“Then you don’t object to…to my heritage?” Jasper grimaced as the word left his mouth.
“How could I? You’re descended from a very respectable line.”
“But I’m a bastard.”
“Does that make you any less the duke’s son? Any less a man?” Greydrake nodded to the glass he still extended. “It would be rude to make me drink both, and Lanora wouldn’t approve.”
Jasper accepted the brandy. Tension drained from his frame. He felt as if he’d survived ten rounds with Gentleman Jack.
Greydrake raised his glass in salute, then drained the content.
Jasper followed suit. “Thank you.”
“For my permission?” the marquess asked as he set his empty tumbler on the side table.
“For not condemning me for my birth.” Jasper struggled to keep emotion from jumbling his words.
“Do you really believe I, of all people, would judge a man based on the actions of his father?” Greydrake asked softly.
“I suppose not.” Jasper crossed to place his glass beside the marquess’s. He glanced at the mantle clock. For all the strain of the situation, he hadn’t been with the marquess long. The hour remained appropriate for calling. Exhaustion slipped from him. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“You’re going to go see her now, aren’t you?” Amusement rekindled in Greydrake’s expression.
“I am.”
The marquess nodded. “Good luck. I have a feeling this was the easy part.”
Despite a similar premonition, Jasper grinned as he bowed his way from the room. A footman waited without, but Jasper didn’t need to ask the way. He turned and strode down the corridor. In no time at all, he climbed back into his carriage, giving directions to the driver before closing the door.
Traffic proved daunting, especially as they neared the exceedingly fashionable neighborhood in which the Westlock London home stood. Jasper chaffed at every pause, each delay. Still, he kept his head inside the carriage, his gaze on the opposite wall. He would start enough rumors by being seen there. He didn’t need to be observed gawking. Somehow, he didn’t think Lady Madelina enjoyed appearing in the scandal sheets.
When they arrived, with supreme self-control, Jasper waited for his man to open the door before he exited his carriage. He then walked up the steps rather than taking them three at a time, reached the stoop and knocked.
Time ticked by. Jasper worked not to fidget, aware of passersby, both on foot and in carriages, staring. He longed to knock again, to pound on the door and demand to know if Madelina sat within. On the ride over, the very real chance that she could be out making calls of her own hadn’t occurred to him.
The door swung inward to reveal a young man in butler’s livery. He gestured Jasper inside.
Jasper obeyed, relieved to be off the street and one step nearer Madelina. He tugged a card from his coat pocket and proffered it. “Is Lady Madelina at home?”
The butler, who’d been watching Jasper’s mouth with disconcerting intensity, dipped his head and took the card. “I will ask, sir,” he said, voice overloud. He dropped his gaze to Jasper’s mouth again, stared for a moment, then dipped his head and hurried away.
Jasper rubbed at his jaw, unnerved by the man’s scrutiny. He looked about for a reflective surface, but the only touch of brightness in the darkly paneled entrance hall was gilt frames. Within those frames, stony-eyed men gazed down at Jasper in condemnation. The tap of footsteps announced the butler’s return, saving Jasper from any more time spent under the scrutiny of Madelina’s forefathers.
“Your outerwear, sir,” the man shouted.
Jasper complied, unsure of the butler’s aggressive tone. The man’s expression appeared hospitable enough. He gave every appearance of being deferential as he accepted Jasper’s coat and lay it carefully over his arm.
“This way,” the man said in that same loud voice. Again, he studied Jasper for a long moment before turning away.
Jasper followed, frowning. “Did I spill something on myself?” he asked.
The butler gave no indication of having heard.
“Is there’s a mirror about?” Jasper tried, only to be similarly ignored. Did the man condemn Jasper for being bold enough to court Lady Madelina? Was the butler’s aloofness indicative of his personal opinion, or a reflection of how the lady of the house felt about Jasper’s visit? He fervently hoped not the latter.
The butler stopped and turned to Jasper. “Here you are, sir,” he all but yelled.
The man’s expression, as he gestured to an open parlor door, remained neutral. Perfectly devoid of judgement. Jasper frowned. Maybe…. “Thank you,” he mouthed, giving no sound to the words.
