Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager(32)

‘No’ Susannah moved towards the fire to warm her hands. ‘His lordship was most accommodating.’

‘Indeed he was. I think he must regret letting slip our secret.’

‘He maintains he said nothing.’

‘Well then, it was even more considerate of him to give us so much of his time tonight.’

It was clear to Susannah that her aunt had been very anxious about their reception at the ball and her relief now took the form of continuous chatter. Susannah let it wash over her for a few minutes before making her excuses and fleeing to her bedroom.

She was obliged to be grateful for the viscount’s attentions but she would have preferred a simple apology. In that he was no different from most men, so arrogant that he would not admit he had been at fault, that he had made known her connection with Florence House. His refusal to do so had quite spoiled her evening. Jasper was a good dancer and in other circumstances she would have revelled in standing up with him for the cotillion, holding his hands, laughing up into his face, but his perfidy hung between them like a cloud. She had kept her smile in place, concentrating on the intricacies of the dance and determined not to allow her anger to be visible to the constantly changing partners, but it had been difficult.

The viscount had been most attentive at supper, too. Outwardly Susannah had been serene and smiling, but he had not been deceived, and once Dorcas had undressed her, brushed out her hair and departed, Susannah slipped between the sheets and relived her brief, final meeting with the viscount.

They had been waiting for their cloaks when Jasper came up to take his leave. He had taken advantage of the noisy, bustling chatter to speak to her alone.

‘You will not cry friends with me?’

‘I am, of course, grateful for what you have done tonight, my lord...’

‘Well that is something, I suppose.’ He took her hand. ‘I have much ground to make up, but I will come about, Susannah, believe me.’

But, of course, she could not believe him. She could not trust him ever again.

* * *

When Jasper awoke the following morning his first conscious thought was of Susannah Prentess. How she had ripped up at him when she thought he had broken his word to her. She had looked quite magnificent, those hazel eyes flashing with emerald-green sparks of anger. It would take time and patience to convince her he had not been to blame but it would be worth it. For the present he hoped he had deflected some of the disapproval away from her—surely the attentions of a viscount would count for something with the Bath harpies.

He jumped out of bed and rang the bell. He was eager to see Susannah again—it surprised him a little to realise how much he wanted to see her—but he must allow her a day or two. At present she was too angry to listen to reasoned argument. There was plenty to do. He had letters to write to his man of business, and he and Gerald had discussed plans for a riding party with Charles Camerton and a few of the other gentlemen of their acquaintance, so perhaps he should talk to Gerald about that. Still, he might take a walk this morning, and if he should happen to bump into Miss Prentess, well....

* * *

He made his way to the Pump Room, stopping off on his way to call at the White Hart, where he was told that Mr Camerton was gone away.

‘We are expecting him back in a day or so, though, m’lord,’ said the servant, pocketing the coin Jasper pressed into his hand. ‘He’s left his bags here.’

With an inward shrug Jasper left the inn. His plans to form a riding party must wait, then. He crossed the road to the Pump Room, but a quick tour of the crowded room informed him that Susannah and her aunt were not present. However, having ventured into the busy meeting place, he could not leave before speaking to a number of his acquaintances and listening to the latest gossip. He was pleased that this no longer centred on Susannah—she had been supplanted by the news that the Dowager Countess of Gisburne was in Bath.

Jasper received the information with interest, and set off for Laura Place, where he was shown into the countess’s drawing room by her stately butler.

He found himself in the presence of an elderly lady dressed in black satin. She was sitting in a large, carved armchair, her back ramrod straight, and the bright eyes that watched him cross the room were remarkably piercing.

‘Markham...’ she held out her hand ‘...I did not expect to find you here, but it is a pleasant surprise. You will take wine with me? Good.’ She paused while he bowed over her fingers and did not object when he then leaned forwards to kiss her cheek. ‘You can tell me how your family go on. I saw your sister in town, looking radiant, as ever. And how is Dominic, my godson? I wanted to get to Rooks Tower for the christening, but the weather...’ She waved one beringed hand. ‘I would have risked it, but Gisburne and my doctor were adamant.’

