“I am well. Never mind my distraction. Did you say something?”
"I was asking if you would accept a challenge to play a game against the Rogue?"
"Perhaps I have already played the Rogue," Jasper responded slyly.
"I beg your pardon?" Clifford’s brows furrowed.
"With your unmatched skill, you could be the Masked Rogue for all I know," Jasper added to turn any suspicion Clifford might have around.
The Earl burst out laughing at this. "Oh, believe me, if I were the Masked Rogue of London, my identity would have been out by now."
“Why do you say that,” Jasper asked.
“Well, I have two very curious sisters. They would have found my mask.”
Jasper admired him for thinking of Natalie as his sister instead of his cousin. He had become too concerned about her, and he was seeking ways for her to be comfortable and lack for nothing after he was gone. He had also pondered the reason her hands were rough. A lady’s hands ought to be the softest, yet Natalie’s spoke of a hidden toil.
Her family’s financial situation could explain it, but Jasper still struggled with it. What did she do to earn an income?
Jasper sent for Smith the minute he returned to the manor, and the valet met him in his study.
“The masks I had made, I want you to have several more made. About five pairs—half for the Rogue and half for the Comtesse. Then place them upon ships in the harbor.”
Smith’s grin was positively evil when he bowed. “It will be done, Your Grace.” It would effectively mislead people. “I have a message for you,” Smith added. At Jasper’s encouraging nod, he said, “The Earl of Clifford intends to sell his townhouse on Berkeley Square.”
Jasper tensed. “Has his situation worsened to the point of selling his home?”
“It would appear so, Your Grace.”
Jasper thought for a minute before instructing, “Have my solicitor meet me in the morning.”
“At once, Your Grace. Will that be all?”
“Yes.”
As Smith opened the door to leave, Oliver Bargrave walked into the room. Jasper momentarily ignored his worries and stood with a broad smile, skirting his desk to meet his dearest friend.
"Oliver, you devil!" Jasper clapped his friend on the back.
“You ought to call me Ecklehill now,” Oliver teased. He came into his title a year ago when his grandfather, the former Earl, died.
"Well then, Ecklehill, I thought you would only deign to set foot on English soil after my hair has grown silver and my face wrinkled.”
"Should I go back and return when you are silver and wrinkled?" Oliver laughed.
A tiny voice sought to remind Jasper that he would never see himself at that age, but he refused to let it get in the way of his happy reunion with his friend. He buried the dark thought and silenced the voice.
He poured Oliver a drink and listened to stories of his travels, and how successful his foreign investments were. Jasper was proud of his friend, and at that moment, he recalled that Oliver controlled a large portion of the Clifford Coal Factory. Perhaps he would save the dying business, now that he was back with enough experience and wealth.
An even better notion would be Jasper inquiring about it and investing. He wanted to help Natalie’s family in the most respectable manner possible, and he will. Heavens knows the Earl deserved the help, too. Now, however, was not the time to broach the topic.
“You have returned in time for a soirée Aunt Phoebe is hosting.”
“Oh, is it in honor of my return?” Oliver asked, raising a blonde brow.
That gave Jasper the idea, and he decided to host it in honor of his friend. Oliver had practically been raised in Amsthorne Manor, and they were more brothers than friends. They had done everything from causing mischief in Eton to roaming the streets of London, wild with youth and vigor. He deserved to have the soirée hosted in his honor.
“Wait here,” Jasper said with a grin. “I will fetch Aunt Phoebe.”
