How old was Miss Thornton when her father died? Jason wondered silently. Sixteen. Perhaps even younger.
He quickly dismissed all thoughts of the aggravating woman. He was on holiday. He would entertain only peace-promoting thoughts, which eliminated anything related to his most frustrating client.
Jason moved to where Corbin stood holding little Caroline, their niece, in his arms.
“You’re the best uncle in the whole world,” Caroline told Corbin.
Jason chuckled. “That is a rather bold declaration for a young lady with seven uncles.” Crispin, a family friend of long standing, was always included in the uncle count. “Aren’t I your favorite uncle?”
“You’re my favorite uncle in London,” Caroline clarified.
Jason shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with that.” Somehow he’d hoped to hear something more flattering. At least she hadn’t told him he was simple and repeated himself. “How are you, Corbin?”
Corbin nodded but communicated more in that small gesture than most people would have guessed. Jason saw weariness and an underlying frustration in Corbin’s eyes. That would bear looking into. With Corbin, however, a less direct approach was always best.
Caroline had already tired of her uncles and was bouncing around the room.
“What did you do to earn the title of favorite uncle?” Jason asked.
“Invited children—”
“For her to play with,” Jason finished for him, knowing precisely what Corbin intended to say, as well as recognizing when he didn’t wish to finish his thought out loud. Were all twins that way, or had he simply developed that talent because Corbin’s reticence required it?
“Genius.” Jason acknowledged Corbin’s answer. “The only thing I brought from London was a bag of toffee and a monumental headache.”
“Difficult case?” Corbin asked in a tone that indicated he knew the answer already.
“A difficult client.”
“Is she?” Corbin asked.
“Despite the fact that I am her legal council, Miss Thornton is convinced she knows better than I do on every matter. She descends on my office unannounced and expects immediate and undivided attention. She is a harpy of the first order, but my secretary as well as every other barrister in the entire building is practically falling at her feet. And—” Jason stopped abruptly, something only just occurring to him. “How did you know this client was a she?”
Corbin smiled at him, a hint of laughter in his eyes. Jason had to smile the tiniest bit himself. Corbin knew him too well, and he seemed a little too familiar with the telltale signs of an exasperating female.
“Are you dealing with a difficult woman too, Corbin?” Jason’s mood lightened a little. Corbin had that effect; he was peaceful, like Havenworth.
“Not difficult. Just—”
“Elusive.” Jason nodded his understanding. “Is she a harpy?” He wanted to be sure Corbin wasn’t about to entangle himself with a female who would take advantage of his quiet nature.
Corbin shook his head. That was a good thing. He needed a woman who respected him and didn’t see his quietness as a sign of weakness or lack of intelligence.
“Does she order you around?”
Corbin chuckled and shook his head again.
Jason nearly sighed with relief. Perhaps this woman wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen, unlike—He refused to finish the thought.
“You’re having trouble winning her over?” he asked. Concentrating on Corbin’s troubles instead of his own might clear his thoughts.
“She doesn’t notice me.”
That wasn’t entirely surprising. Corbin blended in, didn’t capture anyone’s attention long enough for them to realize he was more than worth knowing. “That’s your problem. You have to make an impression.”
“Philip said . . .” His words trailed off as he nodded.
Philip. Precisely the person Corbin didn’t need advice from. “You haven’t been listening to Philip, have you? He probably told you to dress like a fop and simper about. No lady is interested in a gentleman who wears brighter colors than she does.”
Corbin would look even more ridiculous dressed like a peacock than Philip did. Over the next few hours, Jason found ample time for chewing over Corbin’s difficulty. If his brother had managed to meet a woman who was not exasperating and confusing and entirely impossible to keep out of one’s thoughts, then Jason would see to it that Corbin had all the help he could possibly want.
One of them ought to enjoy some degree of good fortune in matters relating to women.
Chapter Nine
“There was also a time when your father and I found all of the tin soldiers from the nursery on top of the garden shed.” Mater laughed, shaking her head. “Your father and I spent many long hours attempting to sort out how Philip and Layton managed that. They weren’t nearly tall enough. We realized after a time that a brother sitting on another brother’s shoulders would likely be enough height for their bit of mischief.”
Jason bit his lips shut to hold back his own amusement. He remembered the soldiers on the roof lark. He had sat on Philip’s shoulders and Corbin on Layton’s while Stanley had stood guard. They had been so certain that the groundskeeper would think a ghost had placed the toys on the roof. Lud, they’d embarked on a great many ridiculous pranks when they were children.
“And did they really replace all the ink in the nursery inkwells with tea?” Charlie asked. “Philip told me that once.”
Jason rubbed his fingers over his mouth to hide his grin. Those long-ago tricks had been almost acceptable in a boy influenced by his mischievous older brothers, but he was a grown gentleman, and such things ought not to still make him laugh. This family had enough ridiculousness to endure from Philip. Jason’s role was to add some degree of dignity. That, of course, was difficult when Mater was regaling his youngest brother with tales of their most diverting larks.
