A Fine Gentleman Page 5

  Jason hadn’t lost his temper since he was at Eton and Corbin had been sent home for beating the tar out of George Finley. It had been unfair, unjust. Corbin had been defending Stanley from Finley’s unrelenting torture. To be sent down for stopping a bully was insupportable. Jason had railed against the unfairness of it until he, himself, was very nearly sent home as well.

  “One does not fight injustice by creating chaos if there are more productive ways of doing so,” Father’s letter had said. “I am certain you can think of many ways to address this miscarriage of justice without my having to fetch you home as well. Corbin is fine. You need to be also.”

  He had taken Father’s words to heart. Righting wrongs and helping the helpless had become Jason’s passion, eventually leading him to a career in the law. He’d learned to keep his temper and his calm and solve problems logically. He’d learned the value of honesty, which brought his thoughts to Miss Thornton once more.

  Was she playing a game with him? He couldn’t be certain. His sharp reprimand had brought tears to her eyes, along with a genuinely pained look. The emotion that had broken her voice had seemed real enough.

  Which was the real Miss Thornton? The empty-headed, overly talkative version? Or the sensitive, self-aware one? She could not be both—they were too vastly different—meaning Miss Thornton was inherently dishonest, something Jason could never countenance.

  “It is a somewhat long list,” Miss Thornton’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I suppose it will take time for you to read all the way through it.”

  Ah yes. The list she’d given him. Jason began concentrating with determination.

  Instructions. Miss Thornton had headed her paper with that single word.

  First, read the information I have sent you.

  Second, review anything you did not understand.

  Was it possible she had actually delineated how he was to do his job?

  Making note of the most useful things might be helpful as well.

  Next, begin making inquiries based on these useful things.

  The list continued, outlining every conceivable step. He was even instructed to make certain he ate regularly and slept at night.

  Jason lifted his eyes to see if Miss Thornton was laughing. Surely she meant the list as a jest. But her eyes were focused away once more, her features as vacant as ever. Featherhead or actress?

  Jason flipped to the second sheet. Here she had begun her list of information about her father. She knew a birth date but not a specific location, nor the names of his family members. A marriage date was included, but the ceremony had taken place in Spain, which did not make identifying the Thornton family any easier.

  “You have very little information to offer,” Jason said. “Though your instructions were particularly detailed.” He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw a twinkle in her eye that belied her vacuous expression. Jason studied her the way he did when interrogating witnesses. His unwavering and fierce evaluation had never failed to break an opponent.

  Miss Thornton simply smiled back, unshaken, unperturbed. Perhaps it was not an act, after all. Jason rubbed his mouth and chin with his hands, hating that he was the first to break eye contact.

  “I thought the instructions might prove helpful,” Miss Thornton said sweetly. “In case you forgot something.”

  “In case I forgot something,” he muttered.

  Her face took on that look of concern once more. “Oh dear—”

  “I am repeating again,” Jason finished for her. For just a moment, he could have sworn she fought back a laugh.

  “How much time do you think will be required to find this mysterious solicitor?” Miss Thornton sounded a touch impatient.

  “How long do you expect such a search to require?”

  “Your brother would have already completed such a small task,” she answered with a wave her hand.

  “Yes,” Jason drawled, “my brothers are all fine, fine gentlemen. Admirable in every way. Paragons of proper upbringing.”

  A look of confusion and surprise flashed momentarily across her face. “You say that as if you do not mean it.”

  “Oh, I mean it.” He heard the sarcasm in his tone and silently reprimanded himself for his loss of calm. He had worked hard over the years to perfect the demeanor expected of a barrister and the son of a well-respected earl.

  “I happen to know, sir”—suddenly her tone turned cold, even as she rose with almost palpable dignity—“at least one of those ‘fine, fine gentlemen’ does not deserve your mockery. He is indeed an admirable and good-hearted man.”

  “Then perhaps you should ask him to help you,” Jason answered, stung into a sharp reply.

  “I am certain he would not require being fired three times.” Miss Thornton waved three accusing fingers in the air, her tone entirely serious. Something flashed in her eyes that Jason had never seen there before, something decidedly like anger.

  “You have only fired me twice,” Jason pointed out a little smugly, somehow pleased to have unsettled her.

  “Then this will make three.” She spun on her heel, fairly marching to the door. “Good day, Mr. Jonquil. You may add, ‘Learn to appreciate your brothers’ to my list of instructions. You have apparently neglected to do that.” Her enormous footman closed the door behind her.

  “Appreciate my brothers . . .” Jason’s mutter trailed off as he pushed out a frustrated breath. How was it that she managed to undermine his calm so entirely? Who gave her leave to evaluate his family? To dictate what he did with his life?

  He crumpled up her “instructions” and tossed them into his wastepaper bin, eyeing his tidy office with utter dissatisfaction. His gaze settled on a painting hung ever so slightly askew on the wall. He shook his head, rising to set it to rights.

  Miss Thornton seemed impressed enough with his brother—Philip, no doubt. Why were so many women taken with dandies and fops? “Appreciate your brothers,” she had said. Did they appreciate him? Did they admire him? No one ever referred to him as a “fine gentleman.” No one ever sang his praises or defended his good name.

