Page 15 of The Courtesan’s Protector (About An Earl #4)

CHAPTER 14

B y the time they reached London the next evening, Jane had already built her walls back up. Oh, they sat close in the carriage. She spoke to him just as she always had. But Ripley was no fool. He had seen too much, she’d said too much. Now she would try to protect them both by inserting as much distance as she possibly could.

“When we stopped just outside the city, I asked the driver to take us straight to Esme and Delacourt’s,” he said.

She started, as if she’d forgotten he was in the carriage while she stared outside the window, her hands clutched together in her lap. Now she looked at him, her cheeks pinkening.

“Yes, thank you. The sooner we speak to them, the sooner we can find my sister.”

She said the words with determination, but he knew her too well not to see the truth of her. Her little tells were subtle, she presented herself as steel to the world around her, but he saw the flickers of pain in her, of embarrassment and shame.

For the moment, he said nothing about it. Let her find the support she needed in her friends and it would calm her. And if she needed more? Well, he was here to provide it.

The carriage glided onto the drive at Delacourt’s city estate. Jane took a deep breath and then exited the carriage with the assistance of one of the footmen who came rushing from the house. Ripley frowned. She’d been allowing him to help her for days and days, but even with this she separated herself a fraction.

Still, she did wait for him and took his arm, her fingers tightening around his bicep with a grip that spoke of her tension. Delacourt’s butler welcomed them at the door.

“Ah, Miss Kendall,” he said, all true friendliness. “We haven’t seen you in a while, welcome.”

“Thank you, Bentley,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “And you recall Mr. Ripley, I think.”

“I do, indeed. The earls and countesses are gathered in the blue parlor. Please follow me and I’ll announce you.”

Her lips parted and she looked up at Ripley as they did as Bentley had asked. “They’re not alone,” she said softly.

He covered her hand with his. “Neither are you.”

She came to a stop in the middle of the hallway and stared up at him. “Ripley,” she murmured.

“My lords and ladies,” Bentley called out at the door just a few feet in front of where they’d come to their sudden stop. “Miss Kendall and Mr. Ripley.”

Ripley heard the happy murmur of voices within and guided Jane forward. They entered the room and he saw that, indeed, Esme and Delacourt weren’t alone. The earl’s sister, the Countess of Ramsbury, and her husband were also in attendance. And, as always, neither of them looked anything but pleased to see Jane.

Jane released his arm and stepped forward. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be hosting company. We should have sent word.”

Esme was already rushing forward and she wrapped her arms around Jane for a hard hug. “Gracious, don’t get formal on me now! You know you’re always welcome here, dearest.” She glanced toward Ripley. “ Campbell .”

He smiled despite the worry he felt for Jane. Esme had always cheekily called him Campbell as often as she did Ripley. Probably because it had always shocked those around him.

“Es,” he said, and then turned toward the earls and Lady Ramsbury. “My lords. Lady Ramsbury.”

He was greeted in a friendly enough way even though he noted that Delacourt stared from Jane to him and back again. Ripley liked Delacourt. He was sharp and direct, and he protected Esme with his whole heart. The same way Ripley wished to do with Jane.

Because that’s what love was.

“You’re pale,” Esme said, pushing a lock of hair from Jane’s forehead. “What is it?”

Jane glanced over her shoulder at Ripley and then at the rest of the room. “I-I need a moment with you. May we speak privately?”

“Of course.” Esme wrapped an arm around her and tucked Jane into her side. Ripley could see Jane sag a little against her and he was glad she had support with Esme as much as with him. She needed all she could get. “We’ll be back.”

The two women left the room and Ripley let his breath out at last. Delacourt looked troubled as he watched the open door where they’d left. “Is Jane well?”

“No,” Ripley said softly because now that he didn’t have to put all his strength into her, he felt the full weight of his fears and heartbreak on her behalf.

Everyone in the room stared at him. And he knew in that moment that all his love for Jane was on his face. He couldn’t hide it. He feared he’d never be able to hide it again.

