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"Or turned over to a magistrate by a prospective victim less compassionate than you. I hope you told the lad's mother. He should be given a good thrashing."
"Discipline is as important as constancy in the managing of a troop, and I imagine it's the same with children. While the little ones learn their letters, perhaps the mothers could be schooled as well. Most of them are excellent managers, having had to scrape by for years on very little. With proper training, they should make superior housekeepers and cooks. And of course, any farming endeavor will require grooms, smiths, carpenters, and other craftsmen as well as farm workers."
"This begins to sound like quite an undertaking."
"Papa left me quite a fortune. It would please him to know I was using it to help army families build new lives. And...it will give me something useful to do with mine."
"And what of our bargain? In all this excess of do-gooding, I hope you will not forget that!"
She smiled, the idea forming even as she voiced it.
"Indeed not. You can assist me in my 'do-gooding.' After all, what better way to reform a character?"
He groaned. "I had more in mind assisting you to attend balls, routs, musicales and Venetian breakfasts."
"I suppose we could fit in a few...between visiting needy folk, inspecting properties and then staffing and equipping the farm once the purchase is complete."
He shot her an aggrieved glance. "Perhaps my character doesn't need quite that much improvement."
He'd just, she immediately realized, provided her an avenue of escape from the unsettling temptation of his company. "I imagine it doesn't. 'Twas a ridiculous bargain anyway. Why don't we call it off at once?"
A look almost of dismay flashed across his face, too swiftly for her to positively identify it. Then he shrugged, the picture of bored hauteur. "If you think so little of upholding the vow you swore to honor the dead of Waterloo, I suppose we could. Or perhaps you are prepared to concede I am already their equal?"
He had her and he knew it. Casting a jaundiced eye over his deceptively bland demeanor, she snapped, "Prepare yourself to visit the needy and inspect properties, then."
"If I must, but I certainly shall not depress myself by thinking about it ahead of time. Have we not had enough of duty and sacrifice today? 'Tis time to contemplate a bit of pleasure to reward ourselves for such an excess of virtue. What function do you attend tonight?"
"My cousin and Lady Montclare are urging me to go to Lady Winterdale's musicale."
"Then I shall sit beside you, whisper in your ear until you blush and make all your other swains jealous."
"And I shall rap you with my fan if you're impertinent, keep you at arm's length and dismiss you entirely if I cannot make you mind your manners."
"Sounds delightful," he pronounced with a grin. "When and where shall I meet you, my dear Jenna?"
"I am not your 'dear Jenna,' as I've been meaning to point out. You should address me as 'Lady Fairchild.'"
"And so I do, when we are in company. But I began calling you 'Jenna' long ago and I'm afraid it's too late for me to unlearn the usage. In fact, given our long association, why don't you call me 'Tony'?"
Ignoring the invitation, she replied, "As I recall, you usually referred to me as 'Miss Montague,' in a singularly odious, top-lofty tone."
"Did I?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "What an arrogant ass I was, to be sure!"
"Was?"
His grin turned into a chuckle. "Still am, you mean. Ah, did I not warn you that my character needs much work?"
Recalling the courtesy he'd shown her here in London and the depth of his concern about the former soldiers, she replied, "Perhaps less than I used to think."
His grin faded. With slow deliberation, he focused on her a hot, lingering glance that sparked a thrill of feminine awareness all the way to her core. "Are you sure about that?" he drawled.
Doubtless he knew exactly the effect that look produced in her, the wretch. She mustn't forget he'd earned the rake's reputation that followed him to the army. Squelching her response, she replied, "Lord Nelthorpe, a gentleman does not fix on a lady such a gaze."
He returned an innocent look. "What gaze?"
"The gaze that says he wishes he might relieve her of her garments on the spot," she continued tartly.
"Even if he very much wishes to?"
Instead of a teasing tone, his voice now held an undercurrent of...longing. Startled, she felt her face heat.
"Certainly not. Such wishes should be directed toward more suitable objects-among the muslin company."
"Ah. True ladies never experience such wishes?"
