Except for Althea and Eloise. They would always be the very best part of his life.
Bridge poured two glasses of scotch and slid one across the table. Over the first three slugs, they discussed parliamentary issues, the next three drams were reserved for estate burdens, and after that they both stopped counting.
And of course, eventually, they discussed women.
Bridgeport had nearly married the year before but been jilted at the alter by his bride for a lowly solicitor. “How are you holding up, Wills?” Of course, all of the ton knew of Estelle’s untimely passing.
Jasper shrugged. “She hadn’t been well for some time.” The night had grown quite late by now, inviting an unusual intimacy. Staring into the glass, he swirled the amber liquid and gazed at the reflecting candlelight. “Have you ever been in love, Bridge?”
“Hell, isn’t there that one girl in all of our lives? The one we lost? Haunting us in our moments of weakness? Damn shame about Lady Willoughby though…”
Jasper’s wife. But was she the treasure he’d lost? She ought to have been. The fact that he’d found himself resenting her over the course of her illness haunted him. If he were being honest with himself, he’d resented her before she even became ill. She’d been so damn set on fulfilling her duty. He’d watched Estelle push their daughters away, dismiss them when they had gone to her for comfort. At times it seemed she’d bemoaned their very existence.
Treasure he’d lost…
“Who got away from you, Bridge?” Jasper asked. He would not dwell on his own sorry circumstances.
Bridge, a giant of a man with thick black hair and unlikely emerald eyes, leaned back in his chair and chewed on his cheroot. “My cousin’s music teacher. Damned beautiful girl. Talented, smart,” Wink. “As randy for me as I was for her.”
Jasper didn’t need to hear any more. The girl hadn’t been quality, too far below a viscount to allow for anything more than a fling. He knew how these stories ended. “You loved her?”
A faraway look entered his friends gaze. “And lost her. Wasn’t meant to be.” And then swallowing the remainder of his glass, he swallowed and then added. “Her hourglass shape will haunt me forever though.
“What of you, Wills? Was the countess the love of your life? Or did some other lass get away from you?”
Jasper couldn’t dishonor Estelle, as much as he wished to unburden himself. But a voice speaking with an indiscernible accent sliced through the fog of his inebriation… The secret to finding your future lies in the fortune you lost in your past…
“There was one lady, before Estelle.” He spoke into the flickering light. “Felt like I’d found that missing piece of myself. For some reason I didn’t realize it at the time. Why are we such fools, Bridge? Why don’t we recognize something special when knocked over the head with it?”
He’d meant to visit Miss Fortune the following afternoon. He’d intended to take her driving in a new curricle he’d purchased a few weeks before. But then he’d failed to follow through... He’d been distracted by his mother’s requests. Had he been carrying out his duty or had he been manipulated by tradition?
It didn’t matter now.
The fortune from his past never existed. He’d thought himself in love for one evening. One kiss. Both of them were different people now. His daughters came first, and Miss Fortune seemed to be what they needed most. He glanced at his fob watch. And he was to meet with her early the following morning.
Perhaps Miss Fortune wasn’t as altruistic as he’d believe. Perhaps, knowing she held him over the barrel somewhat with Althea’s affection for her dog, she intended to demand an exorbitant salary. Only he knew this would not be the case. How did he know? He just did. It was as though he’d known the damn woman his entire life.
And yet she remained a mystery.
Setting his glass on the table, Willoughby rose reluctantly. She’d be arriving to discuss terms in less than five hours. “It’s been a pleasure, Bridge.” And it truly had been. He’d kept himself isolated too long.
Not that he didn’t come in contact with others while managing Warwick Place, but always those interactions centered around work. And as either landlord or employer to most of them, he treated them with due respect, but could not afford to treat them as friends. It had been pleasant to spend an evening with gentlemen with whom he was not responsible for their welfare in any way, nor the welfare of their families.
Bridge rose to engulf him in another of his giant hugs. “Don’t be a stranger, Wills.”
Jasper could make no promises.
He’d intended upon spending the entire season in town but had forgotten how difficult his mother could be. And if Miss Fortune were to change her mind about taking the position, he’d have to start all over again.
He refused to hire anyone recommended by his mother.
Welcome, Miss Fortune
The same disapproving butler opened the door for Tilde the following morning at exactly three minutes before eight. And again, he scowled down at Peaches.
“Lord Willoughby is expecting me.” Tilde informed him. “Us.” She corrected. Best the servants of the house become used to Peaches.
“Right this way.”
