Pride and Pleasure

Page 29

As he disappeared from view, Eliza stared out the open doorway, confused and frightened. Aaron stepped into the house, panting. She caught him by a thick biceps before he moved past her. Their gazes met directly. “Where has he gone?”
“To your property on Peony Way.”
One meaningful glance at Robbins was all it took to set things in motion. Within twenty minutes a carriage was hitched and brought around front. During that time, Eliza spoke with Regina and Melville, explaining the delay and assuring them all would be well. She ignored admonishments to await Jasper’s return.
“We’re to be married in half an hour,” she argued. “Regardless of the circumstances or location, I intend to be with him at that time.”
Aaron followed her down the front steps to the street. “He wouldn’t want you there. For your own safety.”
“While he risks his own for me?”
“Bond is not unprepared for this event. I’m certain the situation will be well in hand before we arrive.”
“Then he should have no cause for objection.” She pulled together the sides of her hastily donned pelisse and secured the buttons.
Eliza was tying the ribbon to her bonnet when a familiar figure rode up to the house and drew to a halt.
“Don’t tell me I missed the nuptials,” Westfield called out, pushing up the brim of his rakishly angled hat.
“Mr. Bond and I will return shortly, my lord.” She accepted the footman’s assistance up the carriage steps. “Please see yourself inside. Lady Collingsworth will receive you.”
The earl dismounted and approached, catching either side of her carriage’s doorframe with both hands and leaning in. All levity was gone from his features. “What has you so anxious?”
“One of my properties has caught fire. Mr. Bond has gone on ahead.”
“To Peony Way,” Westfield said.
Eliza blinked, understanding that everyone had a piece of the puzzle she was missing. “Perhaps you should ride with me.”
He nodded and climbed in. Aaron joined them, sharing the opposite squab with the earl.
With a crack of the coachman’s whip, the carriage jolted forward.
Her foot rapped an impatient staccato against the floorboards. “Why is the incident at the Peony property of surprise only to me?”
Westfield explained. “The tenant you know as Mrs. Vanessa Pennington is, in truth, Miss Vanessa Chilcott. Bond suspected Miss Chilcott of intending to use her business relationship with you to create a financial liability on your part.”
Eliza felt oddly still inside, her thoughts strangely quiet. She wondered if it was shock she felt or simply resignation. The nature of the Chilcott brood was well-known to her, but she’d thought herself beyond their avarice since her mother’s passing.
“Such as a fire on the property,” she said without inflection. “If I was neglectful as a landlord or deliberately failed to address a safety issue in the building, she might have a claim then.”
“Precisely. Bond believed you might pay a handsome settlement to keep your gender and evidence of your holdings out of the courts.”
A cold fury moved through her. “But such a quiet transaction would no longer be likely to occur once I marry. Hence the need for her to act before the vows are spoken.”
As they neared Peony Way, they found the street blocked off by wagons set perpendicular to the flow of traffic. Thick, black smoke mushroomed into the air and burned her airways. Eliza withdrew a kerchief from her reticule and held it against the lower half of her face.
They alighted from the carriage at the makeshift barrier and traversed the rest of the distance on foot, pushing their way through crowds of onlookers who fought tenaciously to retain their vantages. Westfield led the way while Aaron brought up the rear, both men attempting to cushion her from the crush but being only moderately successful.
When they neared the charred storefront, they found their way impeded by members of the fire brigade working on behalf of Eliza’s insurance company to minimize the damage. She explained who she was, her eyes on the building’s façade. Allowed to pass through, she searched the sea of people clogging the immediate area and spotted Jasper’s tall frame.
“There.” She pointed.
Westfield caught her elbow and shepherded her closer. When they were only a few feet away, the crowd parted and a cleared path appeared, revealing Jasper standing by Mrs. Penning—Miss Chilcott. The woman’s gown and apron were both singed and covered in ash. Her blond hair was darkened by soot, as was her face, which had a swelling bruise around her left eye. The resemblance to Eliza’s stepfather was so obvious, it would be impossible to miss if one was paying attention, which Eliza hadn’t been when they’d met. A morning spent with Jasper in the close confines of his carriage, followed by his entrance into the Pennington shop so swiftly on the heels of her own had kept her too preoccupied to pay any mind to the other woman.
