The Fairest of Them All (14 page)

However, he did want Raneleigh's support so he was pleased when Gavin spoke up. “I support my twin's decision.”

Any man at the table, understanding Gavin's power would have backed down.

Not Her Ladyship. “Because you are clueless. Or undiscerning, Your Grace. I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she said to their mother. “I understand you have no control over your sons. After all, what choice do you have? Family allegiance demands you support the black sheep. The rest of us would prefer to see him on the gallows.”

Silence met that statement. Both Gavin and their mother were speechless.

Everyone else at the table either agreed with her or was cowed by her viciousness—­except for Lady Charlene.

“I find your comments ridiculous in their naiveté and cruel in their content.”

Lady Damian stared at Lady Charlene as if she had never seen her before, and perhaps she hadn't. Jack was fairly certain the sarcastic woman had dismissed Lady Charlene for a pretty face with more hair than wit.

She was wrong. Lady Charlene continued. “If you wish to be rude, then do so to someone who can answer you back in kind without impugning
his
honor. I believe to behave otherwise is cowardly. We must not hide behind our sex if we wish our opinions to matter.”

Her rebuke was more than a warning shot across the bow. It was a broadside. The guests, Gavin, and the duchess appeared stunned. Even the servants stopped moving.

And Jack wanted to clap. She was going to be a magnificent duchess.

Lady Damian twitched like a banty hen ready to do battle. Apparently no one had
ever
­challenged her before.

For her part, Lady Charlene sat serene.

Lady Damian opened her mouth. There was fire in her eyes, but before she could deliver a blast of whatever spite she had in mind, Lady Charlene smoothly warned, “Be wise, my lady. I'm certain the women around this table have all been ­subjected to your scorn. However,
we
are not honor-­bound to sit silent. If we band together, you may find yourself very uncomfortable.”

“And why should
I
feel that?”

“My aunt always says that women need take care of one other. Our power is in our ­understanding of what is important in this life. I find good ­manners have a certain grace. I don't think it is right to embarrass guests. It is insult to the host and hostess.” Not even one of the patronesses of Almack's could have delivered such a setdown.

Nor did Lady Charlene rest on her ­laurels. She looked to Jack. “Please tell us, Mr. Whitridge”—­ he liked that she used a plain “mister” instead of the title “Lord Jack,” which seemed alien to him—­“what have you found about America that has encouraged you to ­support it?”

In all the weeks he'd been in England, not one person had asked him that question.

Jack did not hesitate with the answer, knowing that if he was going to keep Lady Damian at bay, confidence was key.

“Opportunity. It is everywhere. If a man is willing to work hard enough, he can accomplish his wildest dreams. And there is no class order. Well, there is, humans being what they are, but it is more fluid. Good ideas and courage are what is valued. My brother is generous and as you all know, a leader in his own right, even without the title. I hope to prove myself of the same mettle. However, as a second son, my only hope to fully be the man I am is if he dies. I love him too much to wish that upon him.”

They were listening, Lady Damian with malevolent intent.

Jack forged on. “Britain and the United States have much in common. We speak the same tongue. The shores of Massachusetts where I live, indeed, all up and down the coast, were ­settled by Englishmen with vision. Our countries share ties that are bound in the blood of family ­histories. We have more in common than we have in ­discord. Why should we want war with each other? Our differences are not insurmountable. And the good, the profit, the wealth that we could create by working together and with respect for each other”—­he nodded toward Lady Damian—­“could surpass any that has been seen by the ­history of man.”

The assembled company had gone still. At the head of the table, deep lines etched Raneleigh's face.

Lady Damian looked at her host's expression and then smiled at Jack as if he was a bloody fool. She opened her mouth to give her opinion but once again, before she could speak, someone else took the turn.

Raneleigh himself said, “Tell me more.”

“Where to start?” Jack wondered. “I have ­traveled the territories. Words fail me to describe the forests or the fish in the rivers and lakes. But the cities like my own Boston are growing at a rapid pace and are on par with any England can boast—­save London, of course.”

“How is the hunting?” one gentleman asked, and after that, Jack knew he had their interest.

The dinner went well and no one was surprised when Lady Damian excused herself after the last course and went home.

L
ady Charlene had slipped into a quiet corner as she was wont to do. Jack approached her there. Gavin had been pulled away by Lord Raneleigh.

“Have you come to guard me again?” she asked.

“What?”

“His Grace told me. He confided that he used you to keep watch so that no one else would take me from him.” The suppressed bitterness in her voice caught Jack off guard. “You don't need to worry yourself. No one will intrude on me here.” She started to walk away.

Jack stepped in her path. “Now, wait—­” He shook his head. “Why would Gavin tell you about that? It was his idea but he hasn't needed me.”

“But I have.”

For a second, Jack thought his ears played tricks. They hadn't.

