Page 90 of Holding Onto Love

“I don’t want to kill another horse.” He sounded angry. Or not angry—rather, aggrieved.

“What?”

“I’ve been looking at these fine animals and it sickens me to have to choose one. The bill of sale will be its execution warrant.”

Jasper sighed. “Nevertheless, you need a decent horse.” Then he peered at Crispin more closely. He had his hand splayed over his midsection. Like his gut hurt. The image brought to mind a frail schoolboy, paler than milk, insisting he was fine. “What’s wrong?”

Crispin didn’t reply, but left the stall behind and walked towards the carriage horses. Jasper followed. Abruptly, Crispin turned.

“I wasn’t there. At the boat. I don’t want you to think I was there.”

“I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“My role was merely to find out who and then make sure he tried to leave England.”

Jasper smiled wryly. “I thought the latter was my role.”

“Ha. You and…,” he tapped three fingers against this thumb sequentially, as though counting, “…three others. With methods increasingly crude and desperate. I am impressed by the elegance of your plan. And am pleased that it worked as well as it did. But…”

Jasper knew about Caro. He was not surprised there were more.

“…but I was worried it might not and worried that one of the others might also go wrong, horribly wrong. And I was worried that Hilyer could end up dead in the street if we could not get him to the boat.”

“So you had Hazard sit on me all night.”

Crispin nodded. “Jasper, I’m a drudge. I was not privy to the plans of the higher-ups. I don’t know if what ultimately happened was intentional or a foul-up. I keep thinking it can’t have been authorized, and yet…” The look he shot Jasper was anguished. “I’m glad he’s dead. You don’t know what it’s like for our men. How they contend with wormy flour, wet powder, and boots that fall apart after a day on the march. Hilyer was not the only profiteer, only the most egregious. Tampering with the rum was the last straw.” He ground one fist into the other. “But I thought he’d be arrested. Tried. Honest to God, Jasper.”

Jasper was unsure how to respond. If Hilyer had been caught trying to smuggle military secrets to France, he was a spy subject to execution. But if the documents were faked, as Crispin’s letter had implied… Finally, he said, “He might have avoided punishment if he’d gone to court.”

“Yes, I know. As I said, I’m glad he’s dead. They must have executed them both on the spot—Hilyer and whoever the unfortunate lackey with him was. Then they burned the corpses, loosened the moorings, and set the whole ship afire. That had to have been planned. Don’t you think?” His voice dropped. “I could not have plotted something like that.”

“No, of course not.”

Crispin rubbed his sleeve over his eyes. “But what a hypocrite that makes me. I can deliver a man to slaughter. I can wish him dead. But if it came down to it…”

“You’re a soldier, not a cold-blooded killer. That doesn’t make you a hypocrite.” He shook Crispin’s shoulder. “I’m glad he’s dead, too. I’m glad someone killed him. I’m also glad it was not you.”

“I didn’t want you to think it was.”

Jasper nodded. He didn’t. He’d put his money on Caro.

“Come on.” He grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him roughly along. “I’ll pick your horse. I don’t care if it comes back in one piece. So long as you do.”

*

Jasper was glad to find Vanessa awake. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to bathe in her honesty and innocence. He was tired of scandal and intrigues and plots. She sat before a fire in the parlor. The flicker of the flames brought out the chestnut in her hair, falling loose about her shoulders. He didn’t know why he’d ever imagined her chin too severe. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

The parlor was one of the smaller rooms in the house. She seemed to prefer it. Perhaps because it was warm and bright. Perhaps it was the muted browns and beiges of the furnishings. One could sink into its comfort with nothing to distract except an oversized leafy potted plant by the window. She was embroidering a design on a pair of gloves, white floss on white gloves. It was all so peaceful.

He felt like he should tiptoe into the room.

“How was Tattersalls?” she asked, glancing up at his approach.

“Loud and odiferous. But successful. Crispin has reluctantly fallen in love with another horse.”

She nodded. He walked over and sat in the armchair next to hers.

“How did it go at Brooks’s?” she asked, her voice measured, falsely calm.