“Jason, I remember,” Mater very pointedly did not look in his direction, “had an incredible talent for acting a part, no matter how ridiculous.”
“Jason?” Charlie looked and sounded shocked.
“Jason,” Mater confirmed. “One time, he convinced a newly hired grounds worker that he was the knife boy from the kitchen who had been sent to determine how sharp a knife needed to be to quickly cut through rhubarb. It was, of course, merely a diversion to allow his brothers to slip into the orangery to steal fruit.”
Jason could not hold back his grin at that long-forgotten deception. “Heavens, I’d forgotten about that.”
“I’m not surprised,” Mater said. “You have . . . outgrown such things, haven’t you?”
Why did Mater sound nearly disappointed? Of course he had outgrown such things. He was no longer a child. He was a well-respected barrister and a credit to the Jonquil name.
“I could not pretend to be a knife boy whilst assisting my clients, could I?” he answered.
Mater’s eyes twinkled. “I would pay a year’s pin money to watch that.”
Charlie jumped in. “How much would you pay to watch him climb on Philip’s shoulders? That is the sight I want to see, especially since they’d probably end up in a bout of fisticuffs.”
“I do not indulge in fisticuffs,” Jason replied, very much on his dignity. “Neither do I undertake mischief or larks or any other such childish things.”
Charlie slouched in his chair and hmphed. “I wish I’d known my brothers back when they weren’t boring.”
Boring. Apparently he needed to add that to his list of recent complaints he’d received. Simple. Repetitive. Incompetent. Boring.
While Miss Thornton hadn’t offered the same denunciation as Charlie, he wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover she agreed with him. The looks she gave him, even during his apology a few short days earlier, had spoken loudly of amusement at his expen
se.
Jason met the woman Corbin was pining for and was struck by the way that quiet, gently spoken lady looked at his brother: with trust and confidence and respect. There was no mockery or dismissal. How had his nearly silent brother managed to claim her good opinion?
As if fate meant to undermine Jason’s conclusions, Corbin stepped inside the room in the very next moment, sporting the beginnings of a decidedly black eye and a hint of discoloration covering one side of his face. What had happened? Had he been thrown during a ride? Jason hoped that at the very least, Corbin was taking care of his injuries.
“Have you put a cold cloth on that bruise? It looks awful.”
Corbin looked back at him, his angry glare directed solely at him.
“What?” Jason asked warily.
Corbin’s butler interrupted any response, speaking three words Jason would never have expected to hear at Havenworth. “Miss Mariposa Thornton.”
“What the bl—” Corbin’s elbow stopped Jason’s words.
Miss Thornton! There had to be some kind of mistake, a mispronounced name, a sudden onset of dementia in Corbin’s butler—anything! But then, Miss Thornton herself walked inside, eyes dancing as she surveyed the room.
Jason’s fists tightened at his side. The source of complete chaos and upheaval in his life and, lately, his thoughts now stood in the middle of the Havenworth drawing room. Havenworth. The place to which he retreated for peace and calm. The place where his family was assembled.
“Well. Ahí estás, Mr. Jonquil,” Mariposa’s vibrant voice declared to the room at large. “You, señor, are a difficult man to locate.”
“What the bl—”
“Language, señor!” Miss Thornton cut him off. She wore one of her extremely innocent expressions.
“You were instructed to direct all correspondence to my secretary,” Jason said. He had told her so specifically, wishing to avoid any conversations between her and his colleagues. She had belittled him before them. Did she now mean to insult him in front of his family?
“If I wanted a correspondent,” she said as she walked past him, still smiling sweetly, “I would write to my abuela.”
“Your abuela lives with you.”
“So you can see how pointless letter writing can be.” Miss Thornton nodded and looked almost grateful, as if he’d agreed with her or confirmed her observation. She addressed her next observation to his mother. “And you must be Mater.”
He didn’t recall telling her the family’s pet name for their mother.
Mater apparently wondered too. “How did you . . . ?”
“Your son speaks of you often.”
“Jason?”
Miss Thornton laughed, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. “Not that one. The capitán.”
Stanley? All this time, Stanley was the weasel? Stanley, who had always been the nice one? Drat the man, sending him such a whirlwind of chaos.
“You know Stanley?” Mater grasped Miss Thornton’s hands, a break of emotion in her voice.
“Sí.” Miss Thornton smiled at Mater. “When the fighting was in España. Our casa was used by the British. I knew him then. And again at Orthez. He is a good man. Not useless like that one.” She waved her hand toward Jason.
Jason felt certain his face was twitching. Not useless like that one. She had indeed come to speak ill of him, and to his own mother. This after they’d had a relatively civil encounter in Hyde Park not many days hence. Was there no end to her willingness to ill treat him?
“Corbin, may we use your library?” Jason asked, his jaw tight. “I believe Miss Thornton has some business to discuss.”
Corbin silently agreed. Miss Thornton did not, however, make her way from the room. She crossed to Corbin, offering him a genuinely pleased smile.