In a quiet voice, she said, “I thought we were friends.”

He wanted more than friendship
. “I believe by now you know you may trust me.”

“How? You avoid me.”

Jack didn't answer. What could he say? Nothing that would make the situation better.

Instead, he said, “I wanted to thank you for speaking up at the table. That took courage.”

“Courage?” She appeared genuinely puzzled.

“I don't believe many take on Lady Damian. Even Mother is impressed.”

“I was being fair, Whitridge. It was what was right. Isn't that one of the things you like about your new country?” She paused a moment and then added “I thought you explained ­yourself well. I wished I could see this land you so ­obviously admire.”

He wished he could take her there
. “You started the conversation and it did the trick. Raneleigh was the last person I needed for my meeting on Monday.”

“Ah, yes, your meeting.” She paused a moment and then said, “Does your conscience bother you that you came to England after being gone so long just to use your brother?”

Damn her sharp tongue. “I came to avert a war,” Jack reminded her. “There was some thought that by going through Baynton we would receive a fair hearing.”

“Yes, using him.”

“I didn't want to,” Jack admitted. “I tried without him . . . and it is true I need him. However, what I have received is a reunion with my family. I hadn't realized how much I missed them.”

“And what has he received in return?”

You
. “He has not asked for anything. He truly is a good man.”

She studied him a moment. He could read her every thought in her clear eyes.

What Jack saw was that she understood what he
hadn't
said.

“I pray your meeting is worth the cost,” she murmured.

He wanted to step forward, to tell her it wasn't. That letting her go was an almost unbearable price, one he was just beginning to fathom—­

“Here you are,” Gavin's voice said from behind them. They both turned. He frowned. “Why do the two of you look so serious?”

“I was thanking Lady Charlene for rescuing me from Lady Damian's teeth.”

“She was amazing, wasn't she?” Gavin agreed. He looked to Lady Charlene. “And I can't wait to meet your aunt. She sounds forthright. I now know why you are so special. When is she ­returning? Mother believes we should have her to Menheim for a family dinner.”

Jack had heard him mention the aunt before. Was that why he'd not offered marriage yet? He was waiting?

“Soon,” Lady Charlene said. “She will return soon.”

She did not look happy. Jack sensed ­immediately something was wrong.

However, Gavin was oblivious to the tension in her. “Come, I ordered the coach. Mother is ready to go and you must be as well.”

With those words, he took Lady Charlene away from Jack.

Chapter Fourteen

T
he next day, Sunday, the air was chilled but the sky was a brilliant blue in that way it rarely happens in winter. Jack set his hat low over his eyes and pulled on his gloves.

He had some thought of checking with ­Lawrence and Matthew. There was much to be done for the meeting on the morrow. Last night's successful discussion around Raneleigh's table had given him hope.

He found his reluctant compatriots sharing an early supper. After a list of instructions, all of which Jack was certain they would ignore, he began walking home . . . except his path led to Mulberry Street.

This time he didn't just check the alley, he did something he'd not done before—­he paused at the corner to study the house. There was no sign of his brother or Lady Charlene, which was good. Jack did not know how he would explain his loitering in the area. That would certainly raise his twin's suspicions at a time he needed him most.

The streets were relatively quiet for a late Sunday afternoon. Most of the traffic was by foot.

Knowing he had stretched his luck, Jack forced himself to continue past Mulberry Street, and it was at that moment, he noticed a street boy snuggled down behind the rain barrel on the corner. Jack stopped, curious. He glanced back toward the house on Mulberry Street. At this angle, the boy would have a clear view of who was traveling up and down both Mulberry and the ­connecting street. The lad was small, not more than eight years of age. He could crouch by the barrel and not be seen.

Jack walked up to the boy who had dismissed him earlier as someone of no consequence. He probably had his eye out for the duke or Lady Charlene.

Coming up behind the boy, his steps so quiet the little rascal did not notice, Jack said, “Has Lady Charlene passed this way yet?”

The lad startled and looked up at Jack. He must have seen a resemblance because the boy tried to run but his feet barely scrambled to let him stand before Jack had him by the collar.

“What are you doing?” the boy complained. He twisted and turned trying to free himself.

“What is your name?” Jack asked.

The boy hit out at him. He was a skinny lad with the furtive movements of a weasel wanting to break free of a trap. Jack gave him a shake. “Your name.”

“Toady. Not let me go, sir.
Let me go
.” He said this last as a holler as if wishing to attract ­attention and possible rescue.

Jack held him up so he could look into Toady's grimy face. “No one is interested in a gentleman chastising a street boy.”

Toady fell quiet, an acknowledgment of the truth of Jack's statement.

“Now that I have your attention,” Jack said, “take me to Leo.”

“Who?”

Jack smiled. “If you do not take me to the den of the Seven, they may never see you again.”

