Good Earl Gone Bad (4 page)

“We will be there,” Leonora said with a nod. “And I will do my best to persuade the rest of this motley crew to be there, as well. I fear we are sadly in need of a celebration after this morning's disappointments.”

“I don't need a celebration,” Hermione said grimly, her arms wrapped across her middle, almost as if she were trying to protect herself. “I need a few words with my father. Preferably with a guard close by so that I do not do him any lasting physical harm.”

“Well, you will have to content yourself with a ball,” Leonora said, giving Hermione a half hug. “And I know just what you should wear.”

Jasper left them to their talk of fashion, feeling unaccountably annoyed at having to leave before he was sure Hermione was truly all right.

*   *   *

He found Sir Richard Lindsey seated behind a massive mahogany desk in a secluded corner of the Home Office. It was difficult to believe that many of the most sensitive investigations undertaken for the sake of the crown originated in such an unassuming locale. But Jasper had been a frequent enough visitor to the room that he no longer thought it odd.

“Mainwaring,” the bespectacled baronet said with an expression of true pleasure. “I hadn't expected you so soon.”

Standing, Sir Richard moved to the sideboard behind his desk and poured two glasses of brandy without bothering to ask if Jasper would like a drink.

Jasper had grown accustomed to his superior's odd hospitality, and wordlessly took the crystal glass from the other man. And after the scene in the park that morning, the alcohol was more than welcome.

Sir Richard inquired about Jasper's mother and sisters and about the state of his estates. But the small talk was dispensed with quickly enough.

“I asked you here because I have a job I suspect you'll be especially well suited for,” said Sir Richard, silently placing his glass down on the desk. “It's a rather delicate matter and I believe involves quite a few members of the
ton.
”

During the war, Jasper had performed any number of offices for the crown using his position as a member of the beau monde as cover. With his help, a number of sympathizers with the Bonapartist cause had been quietly brought to justice. And since he'd been unable to serve his country in the military as Trent—who was then a mere younger son—had done, it had been something of which Jasper was quite proud. Despite the fact that he wasn't allowed to speak of his exploits openly.

But the war had been over for a few years now, and though Jasper knew that there were always those who intended the country harm who needed to be stopped, he hadn't considered that he could still be useful to the Home Office.

He said as much to Sir Richard, who laughed. “I can understand why you would think so, Mainwaring,” the older man said. “But the truth of the matter is that enemies of the crown do not check if there is a war on before they begin their machinations. And in this case, the government would not even be involved in the investigation if the men in question were not using the gains from their crimes to fund a secret plot against the government.”

“What is their purpose?” Jasper asked, curious. “I had hoped that Boney's followers had finally given up since his incarceration at St. Helena.”

“I'm not at liberty to reveal their intent just now,” Sir Richard said, his mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “There are some things even our investigators are not allowed to know, and I'm afraid this is one of them. Suffice it to say that the threat is serious and we are certain that once they have the needed funds they will not hesitate to act against the government. Possibly with real violence.”

Jasper had only worked on one other assignment where he was not privy to the intentions of those he investigated. It had turned out that the danger had been very real indeed, and as he had no reason to disbelieve his mentor now, he accepted the man's assertions without question.

“Who is it I'm meant to get close to?” he asked, a spark of excitement coursing through him at the challenge posed by the new task.

“How familiar are you with Viscount Saintcrow?” Sir Richard asked in response.

At the mention of Hermione's nemesis, Jasper blinked in surprise. He debated whether to reveal what had happened that morning, then decided the Home Office had little interest in Saintcrow's gambling winnings.

“A bit. We are acquainted,” he said truthfully, “but not particularly close friends.”

“That's fine,” Sir Richard said, shuffling through a stack of papers before him on the desk. “I do not need you to become his dearest friend. I only wish for you to keep an eye on him. And a man named Fleetwood, whom we have reason to believe is involved with Saintcrow in a theft ring.”

