Page 8 of Holding Onto Love

“Mr. Collingswood is here, my lord.”

“Good. Bring him up.”

Jasper slipped his shoes back on and pulled on his jacket. He checked the small mirror mounted on the side of the shelves behind the desk to be sure he looked intimidating enough. Then he stood beside the liquor cabinet and waited.

“My lord.” Mr. Collingswood entered the room and bowed. Soberly attired and straight-backed, he was the very picture of professional respectability.

“Good afternoon. I won’t keep you long. I have just a few questions.”

“Which I will be happy to answer so long as they do not involve clients of mine.”

Jasper scowled. “In fact, the questions regard Mrs. Wardrip. I do not ask you to betray client privilege, I merely wish to know how to reach her to be sure…” He stalled, then carried on, “that sufficient financial arrangements for her are in place.”

“I’m afraid that is confidential.” The devil. The man looked smug.

“Her whereabouts? Or her financial situation?”

“Both.”

Jasper changed tack. “I have in mind establishing a trust, through your office, from which she can draw funds as needed.”

“Through your office” was a tactful promise of a percentage. A bribe.

Mr. Collingswood’s mouth hardened. “I believe if she wished you to know her address, she would have provided it. And had she wished for a trust of some sort, one would have been previously arranged.”

Bloody hell. Of course, Vanessa would have availed herself of one of the few incorruptible solicitors in all of England.

Peers of the realm were supposed to command respect. Jasper had spent his life acquiring the trappings of his position: the tone of voice, manner of carrying himself, style of dress. He knew when to give an order and when to make a request. He knew how to be courteous and how to charm. He had imbibed the very essence of lordliness so that it was second nature to him now. And yet, what a sham. Crispin possessed more natural authority in his thumb than Jasper did in his whole body. The devil of it was, one could not beg a solicitor for information he was not allowed to give.

He thought of one last thing he could try.

“You could deliver a letter to her without compromising your integrity, one would think.”

Collingswood hesitated, then said, “I suppose I could.”

Gudgeon that he was, he had not prepared one. Letters had not been successful in the recent past. But this was the best he could do.

He went to his desk and pulled out a sheet of foolscap. He dipped his pen into the inkpot and thought for a moment. He could hardly offer her money outright. Nor could he beg forgiveness. Not in writing. And Collingswood was waiting.

He put pen to paper and wrote the only words he had.

He folded the paper, sealed it, and gave it to the solicitor. It felt as though he were handing over the heart from his chest.

As Collingswood took the letter, Jasper said quietly, “I hope that any investments you advised have been sound.”

Contempt flashed in the solicitor’s eyes. “My advice is always sound.”

Jasper supposed he would have to content himself with that. He pulled the bell for Finley, who appeared quickly and appeared to fidget. “My lord?”

“Mr. Collingswood is leaving.”

“Yes, my lord. And Viscount Haslet has come. He is awaiting you in the drawing room. Shall I bring him up?”

Hazard was here? They’d made no plans that he recalled.

“Yes, do. No, wait. I’ll come down.”

Finley escorted Collingswood out. Jasper lagged, preferring not to walk down with the butler and the solicitor. After a decent interval, he picked up the copy of Hazard’s speech and went down.