Part 12 (1/2)
”SHE THINKS YOU'RE amusing, you know,” Tanner told Justin once they were back on their horses and on the road once more, Lydia and Jasmine inside the coach. ”Rather like a trained monkey.”
”Ah, but much better dressed, you'll admit,” Justin said, clearly not taking offense. ”Are you ready to rescind your invitation?”
”I didn't invite you to pursue her, d.a.m.n it. I only said she is not mine to...to-oh, stop grinning. Now you look like an ape.”
”You know what's wrong with you, Tanner?” Justin said amicably, pulling two cheroots from his pocket and offering one to his friend. ”You're too good.”
”I wouldn't count on that quite so much. I'm feeling less good by the minute. Now, how in h.e.l.l are we going to light these things?”
Justin reached once more into his waistcoat pocket and produced a small bleached stick, the top half of which appeared to be coated with something. ”Observe, Tanner, as I do magic.”
So saying, he then struck the coated end of the stick against his saddle, and the stick caught fire.
”Hurry, the magic doesn't last that long,” he said, and Tanner leaned half out of his saddle toward Justin, cupped his hand around the tip of his cheroot and the small flame, which did indeed die quickly. ”Good, now I'll light mine from yours, if you don't mind.”
Tanner pa.s.sed over his cheroot. ”What was that?”
”Should it have a name? Wigglesworth discovered them in a chemist's shop in a place called Stockton-on-Tees. Quaint name, don't you think? At any rate, I've only a few left and the apothecary doesn't see the sense of making more. And you couldn't be bad if you applied yourself, so I will continue to count on it.” He blew out a cloud of blue smoke as he inspected the end of his cheroot. ”Do you think the apothecary was right in saying his magic flame could be poisonous? Something about the mixture of all the chemicals and such. I don't taste anything too vile. What do you say.”
”Nothing that wouldn't end with me burning in h.e.l.l and its own poisonous chemicals,” Tanner said, now examining the glowing tip of his own cheroot. ”Have you ever considered that you might have crossed the border from engaging eccentric into the realm of the genuinely unhinged?”
”Many times, Tanner, many times, but then I console myself that I am not as yet baying at full moons. Now, back to the dear Lady Lydia and your dogged refusal to warn me away and thus clear your path to her affections this week. And please consider this to be your absolute final chance to change your mind.”
”I'm not going to change my mind. Granted, I think she enjoys you.” Tanner was careful to keep his expression neutral. ”Rather as she might a performing bear at a country fair. Besides, she seems fully aware that you're not on the hunt for a wife, her or anyone else.”
”Been warning her away from me, have you? Shame on you.”
Tanner nodded. ”Yes, shame on me. But, d.a.m.n it, Justin, this isn't a game.”
”I agree. I spoke privately with Rafe before we left the city,” Justin said, taking another long pull on his cheroot.
Tanner quickly glanced at his friend's profile, which betrayed nothing. ”You're serious? You barely know her.”
”And I hardly could, not without Rafe's permission, now could I? I am, after all, and for all of my vices, a gentleman.”
”Don't do this, Justin. Lydia's been through enough, losing Fitz. She doesn't know about your ridiculous notion of some wager between us. She might not realize you're only amusing yourself.”
”Is that what I'm doing? Can any of us be sure of that? As you already know, and have foolishly not yet acted upon, Lydia is a most singular woman, unlike any other of my extensive and varied acquaintance. She has, one might say, opened my eyes to whole new realms of possibilities I didn't know existed,” Justin told him, clamping the cheroot between his even white teeth, looking every inch the unrepentant rake he was known to be. ”Now, if you'll pardon me, I'll leave you to answer the question of what I am doing for yourself. I feel the need for a gallop.” He dug his heels into his mount's flanks, and he was off, past the coach, leaving Tanner once more in his dust.
Which meant he couldn't remind Justin that the many women of his ”extensive and varied acquaintance” hadn't really varied-he'd chosen his women for their beauty and his personal enjoyment. Of course Lydia was different. She was a lady in more than name. And she saw Justin for who he was, which had to intrigue the h.e.l.l out of him.
The remainder of the afternoon pa.s.sed in agonized slowness for Tanner, with one of the team of six matched bays throwing a shoe and delaying them at yet another inn, and Jasmine once more wandering off, this time not to be found for a full half hour. At which point, again, she apologized, blinked back tears, and then, after inquiring if they would be staying the night at their usual stopping point, went skipping toward the waiting coach as if all was forgiven.
Tanner had watched Lydia watching Jasmine, wondering at the rather concerned look on her face, but even though she then turned to him as if she wished to say something to him, she only shook her head and followed his cousin into the coach.
Jasmine was probably wearing at Lydia's nerves, which was certainly reasonable to a.s.sume. At least she would find some respite at the Crown and Sugarloaf, as he'd sent one of his grooms along hours earlier, to reserve three rooms for the travelers, and another three attic rooms for their servants, who would probably arrive in another few hours.
He'd left Justin to make his own arrangements, and the inestimable Wigglesworth was probably already replacing the inn's sheets with the baron's own and terrorizing the kitchen staff by commandeering it in order to personally prepare his master's evening meal.
