Page 12 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

J asper walked into White’s and handed his hat and gloves to the porter, who stored them on the shelf above his name plate. “Welcome back, Lord Ramsbury.”

You would think I’ve been gone a month instead of just a few hours. “Thank you, Sellers.”

He entered the mahogany-paneled great room, which contained so many members of Parliament that he expected a vote at any moment. He scanned the familiar faces, noting that several small groups stopped talking to stare.

Spencer was in one of them, noticeable both by his height and the way his hair reflected the sunlight. The young men surrounding him only made him look more like an aging clergyman.

He met Jasper’s stare and lifted his glass in a mocking salute.

A whisper campaign was afoot, and Jasper was the target.

Viscount Granville caught his attention and raised his glass. Jasper took it as an invitation and joined the older man at the corner of the bar. His preferred drink arrived with admirable speed. He let the cool liquid clear his throat while he gathered his thoughts.

Spencer had to be a guest, likely invited by one of the young bucks surrounding him. Jasper recognized one of them, a new earl angling for support of a bill that would benefit no county but his own, and meagerly at that.

“It looks like Standridge would rather curry favor than rewrite his proposal,” Granville said.

“He won’t realize the price until it’s too late.” Jasper glanced down at the bar, ignoring the prickling at the back of his neck. The betting book was open. “Making a wager, Granville?”

“Made it last night, after the ball.” The other man held his drink in one hand and spun the book with the other. “I believe it is a safe one.”

The line was short, but it had a long list of takers. Viscount Raines was one of them. The young man could never resist a wager. Neither could his father, the Marquess of Graydon, which made him an odd choice to hold the empire’s purse strings. Rumor had it, the man had some powerful backers in his bid for the job.

“Have I offended you or put an idea in your head?” Granville asked.

Jasper forced his attention from his thoughts to the ledger he’d been staring at for too long. “What makes you think I’ll do it?”

“Because I’ve seen you dance with your wife, and I’ve seen you dance with mine.” Granville’s smile was tinged with sadness. “The difference is impossible to ignore.”

The statement stopped Jasper short. He treated Annabel differently than he’d treated Gwennie, but he also cared about them in different ways.

His conscience twinged at the lie. He hadn’t cared about Gwennie at all, nor she for him. He’d slept with Granville’s wife simply because he could. He’d taken something from the man for no reason but sheer boredom.

The Duke of Chippenham was across the room laughing with his cronies. The man didn’t care about Gwennie either—he’d just hated to lose.

Worse, the long list of gentlemen willing to take Granville’s money knew Jasper cared nothing for her either. He had a well-earned reputation for flirting and fleeing. There was likely a wager somewhere about how long it would be before he took another mistress and sent his wife to the country.

Jasper downed his drink in one long gulp, thumped his glass on the bar, and strode across the room.

The duke watched him approach, one eyebrow raised. A smile slid over his angled features. “Interesting reading in the paper this morning, wouldn’t you say, Ramsbury?”

Chippenham had made an indecent proposal as revenge. Though Annabel had decisively refused it, gossip would ignore his behavior and excoriate her for hers.

Jasper threw the punch from his waist so as not to telegraph his reaction. The resulting haymaker snapped Chippenham’s head back and sent him crashing to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Stay well clear of my wife,” Jasper said as he turned on his heel. The management might fine him for his behavior, or perhaps suspend his privileges, but it was a price worth paying. He wished Kit had been here to see it rather than skulking about in the country on some mysterious errand.

He returned to the bar, where members were tossing ten-pound notes over Granville’s shoulders. It was a modest pile. And it was the least he could do.

“Thank you for giving me an excuse to do that.” Jasper took up his refilled glass and forced his trembling hand to steady. His knuckles ached in the best possible way, but they would bruise before the night was out, and it would be impossible to explain with anything but the truth.

There were a few more truths that needed to be said.

“ I’m sorry is inadequate, Granville, but I am.” He met the man’s stare. “Deeply.”

“And that is enough,” the other man said. “Thank you.”

A door opened across the way, and Annabel’s father exited a private meeting room just in front of Amos Patton, one of the most trusted booksellers in London, if not in all of Britain. He was even a fair hand at valuing antiquities.

Baron Chilworth was selling the family library. It was a wise decision, given the amount of his debt, but Jasper had seen the wonder in Annabel’s eyes anytime she entered a room with books in it. Even his mother’s small collection here in London had made her smile.

Chilworth spotted him, bade Patton farewell, and then navigated the crowd to the bar. Granville had pocketed his winnings and was marking the wager from the books.

“What’s all the commotion? What did we miss?”

“A minor entertainment,” Jasper said as he shepherded his father-in-law to a table on the edge of the room. “What did you want to discuss, sir?”