  “Drat that woman.”

  The door opened once more. He spun, ready to confront Miss Thornton. He found, however, Mr. Pole and Mr. Thompson, two of his colleagues, standing in his doorway, skewering him with looks of disapproval.

  “Gentlemen?” he inquired.

  Pole led in Miss Thornton. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief—his handkerchief. Jason wasn’t entirely convinced the tears were real.

  “Miss Thornton is distressed, Jonquil,” Pole said. He didn’t sound too pleased with Jason. “She says she is seeking legal council as you are no longer willing to advise her.”

  “No longer willing to advise her?”

  “He repeats himself sometimes,” Miss Thornton whispered to Thompson.

  “It is not like you to abandon a client,” Pole continued. “Especially one so obviously in need of your assistance.”

  “He said he was unequal to the assignment,” Miss Thornton said.

  So help him, Jason felt sorely tempted to shake her.

  “Mr. Jonquil is an extremely talented barrister, Miss Thornton,” Thompson assured her with gentle concern. She certainly had them fooled. “He would be equal to any assignment you could possibly hand him.”

  “Then, perhaps he simply does not wish to help me,” she said despondently.

  Jason narrowed his eyes on her. She knew precisely what she was doing; he knew that now for sure and certain. How much of this act was meant to goad him, and how much was actual innocence?

  “Jonquil.” Pole closed the distance, leaving Miss Thornton in Thompson’s care. He patted her hand reassuringly. Jason very nearly muttered an uncouth observation. “It is not like you to mistreat a gently bred young lady.”

  “I have not mistreated her at all,” Jason
said. “She has a tendency to misunderstand things. Most things, in fact.”

  Her eyes widened momentarily at his words, further convincing Jason that she was not so vacuous as she made herself out to be.

  “She seems to be a sweet-natured young lady who is genuinely distressed,” Pole said.

  “She is a thorn,” Jason muttered and saw Miss Thornton’s eyes narrow at him.

  “If you are unwilling to continue serving as her legal council,” Pole continued, oblivious to the interplay around him, “I am certain there are many others who would take up her case.”

  Jason balked at the suggestion. Was he to simply let her run roughshod over someone who lacked the ability to deal with her? Hardly.

  “As I said,” Jason answered, “she has simply misunderstood. I never withdrew my services.”

  “You see, Miss Thornton.” Pole turned back to address her. “He was not dismissing you. If Mr. Jonquil says he will continue as your legal council, you may depend upon his word. Indeed, he will serve you quite well.”

  “What if he sends me off again?” she asked, the slightest quiver in her voice.

  “Then you simply come to either of our offices,” Thompson answered on behalf of both men. They watched Miss Thornton almost worshipfully. The infuriating woman was beautiful, there was no denying that, and that head of hair could be mesmerizing, but worshipfully? Had the two turned entirely daft? “We would be happy to be of assistance.”

  “Oh, thank you both so very much,” she answered, flashing a watery smile in their direction. Beneath the emotion, though, the gesture seemed forced, rehearsed even. The woman grew more indecipherable by the moment.

  She was offered two elegant bows before her newfound champions left her in Jason’s office with only her burly footman for protection.

  The door closed. Jason refrained from offering a mocking round of applause. “That was masterfully done, Miss Thornton.”

  “Yes, they are both quite accomplished at bowing,” she answered with her usual empty smile.

  Jason knew better. Without uttering a word, he walked to where Miss Thornton stood. A momentary flash of wariness in her eyes told him she understood she’d pushed him nearly to his limit.

  “I warned you, Miss Thornton,” Jason said, calling upon his legendary patience to keep from barking at her, “that I do not tolerate being patronized. I dislike condescension. However, I absolutely will not be made to look a fool in front of my colleagues.”

  “Does that happen often, then?” she replied, too much innocence in her eyes to be anything but feigned.

  “I humble myself for no one.”

  Their eyes locked in a battle of wills. He had looked away first the last time; he would not again.

  “Your arrogance, sir, is astounding,” she replied. Jason noted with satisfaction that her façade had begun to crack.

  “As is your incivility,” Jason returned. “I believe I would be hard-pressed to find a lady of good birth with a greater lack of manners.”

  She opened her mouth, most likely to voice a protest, but he continued speaking before she could utter a single syllable.

  “Perhaps that is simply the Spanish way.” Jason thrust another barb. “Here in England, such ill-bred behavior is likely to get you throttled.”

  “Are you saying a self-respecting Englishman would lay his hands on an innocent female?” Miss Thornton asked with a doubtful raise of her eyebrow.

  “No. Not on an innocent female,” Jason said, making his way to the door, “but maybe on you.”

  Miss Thornton moved silently toward the door. Just as Jason felt a surge of triumph at leaving her speechless, he noticed a deep, humiliated blush spread across her entire face.

  “That weren’t very nice,” Will declared in his booming voice from very near Jason’s position. “Miss Thornton oughta be talked to r’spectfully. Ought not be implying she ain’t no better’n—”

  “Never mind, Will,” Miss Thornton replied, her color still high. “It is of no importance.” She turned toward Jason, not quite looking him in the eye. “Good day, Mr. Jonquil. I will send your handkerchief back to you.”