Ramsbury squeezed his wife’s hand and moved to pour Ripley a drink while Delacourt came to stand by him. The earl met his eyes, held there and there was only kindness and understanding within that focused expression. “Well, we will do anything we can to help her.”

Ripley was glad he didn’t ask for details. The ones about Jane’s sister weren’t his to share and his own feelings were too painful to name. He nodded. “Yes. Anything.”

Because he would do anything for her. Even break his own heart.

* * *

E sme and Jane sat in front of the fire in Esme’s massive library. Her friend hadn’t stopped holding both her hands the entire time Jane had been confessing everything that had happened in the past few weeks. When she was finished, when she finally drew a shaky breath, Esme squeezed those hands gently.

“Oh, Jane. Why didn’t you come to me at the beginning of all this?”

“And drag you back into the turmoil of my life? Of what and who I am?” Jane sighed.

“There is no dragging?—”

“You got out, Esme,” Jane interrupted. “You’ve made yourself the life you always belonged in, the life you deserve more than anyone in the world. I can’t haul you back into the mud with me. I dragged poor Ripley into this and ruined him already.”

“You haven’t ruined Ripley.”

Jane shut her eyes. “I’ve hauled him all over the countryside, exposed him to all my problems.”

She could feel Esme’s stare burning through her closed lids. “He’s in love with you, Jane.”

Jane flinched. There it was, said out loud, harder to shove aside than when the knowledge of it was just a refrain in her head every time he looked at her.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know he is.”

“When you love someone, their mud is your mud. And it’s worth getting down in it, worth fighting to come out of it together. I’d rather be covered in mud next to Finn than clean without him.”

Jane stared at her friend. Esme had fled the life of a lady, run from a dangerous fiend who threatened her. She’d fit herself into Jane’s world, but in truth she’d never really belonged there. When Delacourt appeared, it had been evident that she would be loved. And Jane knew from personal experience that no one loved as fiercely and loyally as Esme did in return.

“But I’m not you,” she said. “I can’t offer him anything of value.”

“Except your beautiful, strong, loving heart.” Esme cupped her cheeks. “Which is worth all the rubies and diamonds and pearls in this silly kingdom.”

“Well, now you’re just being ridiculous,” Jane said, and smiled despite herself. “Ripley is a situation I cannot even think about right now. Not until I find Nora. Will you help me?”

Esme nodded. “Of course. Though I do wonder why you also kept your sister a secret from me all the years we lived together.”

Jane shrugged. “Talking about her hurt. All of it hurts.”

“Oh, Jane,” Esme whispered, and wrapped and arm around her. She hugged her gently. “Why don’t we go back to the others? It’s more likely that Finn, Sebastian and Marianne would recognize who this Hugo person might be than me. I lost track of all those fops when I left this life and I can hardly be bothered to figure them all out now. Poor Bentley has to give me a cheat sheet every time we can manage to get a few of them to lower themselves to come to our home.”

Jane’s cheeks burned at the idea, but she nodded as Esme got up and Jane followed her back down the hallway to the parlor. She’d long ago given up on the idea of humiliation and yet that was what burned in her chest as they returned to the others.

Ripley immediately made his way back to her and the relief she felt when he did was too powerful. She focused on him while Esme very kindly took the others aside and briefly explained what was going on so that Jane wouldn’t have to repeat the awful story all over again.

“They’ll think me a fool,” Jane said as she stared into his eyes and allowed their depths to calm her.

Ripley shrugged. “Then they can all go to hell.”

She smiled at his instant dismissal of people who mattered in the world and in his business. Because she needed to feel him, she took his hand, memorized the rough slide of his palm against hers. He squeezed gently and she drew a ragged breath.

“I’m so sorry, Jane,” Delacourt said as the others faced them at last. She searched his face for annoyance that she’d brought this mess to his house, but saw none. In fact, he crossed to her and touched her shoulder briefly. There was nothing but kindness in him as he said, “Please know that we’ll do all in our power to find your sister.”

“Thank you.”