“I’ve been offered a chance to buy into a new coal mine. Since the pit has not yet been dug, shares are a bargain. I can buy twice as many and recoup a profit twice as fast.” Chilworth searched the crowd and motioned for another man to join them.

The well-dressed newcomer stuck out his hand. “Charles Christian, your lordship. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Jasper didn’t trust Christian’s easy manner, and he didn’t like the attention they were attracting. “I agreed to meet with my wife’s father, Mr. Christian. You are a surprise.”

Christian’s smile faltered for a moment. “I see. Well, I won’t take much of your time.” He took the chair next to Chilworth. “My partners and I are looking for investors in a new mine in Wales.”

“You mean there is a still land in Wales without a hole in it?” Jasper stretched his arm across the empty chair beside him.

Christian’s lips quirked at the joke, but his eyes stayed predatory. It was like watching a snake hunt its prey. “We have taken samples, and the coal deposits are impressive. Our hope is to begin excavating within a month.”

Jasper would wager next year’s rents that Charles Christian and Abel Collins were two sides of the same coin.

“And how are you planning to find miners? Most in Wales already have jobs, do they not?” Jasper watched the man’s eyes, waiting for the strike. If Kit was right, he already knew what was coming.

“Our company learned a great deal from the previous unrest in Wales. We are investing in every modern measure to ensure our workers’ safety, and given the interest, we will be able to pay a much better hourly wage.”

“See, Ramsbury?” Chilworth leaned forward like a supplicant at the communion rail. “This investment promises to make its shareholders a fortune for years to come. With a few hundred pounds, I could earn enough to…to keep the family coffers full for several generations.”

Jasper didn’t think Chilworth needed to be discreet about his finances. Christian would have done his research and chosen his victims carefully. He would know the man was in debt up to his daughter’s mink-brown eyeballs. Just as Jasper knew that once the money from the family’s library landed in Chilworth’s hands, it would go into a worthless hole in the ground.

“I know a mining inspector. I will want him to review your plans,” Jasper said. “I will also want my man of business to review your investments and your payroll plan.”

Christian blinked. “He would be welcome once the excavation has begun. These funds will help begin that process.”

“I see.” Jasper finished his drink and stood, eager to be free of the stench of greed and desperation. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Chilworth followed him out. “But the money, Ramsbury? This discounted offer will not last.”

“If Christian wants my money, he can submit to audit and inspection. Once I am satisfied, you can buy your shares. No sooner.” Jasper collected his hat and gloves before meeting his father-in-law’s pleading stare. “You have asked for a great deal of money in addition to what I have already willingly spent.”

“But you agreed, and it is your responsibility to—”

“No, baron. It is your responsibility, and you will be patient if you want my help.”

Jasper left before his irritation overcame his mother’s lessons on politeness. Annabel had been willing to barter herself into marriage, to someone she might consider a traitor, for the sake of her sisters’ futures and her mother’s comfort. None of that should have fallen to her.

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.”

“Whatever for? The young ladies in their set are quite fond of them, and the Alfords will be excellent hosts. It will be a grand event full of people their own age.”

“And they will be haunted by the ghost of what their sister did at her last house party,” Annabel said quietly. “Jane and Johanna will escape it because we’re not related by blood, and Jasper’s behavior has always been…rebellious. But my sisters will be whispered about every time they leave the room. We’ll undo all your generosity. Or, worse, one of them—likely Rebecca—will misbehave, and we’ll disgrace your family as well.”

“No wonder he likes you.” After a long sip of tea, Sylvia nodded. “So be it. I’ll take Jane and Johanna, but we’ll send your mother and sisters to Bath for a holiday.” She held up her hand to stop Annabel’s protest. “That’s my price, Annabel. Rachel and Rebecca need a treat, as does your mother—as do you. We will go to the Alfords, they will go to Bath, and you and Jasper will go somewhere altogether different. Alone.”

Alone. With Jasper.

Annabel put her needlepoint aside for fear of poking her finger and bleeding all over the sofa cushions.

“You do like him, don’t you?” the countess asked. “I know things didn’t start on solid footing, but you both seemed to be adjusting well. Am I wrong?”

That was the rub, wasn’t it? Despite his teasing—or maybe because of it—Annabel liked Jasper. His manner relaxed her, perhaps too much, and when they were alone, it was easy to believe he might like her as well.

Then there was last night’s kiss. It might have been her first, but she’d heard other girls talk about their experiences and knew that most of them had been unenjoyable. Hers had been something she’d remember when she was old and gray.

She’d remember her time in this house fondly, but Lady Lambourn and her children wouldn’t feel the same. Especially if Reginald Spencer was able to convince those in power that Jasper was conspiring against the Crown.

“Lady Lambourn—”

A knock on the door preceded Stapleton’s arrival. “Lady Ramsbury, I apologize for the interruption, but your assistance is required in the kitchen.”

