“Rabbit?”
Annabel’s smile transformed her face. She should do it more often.
“He has a tendency to scamper away and hide when he senses danger, and he is gifted in finding hiding places,” Fiona said. “Given those traits and Warren…”
Annabel’s laugh, deep and rich, was at odds with her thin frame. It made him think of candlelight and shadows, of champagne and berries.
Ceff tossed his head, and Jasper loosened his grip on the reins. Things were in motion that had nothing to do with his growing curiosity about Annabel Pearce.
“I am,” he said to Kit. “This path is the quickest way to our answer.”
Though he wasn’t sure what, exactly, the path should be. If he asked her intentions, she’d lie, but she was a poor liar. If he exposed her, he’d have to send her packing. That would ruin his opportunity to learn what Spencer wanted—if she knew anything at all.
He could bluff his way through the month and assume she’d find nothing, but she’d already proven herself an astute observer. God only knew what she’d carry back to Spencer and how he would weave the tale.
“Do you think he’s used his daughter as an excuse to get Miss Pearce in the door?” Kit asked.
Jasper shook his head. “I think he saw an opportunity and twisted it to his advantage.”
Spencer likely thanked Providence when Annabel knocked on his door. At least, he did if he realized how intelligent she was. How had she ended up spying for him?
“Your lordship,” Fiona called over her shoulder. “Please tell me there’s luncheon waiting and that you haven’t dragged us to the top of the hill simply for the view on the other side.”
“An army travels on its stomach,” Jasper called back. “Of course there’s luncheon waiting. So long as the birds haven’t carried it off.”
They reached the top of the hill and dismounted in a flurry of helpful stable boys. The ladies near the front of the line craned their necks until they spotted Jasper. Their fluttering fans might have been responsible for the shiver of leaves overhead.
He swung out of the saddle and dropped to the ground. “Once more into the breach.”
“Yes. It’s such a hardship to have young ladies waiting around every tree,” Fiona teased as she beckoned for his help. “I don’t know how you’ll survive.”
Jasper helped her to the ground but kept hold of her a moment longer. “I’m sorry. If I’d known she would think—”
“You are sweet to worry, but it’s getting tiresome, Jasper. Men and women can rarely be friends without Society assuming there is more to it. I’m pleased she asked me directly rather than whispering in my wake.”
He relaxed and released her. He had been lucky when the Allens arrived in the countryside. Fiona’s gregarious nature, while annoying at first, had broken through the reserve he’d been taught from the cradle.
Perhaps she could do the same with Annabel. “Would you please sit with Miss Pearce? I believe she’s having trouble navigating between groups.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow and glanced from him to Annabel, then back. A slow smile came across her face. “Of course, Rabbit. Anything you’d like.”
He nodded his thanks before marching toward Annabel. He arrived as she slid to the ground unaided. Her boots, though not new, were well polished, but they gapped at the ankles.
“You should have waited,” he said. “The ground is uneven.”
“I’ve managed worse.” She stroked her mare’s graceful neck. “Will they look out for her while we rest?”
“Certainly.” He stepped forward and lowered his head, enough to be private but not enough to raise eyebrows. “May I ask a favor?” He waited for her to nod. “I must visit with the other guests, but I don’t want to leave Fiona on her own. Without Linden here, she has few options for company.”
Annabel’s eyes softened. “I’ll be happy to step in for Linden.”
“Thank you, Miss Pearce.”
Certain his scheme was going to plan, he joined Raines and Wareham at their table under an ancient oak. “Gentlemen.”
“Lovely estate, Ramsbury.” Wareham surveyed the length of the ridge and the view of the Hall below. “Almost as large as Faversham’s.”
The man never let anyone forget he was heir to the Duke of Faversham, who refused to die. Jasper had a suspicion that the duke planned to outlive Wareham and give the title to a grandson who could be overseen by his sons-in-law. Both men had better temperaments and leveler heads than the current heir.
“All you need is a wife,” Raines said, his voice pitched to mimic an Almack’s matron. “A pretty girl with a good dowry who wants a title.”
Wareham’s laughter was brief as he glanced to Miss Bainbridge and Miss Wallace. “They seem to be thin on the ground this Season.”
None of the ladies in their party gave Wareham much attention, despite the possibility of becoming a duchess. Jasper feigned interest anyway. Talk of women always led to talk of fathers.
“What about Miss Spencer?” he asked.
Wareham leaned back to receive his plate. “She’s damned young, don’t you think?”
She was far too young, and in ways that had nothing to do with age. “By next Season, I believe her chaperone will have worked her magic.”
Wareham looked over his shoulder, back toward the quieter members of the party. “Miss Pearce would be a better choice, I think. A baron’s daughter, and she knows how to behave properly.”
“No dowry,” Raines said. “You’d have a plain—but proper—duchess, and she’d likely have the whole family in tow. I suppose if you kept Chilworth from your treasury…”
Money was always Raines’s preferred topic, and it was expected, given his father’s position in government. The Marquess of Graydon, treasurer of the Exchequer, had an increasing responsibility due to the new tax collections going into Britain’s coffers.
“Miss Allen’s dowry caused a stir during her debut.” Wareham removed a flask from his coat pocket and offered it first to Raines and then to Jasper. When they refused, he took a gulp large enough for the three of them. “Has her father still settled it on her?”
