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Listening to the words she'd just spoken, Jenna suppressed a laugh. To be again defending Anthony Nelthorpe! Yet she realized she truly believed what she'd said-had believed it before Harry vouched for him, despite the taunt of seduction with which he'd sealed their wager.
"You may be right," Fairchild was saying. "But Nelthorpe's reputation is still tarnished enough that being seen with him cannot but reflect poorly on your own. I understand he's looking for a rich Cit's daughter to marry." Fairchild sniffed. "She'll have to be wealthy indeed to keep Nelthorpe and his father-who is even more profligate than the son-in liquor and harlots."
So Nelthorpe was hunting a wife? she thought in surprise. Though she shouldn't be. How else was an aristocrat with no profession to repair his fortune?
Obviously misreading that emotion, Lane patted her hand. "I didn't mean to distress you! I speak only from the sincerest desire to protect you. Indeed, though I realize 'tis far too soon to mention such things, I hope that at some future time, you may grant me the privilege of caring for you-permanently."
There could be no mistaking his inference. Jenna looked away, uncertain how to respond. Since arriving in London, she'd noticed subtle things-a warmth of tone, a touch here, a guiding hand at her elbow there-that indicated Fairchild might be coming to view her in a warmer light. She'd been telling herself she was reading too much into what were only gallant gestures.
Apparently her instincts had been correct.
Best to put the matter firmly to rest. "I am, of course, honored," she said, choosing her words with care. "But much as I esteem you, I do not foresee developing between us more than a...cousinly affection."
"No more talk of it now," he said with a sweep of his hand, as if brushing aside the words-and her protest? "For the immediate future, I hope you will continue to reside at Fairchild House."
"Thank you. I expect I shall stay until the holidays at least." She already knew that residing permanently with the Fairchild clan-and in the midst of the ton-was not what she wanted. But she'd promised Nelthorpe to remain until Christmas, and she would honor her word.
"Excellent!" Fairchild said. "Since you will be with us indefinitely, I'm afraid I must pass along another warning. Please be...careful in your dealings with Bayard." "With Bayard?" she echoed. "Careful in what way?" "One not well acquainted with him might think him mild-mannered, if somewhat rough-spoken.
That is not always the case, regrettably. Though he is indifferent to estate matters not related to his scientific explorations," Lane's voice took on an aggrieved note, "any person he perceives to interfere with those causes him to become extremely agitated. A few months ago, one of the footmen moved some of Bayard's chemicals in order to fetch some port from the wine cellar. Bayard flew into a rage and flung the man against the wall, breaking his arm."
"Bayard hurt someone?" she gasped, unable to credit her husband's brusque cousin capable of such violence. "It seems fantastical, but I'm afraid it's true. I was present when the doctor examined the footman. So I suggest you avoid the area near his laboratory."
Jenna smiled to counter the little shiver that skittered down her backbone. "As I don't expect to be sneaking about the cellars filching your claret, I imagine I shall be safe enough."
"So I should hope!" he replied, returning the smile. "I would caution you to beware of Bayard's valet as well. Were it up to me, I should turn the surly fellow off in an instant. I've often urged that Bayard replace him with someone who could turn him out more in the style befitting a Fairchild! But for some unfathomable reason, Bayard's quite attached to him. And by now," he concluded with a wry shake of his head, "you must be thinking you've stumbled into a household straight out of Bedlam."
"I did think upon first seeing him that Frankston seemed more like a Spanish brigand than a gentleman's gentleman," Jenna said. "Is he as dangerous?"
"I'm sure he is not! His conduct does not approach the standards I would require of a servant at Fairchild House, but I did not mean to imply he might threaten anything other than your patience. The man seems to have no notion of the deference he owes to his betters."
"Then I may sleep safely in my bed?" she teased.
"Of course," he replied, his smile fading. "I know you are funning, but your safety is no joking matter.
Also, please know that anytime you have need of an escort, I should be honored if you will call on me."
"You are very kind," she murmured. If Nelthorpe were in fact occupied in pursuing a middle-class bride, she might not have to honor the ridiculous bargain they'd made last night. But whether or not the viscount came calling, she didn't wish to encourage Lane-who seemed not at all put off by her little speech about cousinly affection.
