Redeeming Jack (12 page)

“Are you sure the duke’s contact lives here?” Gareth asked.

Jack paused to negotiate a three-foot hole filled with refuse, which spanned the entire street. “I doubt he lives here, but I’m sure we are headed in the right direction.”

His long walk had done little to ease his rage or settle the three pints of ale he had hastily imbibed. When he arrived back at the inn, he discovered that Carys was absent, visiting acquaintances. He was almost disappointed she hadn’t stayed around to face him. He’d expected no less. She’d never shied away from telling him exactly what she thought of him.

Gareth, however, was ready and willing to accompany Jack out. Jack suggested they set off at once to meet with the duke’s agent, who had first identified the fleeing Mrs. Forester.

Jack knew enough to be wary when he and Gareth arrived at the designated meeting place. The Pickled Herring Inn made no boasts that it catered to the gentry. Sailors and merchants made up its trade, as well as the odd whore selling her wares in between pulling a pint.

At the door, Jack primed his pistol and put it in his pocket. “Let me do the talking and keep an eye on your purse. It’s likely to disappear in this company.”

Gareth scowled at him. “You forget, I’m well used to the lower classes, Jack. I’m a saver of souls.”

“I doubt you’ll find any to save here,” Jack muttered. “But please be my guest.”

He entered the tavern and found a small table against the back wall. Stained sawdust covered the floor in scattered clumps and swirls. Cheap tallow candles and lanterns burning whale oil flickered in the wall sconces, adding to the overall stench.

A tavern maid sidled across to Jack, her breasts swinging in rhythm with her rounded hips. “Ere, my love. What can I get you and the fine gentleman?”

Jack tossed her a coin, which she dropped down her bodice. “Two pints of ale and some help please.” He deliberately broadened his Welsh accent. “We’re looking for a man named Jonathan Sprake. Does he come in here?”

The woman gave him a speculative glance and tugged the neck of her bodice lower. Gareth gave a noticeable shudder and Jack kicked him under the table.

“I think I’ve heard that name, sir. I’ll inquire of the landlord.”

Jack gave her a wink and a gentle pat on the rump to hasten her departure. She returned with the ale and a message that the man they sought would be over to speak to them soon.

Gareth fished a spider out of his tankard and stared glumly at Jack. “This spying business isn’t how I imagined it would be. So far, I’ve sat in a carriage and in a variety of taverns, of which this is definitely the worst.”

Jack took a swig of the warm, sour ale and wiped his mouth. “Did you know Carys planned to divorce me?”

“What? I never assumed Lord Rice would even contemplate it. It’s horrendously difficult to arrange, expensive and brings no guarantee of social acceptance for the woman in decent society.”

Jack toasted Gareth with his tankard. “Eloquently put, my friend. So why is Lord Rice prepared to do it? His family can hardly approve.” He frowned as he remembered his father’s attempts to contact him. Had his father been approached by Rice? Jack was certain the Duke of Carmarthen would not approve of the Llewelyn name being dragged through the mud again.

He looked up as a shadow fell across the table. A middle-aged man of average height stood quietly beside him. Jack put his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the butt of his pistol.

“I heard someone was asking for me.” The man’s accent was English, his attire the subdued brown shades of a respectable tradesman.

Jack inclined his head and indicated the vacant chair next to him. “Mr. Sprake, I was told you might have some information for me.”

Mr. Sprake settled into the chair, his blue eyes steady as he studied Jack. “And who might you be, sir? I would hate to confide in the wrong man.”

Jack smiled and laid his pistol on the table. “I’m Jack Llewelyn.” Mr. Sprake’s inquiring gaze shifted to Gareth and Jack fought a grin. “My companion is a man of no importance, although I will vouch for his honesty.”

Gareth muttered something inaudible and slumped back in his chair.

Mr. Sprake took a swift glance around the half-empty bar before putting his hand in his coat pocket to bring out a set of documents. “These should help you with your mission. If you have any questions, you may contact me through the tavern keeper.” He smiled at Jack. “I was unsure of your local knowledge although, in truth, you seem more at home here than I am.”

“Oh, I’m at home with the scum of the earth, Mr. Sprake. I appreciate your help. “
Diolch
.” Jack got to his feet and offered the other man his hand.

