Why should she say such a thing? Was the Stuart worried that the king was dead? Why would he think it?
Jasper got a very sinking feeling. As the queen had requested, he’d left an invented report on his desk of the king having been ambushed and bravely fighting off his attackers. He never thought he would see the report in the newspapers, and he had not. What he and the queenhadthought is the Stuart might feel pressure to move more quickly and thereby make mistakes if he thought some other plot was in the works.
He must assume Miss Wilcox had passed on that report and had now been directed to be certain that the king still lived. The Stuart would wish to know if some other party planned something, and he would most certainly wish the king alive and mad. Were the king to die, the country would be plunged into mourning, memories of his madness would fade, and memories of the good days would come to the forefront. Mourning would also throw some cold water on the regent, and most likely make him appear more sensible and sympathetic. The Stuart would not favor any of those things.
As he led her through the changes, Miss Wilcox said, “I am glad. I only could not imagine what else would keep the queen up for meetings at midnight.”
“Plenty keeps the queen awake,” he said roughly. “There are always those villains who seek to throw the country into chaos.”
Miss Wilcox did not answer, and he thought he had hit her very close to home. It was not likely that she had any real idea of the Stuart or what he was up to, but she would certainly understand that the information she passed along was meant to stir up trouble for the monarchy.
“I am surprised I do not see Asturt here,” Jasper said. “He seems to be always hanging about the place.”
He did not know why he said so. Was it spite for Miss Wilcox’s irritating lothario? He’d seen Asturt in the club a few hours prior and had left because he had the unaccountable urge to punch him in the face. Hewasrather surprised the fellow was not here, as he seemed to be here every other day. Perhaps the fates had smiled upon the house and run the man over with a carriage.
“Lord Asturt sent a note to Lady Mendleton this morning,” Miss Wilcox said. “It seems he’s been taken with fever.”
“Or taken with a better offer,” Jasper said, telling himself to stop talking but unable to stop. “I saw him at my club not many hours ago and he looked fit as a fiddle.”
Miss Wilcox’s color was always rather rosy, but it now deepened to such a degree that she appeared to have a fever herself.
“Oh, I see,” she said softly.
Upon viewing her distress, Jasper cursed himself for his lack of self-control. He was not a schoolboy and yet he had sounded decidedly petulant. To hint to a lady that a gentleman could not be bothered to turn up at her ball was ungentlemanly. And possibly unforgivable.
What was wrong with him?
He knew what was wrong with him, though it did not excuse his behavior. He wished to take Miss Wilcox in his arms, he wished to make her the woman who would travel through life by his side. Most of all, he wished she was not engaged in a nefarious business that stopped him from doing so. He wished to rescue her, but he was also angry at her for it. He’d lashed out with a verbal barb to punish her, and so he had punished. That he regretted it meant little.
Miss Wilcox slowly recovered her composure. Her red cheeks faded and her eyes, which had begun to look dangerously glistening in the candlelight as if there were tears ready to spring out, lost their telltale shine. By the time the dance ended, she was looking positively steely.
She might well hate him now and he had nobody to blame for that but himself. All he could do was meet Ryland, get his information, and put an end to the Stuart’s plans. Only then could he attempt to repair whatever harm he’d caused.
*
Georgiana was wellaware of how close she had come to crying.Actuallycrying, at her own ball, on the ballroom floor in view of all. It would have made Lady Annabelle’s weeping in the retiring room at Lady Featherstone’s ball seem minor indeed. The horror of the humiliation of such a spectacle had been enough to quell her tears.
She was not particularly devastated that Lord Asturt had made up some fib about being sick so that he might go elsewhere. She was surprised, but not devastated.
She had been devastated by Jasper’s intent. Or rather, she supposed she’d better think of him as Lord Langley now. He sought to strike at her. It had come on so suddenly, in such a disdainful tone. She could never have been prepared for it.
He had wished to wound her and point out to her how insignificant she really was. She was to know that she had imagined all sorts of admirers, but they turned out to be ephemeral wisps of delusion. He had certainly done a fine job of it.
She had composed herself and in so doing felt herself harden. Georgiana Wilcox would not be humiliated at her own ball, nor would she allow Lady Mendleton to be so. She had vowed at the very beginning of the evening to keep a smile on her face and now she was even more determined. She would not let him see that she suffered. Let him think she cared not one jot over who came to her ball or what their opinions might be, including himself and his own. Let him steal out before supper to see the queen, Miss Wilcox would not even deign to notice his departure. He would be nothing to her. At least, he wouldthinkhe was nothing to her. There was little left to save but her own pride, and she would save it.
She was resolute.
So far, she thought she was succeeding. She’d managed to appear engaged when Lady Annabelle excitedly informed her that her mama had been overcome and Mr. Pottsgrove was now a sanctioned suitor. It had taken three days of crying jags and fits and refusing to eat, though she did creep down to the kitchens at night because she did not want to actually starve. Her father had thrown up his hands and her mother had commented that at least he was not a butcher or a farrier and that had been that. Good Mr. Pottsgrove himself would have had no notion yet of this interesting development and, as Lady Annabelle was rather afraid he might do a violence to himself on account of his doting, she had daringly sent him an anonymous letter. According to the lady, all it said was:Don’t give up hope, Annie.
For all the sadness heaped upon her shoulders, Georgiana could not help but to laugh over the idea that Lady Annabelle had signed her name to it and yet thought it was anonymous. Mr. Pottsgrove was about to have quite the adventure with his future wife.
Now Mr. Vance led her through the dance preceding supper. Though Georgiana had no intention of noticing when Lord Langley made his departure, she could not help glancing about.
She saw Marcus at the ballroom door, no doubt come to tell his lord that his horse was saddled. Lady Annabelle was nearby the door too, looking as if she did not quite know what to do with herself. She’d earlier told Georgiana that she had not allowed all of her dances to be taken, in honor of Mr. Pottsgrove. They were, after all, practically engaged, though he did not know anything about it. When she saw him, she would regale him with how she’d said no to this gentleman and that gentleman, and he would be pleased to hear of it. For her supper, she had arranged to go in with her father, who was currently occupying himself in the card room. Now, though, it seemed as if she rather regretted her scheme as she looked about uncomfortably and clasped and unclasped her hands.
As Georgiana turned with Mr. Vance, she noted Lord Langley striding toward the door. Marcus stepped aside to let him pass, and he was gone.
As Marcus followed the lord out, something fluttered from his coat pocket to the ballroom floor. Lady Annabelle noted it and picked it up. She looked as if she would follow Marcus to return it to him, but then she stopped.
