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Perhaps a frontal assault would be best. Hoping he wasn't about to make matters worse, Tony rode in front of Jenna's mount and halted, forcing her to pull up as well.
"What's wrong, Jenna? I hope you didn't let the Countess of Doone's nasty remarks upset you. She seems to need to imply every man she meets find her fascinating."
"You gave her no reason to doubt that supposition," Jenna snapped.
Had Jenna been a bit jealous? Pleased in spite of himself, he said, "A man may admire a showy bauble without coveting it for his own."
"But if it once was his own, does he ever stop regretting its loss?" she asked softly.
Tony threw her a sharp glance. Surely Jenna couldn't doubt that her husband had found his way free of whatever spell Lucinda Blaine had once cast over him.
"No intelligent man keeps a shiny bit of glass after he's discovered that 'pearl of great price,'" he said.
When she turned to look at him, Tony was horrified to see tears in her eyes. "What if he thinks to have both?"
She did have doubts. Incredulous at the realization and torn by the obvious distress on her face, Tony protested, "You can't truly believe Garrett had any warm feelings left for Lucinda Blaine!"
"How can you be certain?" she flashed back. "You two were never friends."
"True. But after you were wed, I was threatened with the direst retribution if I so much as approached you. He guarded you as he would his most precious possession."
"Perhaps he didn't want to share this particular bauble."
It must be her weakened physical state that made her prey to these nonsensical doubts. "Come now, Jenna, do you not think you are letting yourself make too much out of a vainglorious woman's innuendo?"
"Perhaps not this time, but-" Catching herself, she turned away, her face coloring. '"Tis no matter.
Doubtless you are correct."
Had Lucinda Blaine plagued her on some other occasion? Tony wondered, his aggravation with the Beauty increasing. From what he knew of the woman, he didn't doubt her capable of such malice. "What else did the countess say to you?"
"You are right," Jenna mumbled, "I'm being foolish."
Tony made no move to let her pass. "If you want a disinterested opinion about the value of whatever she said, you might as well tell me the whole."
He held his breath, waiting for her to brush him off and ride away. But evidently the doubts preying upon her were disturbing enough that she felt compelled to air them, even with him, for after a moment she said softly, "The other night, I encountered her at Lady Charlotte's party."
Understanding dawned swiftly. "So that was why you wanted to leave so abruptly. What did she say?"
"She claimed that when we were in London last spring, Garrett came to visit her. He was gone a great deal then, busy with the details of trying to mobilize an army. He might easily have stopped to see her, even...spent the night."
"And that thought is what sent you fleeing?"
"No. Considering the possibility of it hurt, though it angered me more that she could make me doubt him. But then she said that with the death of his child, I now have even less to remember him by than she does. She sounded positively- triumphant. I care nothing for her gloating, but losing the babe..." Jenna took a shuddering breath.
There should be, he thought furiously, a special ring of Hades for petty, vindictive beauties like Lucinda Blaine. Aching for the pain in Jenna's voice, he said, "As you know better than anyone, Garrett was a man of impeccable honor. Even if he harbored a trace of affection for his former fiancee-which I doubt-he would never insult you or dishonor his vows by trifling with her."
He had the pleasure of seeing her troubled brow lighten a bit. "You truly believe that?"
"I truly do."
"Thank you," she whispered. "And I'm sorry to be a spiritless creature. Let us go to work now. We have dinners to prepare, clothes to procure, and all of it to deliver before sundown."
She nudged her mare back toward the street. Tony guided Pax to follow, conversation ceasing as they picked their way through the traffic. As they reached the town-house, Tony asked, "Shall I see you in?"
"No, I must go purchase foodstuffs so your cook can begin work. As soon as I've done that, I shall shop for the necessary clothing, then continue on to North Audley Street. If that is agreeable?"
Gratified as he was that she trusted him enough to call at his home, Tony knew he couldn't allow it. "I'm afraid it isn't. Didn't your cousin tell you a lady never calls at the home of a single gentleman?"
