some sort of family backing, her sources of largesse for the poor were cut off."
"So she went to her dear uncle Everett for help," Alex said, stung that she had indicated nothing of her plight to him. Or had she? He had been off searching for Elijah's killers since the day after the funeral, not bothering to read his mail, which lay piled up in his sitting room.
"I daresay Everett is at wit's end over what to do with the chit," Monty said, chuckling.
"Joss will never come to an accord with that arrogant old goat. If you'll excuse me, milord, I must catch up with my week's mail."
Monty nodded regally at Alex's mocking farewell, then drained his glass and stood staring thoughtfully at the open door. "Now what is all this about, my boy, hmm?" he murmured to himself.
Alex returned to his private apartments and sifted through the mail after dismissing his valet. He extracted one missive written in Joss's distinctive hand and tore it open to read the terse lines indicating that regrettable circumstances had forced her to decide upon living with her uncle in Mayfair. Leave it to Joss to describe such dire straights as eviction and penury with the words "regrettable circumstances." And to indicate that moving under that old curmudgeon Suthington's roof was her "decision."
"Why didn't you come to me, Joss?" he asked the empty room.
But he knew her too well. Pride. Independence. That fierce free spirit of hers would never have allowed her to be a burden to someone upon whom she had no claim but friendship. At least Suthington was her beloved father's brother, even if the earl was sour, manipulative and full of himself.
In spite of his hurt feelings, he grinned. "Ah, Joss, you'll make that old bastard rue the day he first met you."
Tomorrow he would call on Miss Jocelyn Woodbridge, the earl's niece, and return her father's timepiece. They would sort out the rest later... and the "rest" did not include her living under Suthington's roof. Alex intended to make damned certain of that.
Chapter Nine
"That dog is an agent of the devil! He shall be disposed of immediately," Sir Everett announced the moment Joss set foot into his study in response to his summons.
"You will not harm Poc! He's all I have left of my old life—"
"That speaks volumes for the quality of that life, does it not, you silly chit? Haven't a dem whit more sense than my maggoty-brained brother," he muttered half to himself.
Joss bit back a furious retort as he fixed her with his icy blue eyes, eyes the color of her father's but completely devoid of the warmth and kindness of the gentle reverend.
"That beastie has terrified your maid. She refuses to set foot in your rooms. The gel costs a pretty penny and I shan't lay out my blunt for services not rendered."
"I did not request, nor do I require, a ladies' maid. I'm used to dressing myself."
Suthington looked over her ratty knot of braids and shapeless gray gown, then sniffed, "Nothing could be more apparent. I fancy 'tis a waste of effort attempting to turn mutton into lamb. I shall simply dismiss the gel."
"Oh, but I didn't intend to cost Bluesette her position," Joss interjected, horrified at the prospect of anyone facing eviction without a job, even the disagreeable French maid her cousin Lady Harrington had bequeathed to her. Poc had taken a singular aversion to the volatile Frenchwoman.
"Either the dog goes or the maid goes," the earl pronounced with an imperious tilt of his leonine head. He was a well-favored man, blessed with a talented tailor who knew how to conceal his thickening middle. Only the puffy lines around his eyes and mouth gave away his overindulgence in rich food and aged port.
"I will keep both," Joss stated calmly. In the scant week she had spent beneath Sir Everett's roof, she'd learned how dangerous conciliation was. Before he could pounce, she continued, "Bluesette can enter my quarters by the sitting room door. I shall confine Poc in my bedroom whenever she is about."
"If I receive another complaint from the upstairs maid about chewed-up bed linens, that shall be the end of the creature."
"It shan't happen. We were—er—playing and things got a bit out of hand. He's not used to being confined indoors. I shall take him with me on duty today. That should give him exercise enough."
"Duty?" the earl echoed, squinting at her through his quizzing glass. His raised eyebrows nearly touched the curved edge of the old-fashioned but meticulously coifed wig he wore to conceal his thinning hair.
"My hospital duty. After a week of mourning, I feel it best to resume my nursing schedule at the charity hospital."
"No one living beneath my roof shall be seen anywhere near the rabble that finds itself cast abed in charity hospitals! And you, a female, exposed to men's unclothed limbs ... Why, it is utterly intolerable. My brother was
mad raising a gel in such a manner. Small wonder you've become an ape leader. You shall never even mention that hospital again. Is that clear?"
