Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,69
for his aching head come the dawn?
“Lady Chandron passed away earlier tonight,” he told her out of the blue, sounding cheerful.
Julia gasped, grasping the windowsill to stop herself tumbling out in shock. She was a vicar’s daughter and had prayed for a way out of that woman’s clutches, but she hadn’t wanted her to die.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
He nodded, barely visible in the darkness except he was doing it so enthusiastically.
“She was at the Tavistock Arms pub in St. Giles.”
He paused and let the words of a lady being in a common pub sink into Julia’s brain. She was about to ask why when he spoke again.
“The pub offered special services greatly enjoyed by the viscountess in one of the basement rooms. I shan’t describe them. The services I mean, not the rooms.”
Julia nodded. She didn’t particularly want to know.
“Did her heart give out?” For Julia had imagined hers could explode it beat so hard and fast when Jasper put his mouth upon her—
“She drowned.”
“In a pub?” He was talking nonsense again. For all she knew, Lady Chandron was perfectly healthy and at home thinking about whom next she would blackmail. Then Julia recalled the news and gasped again.
“Are you saying she drowned in beer?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “You did hear!” And then he started to laugh. His loud guffaw would wake every member of the Worthington household.
“Please hush, Jasper. And don’t laugh. It’s not civilized considering what happened.”
After a moment, he managed to curtail his ill-timed humor.
“The entire tavern was flooded,” he declared.
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
“I was close by when it happened. I heard a roar as if an entire building was falling down, and then there were beery fumes floating in the air all about me, although the flood was not in the exact street where I was walking.”
“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?”
“No, I went to my club, and that’s when I heard about the countess.”
“The viscountess,” she reminded him.
“Just so. We all drank a toast to Lady Chandron’s memory, and then we drank to Lord Chandron’s health.”
“And then you simply drank,” she muttered, realizing the lantern was moving. “Is someone with you?”
“Of course. My footman is with me. Aren’t you, Rigley? Yes. He says yes, he is. I brought him to throw the stones at your window and to hold the lantern. I’m an earl, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Julia wondered how long he’d been at his club, bending his elbow.
“I’m teasing you. I threw my own stones. And I hit the mark, too.”
“You did.” She was glad he hadn’t broken a pane. “Thank you for telling me. I am greatly relieved, although I feel badly for Lady Chandron. Drowning in beer seems a terrible death.”
“I can think of worse,” he said. “Such as—”
“Please, don’t. I can well imagine them for myself. I’m going back to bed, and I suggest you go home and get to your own.”
“I could join you in yours,” he offered.
Her cheeks warmed, knowing the footman was listening to all this.
“No, you couldn’t. We’re not married,” she said firmly, mostly for Rigley’s sake.
Jasper started to laugh, and then he laughed harder. Shutting the window, she sighed. At least she could amuse him.
Lady Chandron! Dead!
Shaking her head, Julia slipped under the covers again. In truth, a weight had been lifted unless, in his inebriated state, Jasper had got it all wrong. But if he was right, she no longer need worry about Sarah’s good name nor the man she’d come to care for bedding someone else due to her own carelessness.
Chapter Twenty
“Lady A__ was in a purple tweague, entirely directed at Lord M__ for all to witness at Mayfair’s premiere event last night. No one has seen the like, although this earl might be used to such scenes in private, especially from young ladies seeking a proposal.”
-The Gazette
“You seem quite chipper this morning,” Sarah said. “Sleep well?”
Julia had in fact slept soundly after the earl and his footman’s strange visit. She reached for the morning’s stack of papers.
“It’s true,” she said after a moment’s inspection of the Times.
“What’s true?” Her sister poured them both a cup of tea.
“Lady Chandron was killed in the St. Giles beer flood.”
Sarah gasped. “How awful! Wasn’t she the strange woman from the cricket match?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “The strange woman.”
“But how did you know?” her sister questioned.
“How did I know what?” Julia asked, still reading the article for more details on those who’d perished in such an unlikely manner.