"How ridiculous! Since the food is being prepared at your kitchen, 'twould make more sense to set out from there. Your cook-and Sancha-can safeguard my virtue." A little smile lit her eyes. "And I still carry that knife."
"I stand forewarned," he replied. "Still, it simply won't do. The women who call upon my esteemed sire are certainly not ladies. If you were to be seen anywhere near my doorstep-" in his mind flashed the image of a pouting Lucinda Blaine "-the malicious of the ton would delight in making mincemeat of your reputation."
"For calling at your kitchen?" she scoffed. "Accompanied by my maid, a handcart full of clothing and bound upon a mission of mercy? If that is the stuff of scandal, then I care little if my reputation is lost."
"Spoken like one confident of her good name," he replied a little grimly. "You, who have lived an irreproachable life, can have no notion of how unpleasant it can be to be considered a byword."
She gave him a long, searching glance. "I suppose it must be unpleasant, to have all the world ascribe to your every thought and action the most depraved of motives."
Her observation striking too uncomfortably close to the mark, he made no reply.
"I flatter myself that my true friends have sufficient faith in my honor, and as for the ton-people will believe what they choose. Besides, I shall hardly come garbed like a ton lady. If you can contrive to find a pony cart to transport our supplies and dress yourself inconspicuously, I daresay even you may not be recognized outside your own kitchen. So, shall we say about three?"
She was coming-to him. A sense of gladness much more intense than he should have felt suffused him.
Still, he made one last attempt to do the right thing. "If you insist upon coming to deliver the supplies,
'twould still be more prudent for me to meet you here."
"Oh, Nelthorpe, give over!" she said. "Tis nonsensical to waste time detouring here and you know it.
Only recall your years in the army! Do you really want to deprive these poor unfortunates of the pleasure of having their meat and bread still warm when they receive it?"
He did indeed recall the intense delight he'd felt, after days or weeks of cold beef and stale bread, when circumstances permitted the troops to enjoy a hot, freshly cooked meal. His mouth almost watered at the memory.
She watched his face, smiling. "I shall see you this afternoon at North Audley Street."
"Managing baggage, aren't you?" he asked wryly.
"Absolutely." She started up the stairs, then paused at the landing. "We shall have quite an adventure!"
In that instant, she was once again the Jenna of the Spanish plains, buoyant with enthusiasm and confidence. He couldn't help but smile back when she winked at him before the door opened to admit her.
The warmth of knowing 'twas his project that had brought the sparkle back to her eye and the purpose to her step glowed within him all the way home.
A few hours later, stripped to his shirtsleeves in the warmth of the kitchen, Tony was helping Betsy load fresh loaves of bread into baskets when the maid admitted Jenna, garbed in a gray cloak over a nondescript gown of gray kerseymere, and her maid Sancha.
The scowl on Sancha's face and the flashing look in her dark Spanish eyes told him she was none too happy about the latest scheme into which he'd embroiled her mistress.
Despite the modesty of Jenna's apparel, with her brown eyes glowing and wisps of hair curling about her determined face, she looked incredibly lovely. Gone was the vacant-eyed, passive wanderer whose appearance had so shaken Tony on the bridge at Hyde Park. Though he knew he shouldn't have allowed her to take part in this rescue mission and definitely should have forbidden her to meet him here, still he couldn't help a surge of gladness at seeing her.
"You look dressed for intrigue," he said.
"And you look-" She halted in midsentence, her eyes roving from his face to his partly unbuttoned shirt to the rolled-up sleeves that displayed the muscles of his arms.
A bolt of pure physical energy flashed between them, stirring him down to his toes and strengthening him in all the right places. He'd had hints since their reunion in London that she still felt the physical pull that had drawn them in Spain, but nothing as strong or as clearly telegraphed as this. For the first time since he awoke after Waterloo in the shattered, permanently disabled body he now inhabited, he felt-virile.
"Informal," she said at last. Her cheeks flushing, she avoided his glance and went instead to offer her hand to the cook. "I'm Lady Fairchild, and this is my companion, Sancha. You must be Betsy. How kind of you, ma'am, to allow us to commandeer your assistance! Many a good soldier will be singing your praises this night."
