Page 76 of Holding Onto Love

He understood the ton. He knew what he was doing. She accepted this. She wanted Hilyer gone. But she was frightened.

What if he did call Jasper out? Or worse. What if Jasper lost his temper and challenged Hilyer? The marquess would choose pistols.

Oh, dear God, don’t let her be the cause of Jasper’s death too. Surely Hazard would not let that happen. Or Crispin.

And that was another thing bothering her. Why on earth was Crispin here? She couldn’t decide if the man’s presence reassured her or frightened her. It seemed too odd, too serendipitous, for him to be home. Jasper hadn’t known he was coming. That much was clear. Jasper had been shocked to see him. And yet, here he was. Now.

She was surely making too much of this. But.

She would never say anything to Jasper, but there had been whispers amongst those in their regiment about the lieutenant. She’d paid the rumors little mind. If men admired their superior officer, they tended to inflate his importance, and by extension inflate their own. Henry had been very, very drunk one night and boasted that their lieutenant gathered intelligence for the War Office. He said it with such slurring admiration that Vanessa gave it as much credence as silly Marybelle claiming the lieutenant was a pirate.

But now she’d heard from Crispin’s own mouth that General Wellesley had put letters into his hands.

Yet how ridiculous to read anything into that. How long had Crispin been in the army? A year? A little over a year? His father was an earl. That was why he was carting letters to and from London. It was a posh assignment for a well-connected young lord. That was all.

His presence in London had nothing to do with Jasper’s ploy to publicly embarrass Hilyer. How could it? She was only on edge because Jasper was. She wished he’d simply left her at home.

Vanessa ceased her pacing and lay down on the bed. It was comfortably soft. It, too, smelled of lavender. The ceiling, she noted, was decorated around the edges with painted tea roses. Pink and white. Quite lovely.

Everything she’d seen in this house had been lovely. Such a contrast with her father’s mansion. He might as well have plastered the walls with banknotes. Mother never once stood up to him. Never. And Freddy…Freddy was timid. She’d tried to take his part when Father rampaged, but that made things worse. So Freddy, her sweet little brother, had come to resent her for stirring up Father more.

Seeing Jasper and Crispin together hurt her somewhere deep in her heart’s core. They might bicker, but no one else had better dare cross them. They were a force. Together, a force.

She supposed she needn’t worry about Hilyer.

She jumped up from the bed and strode to the window. She pulled back the curtain and looked out—out upon a rose garden of course. The bushes were all trimmed back neatly. It would be gorgeous if it were not midwinter.

It would not be difficult to escape. There was a trellis against the wall with a few trailing vines. She could climb out the window and down. There must be a back gate from the garden to the street. She could escape the countess’s wrath and go home.

Or she could escape and make her way to Brooks’s. They would not let her in, but she could wait outside for Jasper.

And do what?

She could see Lydia shaking her head. Don’t go looking for trouble. There’s enough of it looking for you. Women were just as prone to foolish heroics as men. Lydia had prevented untold disasters by reining in desperately frightened—or just desperate—wives. If she were here now, she would order Vanessa to lie down in that comfortable bed and quit fussing over nothing.

She let the curtain close.

Then heard a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

A maid entered, followed by a second. The first carried a bowl of water and had clean towels draped over her arm. The second brought a covered tray.

“Supper, miss. If you please.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and put the tray on the table.

The first said, “If you’ll be needing help with your dress or your hair, I’m to attend to you.”

Vanessa blinked at them, wondering who had sent them. Jasper? Before leaving? Or the earl? Surely not the countess.

“Thank you. But I won’t need anything else.”

She would be a fine soldier’s wife if she could not get in and out of her own clothing.

The maids dipped their heads and went out. Vanessa lifted the lid from the tray. A veritable feast. Chicken or perhaps duck. Gravy and peas. Bread thick with butter. Cherries. And a small cup of wine.

She sat to eat. The food was piping hot. Except for the chilled cherries and wine.

The meal was not resentfully provided. It was not bread crusts and water.