by Mary Balogh
Oh, yes, she was at least partly to blame. For she had actually been finding his company amusing and his conversation witty and stimulating, much as she disapproved of him and told herself that she wanted to have nothing to do with him. Much as she knew very well that he was up to no good.
She must indeed be more careful. She must have nothing whatsoever to do with him while she remained in London, and when she went to Cedarhurst Park— how she wished now she were not going—she must remain with Meg or Stephen or Miss Wrayburn or one of the other guests at all times.
But all resolves to be more careful came too late.
Trouble hit with full force for Jasper the following day. He had spent the evening at home, a rare thing for him. He had accepted an invitation to the Clarkson soiree, but it was sure to be one at which Katherine Huxtable would also be making an appearance, and it seemed wise to stay away. He could have gone, of course, and made a point to the would- be gossips by staying far away from her all evening, but that would have been a flat bore, and he chose never to endure boredom when it could be avoided altogether.
So he had delighted Charlotte by remaining at home with her all evening.
He was taken quite by surprise the following morning, then, when, on his arrival at White’s Club to read the papers he was greeted by a veritable army of friends, acquaintances, and the merely curious.
“Ho, Monty,” Viscount Motherham called out by way of greeting, “we all guessed that you would have run for the hills by now as fast as your legs would carry you.”
“Splendid courage, old chap,” Barney Rungate said. “I did not guess any such thing. I would have wagered on your sauntering in here as you have just done as though nothing had happened.”
“Courage?” Charlie Field said. “More like a death wish, Rungate. Is it not a mite suicidal to be still in town this morning, Monty? I would have thought even Cedarhurst unsafe territory Or even the hills, for that matter. Does the American wilderness beckon, perhaps?”
“You are a dead goner, Monty,” some unidentified voice said mournfully. “No doubt about that.”
“With the key word being dead” someone else added. “I believe the Duke of Moreland and the Earl of Merton and Con Huxtable are after your blood, Monty, to mention only three.”
Ah! What now?
Jasper raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.
“Where the devil have all the papers gone?” he asked. “Has Norton taken them all again? And have I perchance missed something interesting? Three gentlemen turned vampire, for example?”
“Monty,” Charlie Field said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “never mind the papers, old boy. Those three would probably have found you by now and relieved you of a pint or two of blood each if they had not considered it of greater importance to go after Forester first. He is your cousin, I believe?”
Ah!
Jasper went very still. He did not even correct the misconception.
For the first time he felt a powerful premonition of disaster.
“I am devastated,” he said languidly. “Forester is deemed of greater importance than I? What has he done, pray, to merit such a distinction? Or said?”
“It is more what someone else has been saying, Monty,” Motherham explained, “though no one seems to know who, and understandably no one is owning up to having loose lips and saying it. But someone has told Forester about that infamous wager you lost a few years ago. A few dozen men knew about it, of course, but not a one of them ever broke the code of a gentleman’s honor to spread the word outside our own circle, especially as the reputation of an innocent lady was at stake. Not a one until now, that is. But someone told Forester, perhaps because the man is your cousin and whoever it was assumed he already knew.”
Jasper stared at him, all pretense of languorous unconcern abandoned. It was far worse than anything he might have expected.
“And—?” he said softly.
“And Forester spent all evening yesterday at Clark -son’s telling everyone who would listen,” Motherham continued. “Except that he changed a few details and cast aspersions on the lady’s honor and on your word that you had failed to win the wager. He has been saying that her behavior this year indicates that she did not spurn you on that occasion, Monty, and has not spurned you on any occasion since then either.”
“It’s a disaster, old chap,” Charlie said unnecessarily, slapping him on the shoulder again. “You know that gossip is like the contents of Pandora’s box. There is no recalling it.”
“It is going to be parson’s mousetrap for you if you do not make a dash for the hills now or sooner,” Hal said. “I would dash for the hills if I were you.”
“It is going to be the end of all matrimonial hopes for the Huxtable chit if you do that, though, Monty,” Barney Rungate said. “And probably for her sister too. Even Merton may find himself not so well received for a while. It’s a devilish thing. I wonder if Moreland and Merton and Con will toss for it to see who gets to put a bullet between Forester’s eyes—before coming after you, that is. However did you get yourself saddled with someone like Forester for a cousin? It’s dashed hard luck. And what the devil have you done to offend him that he has dreamed up this sweet revenge?”
Jasper had recovered some of his famous ennui. He even managed a yawn behind one hand, though admittedly that was probably overdoing things just a little.
“My mother had the misfortune to marry his uncle,” he said. “He is not my cousin, and I would be obliged never again to hear that he is. I believe he has taken exception to being called Sir Clarrie instead of Sir Clarence. It is, I suppose, provocation enough for a vicious attack upon a young lady who has done nothing to offend him and is entirely innocent of all charges against her. I trust everyone here is convinced of that fact?” His voice had gone very quiet.
There was a murmured swell of assent.
“Whiter than snow, Monty,” Charlie said. “There has never been any doubt of that. Not here, anyway But it will be another story in almost every drawing room in town, old fellow. I believe Lady Forester was with her son last evening and confirmed everything he said. Until she had a fit of the vapors, that was, and had to be carried out to her carriage. I hear it was a most affecting sight.”