It was a testament to Vanessa Chilcott’s beauty that she was still riveting in her disheveled condition. Westfield faltered slightly when she turned toward them, his breath leaving his lungs in an audible rush.
“Eliza.” Jasper did not appear to be overly surprised to see her. “Why did I know you wouldn’t heed caution and stay home?”
“I go where you go.” She examined him for signs of injury. He was dirty with ash and soot, as if he’d been in the building as well, but he didn’t appear to be hurt.
She turned her attention to the woman standing beside him. “Miss Chilcott.”
Vanessa Chilcott’s blue eyes were red-rimmed and somewhat vacant. She replied in a painfully hoarse voice. “Miss Martin.”
“What happened here?”
Jasper had begun to reply when a fireman approached.
“The fire is contained,” the man said. “We found the body and a can of paraffin oil, just as Mrs. Pennington described.”
“Body?” Eliza felt ill. “Dear God…Someone was caught in the fire?”
Jasper nodded. “Miss Chilcott went up to her flat to retrieve a special order and caught Terrance Reynolds in the act of setting the place ablaze. They fought, and she brained him with a poker. She barely made it out before the fire engulfed the space. I attempted to retrieve him…but it was too late.”
“Mr. Reynolds?” Eliza repeated.
Her man of affairs had been excruciatingly thorough in his vetting of prospective tenants. By God, he’d discovered Jasper’s ownership of the property Westfield wagered against Montague, despite the intricate nature of the inquiry and formidable time constraints. He would not have missed discovering that Mrs. Pennington was actually Vanessa Chilcott. Why had he withheld the information? What reason would he have to allow a Chilcott to rent space from her?
She looked at Vanessa. “You were his insurance. He hid your identity from me to use at his convenience. What role do you play in this subterfuge?”
“None.” Vanessa’s chin lifted. “I am more ignorant of this matter than you are.”
“What relation are you to my stepfather?”
“I am your stepsister.”
Staggered by the day’s revelations and the understanding that the employee she’d trusted so keenly had betrayed her, Eliza swayed on her feet. Jasper caught her close.
She clung to him. “I saw him only hours ago. He came with information about you. Information intended to make me doubt the wisdom of marrying you.”
He stiffened. “What information?”
“Your participation in the wager between Westfield and Montague over land in Essex. He suggested you offered for me as a way to prevent Montague from laying claim to my money, which would afford him the opportunity to reclaim his marker.”
“And you were not swayed by this?”
“No. Which left him no option, I suppose, aside from this last-minute attempt to delay the ceremony.” She looked up, finding Jasper watching her with a dark, fierce gaze. “But it would only delay the inevitable. Surely, he knew that. What was his aim? I had no intention of releasing him from his position. His circumstances would not have altered.”
“We’ll uncover his secrets, love.” He sheltered her in his embrace, anchoring her as no one else in her life ever had. “I promise you that. Every last one of them.”
Chapter 16
With Westfield at his side, Jasper escorted Eliza and Vanessa Chilcott into the Melville residence. Disheveled and reeking of smoke, the four of them were incongruous in a household prepared for the celebration of a wedding. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the foyer, hard-faced and bemused.
Lady Collingsworth hurried from the ballroom where the ceremony was to take place and came to an abrupt halt a few feet away. “Dear God,” she muttered. “The parson awaits you, but it’s clear I should reschedule.”
“No,” Eliza said, astonishing Jasper. “If he can wait an hour, I can be ready.”
Recovering, Jasper said, “I can be repaired within an hour as well.”
Blinking rapidly, Lady Collingsworth took in Miss Chilcott’s appearance.
“Regina,” Eliza said briskly, “this is Miss Vanessa Chilcott, my stepsister. Vanessa, this is the dowager Countess of Collingsworth.”