‘And quite right, too, ma’am,’ Jasper agreed, pulling up a chair and sitting down. ‘Dominic would never forgive you for knocking yourself up with such a journey. He is inordinately happy, you know.’

‘Having met his wife I can believe it,’ replied the dowager. ‘Zelah Coale is a very sensible gel, and a reliable correspondent, too.’

‘Yes, she has won all our hearts.’

Even as he uttered the words, Jasper realised with a slight jolt of surprise that Zelah had not been in his thoughts for some weeks now.

‘And how are you, my boy—still leading the young ladies a merry dance?’

‘Rather the reverse, ma’am,’ he replied, thinking of Susannah. ‘But tell me, what brings you to Bath?’

‘The winter left me a trifle fagged and my doctor thought it would do me good to take the waters.’

‘As long as it is nothing serious.’

‘Not a whit, although I don’t doubt Gisburne and his wife would like it to be. They must wish me at Jericho.’

Jasper grinned, too well acquainted with the dowager’s easy-natured son to believe any such thing.

‘You know he would dispute that, and your many charities would miss you, too.’ He paused, gazing down at the large signet ring on his finger. ‘And talking of your charities, I think you may be able to help me.’

‘Go on.’

Jasper took advantage of the servant’s entrance to consider his words. Once the glasses had been filled and they were alone again he began.

‘A friend...’ He hesitated, knowing that in her present mood Susannah would object strongly to the term. ‘An acquaintance has set up a home for young ladies of gentle birth who have been abandoned by their families for, ah...’

‘For being pregnant,’ she finished for him. ‘There is no need to be mealy-mouthed with me, Markham.’

He smiled.

‘I beg your pardon. Let me explain...’

* * *

When he had finished telling her about Florence House, the lace-makers and Odesse, Lady Gisburne nodded slowly.

‘Exemplary.’ She put down her empty wineglass. ‘What is it you want from me?’

‘Ostensibly all this was set up by Mrs Wilby. Now it is known that her unmarried niece is closely involved with Florence House and the Bath tabbies are sharpening their claws. Some have already cut the acquaintance. If they learn of the connection with the modiste it could destroy the small income that keeps the house going.’ He refilled the glasses and held one out to the Dowager. ‘The niece is an heiress and I believe she intends to fund the scheme, once she comes into her inheritance, but that will not be for a year or two yet. I would like to help them.’

She looked at him over the rim of her glass.

‘Repenting past sins, Markham?’

‘Certainly not,’ he replied, in no way offended. ‘Seducing innocents has never been my style, and despite my reputation I have always been alive to the consequences of my actions. I am tolerably certain there are no bastards of mine in the world. No, it is purely altruistic.’ He found he could not meet that searching gaze and studied the contents of his wineglass instead. ‘Any offer of assistance from me would be rejected, but you could tell Mrs Wilby there is an anonymous benefactor who wishes to invest in some worthy cause.’

The dowager sipped at her wine, a slight crease furrowing her brow. Jasper waited patiently, knowing better than to disturb the old lady. At last she looked up, a glimmer of a smile on her sharp features.

‘Very well, I will do it. If only to confound the Bath tabbies!’





Chapter Twelve

When Saturday dawned wet and windy, Susannah and Mrs Wilby decided to remain indoors. They settled quietly to their sewing, although Susannah’s work remained untouched on her lap for most of the time. Her thoughts kept going back to the viscount and his refusal to admit he had spoken to anyone about Florence House. She had seen too many of the young men in Bath bluster and boast. One could not rely on any of them, but it surprised her how much it hurt her to know the viscount was one of their number. She had thought him different from the rest. She had hoped—quickly she stifled her half-formed thoughts. She would think no more about it. When Mrs Wilby addressed some remark to her she replied briefly and bent her head over her tambour frame once more. She had thought herself quite content with her lot, but recently she had to admit that the future as an unmarried lady seemed rather a lonely one.