She opened her lips to affirm that, but honesty made her hesitate. Mercifully, at this moment they reached the Fairchild House mews, saving her the necessity of a reply.
"You may let us down here, Lord Nelthorpe."
The gleam in his eyes as he brought the cart to a halt told her he knew she was evading an answer.
After helping them both alight, he thanked Sancha, who nodded and headed back toward the house, and gave Jenna a deep bow. "Until tonight, my lady."
"Goodbye, my lord. And thank you for taking me with you. It...it was good to feel useful again."
The rogue's grin returned as he brought her fingers to his lips. "Putting you to good use shall always be my pleasure." Chuckling once more at the reproving look she sent him, he climbed awkwardly back into the pony cart. "Now, to return this magnificent equipage before any of my acquaintance sees me driving it."
"Is the ruin of a reputation built on so little?"
"Indeed it is," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "Keep that in mind."
"And the reforming of one?"
"Is much more difficult than the losing. Keep that in mind as well."
"I shall."
With a nod, he set the cart in motion. Jenna watched until he'd guided the vehicle out of sight.
With his recently acquired limp and his newly developed compassion, she mused as she strolled back to the house, Anthony Nelthorpe was a much more complex- and, she admitted, compelling-man than the arrogant, insensitive viscount who had repulsed and attracted her in Spain. Just when she was prepared to condemn him and his provocative remarks as being little better than the rake of old, he startled her with some display of concern-for her, for others-that prevented her from dismissing him so easily.
Betsy, his cook, had told her he hid a good heart under his casual rakehell manner, hinted that the influence of his dissipated father had prevented his developing it. Jenna was halfway inclined to believe her.
Perhaps his character didn't need work so much as the opportunity to reveal its true dimensions, she concluded as she took the stairs to her chamber. Although whenever she voiced a more hopeful opinion of his character, Nelthorpe was quick to deflect it with another innuendo-laden remark or heat-inducing glance designed to scatter her thoughts.
He succeeded only too well. Surely she shouldn't be responding to Nelthorpe's enticements! But then, she was a passionate woman whose passion had long been restrained.
Given the ease with which Anthony Nelthorpe seemed to be loosening those fetters, perhaps her own character needed more work.
She was about to open her door when she felt a touch to her shoulder. With a gasp, she whirled around.
"Jenna, excuse me," Cousin Lane exclaimed. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"No matter, cousin. I was woolgathering and did not hear you approach."
He looked her up and down, a frown wrinkling his forehead. "When Manson told me where you had gone, I couldn't believe it! But seeing you in that...apparel, it no longer seems so fantastical a notion.
Please, Jenna, assure me you didn't go into the stews of east London!"
"I'm afraid I cannot. Oh, Lane, I'd heard there are soldiers there, still dressed in the bloodstained tatters of the uniforms they fought in at Waterloo! Widows and children, starving, some homeless. I had to see for myself if such a report could be true."
"If discovering this was so important, you should have sent one of the servants who has relations in those areas. Merciful heavens, Jenna, the rookeries around Seven Dials are so dangerous, even Bow Street runners hesitate to go there! You could have been robbed at the least, at worst-" He shuddered, looking so appalled she felt a pang of guilt.
Jenna took his hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry to have worried you, but I'm not a witless female who faints at dirt or danger and must be protected from the realities of life. I've seen worse, and I'm quite competent at handling the pistol I took with me."
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. "I know you are a remarkable woman, Jenna.
Which only makes your safety even more important to me."
Though she regretted worrying him, she didn't wish to encourage the heated look now glowing in his eyes. Gently she withdrew her hand. "I do appreciate your cousinly concern. But since Nelthorpe told me-"
"Nelthorpe!" Lane cried. "I might have known that reprobate was responsible for this! Damme-dash it, could there be any more telling demonstration of how unsuitable an escort he is for you? Though I imagine he's intimately acquainted with London's stews, he ought to be shot for exposing you to such peril!"
"Actually, he was no happier about taking me there than you are that I went and refused absolutely to do so until I threatened to go alone. If their country will do nothing for them, someone else must. To determine how best to help, I had to see for myself what they need."