“Esme told us about this man who was involved,” Ramsbury said, and he, too, looked nothing but supportive when he spoke to her. “But I’d like to hear all the details you have directly from you and Ripley.”

Jane drew a ragged breath and tried to organize the snippets of information that banged around in her head constantly. “The girl at my sister’s school said they were going to elope. And my mother’s letter to Nora called him Hugo and said his grandfather is titled. That’s all the information I have.”

She glanced at Ripley, and like he had read her mind, he withdrew it from the inside pocket of his jacket, smoothed it and handed it over.

Delacourt glanced at it, then surprised Jane by giving it to Marianne rather than Sebastian. Esme joined her sister-in-law and together the two women read over it, heads close together.

“So the grandson of a titled gentleman,” Marianne said, her gaze never leaving the letter, like she was trying to decipher some code it held.

“Yes,” Jane said. Her humiliation was fading at the kindness of those in the room. “Obviously he might have been lying to my sister about that fact. We’ve no idea.”

“It’s possible,” Esme said with a quick glance up at her. “But I think we start from the idea that every fact we have is true. We can adjust that belief if we find evidence to the contrary. Did the girl actually call him young?”

Jane nodded. “Yes. She said young man.”

“Then he’s probably around her age, or not much older,” Delacourt mused. “Because when you’re seventeen or eighteen, anyone at the top end of their twenties looks old and over thirty is ancient.”

“I resent that,” Ramsbury muttered, and the others chuckled. He glanced at Jane with a smile. “I just celebrated my thirtieth birthday.”

She smiled along with them, her tangled emotions soothed by their easiness. Jane had only known them all in passing, had never thought she’d bring something so emotional to the doorstep of an earl and his very important family. And yet she felt no judgment. No cruelty. No wonder Esme loved them all so fiercely.

“And his name is Hugo,” Marianne said, tapping a finger to her lip. “A somewhat uncommon name.”

“Hugo, Hugo,” Delacourt repeated, and looked at Ramsbury. “There’s Stopford.”

“Yes, but he’s a viscount,” Ramsbury said.

“And the grandson of a duke.”

“I don’t know.” Ramsbury shook his head. “If the young man, himself, was titled, why would Jane’s mother reference the grandfather and not the son, himself?”

“I think Ramsbury is correct,” Esme said. “There’s a specificity to the language.”

Jane nodded. “In my world, a viscount would be a fine catch all on his own. My mother would crow about a viscount, and if he would one day inherit a dukedom? She would have been telling my sister to land him at all costs.”

“So an untitled grandson,” Delacourt said. “Probably. With the first name of Hugo.”

“Hugo Fielding?” Ramsbury suggested.

“He’s hardly young,” Delacourt said. “He’s pushing fifty. Oh, what about Bernard Horne’s grandson? Isn’t he a Hugo?”

“But Horne isn’t titled,” Ramsbury said. “He acts like an entitled prick, but that’s just his nature. No title.”

“Damn.” Delacourt sighed. “We must have a copy of Debrett’s around here somewhere. Or we can get one. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“What about Eldon Granger?” Marianne said, and glanced at the two men.

“Oh, yes!” Esme said. “I recall him. His middle name was Hugo and he went by that.”

“He was always coming around Claudia and me against the wall,” Marianne said. “That’s why I thought of him. And his grandfather is the Duke of Hightower. He’s the youngest son of…oh, what was his name. I’ll think of it.” She pondered for a moment and then her face lit up. “Pottinger!”

Jane jerked her face toward Ripley as she realized why that name was instantly familiar. She clung tighter to his hand even as all the color left his face and he staggered back a step.

“Pottinger,” he gasped. “The Earl of Pottinger?”

“Ripley,” Jane whispered, and smoothed her fingers over the top of his hand. “Breathe…please breathe.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Delacourt said. All of them were staring at Ripley now, his strong reaction too much to ignore. “What does that name mean to you?”

“He…” Ripley trailed off and swallowed a few times before he said, “The Earl of Pottinger is my father.”