Brenda Hiatt by Scandalous Virtue Page B

believe. True reformation takes time.”
    Jack bit back a curse. If the rents all went for repairs, he’d have precious little spending money when he got back to Town. “Can you perhaps give me a clue as to what your standards are to be, Havershaw? I’ve no mind to spend years at this endeavor while Foxhaven falls into ruin for lack of funds.”
    “I rather doubt that is a serious risk, my lord.”
    And of course it wasn’t. It was Jack’s lifestyle that was at risk. “A wife, then. If I marry a woman of unimpeachable reputation, will you count me reformed?”
    He held his breath while Havershaw hesitated. If he said no, Jack realized, he wouldn’t have to get leg-shackled after all.
    But the steward finally nodded. “If you can get such a woman to marry you—willingly—I suppose that would be as objective a measure as any.”
    Jack let out his breath, his brief hope gone. Pushing the mound of finished paperwork aside, he stood. “In that case, I shall make it my first priority. On the morrow I’ll head back to Town for what remains of the Little Season.”
    “Will you be returning for Yuletide, my lord?” Havershaw, imperturbable as ever, began gathering up the papers.
    “That will depend on how my wooing goes, won’t it?” replied Jack sourly. “I’ll send word.”
    When he reached his chamber, Jack rang for Parker, his valet. A few years older than he, though slighter in build, Parker had been with him throughout his military career and held a position of trust with his employer enjoyed by vanishingly few servants.
    “Yes, my lord?”
    “We leave in the morning, Parker. Be good enough to get everything ready for our departure.”
    “I’ve done so already, my lord.” The valet proceeded to remove his master’s boots.
    Jack shook his head. “Don’t know why I trouble myself to tell you anything. You’ve been reading my mind with ease for years now. Know me better than I know myself.”
    Parker only smiled.
    “Being that’s the case,” Jack continued, “perhaps you can enlighten me as to my conflicting inclinations on matrimony. Think you it’s too high a price to pay for mere money?”
    Parker turned to regard him, pale hair falling across his high forehead. “I think the right woman could be the making of you, my lord, if not of your reputation.”
    “Blast it, Parker, the making of my reputation is the whole point of the thing! What do you mean by that?”
    But Parker merely shrugged and seized his otherboot. Explaining his cryptic pronouncements had never been his way, though they almost invariably proved true in time.
    They left for London before the morning was far advanced. Jack reflected that the habit of retiring and rising early, which he had adopted almost without thought while in the country, appeared to agree with his constitution. Very odd, that—and not a little disturbing.
    As he neared Town a few hours later, Jack could almost feel the calm of the country seeping from him, to be replaced by the excitement of the city. Yes, surely this was where he truly belonged, amid the bustle of humanity. Here, he could live by his wits and the cards, as he’d done before, and to hell with that damned trust. If it weren’t for his grandfather’s memory, that’s just what he’d do. Perhaps respectability wasn’t meant for the likes of him after all.
    But even as he said this to himself, he found his thoughts turning to what he had hoped might be the means to that respectability: Lady Haughton. Her period of mourning should have ended three days since, by his calculations. With her puritanical upbringing, of course, she might well intend to observe half-mourning for another twelvemonth. It would not surprise him, in fact, if Lady Creamcroft demanded it of her. If that were the case, pursuing a courtship could be problematic.
    Pondering his options, Jack disembarked from his traveling coach and climbed the stairs to Foxhaven House—one of the finer establishments on BerkleySquare.