Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,96
dispassionate.
“Gah!” he exclaimed as he blinked and had to rub his sore orbs.
His mother, to her credit, merely turned her mouth into a moue of displeasure and continued to observe him.
“Won’t it look as though we are running away from something?” he pointed out.
“No, because we will pay off every single account that is currently on credit at once, first thing tomorrow morning.”
He opened his mouth to retort. After all, just as anyone, they lived on a budget, and sudden expenses, such as paying off entire balances to their long-term creditors, could dwindle their bank account somewhat. Better that, he supposed than having everyone in London consider them on the way to being whitewashed.
“All right. We’ll open up the manor for the remainder of the Twelvetide.”
“Yes, and we shall host a Twelfth Night celebration, with lots of food and drink and whatever musicians we can scrounge up in Marshfield. We’ll invite all the local gentry and a few of the close-by nobility.”
He didn’t want to do any of that. Moreover, he would have to cancel any parties he’d been invited to in Town. And then there was his intention to spend time with Julia Sudbury.
All his plans — ruined by wretched rumor!
“Will all that suffice to make us appear sufficiently plump in the pocket and set your fears at rest?” Jasper demanded.
“Yes.” His mother sniffed. “I believe it will.”
Rising to her feet, the dowager countess looked far calmer than when she’d arrived. He stood and walked her to the door.
“I’m going home to get the packing underway,” she said.
Jasper raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” his mother said, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and smelling familiarly of lavender water. “I’ll get Mr. Jeffers to organize everything and Emily will start the packing. Also, I’ll make sure my housekeeper produces a list of accounts that need to be paid off and send it to you immediately. You’ll see to that before you leave, of course. Also, send word to the staff at the manor of our imminent arrival. I wouldn’t want to show up and find there’s not a crumb in the place.”
“Or a bottle of brandy,” he muttered. Dammit all! She was turning him into her private secretary.
“What’s that you say, Jasper? I hate it when you mumble.”
“Only that we must make sure a bottle of sherry awaits you, as well.”
“Hm,” she said, departing through his doorway as swiftly as she’d arrived. He watched her climb into her carriage and head down the street.
Sighing, he turned around and nearly bumped into Mr. Greer.
“I’m going back to my study. Bring another glass of brandy, will you? And tell Blumsey to start packing my things for a fortnight in the country.”
TWO DAYS LATER, ON the morning of Christmas Eve, about to leave London, Jasper was more worried about Julia than about the weather for his trip or the care of his precious horses or even his now thinner bank account. Without him there to keep her out of trouble, he imagined returning in the new year to find her deep in the suds.
After twice trying to see the infernal wench the day before, he’d finally sent her a regretful note that morning, hoping it was too late for her to accompany her sister to Lady Macroun’s house party. He’d decided it best if she stayed in London where, given recent events, she wouldn’t find herself invited to anything with the quality folk and their jewelry.
Thus, instead of preparing for a night of passion, he would be speeding to his unwarranted punishment in the country. Setting out in his packed travelling coach, barely thirty feet from his own front door, he heard his name.
“Lord Marshfield,” came a cry. “Lord Marshfield, please stop.”
Her voice! He would know it anywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“The households of both the Earl of M__ and the Dowager Countess of M__ have left London unexpectedly for their country estate. No one was invited for the Twelvetide, but shopkeepers breathed a sigh of relief when all outstanding accounts reportedly were paid prior to their departure.”
-The Times
Tapping on the roof of his coach with the top of his walking stick to alert his driver, Jasper lowered the window as the horses drew to a halt.
There she was, both the bane and the blessing of his existence, looking flustered and distressed, yet still perfectly tuppable.
Before he could greet her or even ask her how she fared, Julia looked wildly around, peered over her shoulder, and then wrenched open his coach door.