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“I was surprised to see you taking a turn with such a beautiful and charming young lady the other day, Fisher,” he said, idly twirling the stem of his port glass. “I would not think that many of them would have the stomach for your company any longer.” He paused, eyeing him steadily. “Are you wishing to court her?”
Jackson glowered. He did not think he could loathe this man any more than he already did, but it seemed that he was wrong. At least now he had showed his hand at last. The charade of friendship was well and truly over.
“I have only just become acquainted with Lady Patricia,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Not that it is any of your business in the slightest.”
Cardigan smiled. “Well, then, you shall not mind at all if I throw my hat in the ring then, shall you?” He paused. “I could have sworn you seemed a little jealous when I asked to call upon her, that was all. But obviously I was mistaken?”
Jackson smiled bitterly. “There is no understanding between the young lady and myself, Cardigan.”
The man suddenly stood up, gripping his glass of port. “Very good, very good. Just thought I should check. I would not wish to trample on another man’s turf, so to speak.” He took a deep breath. “I shall call upon the lady as planned on Thursday then. I am very much looking forward to kissing those ruby red lips if I get the chance, I must say.”
“You are a cad, Cardigan,” said Jackson, his eyes narrowing. “You always have been, and you always will be. Nothing has changed.”
Cardigan’s smile broadened. “A man takes his chances where he can, Fisher. You should know by now that I always do. Good day.”
“It’s Merriweather, now,” said Jackson angrily. “Not Fisher.”
Cardigan just smiled maddeningly, not attempting to correct his mistake. He walked off, without another word.
Jackson gripped his port glass tightly, seething with a multitude of ugly emotions. He knew that he must control them. As much as he wanted to get up and punch the man, he would not. Cardigan was deliberately trying to provoke him, and he would not give him the satisfaction.
He gulped the port, placing the glass back on the table. In one respect the man had been correct. Hewasjealous, that the man was planning to call upon the Lady Patricia. It surprised him mightily. For a full moment, he wrestled with it, trying to repress it. It was an ugly emotion and he had never enjoyed feeling it.
He ran a hand through his hair. What was the matter with him? He didn’t know the lady at all; they had barely exchanged superficial pleasantries. And yet, the jealousy ran white hot, sticking him straight in the gut, like a sharp knife.
He didn’t want Cardigan to court her. He wanted to do it himself.
He took a deep breath. She had pursued him, and she had openly flirted with him. When she had left him, she had told him she hoped they could speak further. Was it beyond the pale that the young lady might indeed be genuinely receptive to him? He was so used to young ladies avoiding him like the plague because of his scarred face that he could not truly fathom it.
He took another deep breath. Jackson knew there was no doubt he was enamoured with her. He wanted to bed her. He well recognised the desire. And he had promised himself, after he had read his father’s last letter, that he would try to find a wife and secure an heir.
Was it possible? Should he take the chance?
He flinched. If he was mistaken, the rejection would sting. It would sting badly. But he suddenly knew that he must take it. It might be his only opportunity. Cardigan was hovering in the wings, intending to pursue her. He had no idea if the man was genuinely interested in her or not, or just doing it out of spite because he thought Jackson was. And besides, he would not wish Cardigan upon any lady, especially not one as young and innocent as Lady Patricia.
Thursday. Cardigan is planning to call upon her Thursday.
The footman approached, hovering behind him. “Another glass, your Grace?”
Jackson nodded distractedly. But as the man was walking off, to do his bidding, he stopped him. “I say. Do you have any idea of where the Viscount Chant lives? I need to see him on some business matters.”
The man nodded slowly. “Yes, your Grace. The Viscount resides on Park Lane.”
“Good.” Jackson stood up. “Do not worry about that port. I have remembered an appointment.”
He strode off, down the stairs, out onto Bond Street. He knew a very good tailor only a few shops down the road who would be able to accommodate him quickly. Perhaps a new jacket. And some gloves.
His gut swirled as he made his way to the shop. He could not quite believe he was planning to do this. Spruce himself up to pay a call upon a proper lady. He would need to get to a florist too. He remembered that ladies always liked flowers when they were called upon.
Thursday was tomorrow. Hopefully, he would make his unexpected call upon Lady Patricia Hunter before Cardigan got there.
He touched his scarred cheek ruefully. He was putting himself out on a very far limb, and he was fearful of the fall. But he must do it. For Father’s sake, as well as the duchy’s. He had made a promise to himself, and it seemed now was the time to follow through on it.