Finding the page he'd been looking for, Sir Richard gave Jasper a much-handled sheet of foolscap. On it was written a series of dates and names, like Wayfarer and Bonnie Jean and Nero.

“Ships, I take it?” Jasper asked curious.

“Horses,” the other man corrected. “Over the past year, horses have disappeared from some of the most prominent stables in England. Not only from the stock of breeders and trainers, but some out from under the noses of our most elite families. Like the Marquess of Kinsford, for instance.”

Kinsford was several years older than Jasper, and spent most of his time racing horses and carriages and any vehicle he could get his hands on. So, the two men were not well acquainted. But even someone like Jasper, who spent more time at the card table than riding to hounds, knew of Kinsford's stables by reputation. He was said to have an uncanny ability to choose which horses would be best suited for coaching. And it was to him that many of London's coaching enthusiasts went for their horseflesh.

“And you suspect Saintcrow and Fleetwood are involved with the thefts?” Jasper asked, giving the page back.

“Yes.” Sir Richard folded his hands before him on the desk. “Both men have been known to engage in some less than legal behavior when it comes to their business dealings. And even if they didn't spirit the steeds away themselves, they are likely to have had something to do with the thefts. Fleetwood in particular has been in the vicinity when several of the thefts took place. And we believe Saintcrow might be his associate in London.”

“What is it you wish me to do exactly?” Jasper asked. After Saintcrow's behavior toward Hermione he was more than ready to make the man's life as difficult as possible. It was true that he'd been within his rights to take the horses back, but that didn't mean he'd gone about it in the most politic of manners.

“Pay attention to both men's habits while they're in town,” Sir Richard said. “Attend the same social events that they do. Talk to their associates. And if you hear anything having to do with horses, let me know.”

“I already know something about Saintcrow in that vein,” Jasper said, quickly filling his superior in on what had happened between Saintcrow and the Uppertons.

“And what are the origins of these horses of Lady Hermione's?” Sir Richard asked, his brow furrowed in thought. “Could they be pilfered?”

“I hardly think that, sir,” Jasper said with a shake of his head. “Hermione says her man of business purchased them for her through Tattersall's. And if Tatt's comes under suspicion then the whole of the English horse trade will collapse.”

“Point taken,” said Sir Richard. “But ask her if there was anything unusual about the purchase. It won't hurt. Though it's entirely possible that Saintcrow simply saw a chance to get his hands on a coaching pair without needing to do the work of stealing them and took it.”

“I know where Saintcrow resides,” Jasper said. “But where can I find Fleetwood?”

Sir Richard rattled off Fleetwood's address and Jasper swore.

“You are familiar with his direction?” the older man asked, brow raised.

Fleetwood's address was, in point of fact, just next door to the house where Lady Hermione Upperton and her father had moved at the beginning of the season—doubtless so that by renting out Upperton House, Lord Upperton would earn the cash needed to continue his gambling habit in the style to which he was accustomed.

“I am,” he answered Sir Richard, hoping his expression did not convey his true feelings on the matter. He should probably tell the man that the suspect lived next door to Lady Hermione, but if he could he'd keep her out of this business. She'd gone through enough today. “It is near a friend.”

“Capital,” said Sir Richard with obvious enthusiasm. “Then you will be able to keep watch over the fellow without him suspecting anything. Especially if you are known to be friends with the neighbor chap.”

“The friend is a lady,” Jasper informed him, wanting desperately to remove his cravat which suddenly felt as if were tied far too tightly.

“Ah, even better. You can watch the man's house at all hours.” He winked lasciviously—something Jasper hoped never, ever to see again. “Just keep your lady happy in the intervening hours and watch Fleetwood during your … ah … breaks.”

“She's not that sort of lady,” Jasper ground out.

If anything, Sir Richard looked crestfallen to hear his assumptions were wrong. Clearly the fellow had a more lurid imagination than Jasper had ever suspected.

