The sound of the French doors opening prevented him from saying anything more. He removed his hand from the rail, turning around to come face-to-face with Miss Wychwood’s redoubtable chaperone.

“Miss Wychwood,” Mrs. Major said in ominous tones. “What are you doing out here? And without your wrap! You’ll catch your death.”

“I needed some air,” Miss Wychwood replied. “Captain Blunt kindly offered to escort me.”

“Captain Blunt.” Mrs. Major’s attention lingered on his scar. Her lip curled in unconscious revulsion. “You’ve done quite enough, sir. I shall take charge of her now.”

“I trust you won’t neglect her, ma’am,” Jasper said.

Mrs. Major bristled at the reproof. “Indeed. Come, Miss Wychwood. Lord Gresham has been asking after you.”

Miss Wychwood caught Jasper’s gaze as she moved to rejoin her chaperone. “Thank you,” she said under her breath.

He inclined his head. “Enjoy your ride in the morning, Miss Wychwood.”

She glanced back at him, eyes round.

Mrs. Major nudged her through the French doors. “Inside,” she said. “And promptly. His lordship is waiting.”

Seven

The Wychwoods’ carriage rolled down the streets of Mayfair, the team of matched bays heading home to Belgrave Square at an easy pace. It was only a short distance from Lady Holland’s residence, but long enough for Mrs. Major to fit in a stern lecture.

“Captain Blunt is not the sort of gentleman with whom you should be associating,” she pronounced from her seat across from Julia. “I would have thought that was evident.”

Julia was in no mood to placate her chaperone. From the moment Mrs. Major had discovered her on the balcony with Captain Blunt, she’d pushed and pulled her around like the veriest rag doll, paying no heed to Julia’s own wishes, and showing not one speck of compassion for her anxiety. “Why should it be?”

“Why? Have you no eyes in your head, girl?”

Julia wrapped her wispy scrap of a silk shawl tighter around her shoulders. “You’re referencing his scar, I suppose.”

“Among other things,” Mrs. Major replied.

The carriage rumbled over an uneven patch of road, jostling them both in their seats.

“It isn’t right to judge a person by their appearance,” Julia said.

Mrs. Major’s already thin lips disappeared from view completely. “Not only his appearance. His character.”

“What about his character?”

“He lacks the qualities inherent in a gentleman. His conduct in the Crimea—” Mrs. Major stopped short of describing it. “One can excuse many things during war, but the cruelty—the cold-bloodedness. A gentleman would not have behaved so.”

Cruelty?

Julia frowned at the word. It was impossible to reconcile the ugliness of it with the man who, only this evening, had shown her such tender concern. “I’ve heard he had a reputation for being rather hard, but—”

Mrs. Major uttered a derisive snort. “You don’t know the half of it, my girl.”

“I’d like to.”

“Doubtless. But it’s not my place to say.”

“I don’t see why not. I already know about his illegitimate children. What else can—”