Mr. Sprake’s face brightened. “Ah, you speak some Welsh. I’ve never quite learned the way of it, although I’ve picked up the odd phrase over the years. Such a nonsensical, guttural language.” He lowered his voice. “I act as land manager for the present Duke of Diable Delamere’s Welsh estates.” He looked approvingly at Jack. “It will certainly make your investigations easier. Some of the older folk you might need to question claim not to speak English at all.”

Jack’s good humor died. “Some of them don’t. And if you want some free advice, I suggest you recognize the truth of that and concentrate on learning the language. I’m sure the duke would hate his revenues to decline in the face of unwitting English ignorance.”

Mr. Sprake stiffened. “I’m not stupid, Llewelyn. I employ a Welsh speaker who accompanies me on all my visits.”

Jack gave him a cool nod. “Well, good for you. What a pity you have no idea whether he’s telling you the truth. I’m sure your employer finds you irreplaceable.”

With a mumbled excuse, Gareth prodded and pushed Jack toward the door before he could say anything else. Spontaneously, Jack headed toward the sea. He only moderated his speed when he realized Gareth was wheezing and puffing behind him.

Jack waited by the stone wall guarding the docks, the beauty of Swansea Bay unfurling before him like an open fan.

“What was wrong with you, Jack? You were downright uncivil to the man.” Gareth panted between desperate gasps for air.

Jack fumbled in his pocket for a cigarillo and then remembered he’d left them in his room. “I hate that condescending English attitude toward the Welsh. I’ve heard it all my life from people who consider themselves superior simply because they were born in England.”

Gareth handed Jack his silver hip flask, and Jack took a swig of brandy. “You know you’re in a minority. Most people would agree with Mr. Sprake.”

Jack gulped more brandy, enjoying the fiery warmth pooling in his stomach and the rawness of the fumes in the back of his throat. Today, the calm gray waters of the bay were as smooth and dull as a pewter plate. The ragtag fishing fleet lay anchored in the docks, ready for the morning tide. Rigging, bare of sails, vibrated and sang in the breeze like the strumming of a thousand Spanish guitars.

“
Diolch
.” Jack handed Gareth back his flask. “We should go and look at these documents.”

“We should, but moderate your pace a little. We are not competing in a horse race.”

Gareth groaned and started the long walk back to the inn, Jack at his side. The wind picked up behind them, propelling them along the narrow walkways and passages.

In front of the inn, a liveried groom walked two thoroughbred horses. Jack slowed as he approached, and Gareth’s complaints died away. Two men stepped out of the inn and almost collided with Jack. He instinctively tried to turn away but it was too late.

The younger of the two grabbed his arm. “Jack, is it really you?”

Drawing himself up to his full height, Jack flashed a cocky smile at his brother. “Robert, it’s a pleasure to see you. I hope you’ve been well?”

Robert flushed; his dark coloring and pale skin inherited from their mother signaled every vivid emotion. Before answering, he glanced at the silent figure beside him.

Jack set his jaw and inclined his head to his older brother, Edward, the Duke’s heir. “Haverford.”

“Jack.” Edward gave a slight nod, his patrician features a finer, older version of Jack’s.

“The landlord informed us you were putting up here with your wife,” Robert said excitedly. “Edward decided we should acquaint our father of your whereabouts before he leaves for London.”

Jack restrained an urge to groan. “How kind of you to be so concerned for my welfare.”

Edward studied Jack through his quizzing glass. “For some unknown reason, Father wishes to speak to you. It is my duty to inform him of your direction.”

Jack bit his tongue in an effort not to fall into the familiar pattern of taunting his pompous brother. Edward looked older than his years, his pinched features smaller and the lines of discontent drawn deeper in his brow. A stab of compassion lanced Jack’s dislike. Being the Duke of Carmarthen’s heir was enough to drain the joy out of any man.

He looked directly into his brother’s narrowed brown eyes. “I will be in Swansea for the next few days. After that, my plans are uncertain.”

Edward gave a sour smile. “Let me guess. Have you run out of funds? Do you need to go back to earning your living like a peasant?”

Robert shifted his feet and cast Jack an imploring look.

Jack nodded slightly at him and returned his attention to Edward. “There’s no shame in working for money. Perhaps you should consider it.”

“I doubt I’d enjoy it.” Edward dropped his quizzing glass into his waistcoat pocket. “It’s a shame you married that common Davies woman. Otherwise you could ‘nurse’ rich elderly widows and marry them for their money.”