“My lady,” Vanessa whispered, curtseying.
Admiration and pride filled Jasper. He could think of no other woman who would wade through the morass of the day’s events with such aplomb. Eliza could have left Miss Chilcott to her own devices after learning the truth of her identity. Instead, she had asked one question of the woman— “Why?”—to which Miss Chilcott replied, “I want to be self-sufficient and independent. Who better to learn from than you? And how else to manage it, but to shed the Chilcott name that has defined my life thus far?”
Eliza had offered to take the woman in for now, since Miss Chilcott’s residence and all her possessions had been lost in the fire. At the very least, it kept the woman close while they delved into her circumstances. They would address other considerations tomorrow.
“Miss Chilcott will need a bath and a room,” Eliza said. “If you could see to that, Regina, I would be deeply grateful.”
“Of course.” Lady Collingsworth looked at Jasper. “You have visitors, Mr. Bond. In the parlor.”
Jasper met Eliza’s querying gaze by extending his arm. I go where you go, she’d said, and despite everything, she wished to be married to him with as much haste as he felt. He treasured her for that and countless other things.
Westfield set off to join the handful of other guests in the ballroom. Jasper and Eliza moved into the formal parlor. There were five people in the room. The Crouch twins, Lynd, Anthony Bell, and Mrs. Francesca Maybourne.
Surveying the group with raised brows, Jasper wondered why the lot of them was in attendance. He was about to ask that very question, when Eliza spoke.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds,” she said softly. “After today’s events, I was not expecting to see you again.”
“I went to the jeweler,” Lynd explained, “but Bell was nowhere to be found, which raised my suspicions.”
Eliza continued listening to the recounting of the second half of the Reynolds’s plot with a heavy heart. While she was deeply grateful for the plan’s failure, she was painfully conscious that the hazard would not have existed if Jasper wasn’t determined to destroy Montague. How much of his energy was focused on that endeavor? Would she ever have all of him? Or was the largest piece of his heart given to the woman from his past whom Montague had destroyed?
And yet she had to take heart. He’d come to marry her and sent Lynd after Montague in his stead.
“Sometimes,” Jasper said quietly, “what looks too good to be true is precisely that.”
Lynd nodded. “It was wise of you to send the Crouches with me. Together we watched the street for close to an hour and we noted one hackney that was a fixture the entire time. Patrick walked by it and—aided by his tremendous height— was able to see Mrs. Reynolds waiting inside with a pistol in her lap. I sent Peter to fetch Bell so he could confirm the story she gave us. Bell didn’t know her, but apparently she knew enough about him, you, and Montague to create the perfect lure to draw you out. We brought her here to see what you thought of it all, having no notion her identity was false or that Miss Martin would know who she truly was.”
Eliza eyed Anne Reynolds with something akin to hatred, an emotion she’d never truly felt before. “Were you going to shoot Mr. Bond? Was it your intention to kill him?”
The brunette lowered the sodden kerchief she’d been sobbing into since learning of her husband’s demise and glared daggers at Jasper. “That isn’t his name. I have no notion what his given name truly is, but I can tell you his surname is Gresham. He is the son of Diana Gresham, who was a whore for Lord Montague until her death from a wasting disease.”
Jasper became so still it frightened Eliza. “Moderation would be wise,” he warned with dangerous softness.
“I know everything about you, Mr. Gresham,” Anne spat. “I told Mr. Reynolds to share what he knew with Miss Martin. After all, she’s the one who hired my brother-in-law to investigate your connection to Lord Gresham in County Wexford. ‘Tell her he isn’t what he says he is,’ I told him, but he insisted Miss Martin had only to believe you wanted her money to set you aside. He also feared rousing her concern if she was to learn he never recalled Tobias from Ireland. ’She might wonder what other orders I’ve disobeyed,’ he said. He should have listened to me.”
The explosive tension in the room was palpable. Eliza rushed to fill the void before Anne could ignite the situation further. “You wrote the threatening letters Lord Melville received.” It was not a question. “Why? What purpose did this all serve?”