The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(45)

She wasn’t here.

“Try not to look so disappointed,” Ridgeway said under his breath as they trudged onward. “The ladies will take offense.”

Jasper cast him a dark glance.

He was in a dangerous mood. Since returning from the ball last night, he’d been unable to think straight. Unable to sleep or even to breathe without the overwhelming weight of his unhappy situation bearing down on him.

It was intolerable.

On rising this morning, he’d saddled Quintus and gone for a bruising ride in Hyde Park. He’d told himself it wasn’t because he hoped to see Miss Wychwood. And yet he’d looked for her all along Rotten Row. She hadn’t been there.

And now she wasn’t here.

A fact that made him want to roar with frustration.

Damn and blast it all to hell.

What had he been thinking last night? As soon as he’d known her dowry was out of reach, he should have let the thought of her go. He’d had years of practice in forgetting. In hardening his heart against all finer feeling.

And then he’d seen her in the moonlight. He’d stood over her, listening to her tell him she’d never been kissed before. All reason had left him.

He hadn’t planned to kiss her. And when he had, he hadn’t meant to linger over the business with such passionate attention. But the moment his head bent to hers, all his hard-won resolve went straight out the window.

Her lips were so soft and voluptuous, half parting beneath his own with trembling anticipation. Their breath mingled, softly, sweetly, and in that moment . . . God help him, he’d felt something very near to heaven.

But it was over now. Miss Wychwood realized that as well as he did. If she hadn’t, she’d have been in Hyde Park this morning.

She’d be here now.

A ridiculous part of him had hoped she would be.

Gazing out over the sun-filtered landscape, he couldn’t help wondering how he would proceed if things were different.

If he was different.

He’d spent the past six years wondering—to no avail. The life he was living was his own now, for better or worse. The life of an ex-soldier encumbered with a failing estate and three illegitimate children.

The fact was, if given the choice, he wouldn’t change it even if he could.

Had he never gone to Yorkshire, Charlie and Alfred would have remained in the workhouse. On Dolly’s death, Daisy would have ended up there, too. The life expectancy for orphans in such places didn’t bear speaking of. The three of them might have died.

No. Jasper couldn’t regret his actions. From the moment he’d set foot in Goldfinch Hall, he’d been bound by the dictates of honor. Like it or not, he recognized his duty.

“I’m only concerned with one lady’s opinion,” he said.

“Quite. Miss Throckmorton is certain to be here somewhere. Ah. There she is, by the pond with Miss Bingham.” Ridgeway set off in their direction. “Best hurry. Aldershott is upon them. He may have finally decided he can stomach the taint of the shop.”

“She’d do well to accept him.” Jasper walked alongside Ridgeway across the grass. A warm breeze whispered over the banks of the pond, stirring the fragrance of heather and flowering meadowsweet. “He’s young, well-bred, and unencumbered. All he lacks is a fortune.”

“All you lack is a fortune,” Ridgeway retorted.

Didn’t Jasper know it. At the moment, his lack of funds was at the root of everything that was wrong in his world. If not for want of money, he’d be free to pursue whom he pleased. “It doesn’t follow that Miss Throckmorton will be willing to grant me hers. She’s shown no particular interest in my attentions.”

“No? She looks at you a good deal. Granted, not as much as Miss Wychwood did. But a man can’t have everything.”

Or anything, Jasper thought bitterly.

Ridgeway shot him a narrow look. “Is this you brooding? I confess, I don’t much care for it. You’ve little enough to recommend you already.”

“I’m not brooding,” Jasper said sourly. At least, he was trying not to—and failing miserably, he didn’t doubt. His mood was too foul, his heart too heavy. He regretted having come. He was in no fit state for this cold-blooded charade.

“Good. Because you have an excellent chance with Miss Throckmorton. She may act as though she has the luxury of choice, but she’s as eager to tie the knot as you are. For a cit, a gentleman of your stature would be a prize. All you need do is make yourself moderately agreeable—”

“Yes. So you’ve said.” Jasper was ill-disposed to make himself agreeable to anyone. But he was aware of how forbidding he appeared when he was in a black mood. And he was already forbidding enough. As they approached Miss Throckmorton and the others, he made an effort to school his features.

Miss Throckmorton and Miss Bingham were kneeling on a blanket beneath a tree on the bank, unpacking a picnic hamper. Aldershott had just sat down beside them. He was a fair-haired gentleman, with a thin frame and an angular face.

“Blunt. Ridgeway,” he greeted the two men stiffly. “You’re not thinking of joining us?”

“Do, please,” Miss Throckmorton said. “I brought plenty for everyone.”

“Eating already?” Ridgeway asked.

“No, indeed. We’re only claiming our spot. Within another half hour, all the best ones will be taken. Lady Desmond’s invited half of Mayfair.”