“Ah, good.” Jocasta turned blind eyes toward Lord John. “His Lordship will be going on to Wilmington in the morning; he wished to pay you his regards, if you are well enough.”
“Yes, of course.” She sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. So the lord wasn’t going to linger; that would be a disappointment to Jocasta, if not to her. Still, she could be polite for a little while.
Ulysses set down the tray, and soft-footed out the door behind her aunt, leaving them alone.
He drew up an embroidered footstool and sat down, not waiting for invitation.
“Are you truly well, Miss Fraser? I have no desire to see you prostrate among the teacups.” A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and she flushed.
“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Did you have something to say to me?”
He wasn’t taken aback by her abruptness.
“Yes, but I thought perhaps you would prefer that I not mention it in the midst of the company. I understand that you are interested in the whereabouts of a man named Roger Wakefield?”
She had been feeling fine; at this, the wave of faintness threatened to return.
“Yes. How do you—do you know where he is?”
“No.” He saw her face change, and took her hand between his. “No, I am sorry. Your father had written to me, some three months ago, asking me to assist him in finding this man. It had occurred to him that if Mr. Wakefield was anywhere in the ports, he might have been taken up by a press-gang, and thus be now at sea in one of His Majesty’s ships. He asked if I would make use of my acquaintance in naval circles to determine whether such a fate had in fact befallen Mr. Wakefield.”
Another wave of faintness passed over her, this one tinged with remorse, as she realized the lengths her father had gone to, in attempting to find Roger for her.
“He isn’t on a ship.”
He looked surprised at her tone of certainty.
“I have found no evidence that he was impressed anywhere between Jamestown and Charleston. Still, there is the possibility that he was taken up on the eve of sailing, in which case his presence on the crew would not be registered until the ship reached port. That is why I travel tomorrow to Wilmington, to make inquiries—”
“You don’t need to. I know where he is.” In as few words as possible, she acquainted him with the basic facts.
“Jamie—your father—that is, your parents—have gone to rescue this man from the Iroquois?” Looking shaken, he turned and poured two cups of tea, handing her one without asking if she wanted it.
She held it between her hands, finding a small comfort in the warmth; a greater comfort in being able to speak frankly to Lord John.
“Yes. I wanted to go with them, but—”
“Yes, I see.” He glanced at her bulge and coughed. “I collect there is some urgency in finding Mr. Wakefield?”
She laughed, unhappily.
“I can wait. Can you tell me something, Lord John? Have you ever heard of handfasting?”
His fair brows drew together momentarily.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “A Scottish custom of temporary marriage, is it not?”
“Yes. What I want to know is, is it legal here?”
He rubbed his jaw, thinking. Either he’d shaved recently or he had a light beard; late as it was, he showed no sign of stubble.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I have never seen the question addressed in law. Still, any couple who dwells together as man and wife are considered married, by common law. I should think handfasting would fall into that class, would it not?”
“It might, except that we’re rather obviously not dwelling together,” Brianna said. She sighed. “I think I’m married—but my aunt doesn’t. She keeps insisting that Roger won’t come back, or that if he does, I’m still not legally bound to him. Even by the Scots custom, I’m not bound beyond a year and a day. She wants to pick a husband for me—and God, she’s trying! I thought you were the newest candidate, when you showed up.”
Lord John looked amused at the idea.
“Oh. That would explain the oddly assorted company at dinner. I did notice that the rather florid gentleman—Alderdyce? A judge?—seemed inclined to pay you attention beyond the normal limits of gallantry.”
“Much good it will do him.” Brianna snorted briefly. “You should have seen the looks Mrs. Alderdyce kept giving me, all through dinner. She’s not going to have her ewe lamb—God, he must be forty, if he’s a day—marry the local whore of Babylon. I’d be surprised if she ever lets him set foot over the doorstep again.” She patted her small bulge. “I think I’ve seen to that.”
One brow rose, and Grey smiled wryly at her. He set down his teacup and reached for the sherry decanter and a glass.
“Ah? Well, while I admire the boldness of your strategy, Miss Fraser—may I call you ‘my dear’?—I regret to inform you that your tactics do not suit the terrain upon which you’ve chosen to employ them.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He leaned back in his chair, glass in hand, surveying her kindly.
“Mrs. Alderdyce. Not being blind—though by no means as astute as your aunt—I did indeed observe her observing you. But you mistake the nature of her observations, I’m afraid.” He shook his head, looking at her over the rim of his glass as he sipped.
“Not the look of outraged respectability, by any means. It’s granny lust.”
Brianna sat up straight.
“It’s what?”
“Granny lust,” he repeated. He sat up himself and topped his glass, pouring the golden liquid carefully. “You know; an elderly woman’s urgent desire for grandchildren to dandle upon her knee, spoil with sweetmeats, and generally corrupt.” He raised his glass to his nose and reverently breathed in the vapors. “Oh, ambrosia. I haven’t had a decent sherry in two years, at least.”
“What—you mean Mrs. Alderdyce thinks that I—I mean, because I’ve shown I’m—that I can have children, then she’s sure to get grandchildren out of me later on? That’s ridiculous! The Judge could pick any healthy girl—of good character,” she added bitterly, “and be fairly sure of having children by her.”
He took a drink, let it drift across his tongue, and swallowed, relishing the final ghost of the taste before answering. “Well. No. I rather think that she realizes he could not. Or would not; it makes no difference.” He looked at her directly, pale blue eyes unblinking.
“You said it yourself—he is forty and unmarried.”
“You mean he—but he’s a judge!” The moment her horrified exclamation came out, she realized the idiocy of it, and clapped a hand over her mouth, blushing furiously. Lord John laughed, though with a wry edge to it.
“The more certainty therefore,” he said. “You are quite right; he could have his choice of any girl in the county. If he has not so chosen…” He paused delicately, then lifted his glass to her in ironic toast. “I rather think that Mrs. Alderdyce has realized that her son’s marriage to you is her best—possibly her only—expectation of having the grandchild she so ardently desires.”