"Quite crystalline, my lord. I shall go about my duties without breathing so much as a syllable about them to you again," Joss replied dulcetly. "Nor shall I discuss the school where I teach—or at least I shall continue to teach until the Methodist mission board can locate a man to oversee the program."
The earl's ruddy face became apoplectic with outrage. "You are a saucy, ungrateful, ill-mannered chit whose impertinence knows no bounds. I shall have you locked in your rooms until you come to your senses. No one under this roof defies me."
"Then I shall be forced to follow my sire's noble example and quit your roof, my lord," Joss stated as calmly as she could. Dear Lord, where will I go?
Before she reached the door to the library, the earl had rung for a footman, who stood filling the door frame, awaiting instruction. "You will go nowhere, you ninny. Much as we may both regret the circumstance, you are a female relative without a protector. The sorry task of your care has fallen to me now and I cannot allow you to walk out onto the streets. The ton would not approve, no matter your ingratitude."
Joss could see the servant's implacable expression and knew he would not let her pass until she had settled matters with Sir Everett. She abhorred duplicity, but her uncle left her little choice. "I understand your unenviable position, my lord. Indeed, as you have pointed out, I have nowhere to go. If I may not continue useful work with the poor, what would you have me do?"
"Do?" He looked at her incredulously. "Since when do ladies need do anything? Go embroider a sampler, play the pianoforte, paint a watercolor—frivolous female things. Better yet, I'll have my daughter take you to the mantua maker for some clothes that do not look as if they came from a rag picker's wagon!"
"Whatever you wish, my lord. I do not want to embarrass you," Joss replied with barely veiled sarcasm.
Suthington studied her for a moment, his lips thinned in aggravation. "Only remember, mistress, much as neither of us desires it, you live by my charity. You will behave appropriately."
Joss cast down her lashes to conceal the flash of fire she knew was in her eyes. Patience. How often had dear Papa counseled patience! She must bide her time and put into action the plans she had made the past week. The earl had demanded she engage in some properly ladylike activities. She could arrange for him to believe she had acquiesced to his wishes...if she was very clever. And Jocelyn Woodbridge could be exceedingly clever when circumstances required it.
* * * *
"Mr. Alexander Blackthorne is here to see you, Miss Woodbridge. Are you at home?" the punctilious footman inquired, handing Joss an elegant calling card while eyeing Poc guardedly as he sat by his mistress's side.
"Of course, Kennett, I shall be down directly. Please show Mr. Blackthorne into the green sitting room," Joss replied. "Alex is here, Poc!" she told the dog, whose tail now wagged excitedly. Joss had begun to worry about her friend. He had been such a comfort through the funeral, then mysteriously vanished.
"Come, Poc, let us attend our guest." As she made her way across the small sitting room off of her bedroom, Joss glanced in the large girandole looking glass hanging on the wall. Merciful heavens, she looked a fright. As usual, her glasses were askew and that hateful maid Bluesette had been so distracted watching for Poc, who sat growling behind the bedroom door, that she had hopelessly snarled Joss's heavy hair, trying to brush it out. The result was an even rattier, more frizzed knot of braids twisted haphazardly atop her head.
Looking down at her best pale yellow dimity dress, she saw a dark blue smear across the skirt. She must have brushed against the inkwell again. The elegant little spinet desk was simply too small for her books and papers. Her whole apartment was cluttered with bric-a-brac left behind by her cousin Priscilla when she had wed Lord Harrington. Joss missed the spartan useful life she had once led.
"No use bemoaning my fate, any more than trying to improve my appearance," she said to the terrier. "Alex is used to me this way." The duo rushed downstairs to the green sitting room to meet their friend.
"Alex, I've been worried about you," Joss said, unable to keep a hint of censure from her voice. Poc simply barked an exuberant welcome as Alex squatted down and thumped his sides. "Wherever have you been?" she scolded.
"How have you been might be a more pertinent question," he replied, standing up and looking around the room. "Lud, this place is a brocade-lined prison, Joss." He took her cold hands in his, chafing them as he studied the haunted expression on her face.
She smiled too brightly. "Yes, it is a bit... er, ostentatious for my taste."
Alex's dark eyes studied her. "And what of dear Uncle Everett?"
"I fear the earl and I are not dealing very well together," she replied primly.
He chuckled in spite of himself. "Why do I suspect that is a masterpiece of understatement?"