“Well,” Jasper said, looking around the room. “If Norton has made off with every paper, there is no point in my remaining here, is there? I will have to look for something else to amuse me. I believe I shall go weasel hunting.”
Nobody asked what he meant by that. Nobody tried to stop him. And though Charlie Field slapped him on the shoulder again and even squeezed it reassuringly, no one offered to go with him.
Within two minutes he was striding down the street. Two gentlemen who were approaching the doors of White’s took one look at his face and thought better of attempting to greet him and commiserate with him.
Trouble came with full force to Katherine while she was in the breakfast room with Margaret. They had sat talking rather longer than usual, reminiscing pleasantly about their years in Throckbridge. They were to meet Vanessa later to shop on Bond Street and had just agreed that they must go and get ready if they were not to be late.
Before they could even rise from their chairs, however, the door opened abruptly and Vanessa herself rushed in. Her eyes focused immediately upon Katherine.
“Oh, thank heaven!” she exclaimed, hurrying toward her. “You did not leave home early for some reason.”
But before Katherine could get to her feet to hug her sister and comment upon her strange appearance here so early, she became aware that Elliott, Duke of Moreland, was also in the room, looking dark and forbidding, to say the least.
And Vanessa was looking rather as if she had seen a ghost.
Katherine surged to her feet, as did Margaret.
“Nessie,” Katherine said, terror clutching at her heart. “The children?”
Vanessa shook her head, but it was Elliott who answered.
“I ought to have spoken to you
after the garden party, Katherine,” he said, striding farther into the room, “though as it has turned out, I would have been too late even then. Your name has become inextricably linked with that of one of London’s worst rakes, I am afraid.”
Oh, this again! She did not pretend to misunderstand.
“Lord Montford?” she said. “There is some gossip, is there not? It is all very foolish and very baseless. Constantine warned me about it yesterday, and Meg and I stayed home from the Clarkson soiree last eve ning just to be on the safe side. It will doubtless blow over like yesterday’s wind once—”
“Oh, Kate,” Vanessa said, possessing herself of both Katherine’s hands and squeezing them rather painfully, “what has that man done to you? Why did you not tellus?”
“D-done to me?” Katherine looked from her sister to Elliott in some bewilderment and mounting alarm. “What do you mean? He has done nothing except dance with me and sit with me at the garden party. What exactly is being said?”
Margaret, she could see, had both hands pressed to her bosom.
Elliott sighed audibly. “We were not at the soiree last evening either,” he said. “We were at a private dinner instead. But Montford’s aunt and cousin were there for an hour or so, quite long enough to spread rumors that I hope are just rumors. Though even unfounded gossip can do considerable harm to your reputation. Katherine, did you meet Lord Montford three years ago soon after coming to town for the first time? Vanessa and I put our heads together on the way here and wonder if it might have been during that week when we went into the country with Margaret and Stephen and left you in my mother’s care. Did you meet him then?”
Katherine felt her head turn cold. If she could have trusted her legs sufficiently, she would have sat down on her chair again. But her knees seemed to be locked beneath her.
“Cecily and I had been invited to join Lady Beaton’s party at Vauxhall,” she said. “Miss Finley—now Mrs. Gooding—brought her brother without first asking Lady Beaton because Mr. Gooding had sprained an ankle.”
“Kate,” Vanessa said—she was still clutching Katherine’s hands, “what did he do to you?”
“Kate?” Meg’s voice was unnaturally high pitched.
“He did nothing” Katherine said.
“Did he try to do something?” Elliott asked, looking keenly at her.
She opened her mouth to deny it. But clearly this was not the time for lies or evasion. Some trouble was brewing—and that was probably a colossal understatement—and it was going to be necessary that her family know the truth.
The tension in the room was thick enough to be sliced with a knife.
“He had made a wager,” she said. “It was in the betting book at one of the gentlemen’s clubs —I do not know which. He was to seduce me within two weeks. He had persuaded Mr. Gooding to sprain his ankle, and then he had persuaded his sister to allow him to escort her instead.”
Elliott’s blue eyes were boring into hers. Both Meg and Nessie were standing as still as statues.
“And?” Elliott asked, his voice rather like a whip. “Did he succeed?”
Katherine shook her head.
“No,” she said, her voice a mere whisper of sound. “No, he did not. And he went back to his club and said so. He did not claim victory. And he was not lying. He did not win that wager. He did nothing to me.”
She could not after all bear to tell the full truth.
Vanessa had one hand pressed over her mouth. Margaret was weeping with choking sobs, which she was trying to smother.
“Forester— Sir Clarence Forester,” Elliott said, sounding suddenly weary, “will be answering a few of my questions as soon as I have found him—he was not at any of the clubs when I tried them earlier. Whatever grudge he may have against his cousin, his manner of taking revenge is unpardonable. Then I will need a few answers from Montford himself. Maybe he did not win his wager, Katherine—indeed, I trust your word that he did not—but I have to dispute your claim that he did nothing. He took on that dastardly wager, did he not, and set about winning it?”
