A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

Alton looked from Jack to Clarice. “What do you want me to do?”

“Is there any way you can influence the Bishop of London?” Clarice asked.

Alton thought, then nodded. “I know his older brother. He’s a member

of White’s and was a crony of Papa’s. I could approach him.”

“Good,” Jack said. “What we need is permission for me as the family’s agent to question Deacon Humphries, not as prosecutor of the case but as the bringer of the original allegations. We already have access to the information thus far made available to the bishop’s court, but it’s by no means all Humphries knows. We need to ask him about details he’s omitted before he presents them at the hearing, so we’ll know what evidence we need to refute the allegations in toto, not just to chip away at the edges and cast doubt, but to quash them whole.”

“It’s urgent,” Clarice added.

Alton nodded, busily jotting notes. “I’ll see what I can manage.” He paused, then added, his tone grim, “Heaven knows, there’s precious little else I’m likely to accomplish.”

Clarice watched him for a moment, then rose and rounded the desk. Pausing by Alton’s chair, she laid a hand on his shoulder, bent, and kissed his cheek.

Jack saw Alton’s expression as he glanced up, surprise blended with achingly sweet memory. He looked up to see Clarice smile at her brother. She patted his shoulder. “I’ll put my mind to your problem with Moira. There has to be a way. Say hello to Roger and Nigel for me, and don’t forget to give Roger my message.” Leaving Alton, she headed for the door; with a nod to Alton, Jack rose, and followed her.

“Incidentally”—Clarice paused just before the door to look back at Alton—“you might try telling Sarah you love her to distraction and fully intend moving heaven and earth to wed her. Then tell her of Moira’s threat. Being trusted with the truth might make her more inclined to do all she can to avoid receiving an offer from anyone else.”

With that, she turned to the door. Jack opened it for her, then followed her from the room; the last sight he had of Alton Altwood, Marquess of Melton, was of him sitting at his desk, faintly stunned, but with the light of hope dawning in his eyes.

They returned to Benedict’s, and had lunch in Clarice’s suite. The meal passed in unusual silence. Clarice was transparently digesting all she’d learned at Melton House, and not approving of any of it. Jack watched her face, appreciating the frown she didn’t bother to hide. That she no longer sought to conceal her worries and emotions from him was, he felt, an encouraging sign.

After they’d finished and the dishes had been cleared away, Clarice sat back in her armchair, met Jack’s eyes as he sat in its mate, and grimaced. “I fear I’m going to have to go back into the ton in a much more emphatic manner than I’d planned.”

He studied her. “I’d thought you were set on riding to James’s social rescue.”

“I was. I am. And I will. But it seems I’m going to have to intercede, and act, too, on my brothers’ behalfs.” She gestured. “You saw Moira. She’s thoroughly devious, and she knows them—all four of us—well.”

“You don’t think Alton can manage on his own, with your support? He seemed to come alive this morning, simply because you were there.”

Clarice frowned more deeply. Eventually, she conceded, “You’re right in a way. Alton has it in him to rule as he should. I know he has. Unfortunately, previously he was always in Papa’s shadow, and with Moira’s manipulation, Alton hasn’t fully realized Papa’s shoes are now his, that he can step into them and take control.” A moment passed, then she murmured, “It wasn’t so much my being there as Moira attacking me that spurred Alton to action.”

Jack held up a staying hand. “If you imagine setting yourself up as a target for that frightful woman to spur your brothers into acting as they ought, then I strongly advise you to think again.”

Clarice met his eyes, read the warning therein; a subtle glow warmed her, but she humphed dismissively. “I wasn’t about to suggest any such thing. Self-sacrifice isn’t my style. However, I will, clearly will, need to go about in society more widely than if I’d had just James’s defence on my plate. That I can accomplish by making contact with a few key people. Nullifying Moira’s manipulation will require much more. For a start, I’m going to have to meet with my brothers’ chosen ladies, and, I hope, ease the strain there. Meeting Conniston himself, and perhaps Claire—I know her of old—might help….”

Steepling her fingers, she rested her chin on the tips. Staring across the room, she continued to frown. “The major difficulty is how. How can I, quickly and acceptably, step back into the fray I turned my back on so decisively seven years ago?”

After a moment, Jack asked, “Just how decisively did you dismiss the ton?”

She shifted her gaze to meet his. “Totally. I was disgusted with them all, and made no bones about it.”

He grimaced, then added, “However, you’re an Altwood.”

“Indeed. If after seven years I wish to swan back”—she shrugged—“I doubt many would attempt to cut me.”

She noted Jack’s swift grin, could imagine the vision flitting through his mind, of her depressing the pretensions of any who might try. As indeed she would. She’d suffered the adverse aspects of being a marchioness’s daughter; she wasn’t about to deny herself the benefits. “I can, and will, return to the ton, but I need advice of a sort that’s not easy to gain.”

A minute went by, then Jack shifted, drawing her attention. He met her eyes. “I have two aunts. They’ll help if I ask.”

Clarice raised her brows; it was the first mention she’d heard of any family beyond his father. “And they are?”

“Lady Cowper and Lady Davenport.”

She stared at him. “Just like that, you can command the support of two of the most formidable hostesses in the ton?”

He grinned. “‘Command’ might be stating the matter a trifle strongly, but they know I fled town recently, at the height of the Season. They’ll be only too pleased to assist you once they learn it was you who brought me back.”