“Ah, well then, you will have to limit yourself to respectable hours,” he said with a shrug. “Unless the lady would be willing to keep an eye out during the rest of the time.”

Jasper bit back a curse at the very idea.

“I do not think that is a good idea,” he said finally, sure now that he could speak without insulting Sir Richard. “The lady is prone to recklessness and could possibly endanger the investigation.”

Which, he thought, recalling the scene in the park, was not all that far from the truth.

Sir Richard's disappointment was palpable, but he seemed to trust Jasper's assessment of the situation. “Very well, then. It was only an idea. I will let you do as you see fit with the fellow. Just keep me informed of your actions.”

“Of course, sir,” Jasper said with barely disguised relief. He couldn't recall a more uncomfortable meeting with Sir Richard in their long association.

“If that's all,” he said rising, “I'll be off.”

Sir Richard also stood, and gave Jasper a slight bow. “It goes without saying that you should take great care for both your safety and that of your friend. One never knows what men like this will do if they feel threatened.”

And with that warning ringing in his ears, Jasper hurried out of Whitehall.

He hadn't planned on it, but he needed to make a visit to Half-Moon Street to warn Hermione.

 

Three

When Hermione arrived home after several hours spent in the company of her sympathetic friends at Leonora's house, she freshened up a bit, then hurried out to the tiny mews behind the house in Half-Moon Street.

At the time she and her father had moved from Upperton House in Grosvenor Square to their rental house, she'd cringed at how much stable space they were giving up, but now that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were gone, the small stable felt vast. Or at the very least empty.

Only her own riding mount was there now—her father having sold his own horses long ago, preferring to rely on hired carriages. Queen Mab was a pretty black mare whom Hermione had loved at first sight. “Hello, old thing,” she crooned to the mare, who nuzzled Hermione's neck then sniffed the air for the scent of treats.

“Of course I didn't come empty-handed,” she said, producing a shiny apple from the pocket of her coat. “See, I know what my girl likes.”

“My lady,” said a gruff voice from behind her. “If I might have a word.”

Hermione sighed. She loved Jameson, but whenever he wanted to have a word it inevitably meant bad news.

Giving Mab one last scratch on the nose, she turned to the man who'd set her atop her first pony, and taught her everything she knew about horses.

“Of course, Jameson,” she said with a smile. “I needed to speak to you, as well.”

She'd not wanted to confess to him that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern would be gone—possibly forever—out of shame. It was unlikely that Jameson was unaware of her father's recklessness. He'd been with the family since she was a child, after all. And their removal from the comparatively palatial house in Grosvenor Square must have signaled to him that finances were not all that they could be. Still, it was with flushed cheeks and not quite meeting his eye that she told him of her coaching pair's repossession.

To his credit, Jameson didn't flinch at her tale. But when she chanced a look at his face, she saw that his lips were tight with anger. At her father she had little doubt. His family might have served the Upperton family for generations, but he was hardly required to like them. Especially the present earl, who had depleted the family stables to the point of near disappearance.

“I am that sorry to hear it, my lady,” Jameson said gruffly. “I know how you loved that pair.”

He could hardly have missed it considering she spent every spare moment fussing over them and ensuring they had every comfort. Still, it was soothing to her broken heart.

“Thank you, Jameson,” she said sincerely. “I know you have endured much with this family, and I know it cannot be easy. But I am hopeful that their removal will only be temporary and we will get them back.”

“Aye, my lady,” he replied, giving no hint as to whether he believed her promise or not. “In the meantime, we'll do what we can to take care of what we have.”

“Now, you wanted to speak to me of some other matter?” she asked, not daring to hope that it would be something good he intended to tell her.

Jameson nodded. “It's nothing to do with our stables, my lady.” He lowered his voice and glanced left then right, as if ensuring they would not be overheard. “It's the fellow who has the one next door.”