He held his hat to his head to combat the wind. Chilworth’s obsession in rebuilding his fortune was understandable, but his desperation was dangerous. As each scheme inevitably failed, he sought riskier ventures. His debts were multiplying like wild boars, and the destruction would be catastrophic.
It likely had been already. Someone in London owned Baron Chilworth’s debts.
Remember the stakes should you fail, Spencer had told Annabel.
The man collected secrets and scandal as currency. It would not be a far stretch for him to collect vowels as well. Was that his price for her intelligence and her loyalty?
Jasper stepped into the street, eager to get home to see Annabel, to tell her she had been right about her father’s plans. To find a way to broach her connection to Spencer.
Years around horses had taught him the sound of an animal’s breath when it was racing, when it was laboring under a heavy load, or both. He also knew the chorus of a team and the creak of springs, the crack of a whip as they were forced forward.
Jasper looked to his left and saw nothing save the wild eyes of a team of four and the hulking black carriage behind them. A woman may have screamed.
He lost his hat to the wind and rushed forward, out of the path, only to dodge fleeing pedestrians and plodding draft carts that narrowly missed his toes. Breathless, his heart pounding, he turned to get a look at the coach. No crest on the door, no identifiable livery, no one other than a driver.
No surprise.
His hat was mangled in the street.
Jasper found the nearest alley and slouched against the wall. That had been no runaway team. If his legs were shorter, he’d be in a broken pile in the mud next to his hat. He slid back in the shadows and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths until his heartbeat no longer deafened him. He had to get moving in case the driver doubled back for another attempt.
He stripped to his shirt and suspenders, then rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows and gathered his coats in the crook of his arm. The last step was to tousle his hair. Then he entered the flow of people in the street, head down and shoulders stooped, hands in his pockets.
Just another working lad making his way home after a difficult day, eager to see the woman he’d missed since last night.
*
Annabel balanced her needlework basket against her hip while she knocked on Lady Lambourn’s door.
“Come in,” the countess called.
Annabel liked her mother-in-law. She had an even temper and a good sense of humor, and she had raised children with the same. Her kindness extended from the servants to the inconvenient daughter-in-law she was teaching to be a marchioness. “Good afternoon, Lady Lambourn.”
“I do wish you would call me Sylvia.” The lady looked up from her knitting. “After all, you are Lady Lambourn now.”
Annabel took a seat in the sunshine and lifted her sewing into her lap. “You will always be Lady Lambourn.” She noticed the open correspondence at Sylvia’s elbow. “News from Warwick?”
It had become their routine to spend the afternoon with their hands busy while Sylvia told stories of their family—including her brother Edgar, the Earl of Warwick, who shared his nephew’s irreverence and inappropriate humor.
“Edgar’s condition has worsened, but he refuses to come to London. He says he will die where he was exiled.” Sylvia sighed. “Just to spite a man who is already dead.”
“Exiled?” Annabel’s family had never had a black sheep, or even a slightly gray one, until her father’s recent behavior. Jasper’s family reminded her of a novel or a stage play.
“My father lost his patience with Edgar’s antics and tiny acts of rebellion.” Sylvia’s smile was sad. “He was always good for a laugh, but he never knew when to stop. So Father packed him off to the countryside, never to return.”
“Never?”
“He could have, if he’d apologized and agreed to behave, but Edgar refused.” She stared out the window as though looking into the past. “It was easy to believe that Edgar cared for nothing but himself, but he had his own set of principles that he would not forsake. Not even for his family. We always thought Father lived so long simply because he didn’t want Edgar to have the title.” The countess came back to herself in several rapid blinks. “Enough about that for now. What have you learned today?”
That Edgar sounds very much like his nephew.
“I believe Jane should take up another instrument. Perhaps the violin or the cello?”
Sylvia’s knitting needles clicked at an enviable pace. “I know she’s not a talented pianist, but perhaps with time she’ll at least be passable.”
“She’ll never be as good as Johanna, which will always discourage her.” Rachel had been the same as a child, refusing to read because she couldn’t do it as well as Annabel, even though several years separated them. “A string instrument would complement the piano.”
“The cello is such an unladylike instrument.” The countess glanced up as she turned the row.
“It’s far more acceptable than having a pianist as a son-in-law.”
The needles clacked together as the knitting landed in a pile. “Oh dear. I’d never have guessed.”
“The symphony’s cellist is a lovely young lady just a few years older than Jane herself,” Annabel said. “She’s taking private pupils, all young girls.”
“How resourceful of you.”
The other woman’s laugh rang to the rafters. It sounded so like Jasper’s that Annabel’s heart twinged. “Thank you, my lady.”
“He’s done something thoughtless, hasn’t he?” Sylvia reached for her and tightened her grip when Annabel would have denied it. “I know my son, dearest girl. He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but he’s a creature of the company he’s forced to keep.”
“It’s quite all right, Lady Lambourn. We were both very clear about our expectations before we married.”
“Pish. You two should have gone to the Continent, Parliament be hanged.” Her eyes gleamed. “Which is why I’m taking the girls to the Alfords’ house party. You two need time alone.”
Annabel’s insides quivered at the thought of being alone with Jasper for more than time in a carriage or with less than the length of the table between them. Worse, the scheme ran the risk of her simply being on her own.
Worse still, they could be alone together, and she would begin to believe she was going to be a true part of his life. “About the party. I think Rachel and Rebecca should stay home.”