He bowed and walked to the door, then hesitated. "Though I have no authority over you, of course, I must admit I should feel easier if you could assure me you did not intend to see Viscount Nelthorpe again."
A knock sounded at the door, followed by Sancha's entry. "Pardon, senora," she said with a curtsy.
"But Lord Nelthorpe is here. Shall I tell him you come down?"
"Lady Fairchild is occupied," Lane said.
Jenna threw him a sharp glance. She might appreciate his concern for her welfare, but she wasn't about to let him dictate her actions. Besides, much as she regretted last night's hasty promise, she had made it, and if the viscount held her to the bargain, she would honor it.
"Tell Lord Nelthorpe I will be down directly."
After the maid withdrew, she turned to Lane Fairchild, whose lips had pressed together in a disapproving line. "Having escorted me home last night, it is only polite that Nelthorpe call. And only polite that I receive him. Besides, though I appreciate your concern, do me the credit of believing I am capable of managing my own affairs."
The glint in his blue eyes turned decidedly frosty. "If you say so, cousin. I shall not intrude upon you further, then." After a stiff bow, he walked out.
What a charming morning, she thought with a sigh. Cousin Lane was definitely displeased with her.
And Anthony Nelthorpe waited below.
*CHAPTER TEN*
Having ridden home as quickly as the congested London streets would allow, it wasn't until he stood in her parlor, a disapproving Sancha dispatched with a message to fetch her mistress, that Tony paused to reconsider his plan.
Despite the protests of his knee, he limped about the room, doubts beginning to assail him.
He'd managed to tease, annoy and cajole a bargain out of Jenna last night, but in the saner light of day, would she choose to honor it? Or, as had happened each time he'd called during her convalescence, would Sancha return to inform him Lady Fairchild could not receive him?
Tony prayed with all the fervency he possessed that she would receive him, though he feared less for her safety now than he had last night, when he'd seen moonlight and desperation reflected in her eyes.
More important than the desire, stronger than he cared to admit, to spend time with her, the plight of the displaced soldiers demanded redress.
How could he help them if she repudiated him?
Wexley, St. Ives and others of their ilk were unlikely to care enough to offer a ha'penny, and Ned Hastings had no independent income of his own. Tony could think of no other wealthy acquaintance in London-except Banker Harris. Aside from the fact that he'd be loath to return again, hat in hand and asking for money, would a self-made man like Mr. Harris have any sympathy for unfortunates many in society would judge to be worthless vagrants who should bestir themselves to find honest work?
So what would he do if Jenna refused to meet him? Modest as the needs of the former soldiers and their families were, he knew his limited resources wouldn't stretch to meeting them for long.
He paced faster, seared by the same agonizing sense of helplessness that had seized him at Waterloo after the union Brigade's charge, while he watched his exuberant fellow horsemen, having decimated the French ranks before them, ride recklessly onward, deaf to the recall being sounded by their bugler. Ride on far behind the enemy lines, to the very foot of the French guns. Where, scattered and outnumbered, they were cut to pieces.
Bile rose in his throat and a shudder ran through him. Shaking his mind free of the memory, he forced himself to concentrate on the present.
No French cuirassiers stood between him and the salvation of the little band residing off Thames Street.
Should Jenna fail to appear, he supposed he could write her a letter describing the situation. He was just starting to mentally compose such a note in his head when the lady herself entered the parlor.
"You wished to see me, Lord Nelthorpe?"
For a moment he let his hungry eyes feast on her while the potent force she always exerted over his senses drew him inexorably to her side. "Jenna," he murmured, bending to kiss the fingertips she extended as he inhaled deeply of her scent, savoring the too-brief touch of her skin.
He felt the tension in her hand, as if she wished to jerk it free. Would she honor their bargain? Perhaps he ought to determine that immediately, for if she had come down only to disavow it, he wouldn't get a chance to plead the soldier's case.
Tightening his hold, he kissed her hand again.
This time she did pull away. "When you do that, I wonder at my wisdom in permitting you to call."
