He left his arm at a right angle, waiting for her to accept. “Unnecessary, yes, but ungentlemanly otherwise.”
The weight of everyone’s stares pressed on Annabel’s shoulders, forcing her to lift her hand and thread it through Jasper’s elbow. Her fingers rested on his thick, solid forearm. His deep blue coat and buff trousers made her gray dress drabber and dowdier than she had believed possible.
“Thank you, your lordship.”
*
Jasper walked in silence beside the woman on his arm. As a general rule, he found the prattling of ton ladies annoying. Today, however, was different. In his experience, a quiet woman was rarely a good thing.
“Have you kept in touch with Amelia since the house party?” He hoped his cousin, their one mutual acquaintance, would break the ice. Amelia usually did.
“We correspond, yes.”
He waited for more. Amelia’s letters were always full of news about the estate and the family. Uncle Augustus was now determined to keep death at bay in order to see his first grandchild upon its arrival, likely in the summer.
Annabel offered nothing further.
Jasper tried again. “She doesn’t appear to regret missing the Season.”
“No, she doesn’t. It is one of the things I admire about her.”
Jasper wondered whether Annabel’s admiration would be tempered by knowing Amelia eschewed London because her whiskey business demanded much of her attention. “She is an unusual lady.”
At that, Annabel glanced up at him. Her furrowed brow enhanced the confusion in her eyes, which were the same color as his favorite chestnut mare.
“What?” he asked.
“You make unusual sound like a compliment.”
Jasper had met many beautiful women in his life. Annabel Pearce wasn’t a traditional beauty, especially with her hair in that severe style and in a dress even a nun would refuse to wear. But her skin was luminous, and she carried herself with a grace that was almost impossible to teach.
“I suppose it is,” he replied. “She has a confidence that makes her stand out amongst the other ladies of the ton.”
Except, perhaps, the young woman in front of him.
Jasper pushed the thought from his mind. Yes, he remembered Miss Pearce’s sharp wit and thoughtful stare from Amelia’s party, but he wasn’t walking with her to test her wits. Not exactly, anyway.
He resumed their stroll through the maze. “You have not been Miss Spencer’s companion long.”
“No. Mrs. Spencer took ill after the New Year and quit London in favor of Bath. Elizabeth’s governess accompanied her.”
The New Year. Viscount Stratford’s trial had concluded just prior to Christmas. Reginald Spencer had attended it as regularly as a church service, and the gallery had been so crowded that the judge worried it would collapse onto the floor below. Men and women alike had attended as though it were a party at Vauxhall.
“I do not recall seeing you in London over the holiday,” he said.
“I do not recall your ever seeing me in London.” Her steps faltered. “I apologize, Lord Ramsbury. Apparently being officially invisible has loosened my tongue.”
Jasper smiled at the top of her head. “Apology accepted, Miss Pearce.”
“Thank you, and you’re correct. I was at Chilworth during Christmas. We were packing for the move to London.”
The gossip at White’s had focused on two topics—Stratford’s trial and Baron Chilworth’s bankruptcy. Jasper had played cards with the baron on several occasions. He was a gregarious, likable fellow, though always a little too careless with his money.
“You didn’t want to live with your family in London?” Jasper asked. He had never been inside the Chilworths’ home in the West End, but he knew where it was. It was large enough for several generations of the family.
“I did not.” The words had a ring to them, hinting that the topic was closed. Just as well. He didn’t wish to discuss her family.
If Miss Pearce wasn’t in London during the holiday, then she likely knew little of Stratford’s Scandal, as the newspapers had called it. She would know less of Spencer’s shadow lurking through the trial of the viscount who had kidnapped, and then murdered, his young mistress.
“At the risk of appearing a mercenary, Mrs. Spencer’s illness was my good fortune,” Miss Pearce said, almost to herself. “Most reputable companion posts had been filled, or they were for young women I knew from…before.”
What Jasper knew of ladies’ societies he’d learned either from his sisters or his mistresses. Jane, his youngest sister, had wept for days after some girl or the other had arrived at a ball in a dress that was simply the same color as hers. Viscountess Morton had refused to take him to her bed until she was certain he’d never been her sister’s lover.
That conversation must have been awkward.
It would likely have been equally awkward to work as a companion for a young lady you’d recently stood next to in a ballroom.
“Is Mrs. Spencer very ill?” he asked.
“Her letters make no mention of returning.”
There was something in her disappearance. Jasper could feel it. “Did she not mention it before she left?”
“She was gone before I arrived.”
“So Spencer hired you himself?”
Annabel stopped and faced him. “Why are you so concerned about Mr. Spencer?”
