The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(76)

“Your hiding places are beginning to lack creativity,” Jasper said, propping one shoulder against the doorframe. “This is the first place I looked.”

Charlie and Alfred were perched in the deep-set window embrasure, a stack of playing cards set between them.

“Not the first place,” Charlie said under his breath.

Jasper ignored the remark. The boys were aware that, when it came to his study, he trusted no one. He always made it his first stop on returning from his travels, even if he’d ventured no further than Hardholme. “I suppose Daisy is in one of the kitchen cupboards?”

Alfred’s lips twitched.

“No?” Jasper made an effort to mask his impatience. “Where, then?”

“She’s in the wardrobe in your bedchamber,” Alfred said.

Jasper stiffened. Good God. What was the little devil playing at? Did she intend to leap out and scare Julia half to death?

But no.

He recalled the fleeting glance Julia had cast over his shoulder and the smile that had followed soon after it. She must have observed Daisy spying on them. No wonder Julia had emphasized how much she wanted to meet the little girl.

Knowing all the children’s whereabouts should have set Jasper’s mind at ease.

It didn’t.

The boys were notorious for their ill-advised remarks. And Daisy was no better. Lord only knew what horrors she was relating to her new stepmother.

“Is there anything else you’d like to confess?” Jasper asked the boys. “Any other surprises in the offing?”

The boys resumed their card game in mutinous silence.

“If this is another battle of wills,” Jasper said, “may I say it’s poorly timed.”

Charlie slapped down a card. “What care we what she thinks.”

Jasper wasn’t wholly unsympathetic to his feelings. As a boy, Charlie had been abandoned by his own mother, left to languish in the workhouse. The betrayal had hurt him deeply. Even now, after six years in Jasper’s care, Charlie would still rather reject someone outright than risk the chance of, ultimately, being hurt or rejected himself.

“You don’t know her,” Jasper said. “If you did, I suspect you’d like her.”

Charlie only snorted, but Alfred chanced a cautious glance in Jasper’s direction.

One year younger, Alfred was often led by his older brother. Often, but not always.

“She’s an excellent horsewoman,” Jasper went on. “Her gelding will arrive within the week. I’m relying on the pair of you to assist me in that regard.”

“How?” Alfred asked.

“When I’m too busy to accompany her,” Jasper said, “it will fall to one of you to escort her on her rides.”

“On who? Musket?” Charlie gave another derisive snort. Musket was the aged gelding they kept to pull the dogcart. He rarely exerted himself to go faster than a jog.

“Musket couldn’t keep up,” Jasper said.

“You’d let us ride Quintus?” Alfred abandoned any pretense of being interested in the card game.

“Naturally,” Jasper said. “In company with my wife—providing you can manage to be civil to her.”

Charlie scowled. “Who wants to ride that big lummox?”

“I might,” Alfred said. “If I can gallop him.”

“That all depends on your behavior.” Jasper straightened from the doorframe. “I expect both of you downstairs in the drawing room before dinner—washed, dressed, and well-behaved.” He met Charlie’s eyes across the distance, his own gaze implacable. “You and I will address your temporary lapse after dinner.”

Having said his piece, Jasper withdrew, leaving the boys to mutter among themselves about his unrelenting high-handedness. Let them do so. It was preferable to them thinking he was undependable.

From the beginning, he’d striven to be steady with them. A man they could rely on—the same on one day as on the next. It was that which they needed, not an outpouring of affection or a torrent of discipline. They needed to feel safe and secure.

It was the same thing Julia required of him. Not his love, but his protection. His steadfastness and strength.

Returning to their shared bedchamber, he found her standing in front of the open wardrobe, placing a folded skirt onto a high shelf. Several articles of her clothing had already been carefully put away. They lined the lower shelves in colorful stacks of silk, wool, and muslin.

He scanned the room. “Is Daisy not here?”

Julia glanced at him, her expression peculiarly blank. “She was here.”

“Where did she go?”

“Downstairs, I believe.” Her tone was as opaque as her countenance.

Jasper had a sinking feeling. He entered the room, shutting the door behind him. “I suppose she said something untoward.”

Julia turned to face him. “Nothing you didn’t warn me about.”

“She spoke of her mother?”

“She did.” Julia walked to the window. Framed by folds of heavy leaf-patterned damask drapery, it boasted a deep-set seat much like the one the boys were taking advantage of in the servants’ quarters. She sat down upon it, rain drumming on the glass behind her. “What was her name?”

His sinking feeling swiftly transformed into a leaden weight in his chest.