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Tony approved his mount's obvious desire to vacate the area. No street in London was safe at night, but Tony knew that in a place like this, one might have his watch lifted-or his head bashed in-at any hour of the day.
Anger at his carelessness in wandering here alone sharpened the sixth sense instilled by years of war.
Feeling more than seeing the shadows of several men approaching, he tightened his grip on the reins and prepared to give Pax his head. Weaponless but for his whip and with his weak knee, he'd be in a precarious position should anyone manage to unhorse him.
Even as that thought occurred, sending a jolt of alarm through him, a rough hand grabbed at his boot.
Jerking his foot away, Tony brought his whip down hard. His mount screamed and reared up, the menace of his iron-shod hooves sending two of the shadows fleeing. Tony swiveled, about to bring the whip down again on the man who'd grabbed his boot when a feeble glint caught his eye.
A glint, Tony realized, checking the blow, from what had once been gold lace...on a sleeve that bore a sergeant's chevrons.
The soldier staggered backward, dirty hands raised to protect his head. "Lemme go! Didn't mean ye no harm!"
"Ten-hut, Sergeant!" Tony barked.
Reacting instinctively to the command, the soldier snapped upright, swaying slightly. "Aye, sir!"
Wrinkling his nose against the strong odor of gin and sweat, Tony inspected the tattered, grime-faded uniform. "Dragoon, aren't you? Which unit?"
"Sergeant Anston of the 16th, sir!"
"Captain Nelthorpe of the Royals. What are you doing, disgracing that uniform by accosting passersby like some common footpad? Wellington would have you strung up!"
"Aye, I reckon Old Hookey would, sir. But he don't need us no more. No place for us back home neither, and a man's gotta eat."
"True, but all thievery will get you is Newgate or a prison hulk." Falling back into the familiar habit of command, Tony assessed what he could do for this particular trooper. "Follow me home, Sergeant," he said after a moment. "I'll see you get a hot meal. Then we'll discuss finding work that won't end up getting you transported."
"Thank'ee, sir, but I can't leave. Got a family of sorts what depends on me. Not me own wife, ya see, but there's a clutch of soldiers' widows and their brats here, all with no place else ta go. I help 'em out, best I can."
"When you're not full of blue ruin?" Tony asked as he bent his mind to this new complication.
"Please, m'lord, let 'im go!" A thin woman clutching a babe wrapped in rags skittered from behind one of the doorways. "He didn't mean yer worship no harm!"
"Don't ye worry yerself, Peggy," the sergeant said. "The cap'n here be only speaking with me."
At his words of reassurance, an urchin darted out of the doorway. "Spare me a penny, yer worship?"
Ruefully Tony inspected the skinny child who gazed up at him with a gap-toothed smile, one hopeful hand extended. "How many more of these are there?" he asked the trooper.
"There's two widows and seven young'ins here," the sergeant said. "Near a dozen folk the next street over."
Tony looked from the tattered sergeant to the wraith-thin woman to the grimy, barefooted urchin admiring Pax from a respectful distance. To these half-starved scarecrows, he must look like a prince.
Half-starved scarecrows who had followed their menfolk across a harsh land from battle to desperate battle. Men who had fought, bled and suffered for home and country.
'Twas unconscionable that this soldier and these soldiers' kin had been reduced to accosting the unwary and begging pennies from strangers.
Rage welling up, Tony snatched some coins from his waistcoat pocket and thrust them at the sergeant.
"Take these for now, Anston. I shall bring more later."
The sergeant seized the coins and pocketed them. "Lord, Cap'n, don't be flashing yer blunt on this street! There's them what would cut yer throat fer a pence!"
Suddenly an idea occurred. "Can you paint?" Tony asked the sergeant.
The man blinked at him. "Ye mean-houses?"
"Yes."
The sergeant scratched his head. "Never done none, but I reckon I could, Cap'n."
"Then come round to North Audley Street tomorrow morning. There'll be work and coins for doing it."
"Aye, sir, I will. And thank ye, sir."
"No thanks necessary. King and country, eh?"
The sergeant saluted. "King and country, sir! Now, let me lead ye out afore some cutpurse fancies yer horse!"
