Page 20 of To Follow her Heart

Jasper snorted before he could think better of it.

“What?” his mother said, instantly on the alert. “I know you support Miss Connolly’s claim, though I admit I was never more surprised to see you involve yourself in what is likely to be a shocking scandal, so it must be Mr Baxter you disapprove of. Why, dear? Do you know him?”

“No,” Jasper said, reaching for the coffee and wishing he’d had the forethought to have a tray sent to his study.

“Then what is it? Have you taken him in dislike?” she pressed, frowning at him. “One does get a feeling sometimes, doesn’t one? I know I do, which is quite unfair of me, but it’s like with Mrs Richards,” she said, reaching for a fresh roll and carefully tearing in in two. “I took one look at her and her purple turban and thought… oh, dear, no. Which is ridiculous, for why should a purple turban have anything to say to a person’s character? Though,” she added, with a thoughtful expression, “it was the most lethal shade, especially for a woman of a… certain age.”

Jasper sighed and wished he could turn around and walk out again but he was stuck now.

“No, Mother. I do not know why you dislike Mrs Richards. I know nothing of Mr Baxter, nor did I get a feeling about him.”

“Oh, but you did,” his mother persisted, and Jasper gritted his teeth. Damn her, she acted like a frivolous and forgetful creature for the most part but, as he and his brother knew, she had the most unerring sixth sense where her sons were concerned. Drat it. “Otherwise you shouldn’t have made that odd snorting noise.”

“It does seem as though you have an opinion,” Harriet said, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

Well, that was typical, she’d never miss an opportunity to make him uncomfortable or, better yet, make him look like an idiot—not that he didn’t offer her numerous opportunities. The uneasy sensation that had kept him from sleep and left him so irritable resurfaced with a vengeance.

“Well, if you must have it, he seems like rather a wet blanket to me.”

Harriet stared at him. The glass in her spectacles magnified her eyes a little and made him feel like she was peering at him under a magnifying glass… like some revolting insect she was studying.

“So, you didn’t think he was trying to stop her from ruining herself, or that perhaps there were things to consider that he could not discuss with everyone present? That perhaps there were responsibilities and obligations, things we are not aware of?”

Despite promising himself that he would not let her rile him, would not let her make him look like an idiot, his temper got the better of him and he did both.

“No,” he said, knowing he sounded terse and angry when she’d made some perfectly valid points which of course—of course—he’d known. “I thought he was quite obviously in love with her, and she with him, and yet he stood there like a great lummox instead of sweeping her into his arms and carrying her off to Gretna bloody Green,” he said, ignoring his mother’s tut of reproach for his language.

“Which—I collect—is what you would have done in the circumstances,” Harriet said, her scorn apparent.

Jasper got to his feet. To hell with good manners, if he stayed here a moment longer, he’d say something he’d regret—like, for example, Yes, it is bloody well is what I’d do—and stalking out of the door in high dudgeon.

He was all the way to the front door before he realised he’d done just that.

***

Matilda watched St Clair storm from the room with no little surprise. During her acquaintance with the earl, she’d never once seen him lose his temper with anyone. Harriet had accomplished it with ease. The earl was always urbane and charming, and exuded sophistication, yet around Harriet he got all prickly and put Matilda in mind of a small boy with his favourite girl—as likely to pull her hair as to be nice to her.

She would never have guessed he had such a romantic nature.

Harriet watched him go with an intent expression before giving a huff of laughter and returning to her breakfast. “There speaks a man with the confidence and weight of an earldom at his fingertips,” she said under her breath, buttering a slice of bread with sharp angry motions. “He spends too much time drinking and carousing to be in any danger of falling in love, but I bet he’d never get himself into such a position or fall for someone when the circumstances were impossible—no matter how idiotic he is.”

Matilda caught her eye and glared at her, reminding her that his mother was in their company. It was common knowledge that the countess doted on her sons and would hear no criticism of them.

Harriet went scarlet, turning her head as she caught sight of the dowager Countess St Clair’s look of mild surprise.

“Oh,” Harriet said, setting down her knife with a clatter. “I… I do beg your pardon,” she said, looking utterly mortified. “I didn’t… I mean…. Excuse me… I think I’d best check on Kitty.”

Matilda watched as Harriet flew from the room, and heard Lady St Clair give a heavy sigh. She turned, meeting the woman’s eyes.

Lady St Clair gave a rueful smile. “He’s not at all the careless libertine he’s made out to be,” she said, reaching for her teacup. She held it in both hands, staring across the room to some place far out of sight. “I’m certain half of what he does and says is purely to get under her skin. He wants her attention, and he’ll get it anyway he can.”

Matilda’s mouth dropped open, unsure of what to say in the face of such an admission.

“Oh, come now,” said Lady St Clair. “We are old friends by now and you’re no fool. It must be as clear to you as it is to me. He’s in love with Harriet, has been for many years now, but the poor fool keeps messing it up, and he’s clearly said or done something Harriet finds unforgiveable.” Her eyes glittered and she blinked rapidly, giving a sad little laugh of frustration. “I wish his father was here. He’d know what to do… how to advise him.”

Matilda reached out and took Lady St Clair’s hand, squeezing her fingers. The older woman took a deep breath and composed herself. After the Marquess of Montagu had shredded Matilda’s reputation, Lady St Clair had supported her. She had scotched the stories and called them nonsense, and made it very plain that Matilda was blameless. For that, Matilda regarded her with deep affection and gratitude, and it pained her to see the woman’s sorrow.

“You know, when it became clear that Harriet would never come around, I did harbour hopes that you and he….” She laughed as she saw Matilda’s look of astonishment. “Yes, well, I can see now that there’s no spark there, though I can’t help but think it might do you both a deal of good to pretend there was,” she added with a sly smile.