Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,94
if and where she was ticklish, and then hear her laugh.
Jasper liked how she spoke to him as if she were his equal, despite her not being born of anyone who was anybody. So very unexpected and delightful. Thus, he treated her more forthrightly than any other woman he’d ever met.
Even stranger was the warmth that infused him whenever he thought of her, quite apart from his proximity to the hearth in his own study. No, he was decidedly sure his thoughts about her were what was making him so content, and always filled with eager anticipation of seeing her again.
Musing on her person instead of working on the bill he would present to Parliament in the new year, he considered sending her a note that very moment, inviting her to a winter concert. However, a pounding on his front door, echoing all the way to his study, brought him out of his chair. What the devil!
Surely not Lord Neville again. Without Julia there to protect him, he might be in for a bellyful beating.
“Mr. Greer,” he called as he made his way to the foyer, despite the fact his able butler was already at the front door drawing it open.
Jasper waited, arms folded, tapping his foot while the intruder spoke in loud tones with Mr. Greer. This went on for a full minute before his butler firmly closed the door.
“Do tell,” Jasper said at once.
“A gullgroper, sir,” Mr. Greer said.
“I beg your pardon!”
“To be precise, my lord, a man who wishes to lend you money because he—”
“I know what he is, but why does he believe I’ve lost my money at gaming? And what cheek, this gullgroper, as you call such a shark, making a ruckus on my doorstep.”
“He thought you would be pleased to speak with him, sir. I told him he was mistaken. He said you would change your mind when the creditors come ferreting you out. ‘Better to deal with him,’ he said, ‘than shove the moon.’”
“Shove the moon?” Jasper repeated. “I actually don’t know what that means, Greer.”
“That’s understandable, sir. Why would you? You would not have had cause to flee during a moonlit night to prevent your belongings beings seized by your creditors, sir.”
His butler’s no-nonsense delivery of such information would be laughable if the matter weren’t so serious.
“Hell’s bells!” Jasper swore. “If Mother gets wind of this silly rumor, she’ll be mad as a wet hen. Then I will need to shove the moon, as you say.”
“Not me, sir, the gullgroper.”
Jasper sighed. “I don’t suppose he mentioned how he got this notion into his head.”
“Yes, sir, he did. All his sort, the moneylenders, get wind of any nobleman in danger of whitewashing — that is, declaring insolvency, sir, to avoid creditors. I believe the shopkeepers keep them apprised in order to be paid before there’s nothing left.”
“Nothing left!” Jasper shook his head. “In case you’re wondering, Mr. Greer, I have not spent the family fortune, nor have I lost it at the gaming tables. The Marshfield estate is sound, and you along with all the staff will be paid as usual.”
“Very good, sir.” Mr. Greer made a point to sound bored.
Regardless, Jasper knew his personal assurances would be passed along to the other servants who might be getting nervous. Nervous enough to start pawning his belongings!
Before he could turn away, there was another rap at the door, and then the sound of someone actually attempting to push it open. His butler turned to investigate the latest insolent visitor.
“I’ll deal with this,” Jasper said, marching to the door, turning the lock, and yanking it open. His mother collapsed into his arms.
“Jasper! You dragged me off my feet.” Then she gasped. “It’s true, isn’t it? All true! Elsewise why would you be opening your own door? You had to sack all your staff.”
She moaned loudly, pushed herself away from him, and staggered past into the drawing room from whence she called out, “Mr. Greer, sherry if you would be so good.”
Jasper sighed. She’d just blithely given an order to one of the “sacked” staff.
“Would you care for something to drink with her ladyship, sir?” his butler asked, looking characteristically unbothered by anything that happened in the foyer.
“Need you ask.” And he followed the dowager countess into the drawing room. She was sprawled upon the sofa, fanning herself, eyes closed.
“We are ruined.”
“We are not ruined, Mother. Pull yourself together. And if we were, you ought to be angry, not wilting like a week-old rose.”