As he rode off, he had to smile, imagining the look of horror on Carstairs's face when the grimy sergeant appeared on their doorstep. But his humor soon faded.
'Twas an outrage that men who had answered their country's call and the families who depended on them had been cast aside and forgotten like refuse in that alley gutter. Reduced to thievery, begging-or worse, Tony thought, recalling the babe the woman held to her chest.
He would scrape together as much as he could spare to help this small group, but his meager earnings would not stretch to maintaining nearly two dozen folk. Furious about the situation and his own helplessness, he rode back to the comfortable streets of Mayfair. But as his anger cooled, a potential solution occurred.
His own resources were limited. But if he could find words eloquent enough to describe their plight, perhaps he could persuade Jenna to intervene. Having spent much of her life tending those among her father's regiments who'd been sick, wounded or destitute, surely she would be moved to compassion by their urgent need.
As soon as he cleaned off the dust of his encounter with the sergeant, he would call on her.
Just before luncheon, Jenna stared sightlessly over her book in the sitting room that adjoined her chamber, trying to shake off the lethargy into which she'd fallen since returning home last night.
Her mind kept replaying her odd encounters with Anthony Nelthorpe. Not sure whether she meant to honor the ridiculous bargain he'd forced on her in the park, she'd planned to avoid him the rest of the evening-and yet paradoxically, when she'd felt as if she'd run mad if she didn't escape Lady Charlotte's reception, she'd been enormously relieved to stumble across him again.
He'd lived up to her instinctive trust, seeing her home in merciful silence, then bidding her good-night.
It hadn't been one.
Unhappy dreams, no doubt inspired by the poisonous allegations uttered by the Blaine woman, had troubled her rest. Dropping her book with a thump, she shook her head. She simply mustn't allow the woman's claims to upset her. In her heart, she didn't truly believe them. And besides, with the only other witness to the supposed event long dead, she would never be able to determine whether the countess's assertions were true or not.
Lucinda Blaine was a vain, frustrated beauty who could not bear to believe her former love had found someone to replace her, Jenna told herself. Perhaps she was repenting her decision to choose wealth and title over youth and affection-if she had, in fact, ever loved Garrett.
Jenna ought to dismiss the incident from her mind-if only she could remove that last tiny splinter of doubt.
A rap at the door interrupted her troubling reflections. Instead of Sancha, Jenna found Lane Fairchild upon the threshold, smiling at her.
"May I come in? I feared, when I learned you'd requested a tray here rather than taking your meal below, that you might have overtired yourself last night."
"No, I'm perfectly fine." Wondering why he felt it necessary to track her down in her private sitting room, Jenna waved him to a chair.
"You did leave Lady Charlotte's party rather abruptly. I'd scarcely arrived when I saw you departing. I wish I had had time to make my presence known, that you might have requested my escort home."
He must have seen her with Nelthorpe. Did he also know what had passed between them at Badajoz?
Jenna felt her face coloring. "That is kind of you, cousin, but as you can see, I arrived back safely."
"For which I can only be profoundly grateful!" He hesitated, then continued, "Jenna, I hope you will not think I am presuming to try to choose your friends, but I strongly advise you to avoid Lord Nelthorpe.
"Please-" he held up a hand to forestall her protest "-hear me out. I understand that Viscount Nelthorpe apparently served with honor in the army. However, before he put on regimentals, he was known to be a womanizer and a fortune hunter. You, who have spent your life around soldiers like your father and Garrett, might not realize that a uniform can hide a badly flawed character."
Touched by his chivalry, but also a bit annoyed, Jenna said, "Cousin, I am not so naive that I do not realize the army contains rascals as well as gentlemen."
"Perhaps not," he conceded, "but your goodness leads you to expect it in others, and your recent...losses may cloud your judgment. Nelthorpe might take advantage."
Relieved that her cousin evidently didn't know what had happened between herself and Nelthorpe, Jenna hid a smile. Lane's warning came several years too late.
"I appreciate your concern, but I believe it groundless. After three years of wartime service, Lord Nelthorpe is most assuredly no longer the same man he was when he left England."
"One would hope his character has improved," Lane said. "Though I doubt such a man ever fully reforms."
She had doubts about that herself. "Perhaps not. Still, I do not believe Lord Nelthorpe will harm me."