“And what can you do to me?” Toady had the impudence to ask.

“I can peel the skin off of you from liver to ­gizzard,” Jack assured him. “And then I will take your eyeballs and use them for dice.”

Toady was uncertain if Jack was serious. “I don't think you will.”

“You are wrong.”

The boy let himself hang in the air a moment. “Very well, sir. I will take you to see the Seven.”

Jack lowered him to the ground. He released his hold—­and as he anticipated, Toady took off at a run. He was fast, Jack would grant him that. He also believed he was outrunning Jack. He shot a triumphant look over his shoulder. He believed he had escaped.

Instead, Jack was gratified to notice the boy was running in the direction of the alley he had been scouting, the one where Lady Charlene had met Leo.

Jack followed, but at his own pace. Toady was actually free to go anywhere in the city, but the Seven reminded Jack of a tribe, and a good tribesman always warned the others of danger. They also had a habit of returning to the same safe campsites.

Reaching the alley, Jack removed his hat and moved stealthily through the narrow passageway. He was halfway along when he heard Toady's ­excited voice warning the others of the man who had almost captured him. Jack hurried his step and burst into the courtyard.

Leo was exactly what Jack had anticipated. He was a tough creature, a man in a boy's body. His face still had the smoothness of youth but the eyes had seen too much. He wore a jacket, a filthy shirt, and a black neck cloth tied with such flair any dandy would be jealous. He carried a crop in his hands and wore an outrageous
chapeau bras
on his head
.
The hat made Jack laugh.

The other members of the Seven were more like Toady, wise to the ways of making their own way. They were clever lads and Jack was certain they could be devils if they chose. Several of the lads were older, sixteen or so, like Leo. But unlike him, they were brawny young bulls. They'd used their fists a time or two.

Jack set his hat on his head. “Hello, Leo.”

Toady announced, “
That's him
. That's the man who grabbed me. He threatened to use my eyeballs for dice.”

“And I still might,” Jack assured him.

Leo stepped forward. “You're the one who has been sniffing around here. What do you want?”

“I want you to leave Lady Charlene alone.”

“Who is Lady Charlene?” Leo said, his words round with innocence.

“She is the woman who owes you money.” He pulled his purse from his pocket and counted the money. Five guineas. He tossed it to Leo. “There, she is acquitted of you. Leave her alone.”

Leo made no move to pick up the money that had fallen at his feet. “That is not the amount she owes us.”

“It is the only amount you will be paid,” Jack assured him. “If you are as intelligent as you wish to pretend, then you know that the Crown frowns on blackmail.”

“But not among criminals,” Leo said, spreading his hands as if that explained all. “Lady Charlene is not an innocent. She is one of us and we can bear witness.”

“Leo,” Jack said as if having to explain life to the boy was tiresome, “no one will believe you. All seven of you could line up in front of a judge, standing on stacks of Bibles, and not one of you would be believed.”

“The duke will believe us. He won't want to marry a woman who would cause him that much scandal. They say Baynton is a stickler. High and mighty, he is. He won't want to hear what we could tell him.”

“And then Lady Charlene won't have
any
money to pay you,” Jack agreed. “That solves everything, doesn't it?”

“Are you blind or ignorant of Lady Charlene's obvious charms?” Leo answered. “We will work our money out of her.”

That was the wrong thing to say to Jack. “Take what I gave you and leave her alone.” There was no longer humor in his voice.

“Or what?” Leo asked.

“Or it will not go well for you.”

The leader of the Seven did not like backing down.

Neither did Jack.

“Grab him,” Leo said to his crew. “And take his purse.”

Immediately the older boys picked up heavy boards from the ground and attacked. So did the younger boys. They came at him head-­on, a sign they weren't sophisticated fighters, not like the frontiersmen and sailors Jack had faced in his past.

Yes, the lads lived a hard life, but they'd never had to
battle
for what they wanted. It was easier to steal it or run.

So Jack had no trouble blocking the older boys. He yanked the boards out of their hands and pushed them so they fell into the younger ones.

There was a mad scramble of legs and arms, grunts and curses.

Jack helped by taking the board and giving them whacks. The little ones shouted and threw their hands over their heads as if afraid of more.

The older boys tried to attack again. This time they spread out but Jack was good at hand-­to-­hand combat. An elbow here, a kick there, and the older boys attempted to make a quick retreat.

He grabbed one by his collar before he could dash away and tossed him into the crowd ­cowering behind Leo. Leo's hat went flying off his head and bouncing on its triangle-­shaped brim across the ground.

“That was as easy as playing ninepins,” Jack observed, referring to the bowling game. “Does anyone else wish to continue?”

“Move your arse,” Leo ordered his young henchmen, shoving them off him. They weren't trying to rise too fast. Jack was certain they'd had enough of him. He picked up Leo's hat from the ground.

