Page 26 of Holding Onto Love

She managed to continue.

Henry had enlisted. There had been no other option. He thought he might serve as a surgeon, but they needed cannon fodder. The only blessing in the whole horrible narrative was that she had been one of the few wives chosen to accompany the new recruits. And so, she’d followed the drum.

After the story’s conclusion, they finished the ride in near silence.

Upon their return to the townhouse, Jasper ordered a bath for her. He waited for her to reappear. He had undressed but kept on his shirt, with his banyan on top for good measure. She came to him, finally, still damp, a little pink about the eyes, wearing a clean shift but nothing else. He knew she was drained. He was.

He tucked her into bed.

He said, “Vanessa, they can no longer touch you. I won’t let them cause you any more pain. You must know that.”

“I am already ruined, Jasper. They will hurt you.”

“You cannot believe that.”

“But—”

He brushed a few damp, stray curls from her forehead. “Trust me.”

She sighed. He continued stroking her hair until the tension eased from her and she started to drift to sleep. Just before she fell, she murmured, “I do.”

Part 3

Time to Let Go

July 1813

London

Chapter Nine

Despite posing as a recluse while his heartwound refused to knit, there was one invitation Jasper could not refuse: tea with the Duke and Duchess of Hovington. These were Lady Georgiana’s parents. Or, he should say, Mrs. Taverston’s parents. She had lost status by marrying Reginald. And the lady might have been a countess!

It was funny, he supposed. Thankfully, the so-called wits at his club had moved on to more current sources of amusement. The only part that still rubbed was picturing the arse he’d made of himself in front of his brothers. He didn’t blame Reg—the poor fellow had clearly been suffering pangs of conscience along with his love pains. But Crispin had played the sham for all it was worth.

Reg and Georgiana returned to London last night in preparation for next week’s ball honoring Georgiana’s cousin’s debut. Very late in the Season, but poor Alice Fogbotham was low in the pecking order. Jasper accepted that invitation as well. He supposed it was time to stop hiding from Society.

He walked the approach to Watershorn, the stately ducal home, climbed the steps, and pounded the knocker. The butler admitted him into a high-ceilinged, well-illuminated, landscape-decorated entrance hall that managed to simultaneously welcome and impress.

Reg and Georgiana waited there. Georgiana, red-blonde, statuesque, always beautiful, somehow looked more so. And Reg? His shorter, darker, bookish brother? Jasper had never seen him looking so…so comfortable.

Jasper chose a paternally fond smile to greet them when nothing more natural sprang to his face.

“Jasp,” Reg said, drawing him into a two-armed embrace.

Were they now a family that hugged? Well, so. He hugged back. Next, he turned to Georgiana. He started to bow, then stopped, shrugged, and held his arms open. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Sister?”

She stepped into his arms, and he hugged her as well.

“How was Binnings?” he asked. It was an old family property, now in Crispin’s hands. Crispin had suggested the newlyweds honeymoon there. Jasper meant, of course, what was the condition of the property; no one had been there in quite some time, but the faint reddening of his brother’s face made him realize the alternative interpretation of the question.

Georgiana answered smoothly, “Absolutely lovely.”

“The grounds need tending,” Reginald said, apparently realizing what Jasper was actually asking. “I wrote Crispin about replacing the gardener.”

Now they were assuredly all talking about the same thing.