“You are Señor Corbin?” she asked. She did not seem bothered nor surprised that he did not respond but continued talking as if in the midst of a friendly conversation. “As you see, I have met your evil twin.”
Corbin smiled. He actually looked almost at ease, something Jason had rarely seen. Miss Thornton was weaving her spells again.
“Come, Miss Thornton.” Jason waved her toward the door.
“It was wonderful to meet all of you.” Miss Thornton smiled at the rest of the room but didn’t move so much as an inch.
“Now,” Jason snapped. He would discover precisely how she’d located him, what errand could possibly have sent her so far from London, then send her back to Town with a few choice words to chew on.
If any person had ever taken such a long time to cross a room as Miss Thornton did at that moment, Jason was unaware of it. Behind her empty-headed expression, he saw laughter in her eyes.
That laughter would not last long.
o
Things were not going at all the way Mariposa had envisioned. She had discovered, thanks to Mr. Jonquil’s secretary, that he was visiting “a brother.” It had been the work of a moment to decide which of the Jonquils that would be. Stanley had made clear, probably more than he had realized, that Jason and Corbin shared a bond exclusively their own.
A few well-placed questions in the most innocent of tones saw her furnished with directions to Havenworth, which, as fate would have it, resided not terribly far from the town of Copperton, where she had learned a family by the name of Thornton resided. Her tightly guarded funds were beginning to dwindle, and this journey had required that she further deplete her accounts. The prospect of meeting yet another member of the Jonquil family had helped her justify the expense, especially after discovering the Thorntons she had found were not her Thorntons.
She had fully expected to find some comfort and reassurance and joy at meeting Corbin, the soft-spoken brother. But entering the drawing room to find so many members of the Jonquil family present had nearly overset her. Mater had been in the room. Mater, of whom Stanley had spoken with such tenderness. And little Charlie, who was not at all little any longer. And Corbin had been just precisely as she had imagined him—a more serene version of Jason, who was not his physically identical twin but with whom he noticeably shared facial expressions and gestures.
She had wondered about this tightly knit family for years. Mariposa had thought many times how pleased she would be to someday meet them. She had always imagined herself doing so with happy dignity. Instead she had rambled on and on, probably not even entirely in English—she had the unfortunate tendency to mix languages when nervous—and had, no doubt, made a complete cake of herself.
Mr. Jonquil ushered her through the open door of what proved to be a library, a look of forced forbearance on his face. His obvious frustration with her only increased her guilt.
“You have a wonderful family, señor.” She shook her head to dispel the sudden, intense longing she felt for her own loved ones.
“Why have you come here, Miss Thornton?” A subtle layer of anger laced his words.
She pulled a precisely folded square of linen from the reticule dangling at her wrist. “I have sent you your handkerchief.”
Mr. Jonquil’s jaw clenched further, his eyes snapping. “Your grasp of the English language is not the least bit lacking, Miss Thornton. You most certainly understand the difference between send and deliver. Your pretense of confusion is both unnecessary and insulting.”
He saw through her. She knew he did. Panic began to bubble inside. Her pretenses had only ever been found out once before, by the murderous French spy Bélanger. She had been fleeing from him ever since and, in that flight, had been separated from Mamá and Santiago.
Horrible things happened when her secrets were discovered, and Mr. Jonquil had just uncovered one.
She repaired the chink in her armor the only way she knew how—with a thick layer of misdirection. “I happened to be in Nottinghamshire—”
“One does not accidentally travel from London to Nottin
ghamshire,” he countered. “The journey requires more than one day.”
“It was not un accidente.” She could not, however, explain that she’d come looking for her family. Admitting that discovering the location of her extended family was imperative enough that she would spend the time and money necessary to make the journey to Nottinghamshire on the slight chance that they were there would raise more questions. Answering those questions would only further reveal her perilous situation. She simply could not risk it. “I had your handkerchief and wanted to send—”
“Try your hand at the truth, Miss Thornton.”
“But I have been—”
“Enough.” His gaze narrowed. “I held out hope that I had misjudged you or at least that you had decided to change your tactics in light of our affable conversation in Hyde Park. It seems, though, that was feigned as well.”
“I do not understand.”
“Allow me to be clear, then.” He stalked across the room toward her. “You have denigrated me before my colleagues.”
Mariposa backed up as he drew closer. Her heart pounded in her ribs, the panic inside bubbling more by the moment.
“You have treated my time with utter disregard and repeatedly insulted my professional abilities.”
Her back hit the wall, trapping her where she was as he came closer, tension showing in every line of his face.
“You have been patronizing and insulting from the moment I met you.” Mr. Jonquil stopped directly in front of her.
Mariposa managed to breathe, though she couldn’t say how. He was intimidating, unnerving, and obviously livid. She didn’t feel that she was in danger, not physically, but every sense was on edge.
“Señor Jonquil—”
“Now you have pushed me beyond bearing. I will not allow any person, including your exasperating self, to ill-use my family, continuing your deceptions here in my brother’s home and tainting my mother’s concern for Stanley with your feigned sincerity.”
A Fine Gentleman Page 7
