“Yes. I had them removed. Your preoccupation with them troubled me, at the time. I thought it couldn’t be good for such a young boy to yearn for what he could never have again. I thought it was better if you forgot them, so I took the portraits away, and after that, I hardly ever spoke of your parents to you. It seemed the right thing to do then, but now I . . . I think you were trying to grieve for them, lad, and I—I stopped you.”
Jasper tried to remember if, after the portraits had disappeared, he’d felt as if it were wrong to think about them, or as if he weren’t permitted to speak of them. It was too long ago to know, the memories so far away they’d become flickering images only in his mind, hazy and indistinct, but there was one thing . . .
“I remember missing the scent of her perfume. She smelled of orange blossoms.”
“She did.” His grandfather’s voice was hoarse, and tears were standing in his eyes, but he was smiling, too. “She was everything that’s lovely, just like your Prue.”
His Prue. Was she his? Had she ever been his?
“I’ve thought about this a good deal lately, Jasper, and now I wonder if there wasn’t selfishness in the way I went about it. I think I told myself we needed to put the past behind us for your sake, when the truth was, it was easier for me to pretend as if we’d never lost them. I almost couldn’t bear it when they died, and I think I told myself I was protecting you when really, I was protecting my own heart.”
“Perhaps, but who could blame you? She was your daughter.” He forgot that sometimes, didn’t he? When he thought of his parents, he thought of them ashis, but they’d been his grandfather’s, too.
“Not a soul would blame me, Jasper, least of allyou. You see how generous you are with me? I wish you could be as generous with yourself. You’ve kept your heart locked up tight all these years, afraid of getting hurt again, but your duchess, well, you’re going to have to open it back up for her, otherwise you’ll lose her, and I don’t know . . .” His grandfather shook his head, his face twisting. “I don’t know what will become of you if you lose the lady you love.”
“I do love her.” The ache in his chest whenever she was near, the way he thrilled to her laugh, the fierceness with which he wanted her. That was love.
His grandfather smiled. “Who could know her, and not love her?”
“It’s as simple as that, isn’t it?” Despite everything, Jasper’s lips twitched. Because his grandfather was right. Who could know Prue, and not love her? And who but Colonel Cornelius Kingston could have put it so plainly even Jasper couldn’t fail to see the truth of it?
“If it’s complicated, then it isn’t love. Love is the purest, simplest thing there is, but you can’t do it by halves. It’s all, or nothing.” His grandfather folded his hands on top of his walking stick and sat back, considering Jasper. “So, lad? What’s it going to be? All, or nothing?”
“All.” It would be all, because it wasPrue. How could it be anything less?
“Ah. I thought so. Well, then, it just so happens I have a bit of information that may help you set things right with the duchess.”
Jasper snorted, shaking his head. Of course, he did. “I’ve always said, Grandfather, that of all the busybodies in London, you’re the busiest.”
“Eh, well, I do pick up a tidbit here or there. A man can’t know too many secrets, Jasper. They do prove useful on occasion, like now.”
Jasper’s heart began to pound. “How useful?”
“Very useful, indeed. You see, an acquaintance of mine happened to see Lord Quincy skulking about Basingstoke’s ball. Quincy’s a sly one, to be sure, but not quite sly enough, this time.”
Jasper leaned forward, his fatigue dropping away in an instant. “Oh?”
“Yes. It seems Lord Quincy was wandering about inside Basingstoke’s house where he had no business being. My acquaintance saw him and grew suspicious, so he followed him, and what do you think he saw? Lord Quincy, sneaking a lady into Basingstoke’s house through one of the conservatory doors. My acquaintance didn’t see the lady’s face, but she was wearing a scarlet ball gown. Curious, isn’t it? You didn’t happen to see a lady in a scarlet ball gown at the ball, did you, lad?”
“Now you ask, I believe Lady Archer was wearing a scarlet ball gown.”
“Was she, indeed? Well then, I can’t help but wonder if Lord Quincy has any notion what Lady Archer may have said to your duchess. Perhaps we should find Lord Quincy and ask him.”
CHAPTER25
Lord Quincy wasn’t at White’s. He wasn’t at Tattersalls or Manton’s, nor was there any sign of him in St. James’s Street or Pall Mall. He wasn’t frittering away his fortune at the gaming hells in Covent Garden or squiring one of the celebrated courtesans through the streets of Piccadilly.
He was nowhere, it seemed.
“Every blade, rake, and dandy in London is wandering the streets today,” Jasper muttered to his grandfather as the carriage made its way from Piccadilly to Regent’s Street. “So, where the devil is Quincy?”
His grandfather grunted. “He’s made himself scarce, that’s what. You can be sure we’re not the only ones who know about that trick he pulled at Basingstoke’s ball. Every gossip in London will be whispering about it by now.”
If that was the case, they’d never find him. Like most villains, Quincy had a keen sense of self-preservation. If thetonwas already whispering, then he’d likely guessed Jasper would be looking for him, and he was taking care to keep out of sight. “He’s probably run off to his mother’s house in Sussex by now.”
“Then we’ll go to Sussex and drag him out from behind his mother’s skirts,” his grandfather said stoutly. “Not to worry, lad. We’ll have him one way or another.”
They would, yes. The question was, how long would it take before he could wring the man’s neck until Lady Archer’s secrets burbled like a fountain from his lips? There were any number of squalid corners in the city where a rat like Quincy could hide.