  She slid from the room—silent for once—without even a momentary glance backward.

  Too late Jason realized that in his temper, he’d allowed his mouth to run rampant and had, however inadvertently, quite thoroughly insulted a gently bred young lady. He’d meant his remark about her not being “innocent” as a reference to the charade she’d been enacting. But the word carried an implication he’d not thought of. He had, without meaning to, cast doubt upon her morals.

  His father, he knew with absolute, horrifying clarity, would have been utterly disappointed in him.

  Chapter Seven

  “Señorita Thornton,” Black greeted as Mariposa stepped inside the house after her less-than-pleasant trip to Mr. Jonquil’s office at Lincoln’s Inn.

  “Good afternoon, Black.” She handed over her bonnet before tugging in frustration at the buttons of her pelisse.

  Black and Will exchanged communicative glances. Her moment of indignity would, no doubt, be retold in excruciating detail the moment both men were below stairs.

  “Not on an innocent female. But maybe on you.” Mr. Jonquil had spoken loudly enough for even Will to overhear.

  Will had immediately recognized the possible double meaning. Mariposa hoped Mr. Jonquil hadn’t meant the insinuation. To even offer the insult was a slap in the face. To have meant it would be unendurable.

  She tugged harder at the stubborn buttons. One flew off her pelisse with significant force, a clunk resounding through the small entryway as it struck the opposite wall. Heat stained her cheeks once more, and she scolded herself for being so easily affected.

  She had remained strong and determined in the face of danger, deprivation, and even death, but embarrassment had always been her undoing. The taunting and degradation from the soldiers had been particularly disconcerting each time she had made the journey into Orthez during the French occupation. A single demeaning comment and her face would flame red. This outward expression of her inner humiliation had served only to fuel their enjoyment of her suffering.

  Black retrieved her button before holding his hand out for her pelisse.

  “Would you see that Fanny receives those?” Mariposa asked. Her abigail was truly a wonder with needle and thread. She would repair the damage with little difficulty.

  “’Course.” Black nodded, his lone eye focused on her with a level of concern that only further mortified her.

  “Is Señora Aritza in?” Mariposa asked, knowing very well that her grandmother would not have left the house. She simply needed to take Black’s attention off herself.

  “She’s napping in her room.” Black’s gaze remained too penetrating for comfort.

  Mariposa nodded. They stood a moment in awkward silence. Will watched her with the concerned guard-dog expression he wore so often. Black’s expression bordered on paternal. Mariposa half expected to see Abuela shuffle down the stairs with a lap blanket and a bedtime story.

  These were people for whom she was responsible. She had pulled Black off the street, England having turned its back on so many of its returning soldiers. Black had, in turn, rescued Will from a similar state. Mariposa had kept Abuela alive during countless days and nights of toil and struggle. Seeing them so obviously convinced she was breaking down or falling apart proved excessively lowering.

  “Was this morning’s Times placed in the book room?” Mariposa asked, summoning her best tone of authority.

  “Yes, miss,” Black answered.

  She nodded once more and moved with forced confidence from the entryway. Her determined posture did not slip in the slightest as she made her way to her destination. Playing a part was a necessity not reserved exclusively for fending off ill-intentioned soldiers or gleaning information from unsuspec
ting barristers. She pretended for her family, letting them think she was worthy of their trust when she actually felt entirely unequal to the responsibilities she carried.

  Her true self lay so deeply hidden beneath her layers of disguises that she often felt like a stranger even to herself.

  Mariposa dropped into the chair behind the book room desk and opened the newspaper, searching the Society column as she always did. She carefully checked for any mention of a “Thornton” family, though she had not in all the time she’d been in London seen a single reference to them.

  She scanned the column, reading each on-dit. “Lord G, who has been quite a favorite among this Season’s young debutantes, has left Town for an extended visit with his sister. No doubt the new Marquess has left behind many a broken heart and a few disappointed mothers.”

  That wasn’t helpful.

  “The Dowager Duchess of K___ hosted her annual mid-Season dinner party last evening. As always, invitations were scarce, those attending being the very cream of Society. It is not yet known if any of the guests were challenged to a duel by the infamous Duke.”

  On and on the column went, recounting the goings-on of people Mariposa neither knew nor, compared with the whereabouts of her family, cared a great deal to learn about. Her frustration grew with each entry. Not a single paragraph mentioned the Thorntons. The closest she came was a mention of a “Lord T.” The Thorntons were firmly ensconced in the landed but untitled gentry. No lords or ladies to speak of.

  Another pointless perusal.

  Mariposa shoved the useless paper from the desk with an exasperated expulsion of breath. She rubbed her face with her hands.

  “Oh, Papá, I cannot find them. You never told me how.”

  As always, she was answered by silence. She had not a single soul to help or guide her. She’d survived a seemingly endless war by sheer luck and the unreliable sufficiency of her wits. Such an accomplishment came at a price—during war, one learned that a pained conscience was far preferable to a pained everything else.