Margaret spoke up.
“Sir Clarence Forester and his mother are the pair who stopped us in the park,” she said, her voice trembling, “and made us all feel so very dreadful as if we had done something wrong. They are the ones who have done wrong—vicious, deliberate, irreparable wrong. What has Kate ever done to deserve their spite? Oh, if I could just get my hands on them.”
“I’ll do it for you, Margaret,” Elliott said grimly. “In the meanwhile, you had best stay in the house here, both of you. There is much—”
The door crashed open again and Stephen strode in, his hair a halo of unruly curls about his head after a morning ride, his eyes wild, his face as pale as his shirt.
“I am in time, thank God,” he said, fixing his eyes on Katherine. “You are on no account to go out this morning, Kate. There is a damned scoundrel and liar loose on the town and I have just drawn his cork. I would have done more, but the sniveling bast— The sniveling coward ran away. He took a purple nose and a bloodied shirt with him, though, by thunder. I know this is all a pack of lies, Kate—Monty is a friend of mine and you are my sister. But even so—”
The door did not crash open again for the simple reason that Stephen had not shut it behind him. But Constantine, when he appeared in the doorway, looked as if he would have come through the door without opening it if it had stood in his way
“Constantine,” Katherine said, holding up one shaking hand. “If you have come here to tell me that you told me so, I shall first scream very loudly and then slap your face very hard.”
And she burst into tears to her own terrible chagrin. Soon she had four arms about her, and Meg and Nessie were murmuring words of comfort when really there was no comfort to be found.
“Forester is a clever bastard,” Constantine said. “By the time I appeared at his door a short while ago, he had his mother stationed there instead of a servant, and short of planting her a facer, which I was sorely tempted to do, I could not get in. If she is to be believed, Forester met with an accident this morning at the hands of a large gang of fierce footpads and lost a courageous battle against them.”
“They were me, Con,” Stephen said.
“Glad to hear it,” Constantine said. “It’s the first good news I have had all morning. I missed that damned soiree last evening. Oh, sorry for the language, Margaret. Sorry, Vanessa and Katherine. But now I have seen that Katherine is safely at home, I’ll pay Monty a little visit.”
“You can safely leave that to me,” Elliott said stiffly, and Katherine looked up to see the two of them—first cousins who had grown up like brothers and who looked more like twins—glaring at each other and almost squaring off.
“Oh, stop it!” she cried. “It is not Lord Montford who has been spreading spiteful stories —and untrue ones too if they claim that he won that ridiculous wager all those years ago. He did not win it because he chose not to pursue it. He told me about it and…and we had a laugh over it. I do not suppose he is enjoying this scandal any more than I am. It is all stupid and ridiculous, and I will not have everyone bloodying everyone else’s nose and fighting one another to be the one to defend my honor and all the other stupid stuff that goes by the name of manly honor. I will not have it. Do you hear me, Stephen?”
She had risen to her feet again. Her sisters stood at her sides, silent sentinels.
“I hear you, Kate,” he said. “But it is not—”
“And do you hear me, Elliott?” she asked.
“Loudly and clearly,” he said. “But—”
“And you, Constantine,” she said, “do you hear me?”
He shrugged with both shoulders and both hands.
“And I will not have you and Elliott carrying on your ridiculous feud in my presence or Meg’s,” she continued, unable to stop, it seemed now that she had started. “I have no idea what it is about, and I do not want to know I do not care. Men are so foolish. Take your quarrel elsewhere i
f you must. Shoot each other if you must. But not here. Now go away all of you. All of you. I want to be alone. No, better yet, I shall go up to my room— alone.”
She swept past them all, her chin up.
She neither knew nor cared what they decided to do about her predicament or about the two men who between them had brought her to this.
She was ruined.
She was in no doubt about that.
And, as she had admitted to herself when she was with Constantine in Hyde Park, she was at least partly to blame.
She had thought herself far more grown up and worldly wise this year than she had been three years ago. But she had fallen prey to the practiced charms of a rakehell just as easily this time as last. It would be useless to deny it.
And now she was ruined.
She did not stop to consider that perhaps the punishment far exceeded the crime.
12
B Y the time Jasper arrived at the house where Lady Forester and Clarence were staying, they had already left it and were presumably bowling along the highway to Kent as fast as wheels would turn or horses gallop.
He did briefly consider going after them, but unfortunately there were more pressing concerns to keep him in London.
He did, though, have the satisfaction of hearing from one of the recently hired, newly dismissed servants, who had not yet left the house—a man who clearly felt no loyalty whatsoever to his erstwhile employers. Clarence, it seemed, was taking home with him a purple, bulbous nose and two black eyes, which he had claimed—the servant had paused to look both skeptical and contemptuous though his questioner was a grim- looking gentleman—which he had claimed came from a gang of ruffian footpads. At least her ladyship had claimed it since Sir Clarence himself had not been saying much of anything.
Even that news, though, was only marginally satisfying to Jasper. Either Moreland or Merton or Con Huxtable had done what he ought to have done—except that he would have considered a bulbous nose and two black eyes a mere preliminary to a more complete drubbing.