Jack’s spark of compassion for Edward died an instant death. He took a step forward before finding himself pushed unceremoniously out of the way.

“Are you speaking of my sister, Haverford?” Gareth demanded.

A slight flush painted Edward’s thin cheeks. “I didn’t notice you there, Pastor Davies. How are you this fine afternoon?”

Gareth didn’t smile. “I hope you intend to apologize for mentioning my sister in such unflattering terms in a public place? I would hate to have to amend my sermon on Sunday.”

Edward glanced at Robert and then at Jack as if seeking support. His frown deepened. “Of course, Pastor. Accept my apologies. It was a slip of the tongue. I think very highly of my sister-in-law.”

Gareth looked at Jack. “Is there anything you wish to add?”

“I think you dealt with the matter admirably, Gareth. I was going to punch him.”

Edward wiped his brow with a large handkerchief and put on his hat. “I must be off. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Jack. Whenever I consider Father was a little harsh when he disinherited you, I can recall this scene of you having to rely on your ‘friend’ to protect you. It proves your lack of guts all over again.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Pastor Davies, perhaps I’ll see you in church on Sunday before the family leave for London. Come, Robert.”

Robert remained on the pavement, his gaze trained on Jack. “I’ll be along shortly, Edward,” he croaked. “I’ll just have a word with Gareth—I mean, our Pastor—on a spiritual matter.”

Edward’s gaze turned frosty. “You will meet me at the bank in an hour. Otherwise I will leave without you.”

Robert looked sulky. “I’ll be there, Edward. Don’t fret.”

They watched Edward mount and ride down the High Street, his back ramrod straight, hat rigid in the stiff wind.

“Damn.” Jack whistled under his breath. “I wish I had a catapult.”

Robert grinned and grabbed Jack’s hand again. “Thank God he’s taken himself off. I was beginning to fear he’d force me to go with him.”

Jack took in his brother’s guileless face. Robert seemed unperturbed by memories of their previous disastrous meeting, when he had tried to make Carys and Jack reconcile and ended up provoking a duel between Gareth and Jack.

It always amazed Jack that Robert retained his sweet disposition amongst a family of arrogant, warring males. To the despair of the duke, at thirty-four, Robert seemed incapable of finding an occupation other than that of gentleman about town. His undeclared love for Carys’s sister Nia, his father’s housekeeper, was a secret the whole household shared but would never exploit.

Another ball of warmth settled and expanded in Jack’s chest as he escorted Robert into the inn, freeing him from awkwardness straight into familiarity. It seemed there was no need for apologies or recriminations. Robert was genuinely glad to see him. Jack wondered if he would have been so forgiving, had their positions been reversed. Perhaps his decision to cut himself off from his entire family had been overdramatic.

Robert nudged Jack’s arm, a tankard in his other hand. “Let’s celebrate your return, and your reunion with Carys. I knew you’d come to your senses some day.”

Jack grimaced. “Unfortunately, she seems set on divorcing me.”

Robert’s mouth fell open, displaying his white, even teeth. “Not for that Rice fellow? He seems a nice enough chap, but really… And what about the b—?” Robert winced in pain and glared at Gareth. “There’s no need to kick me. I’m not completely insensitive.”

Jack chose to ignore the gathering frown on Gareth’s face. If Gareth wished to protect his sister, Jack wasn’t going to stop him. He’d left Carys to her own devices and she’d done the best she could. Her bastard, if that’s what Robert had intended to say, and her reputation were safe with Jack.

Eager to dissuade his brother from discussing Carys, or further aggravating Gareth, Jack summoned a smile. “How is our mother? Is she in good health?”

Robert put down his tankard. “Not really. She hasn’t been the same since you left. Father’s thinking of packing her and Cousin Louisa off to Bath to recuperate.”

Jack stared into his ale. One of the things that rankled most about his disinheritance was his mother’s defection. He’d been her favorite child, and she’d deserted him. She hadn’t bothered to bid him goodbye or answer any of his letters.

Robert brightened, his eyes fixed on Jack. He’d always been the one to mend fences in the family. “Perhaps I could arrange to bring her here to meet you? Father would not have to know.”

Cautiously, Jack considered the idea. Was he healed enough to risk reopening old wounds? He had to be, if he stood any chance of dissuading Carys from divorcing him. He nodded at his brother. “Yes, why not? I would be delighted to meet her.”