But his silent bashful little Thea wasn’t finished. “You don’t want Miss Fortune to go away, do you Papa?”
“Your grandmother told Miss Fortune that I wanted her to go away?”
Thea nodded. “But you don’t, do you Papa?”
“You like Miss Fortune.” This from Eloise, who’d lifted her head from his shoulder.
“I don’t want her to go away.” He admitted, his voice sounding thick. He loved Miss Fortune.
“Then you will find her and bring her back?” A fierce little light began burning in the back of Eloise’s eyes. “Because she gave Peaches to me and Thea, but I know she’s sad now.”
“I don’t want Miss Fortune to be sad.” Large tears glistened in Althea’s eyes, so very like his own.
Jasper lifted Eloise so that she was standing on the floor. “We most definitely do not want Miss Fortune to be sad. Your grandmother was horribly mistaken in what she said to Miss Fortune. Now, where are your bonnets and coats?”
As they realized he was taking them on the greatest of adventures, they both hopped up and rushed across the room to the large wardrobe. Jasper tied Peaches’ leading string onto the pup’s collar.
This time he wasn’t taking any chances. His mother had ignored his orders, of this he had no doubt now. Jasper’s children could not live peacefully within his own home until his mother was well out of the way. He’d need to visit Stuart and Lords again to make arrangements.
But first, he needed to find his fortune, and he knew precisely where she was.
Number thirty-six Wigmore Street.
Fortune’s Fate
“You left Peaches with them!” Betsy was all astonishment. Tilde would have been as well, had she considered doing any such thing just two weeks before.
When she’d arrived at her aunt’s house, tearful and distraught, Betsy and Aunt Nellie had whisked her into their favorite drawing room, ordered hot tea and dropped a soft shawl around her shoulders.
“Lady Althea is comforted by Peaches. Peaches is the only person she’ll talk to.” Tilde made an attempt to explain why on earth she would leave her beloved pet behind.
“Dog.” Betsy reminded her. “Peaches is a dog.”
Tilde shook her head and moaned. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now.
Oh, she knew that she was going to have to pull herself together, but for now, the pain of leaving him… Of leaving all of them, was too great to overcome.
“Of course, the children loved you. I won’t even bother asking. And the Earl would not have hired you had he objections to your methods. It must have been Lady Willoughby then. I’ve never met a colder woman in my entire life.” Aunt Nellie thanked the maid who’d entered and was setting down a tray of tea and then went to work pouring a cup just the way Tilde liked it. Three sugars and a splash of milk.
Tilde merely nodded and then took the cup from her aunt.
Yes, Lady Willoughby was a cold, cold woman, but had she been lying about her son’s wishes? She had given Tilde a note written in Jasper’s own hand.
The thought caused her eyes to begin stinging again. She had fallen in love with the blighter! Was he really such a fool as to leave the care of his daughters in the hands of Lady Willoughby? And to think that he hadn’t even had the courage to send her away himself.
At such enraging thoughts, the stinging began to dissipate. In its place, a white-hot anger surfaced. She’d given him her virginity, for Heaven’s sake. What kind of man took a woman’s innocence and then sent her packing with a note for two thousand pounds?
She had gazed into his eyes while he’d been inside of her. And he’d held her so tenderly afterward. He’d whispered the sweetest words, even called her love.
And then it struck her.
Tilde was no fool where people were concerned––not usually. The man of whom Lady Willoughby had supposedly delivered a message for did not exist.
The message had not been from Jasper. It could not have been.
When Tilde awoke to his kiss this morning––just before he’d crept out her chamber––she had felt love in his kiss. She’d seen love in his eyes.
She pulled the wadded up piece of paper from her apron and unraveled it carefully. He had, indeed signed it. But… something had been torn from the top. A name perhaps? Was it possible everything Lady Willoughby had said had been a lie? But how had she known what transpired in Tilde’s bedchamber the night before? Perhaps there was another explanation.