She walked over to the window and took a seat on a small ugly chair, motioning for him to take the one across from her. "I shall have to learn patience at last, something Papa always found deficient in me. His lordship has forbidden me to nurse at hospital or teach the children."
"Not the done thing, I fear, for a lady to be useful in this world."
"Ladies are to be ornaments, I know, but seeing how hopeless that function is for me, I will continue to be useful.. . even if I must employ some little craft and subterfuge to do so," she added, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
Alex cocked his head and a faint trace of a smile pulled at his lips. "What are you planning, Joss?"
"I shall announce to the earl that I am undertaking instruction in the art of becoming a lady, skills in which my education left me sadly lacking. I shall schedule appointments with Monsieur LeBeau for painting in the mornings—the light is better then, you know," she said in mock seriousness. "And in the afternoons I shall attend Signore Valpolla for pianoforte lessons."
Alex grinned openly now, catching her drift. "The earl will be paying quite handsomely for such an education."
"Quite so. And to such worthy causes the contributions will go—school and hospital! While he believes I am pursuing the arts, I shall have my days free to do my work."
"Won't the earl become suspicious?"
She shrugged dismissively. "Not if I come home with a smudge of paint on my frock occasionally and practice my chords in the evenings now and then. I already know how to play," she added devilishly.
"Ah, that's my old Joss. It's so good to see you smile," he said fondly, reaching out to clasp her hand in brotherly affection. "I was distressed when I found out you'd been forced to leave your old home at the Fin and Feather."
Joss shrugged. "It wasn't Aunt Regina's fault really. She knew I had no means to pay her anything."
"Couldn't any of those societies for the betterment of everything pay you a stipend to teach school or to run the shelter for climbing boys?"
Her cheerfulness crumbled for a moment, giving way to bitterness at the injustice she had suffered. "I was a female without a protector. They were quite certain that my circumstance made it impossible for me to continue teaching or running the shelter without my father's guidance."
"The hell with what those noddys think is proper! You can do anything you set your mind to do, Joss."
She smiled at his vehemence. "Thank you for believing in me, Alex."
"Why didn't you come to me, Joss? I would have helped. I have plenty of money. Why, I—"
"I could not live off your largesse Alex. There is no price on friendship."
"Precisely, there is not. That is why you should come to me for help, not play games to survive under Suthington's roof."
"What would the ton say if I lived under your roof, Alex? Would they not assume we were playing games, too? Oh, I know it's absurd—me an unattractive old tabby, but there would be talk. It would not be right," she finished stubbornly.
Alex sighed. "Do we give a damn ab
out the ton?" Then he added firmly, "You must promise me, if the earl becomes impossible, if you are ever in trouble again, you must confide in me. We'll find some way to work it out together. Promise?"
Grudgingly she replied, "I promise, but never fear, I have the old devil in hand. You see, he does cloak my activities with respectability, even if he remains unaware of what I'm doing."
"Because he is your uncle and therefore providing you guidance?"
She nodded with a sprightly smile. "Now, you rascal, tell me what you have been about. Breaking all the Cyprian hearts or winning at the whist tables?"
His mood grew somber as he shook his head, then reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted the timepiece.
Joss saw the glint of gold, then gasped when he laid the family heirloom in her palm. She felt the familiar weight and her fingers closed over it before she opened the case and lovingly traced the inscription engraved inside. "Where did you find it, Alex? How?"
"That's where I've been these past days, Joss—searching out the lair of the assassins who took this from your father," he said gently, as her eyes filled with tears.
She blinked them back and met his gaze head-on. "You found out who murdered Papa?"
He nodded. "Jem Barker. He hired an assassin whose name was John Slocum."
"Past tense, Alex? You .. . you killed these men?"
"Let's simply say I dispensed justice," he replied evenly.
It was her turn to nod. "I see. My faith teaches me to forgive, not exact vengeance, yet because they would have preyed on so many more innocent victims, I cannot regret their deaths. But you've risked your life once again for me. You could've been killed on such a dangerous quest."
Alex grinned now, reassured at her scolding mien. "As Grandma Charity always says, I'm too much of a rascal to die young. Besides, I wasn't alone. Drum helped me."
"Then I am in his debt as well. I shall have to thank him." Her lips thinned imperceptibly at the prospect.
Alex chuckled. "You look as if you've just swallowed a persimmon, Joss."
