He glanced at the bold black script. “Who is this Baron Antonio Bianchi?”
“Her ladyship met him at the Covent Garden opera two nights ago. Lady Plummer introduced them.”
“I see.” Jason didn’t see at all. Since she’d come to London, Lizzie had repelled two highly suitable suitors. Jason had put that down to Greywood. Any man would find it difficult to measure up to her memories of her deceased husband. Admittedly, his sister was no green girl at twenty-five, but she was vulnerable and he’d protect her from hurt at any cost. He would find out more about this baron when she returned, but first, he had to talk to Charlie.
As he returned to the library, it occurred to him that he should get his own household in order before he tried to delve into other people’s lives. Damn Parnell, why couldn’t he leave him alone? The spymaster had stated flatly that he considered Jason to be sleepwalking through life since the war, and as he knew the reason why, Jason had no defense.
“If you’d set up your nursery I wouldn’t ask this of you, but rusticating in the country isn’t the life for any red-blooded male. And certainly not for one of Wellington’s finest spies. I, and Wellington, had expected you to go on to bigger things.”
Parnell had continued ruthlessly, using his talent for persuasion while insinuating he was doing Jason a favor to shake him out of his lethargy. “The informant fears for his life and has chosen not to divulge any details concerning his own situation or his name. But he asked particularly for you. A man he said he can trust.”
Jason had no idea who that could be.
“This will neither be a difficult mission, nor a long one,” Parnell had assured him. “Just a few inquiries and Whitehall will take it from there. And I know you wouldn’t wish to leave me in the lurch, knowing how shorthanded we are with our best men away from England.”
Sleepwalking through life? Parnell was wrong there. Upon inheriting the title of earl, Jason gained an estate in Surrey along with this Mayfair townhouse and some solid investments, which paid the bills. Parnell was right about one thing. He did not intend to marry and inflict his moods on any hapless woman, and he was not interested in setting up a permanent mistress after Genevieve, who had proved to be every bit as demanding as any wife.
It was a comfortable existence, and he saw no reason to change it. He preferred to be at Peyton Grove, working with his steward to improve the estate and visiting his tenants. The rhythm of country-life suited him. And after years in the army, he preferred a busy active life. No lady would ever agree to such a dull existence. She would rightly want to come to London for the Season. And except for the cut and thrust of the House of Lords, the company of a few friends, or to visit a lady, London society didn’t hold a great deal of charm for him. He was only here now for Lizzie’s sake.
Jason found his brother stalking up and down the richly patterned Turkey carpet in the library. Charlie swung around. “I only have a few minutes, Jas. I have to keep a promise, as I’ve mentioned.”
Jason gestured to a wingchair, and his brother collapsed his lanky frame onto it. “What on earth happened? Why have you been sent down?”
Charlie’s green-eyed gaze dropped away, and he rubbed his chin. “I was discovered with a woman in my quarters.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Jason sought the leather chair at his desk. He tapped an irritated finger on the tooled leather desktop. “Devil take it! You know the rules, Charlie. And you’ve flouted them once too often.”
Charlie had the grace to look shamefaced. “It was a rescue mission, Jas. Didn’t turn out that way, though.”
“A rescue mission?”
“A young lady, Miss Amelia Groton, needed help. A friend of mine, Basil Wentworth, arranged to meet her in my rooms, to assist her, but someone tipped off the dean.”
“Why couldn’t he damned well meet her in his own rooms?”
“Because his roommate, Bosky Bellows, had come down with some nasty contagious malaise.”
Jason gritted his teeth. “Has your chum, so-called, been to the dean and confessed all?”
Charlie nodded gloomily. “He’s also been sent down.”
“Well, that’s a nice kettle of fish.”
“I can’t see the dean taking me back, Jas. But look on the bright side. I can keep you and Lizzie company. I’ll just need some transport. I thought a high-top phaeton. It will need to be yellow, too, as I thought I might join—”
“Stop right there.” Glaring at his young brother, Jason had begun to feel every year of his age and more.
Charlie slumped and fiddled with his cravat. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”
“It’s not a matter of disappointing me. It’s a matter of disappointing yourself, Charlie. You are almost twenty-one. You come into your inheritance at twenty-five, and then you can do what you damn well please. But until then I remain in charge. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Jas,” Charlie mumbled. He stopped tugging his cravat and despoiled the artful arrangement of his black curls. “What will you do?”
“I’ll write to some friends. I should be able to pull a few strings.”
“I expect you will.” Charlie’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I suppose I won’t need the yellow carriage now, will I?”
“You will have one eventually. Good things come to those who wait.”