“I'll keep this,” he said to Leo. “It will be a sign of your promise to leave Lady Charlene alone. And don't go on about her owing money,” he warned as Leo opened his mouth to protest. “As it is, the lot of you have the opportunity to play another day. If I wished, I could see you in prison. Or worse. Let us leave it as it is.”

Leo clenched and unclenched his fists. Jack stood patiently but he was ready for another salvo.

And then Leo bent down and picked up the coins that had been scattered about during the scuffle.

“You know, there are those who could harm her,” Leo threatened.

“I doubt that,” Jack answered. “You don't want to let it be known that I've bested you. Lads like you cannot afford any sign of weakness. You have a territory to protect. And, after all is said and done, I shoot better than I fight. Understand, if anything happens to Lady Charlene, Baynton and I will hunt you down.”

Leo snatched his crop up from the ground where it had fallen. He waved it at Jack. “I don't want to see you here again.”

Jack bowed his agreement. He turned and walked away. They let him. Thieves preferred easy conquests. He was fairly certain that his lady was safe.

His intent was to return home. That would have been the wise course. It should have been enough that he had freed Lady Charlene from blackmail.

And yet he felt he must do something meaning­ful with Leo's hat. It was a trophy. A sign that Leo understood he had been beaten.

Of course Jack found himself walking in the ­direction of Mulberry Street.

The hour was growing late and the shadows long. The temperature had dropped but Jack was too intent on his quest to feel the cold.

Lights burned in the windows of her house. There was a movement in the front window. A woman's slender shape walked back and forth. He knew it had to be her.

Jack pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes and strode quickly to the door. He knocked. Footsteps marched toward the door.

A few beats later, the front door was thrown wide open and
she was there
.

For a second, he forgot why he came.

She wore her hair down. Curls framed her face and fell around her shoulders. Her dress was plain, a sensible blue day dress, and yet she made it special.

At the sight of him, her lips parted. She smiled her welcome as if she was truly delighted to see him. She had one hand on the door handle and another on the doorjamb as if opening her arms wide for him.

All he had to do was step forward and he would be in her embrace—­

A movement behind her caught his attention. A tall, redheaded woman had followed her into the hall. Her brows were drawn in concern. “Char, who is it?” she asked, and then stopped at the sight of him.

Lady Charlene acted as if she had been as ­mesmerized by the sight of him as he had been with her. She gave herself a shake and said, “It is Baynton's brother, Mr. Whitridge. Sir, this is my aunt, Mrs. Pettijohn.”

“Mrs. Pettijohn,” he said with a bow. The aunt. Gavin would approve of her. She was an attractive woman. Now there would be nothing to stop him from asking for Lady Charlene's hand.

“Sir. Are you here on some errand for the duke?” Mrs. Pettijohn asked. “Will you step in?”

How to explain himself? Mrs. Pettijohn did not appear as if she would be patient if he said he was here because . . . well, he had a need to gaze longingly at her niece. To be this close to her, to talk to her, to listen to her breathe.

“I do have a message. However, it is for Lady Charlene's ears alone.”

Mrs. Pettijohn wasn't about to let him have a private moment, but Lady Charlene was ahead of her. “Yes, thank you. We shall only be a moment, Sarah. One moment. We will be right on this step.”

Without waiting for permission, she came out to Jack, closing the door behind her, holding it shut with her hand. Darkness had fallen but the light flowing from the front windows highlighted her hair, her nose, her eyes.

Raising her voice so that it was loud enough for Mrs. Pettijohn to hear, she said, “What is it the duke wishes me to know?” And then she lowered her voice, “I had hoped to see you this day.”

“Why?” He was conscious that he held his breath, as if anxious for her answer.

“The Seven are following me,” she said. “I thought I caught sight of one of the youngest spying on me this afternoon.”

Her answer deflated his—­what? Hopes? He should not have hopes. Lust? Well, there was that. He had not come to London for Cupid's purpose. And yet, every time he looked at her, all the sharp lines in his world eased and being this close to her felt right.

Jack pulled the hat from inside his coat and gave it to her.

She recognized it immediately. “Leo gave you this?”

“We came to an understanding.”

“What sort of understanding?”

“One that has freed you from any obligation to him.”

Her face lit with relief. “Are you serious? Oh please, Whitridge, be serious.”

“I am,” he said, charmed by the way she called him Whitridge. Of course, she could have called him anything and he would have been happy, and in that moment, he knew. He was capable of falling in love with her. He might already
be
in love with her.

“Thank you,” she said. And then she reached up and gave him a hug. It was a quick gesture, one of supreme gratitude.

His hand involuntarily went to her waist and for a wild, blessed second, their bodies were pressed against each other, their eyes locked—­and he saw the truth.