Page 40 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Chapter 10

Connor Jackson had never been more at war with himself. Margaret Hennessy was a lady, the very type of female he’d made a point of avoiding once he’d learned how dangerous they could be. Furthermore, she was suspected of murdering her husband. Yet more and more, he began to think she was also one of the most remarkable women of his acquaintance.

The nagging question remained: if she were guilty, why did she agree to accompany him to London? Perhaps Lady Margaret believed that her family connections would save her. Or, she had decided she no longer wanted to live as a fugitive without access to her money and status. Still, determining her guilt did not rest on him, thank heavens. Bow Street wouldn’t be involved unless specifically asked. Connor had been hired to collect Lady Margaret and bring her safely back to her family. Nothing more.

Connor could only hope the district constable in charge of the investigation had made good progress and would turn his findings to his magistrate. Visions of seeing Meg hanged or transported filled his mind. He picked up the pace but could not outrun the images.

Meg maneuvered Ginger next to him and kept pace. She handled the horse remarkably well. Of course, she managed to do everything remarkably well, even disturb his peace of mind.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. “What will you do when we reach London?”

“After delivering you to your family, I will report to Bow Street and be on hand to help with this—or any—case.” He braced himself against her declarations of innocence or inquiries about what he might do to build a case against her.

“What do you do when you aren’t working, Connor Jackson?”

The question took him aback. “Sleep.”

She chuckled softly. “Surely, you don’t work all your waking hours—that would be a dreadfully long day.”

“I do work most of my waking hours.”

“Oh, come now, you do more with your time besides work and sleep, surely.”

“I’m sure it’s difficult for a lady of your station to understand that most of us have little time for diversions.”

Though he tossed out the comment like a barb, a purely defensive move, it failed to stick. She cocked her head, studying him as if she’d never seen him before but found him interesting. “You clearly aren’t so poor that you must work that much. I suspect you do it because you are unwilling to allow yourself a few pleasures. Why is that, I wonder?”

He returned his gaze to the road. “Inconsequential reasons, such as paying rent, eating, and other trifling habits I’ve developed.”

“Where were you educated?”

“Oxford.”

A member of the working class who’d been educated at Oxford would give her plenty of ammunition for questions.

“What studies did you enjoy most?” she asked.

Again, her unexpected question caught him off guard. “History. Mathematics. Astronomy.”

He heard the smile in her voice. “My brother Cole is mad about astronomy as well, and the myths that inspire the constellations.”

He made no comment.

“Did you engage in pugilism? Fencing? Shooting?”

He nodded. “All of them.”

“And then you served in the army?”

He nodded.

“Were you an officer?”

“I was promoted to captain before the end.” And that was all he cared to say on the subject. He used his chin to point ahead. “We will reach the main road soon and should find a posting inn. With any luck, we can hire a postilion to take us all the way to London.”

Quietly, and with an uncharacteristic gentleness, she said, “My brothers never want to discuss their service in the war, either.”

He said nothing.