A smile played around Tanner's mouth as he gave up trying to be angry with Justin. The man probably couldn't help himself. He'd been born to more wealth than any ten men would ever need, the pampered only child of a doting father and a mother born into a filthy rich (Justin always made that joke himself) coal merchant's family and never able to forget that fact. Her money might not have bought for her the social position she'd longed for, but that didn't mean she couldn't live as if she were Lady Jersey herself. She'd been delighted beyond words to have somehow produced such a beautiful and witty son, and she'd impressed upon him the value of showing the world that he was every inch the gentleman, with no coal dust to be found on his feet.
Justin may have taken her lessons too far, but that wasn't for Tanner to say. He only knew that the man might be referred to as that fop, or that killer, but never as that blown-up cit. He imagined that must be some sort of accomplishment for a man many of the high in the instep ton otherwise would have condemned dismissively as being only one generation away from the shop.
A flash of sunlight on something metal caught Tanner's attention and he looked to his left just as a horse and rider broke from the trees and onto the roadway. He reached for the pistol mounted on his saddle before the wide smile on the well-dressed rider and a genial wave of his gloved hand had him turn the gesture into a rea.s.suring pat to his mount's neck as the rider fell into tandem with him.
”Good day to you, sir,” the man said, tipping his jaunty curly-brimmed beaver, revealing a full head of bright red hair and a black patch tied over his left eye. He held out his gloved hand. ”Benjamin Flynn is the name, late of his majesty's Fourth Foot, for my sins. Would you be minding overmuch if I was to join you for a s.p.a.ce? I've been riding cross-country, but now that it's coming on to dark, I thought I'd best get myself back on the road before old Charger here stepped in a rabbit hole and I came to an ignominious end.”
Tanner reached his hand across the gap between the two horses. ”Tanner Blake, and no, I wouldn't mind. Traveling far?” he asked, seeing the blanket roll tied behind Flynn's saddle. It was nice to hear that Irish lilt in the man's voice, which reminded him a bit of Fitz.
”And that I won't be knowing until I get there. I've mostly been moving about ever since coming back from Brussels. Can't seem to settle myself anywhere for very long. For now, I'm thinking I'll be seeing what this fellow Will Langland was so taken with. Let's see, how does it go? Ah, yes, 'And on a May morning on Malvern hills.'”
”The Views of Piers Plowman,” Tanner said, nodding. ”How I loathed reading that d.a.m.n thing, and my tutor for forcing it on me. So, you're looking for truth in a 'fair field of folk,' are you?”
”Can't say as I've had much luck in finding it anywhere else,” Benjamin said, his grin wide and open. ”So you know the poem?”
”Only the bits I haven't been able to beat out of my memory. My home is in Malvern, so Langland's ditty was pretty much considered a requirement to residing there. My friends and I are traveling there now.”
”Is that a fact? Well, then, is it possible you could be telling me of a good inn to stay the night, hmm? I'm longing for a hot bath and a bed that has at least a hope of not being damp.”
”We're stopping at the Crown and Sugarloaf, which is only a few miles from here. I'd consider it an honor if a fellow veteran of our last battle with Bonaparte would join my party and myself for supper.”
”Well, now, how could a man refuse an invitation like that and not be called daft? Thank you kindly, Tanner.”
As they neared the inn, Tanner wondered how Lydia would react to Benjamin's Irish lilt, and the fact that he'd fought in the Fourth Foot, which had been a part of the forces that had been at Quatre Bras, where her Fitz had died.
Perhaps Justin was right, and he was ”too good.” Or, even more likely, simply an idiot. Yes, he'd wanted-still wanted-Lydia to choose him, and he wanted her to be sure of her choice, not just settling for him because Fitz may have, G.o.d forbid, suggested that solution to her somehow.
But of all the ”compet.i.tion” he could have chosen, how had he ended up with the das.h.i.+ng Baron Justin Wilde, who could charm birds down from the trees, and then gone even further, all but inviting Fitz's ghost to the party?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE COACH CARRYING Sarah and the other servants had yet to catch up with them, so Lydia was grateful for the services of one of the maids at the Crown and Sugarloaf in a.s.sisting her with her bath and in b.u.t.toning up the back of her gown. She would have liked to wash her hair, but that would have made her unconscionably late for supper, so she refrained.
Mostly, she was grateful to not have to share a chamber with Jasmine. Try as she might, she could no longer be comfortable around the girl.
Not that she was judging her. Although she certainly disapproved of her behavior with her Bruce Beattie, she had convinced herself that Jasmine had been seduced by a cad without a shred of moral rect.i.tude, and she could not be blamed for allowing her silly young head to be turned by Mr. Beattie's amorous attentions.
”And aren't you a prig?” Lydia said to her reflection in the mirror hung over the dressing table. ”Jasmine is living a great adventure. What are you doing?”
Since the answer to that question was nothing, Lydia didn't bother saying it aloud. Instead she applied herself once more to the reason she could no longer like Jasmine Harburton.
The girl was selfish. Brainless. Reckless. Juvenile. Self-serving. Pretending to be something she wasn't, and probably hadn't been for some time.
Up to something.
Yes, that was it-that last one. Jasmine Harburton was up to something.