“Certainly.” Annabel smiled a goodbye to her mother-in-law before walking into the hallway and waiting for Stapleton to close the door behind her.

“Thank you, my lady.” He kept just behind her shoulder as they descended the stairs, and his long stride urged Annabel to quicken her pace. “Facing the French at Waterloo was easier than standing between Cook and Mrs. Wright.”

“Come now. Mrs. Wright wouldn’t hurt a fly.” And Mrs. Elliot, the family cook, was well loved by all the staff, though she did have a sharp tongue when her reputation was on the line.

However, as they reached the hall and went through the staff entrance, screeching floated up the back stairs. Now Stapleton took the lead.

“All of you, back to work.” His command sent wide-eyed maids and houseboys scurrying.

The cook and the housekeeper stood on opposing sides of the table, but their duel stuttered to a stop as Annabel entered the kitchen. “What seems to be the trouble?”

The housekeeper shot a shaking finger at her opponent. “She has accused me of skimping on the food budget and pocketing the difference.”

“I never said you’d pocketed the difference, but you have been skimping on the budget.” Cook lifted a limp, spotted bunch of greens. “I wouldn’t feed these to hogs.”

“They weren’t spotted when I put them in the larder. You shouldn’t have kept them for so long.”

“They were wilted when the grocer brought them,” Cook shouted. “Not to mention the berries. Flats of them that went soft within two days.”

Annabel remembered the berries. They’d been served with every meal during her first week in the house. Jasper had grumbled that his hair was changing color.

“You have the purse and the key to the larder, and I have to make do with what you bring me.” Mrs. Elliot shook the greens to punctuate her sentence, and one ruined leaf landed on the floor with a sickening slap.

Annabel bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, though it was difficult when Stapleton coughed to hide his laughter. It would be easy to fall back on her experience with Jasper as a generous husband, to suspect the housekeeper of skimming. Except for the tears shining in her eyes and what Annabel remembered from the old marquess’s journals in the Kennet Hall library.

“Mrs. Elliot, please make an inventory of the larder. Mrs. Wright, please gather your records and bring them to his lordship’s office.” She nodded to the butler. “Come with me, Stapleton.”

They returned upstairs, and Annabel led the way to Jasper’s study. “Where does Lord Ramsbury keep his ledgers?”

“Your ladyship, I’m not certain—”

She wasn’t either. “I am certain that his lordship would prefer his marchioness handle matters of the household so he can focus on matters in Parliament.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled a key from his pocket and opened the bottom desk drawer. It housed nothing but a heavy red leather ledger identical to the ones in Wiltshire. Annabel lifted it to the desk and flipped to the most recent pages, careful not to topple the pile of unopened correspondence on the corner of the desk.

Mrs. Wright joined them with her records, which she surrendered to Annabel.

Annabel ran her finger down the entries, made in Jasper’s hand, until she found the latest amounts for the kitchen.

“His lordship has marked down thirty pounds for food this month. Up from twenty, which is to be expected with our marriage and the expectations of the Season.” It was also plenty to provide fresh, prime food.

“Thirty pounds?” The housekeeper dropped into the nearest chair. “My lady, I was given twenty. And on the months he had allotted twenty, I was lucky to get fifteen. I give you my word.”

“And I trust that word, Mrs. Wright. Leave it to me to decipher.” Annabel gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “His lordship and I will resolve this matter when he returns home this evening.”

If he returned home while she was awake.

“Thank you, your ladyship.” Mrs. Wright left in a whisper of skirts, her back straight and her shoulders square.

Once alone, Annabel swept back to the beginning of the ledger, looking for the point when Jasper had inherited. His stark, straight figures were easy to decipher. The strokes reminded her of her husband himself, and it doubled her focus. Jasper’s open manner often masked something he wanted to hide.

The only new expense was a regular payment to Kit Yarwood—not much more than Stapleton’s salary. Annabel had thought he and Jasper were merely friends, but who paid their friends a salary?

Stapleton cleared his throat. “I don’t believe Mrs. Wright to be a thief.”

“Neither do I, but I want the evidence to submit to his lordship.” Annabel reviewed the housekeeper’s ledger and receipts, noting the dates and amounts. Always five to ten pounds less than the amounts in the ledger, but always exact. “Do you have receipts for other expenses?

“Yes, your ladyship.” Stapleton left, only to return with a ledger of his own.

They worked together then, comparing the amounts spent on the household to the amounts in Jasper’s ledgers. The shortages were obvious. “There is no reason for him to steal from himself,” she whispered.

He also couldn’t finance a rebellion on twenty pounds a month.

“Does his lordship give you the funds directly, Stapleton?”

“I do not. My man of business manages payments.” Jasper dropped his coat on the chair nearest the door. His waistcoat had a wide patch of gold splayed across it like a flag. “But I would like to know why my wife is reviewing my finances.”