Page 36 of Holding Onto Love

“Who jumped you?”

“I don’t know. That is the truth. Three men. Strangers all.”

“Who stole nothing.” When Hazard didn’t answer, Jasper tried another tack. “Was my house really closest? How far did you have to walk to make it here?” Hazard still didn’t answer. Jasper said, “Were you on your way to Alice’s ball?”

“Damn it. No. No, I was not. I’m not selfish enough to ruin her prospects.”

Jasper felt the ache behind his eyes start to throb. It wasn’t his business. And he probably didn’t want to know.

But Hazard mumbled, “Vere Street. I had to walk, practically crawl, all the way from Vere Street.”

Not just a male brothel, the most notorious of them. Jasper couldn’t believe all the things said about it could be true. He couldn’t picture Hazard there. He didn’t want to.

“I left the Flying Horse, and three bastards caught me and dragged me into the alley.”

“Why did you—”

“Why did I? Why did I?” Hazard’s voice rose. “God so help me, Jasper, if you dare ask me why I did this to myself, why I do this to myself—” He choked. Then tried to stand. “I’m going. I shouldn’t have come here.”

Jasper pushed him back down. “Stop. You’re staying. I insist that you stay. And I apologize. I didn’t mean…anything. Hazard, you’re the best man that I know. The very best man.”

“Crispin? Reginald?”

“You are the third best man that I know.”

Hazard laughed, not well-amused, but he laughed. “I need another drink. When will you learn to stock the place with gin?”

“I hate gin.” He poured more brandy.

This time, Hazard merely rolled it around in his mouth, then spat into the basin. Great gobs of bloody spit and brandy. Hazard swirled the basin.

“No teeth. I am giddy with joy. I sincerely believed I was to be prematurely toothless.”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

Hazard hesitated, then said warily, “Go on. Just one. Then I’m going to bed.”

“Is Alice your mentor?”

A slow, grotesque smile spread on his face. Jasper could only tell it was a smile by the way Hazard’s eyes crinkled.

“You may keep your Liverpool. That girl has the sharpest mind since Walpole.”

Chapter Twelve

Vanessa did not share the glad tidings about the battle at Vitoria. Not even with Lydia. How could she? Lydia would be incredulous. After all this time? Lieutenant Taverston? She’d want to know why the lieutenant would have written to her.

Never mind the how. It was foolish to imagine Crispin would have had any trouble uncovering her tracks. But why was a reasonable question. He said he wrote to her too. Too. Who else? All the Taverstons? Did he include her as one of them still? In every way that mattered?

If so, she mattered only to him.

After the initial rush of warmth from his letter receded, Vanessa was left feeling lonelier than before. He remembered her, yes. But he also reminded her of everything that she’d lost.

Regardless, within a few days, word of the battle seeped into Cartmel. Corporal Compton insisted upon a celebration. Sherwood offered the tavern. Everyone attended. Even Vanessa. Even though she didn’t want to dampen the festivities with her mood.

They gathered at dusk to eat, drink, and twirl about. Vanessa didn’t think she had ever been to a party that started at dusk. In London, parties started well after dark and ran into the early hours of the morning. Sometimes until dawn. But the ton never rose before noon. Here they woke at cock’s crow. As if in the army or following the drum.

Although the battle at Vitoria was the excuse, there was very little discussion of the war. Little more than, “Well, certainly, our boys will kick Boney back to France. Just wish they’d get on with it instead of dragging their feet!”