Voices came from the front entrance as she descended the stairs. Ash and Mason were engaged in a conversation about the unpredictable London weather. His Spanish-blue jacket, buff breeches, and shiny hessian boots fit him perfectly. His loosely tied cravat, his own style that she loved, set off his tanned skin. As he watched her descend the stairs, the flutters began once again in her middle. His deep blue eyes alone could cause her knees to buckle.
“Good afternoon, my lady. You are looking splendid, as always.” He gave her a formal bow, which was no surprise since Mother was right behind her and Mason stood at the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Reeves.” She moved forward and took his arm, and they made their way down the stairs to an open carriage. The air was cool but not uncomfortable for a ride, and her pelisse would certainly keep her warm enough.
As he helped her into the vehicle, the thought crossed her mind that he had purposely chosen this conveyance so they would not be together, alone, in a closed carriage.
“I thought the light spring air would be good for my landau. But I do have a blanket under the seat if you need it.”
Had he read her mind?
An uncomfortable silence followed them from her house, down Clarendon Place, and then to Bayswater Road. Ash took a left turn at Victoria Gate into Hyde park, the carriage rocking as the vehicle hit a rut in the road, throwing her against him. He seemed to stiffen, so she shifted away. Although the sun continued to shine, she shivered, anxious for whatever it was Ash wanted to say.
Not the usual hour for most of the ton to be streaming into the park, they were afforded privacy even in the landau. No longer able to wait, she said, “Ash, I know something is bothering you. I would prefer if you just go ahead and tell me.”
Ash switched the ribbons to one hand and ran his fingers through his hair. Staring straight ahead, he began, “Lady Prudence—”
“Stop!”
His head whipped around. “What?”
“Stop calling me Lady Prudence. Whatever is wrong with you, Ash? I thought we had more together than formal titles.”
“Yes. Well, that is the problem.”
“Go on.” She did not care at all for the look on his face. He was obviously about to tell her something he was uncomfortable with and that she would not enjoy hearing.
“I apologize profusely for taking advantage of you.” He glanced at her sideways. “I never should have taken you to bed and ruined you for a husband.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. What the devil was this nonsense?
When he did not continue, she huffed, “Would you mind explaining yourself? I thought we agreed it had been a mutual decision and not one that I regret. Although, you seem to.”
“No. I don’t regret it. I only regret that nothing can come from it.”
“You are speaking in riddles, Ash. I am not a coy, vague woman. I want to hear exactly what it is you are telling me.”
He turned the carriage so they entered a less used pathway. They rode for a few minutes while he stared straight ahead, his jaw tight. “I am extremely pleased with your talent and with how the art show went. However, there can never be more between us than friendship.”
Not exactly stunning news because his behavior since he’d arrived to escort her made her suspect this might have been the substance of their conversation. She blew out a breath of air. “I see.”
When he did not add anything else, she said, “Is it because I was adamant about not marrying? Because I have changed my mind.” She took hold of his arm. “Ash, look at me.”
He turned, the pain in his eyes startling her, making her heart clench.
“What happened between Monday and today?” She could barely get the words out.
Ash found a small alcove and pulled the landau over and turned to her. “Your art show happened.”
“And?”
“In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been our artist and client, and I never should have stepped over the line.”
“You’re back to speaking in circles again. I really wish you would say what you want to tell me, Ash.” She’d gone from confusion, to concern, to annoyance, which she knew her tone conveyed.
“Very well.” He took a deep breath. “You are a member of the ton, of the nobility, the Beau Monde. You are a peer. I am not only a commoner and not a gentleman, but a bastard.”
“You are more of a gentleman than most of the men of the ton. And you are also the son of an earl.”
His brows rose. “You know?”
“Yes. You are the only son of the Earl of Stanhope. Did you think it was a secret? For goodness sake, Ash, anyone seeing the two of you together would know.”
“Yes. I guess so.” He paused, apparently surprised at her words. “But, in any event, there can never be anything permanent between us.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Bloody hell, Pru, your sister is married to a duke!”
“And invited you to her garden party,” she snapped.
He shook his head. “That’s not the point. Your brothers-in-law are a viscount, a duke, a marquess, and a baron. For god’s sake, your father is an earl. You are surrounded by titles.”
“So? I didn’t see you have any problems dealing with all the guests at the art show, including my lofty relatives!”
“That’s my business, Pru. And that’s the point. I’m in business. I’m a merchant. A bastard merchant.” He almost shouted the last few words, and she thanked the good lord that he had moved away from the main thoroughfare.
“You seem to gain a great deal of satisfaction in clinging to your own title.”
When he regarded her with a frown, she added, “Bastard. You seem quite proud of it.”
He waved his hand. “Don’t be foolish. Of course, I’m not proud of it.”
“Nor should you be proud, or ashamed of it, either. I know it’s the common response to shun a person who had an unfortunate birth, but I never understood why someone who had nothing to do with his birth should be looked down upon.”
“Well, whether you agree or not, that is the way things are. I don’t belong with someone from your class.”
“So. that is it? Everything we’ve shared is just finished? I don’t have a say in it?”
Ash took both of her hands in his. “Please understand. I like you too much to drag you through the difficulty of association with my name.”
She withdrew her hands and faced forward and smoothed out her skirts. “Very well.” After a moment she added, “So, you’re going to do to me exactly what your father—who you have disdained your entire life—did to your mother? Just abandon me to whatever results from our lovemaking? Is this a like father, like son?”
He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “No! Of course, I would never do that. I withdrew, so the chances are slight that you have conceived. However, if you do find yourself increasing, I will definitely step up and do what is right.”
She offered him a tight smile. “Wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear. I will be the sacrifice to your martyrdom.” She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Ash ran his fingers through his hair again. “Please, Pru. I am doing this for your own good.”
She snorted. “If that is what makes you feel less guilty, than go on and believe such drivel. Now, if you please, I should like to return to my home.”
He studied her for a minute, then slapped the ribbons and the horses moved forward. She held in her tears, not wanting to appear to be a weak, sniveling female who used weeping to gain want she wanted. If he felt she was too good for him, then he was right. She was too good for him because she didn’t give up so easily on a relationship nor did she view him any differently than any other man she knew.
The only difference she’d found was how superior he was to the men she’d met over the years.
The carriage came to a slow roll as it reached the front of her townhouse. She gathered her things and waited while he walked around the vehicle and helped her
down. She ignored his arm and hurried up the steps, Ash right behind her.
“I wish you a good day, Mr. Reeves.” She stood with her back to him, her hand on the door latch.
He reached out and gripped her arm. “Pru, wait. I don’t want it to end this way.”
She turned, her teeth clenched so hard she thought she’d break a tooth. “Why, Mr. Reeves? Afraid I won’t paint you any more pictures? That I will hurry off and marry the first man who looks my way and give up my art? Isn’t that what you’ve expected from the beginning?”
When he studied her with such sadness, she refused to soften. This was what he wanted, and this was what he would get. She stuck out her hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Reeves.”
With those words, she marched through the door and up the stairs to her bedchamber. She entered the room and leaned against the door, tears slowly dripping from her eyes.
Blasted man! That’s what I get for falling in love.
15
Ash sat in the dark room, not a candle or lamp lit, his long legs stretched out as he stared at the cold fireplace and took another swallow of brandy. Why did it hurt so much to be honorable? Had he been a cad, he would have jumped at the chance to not only marry the woman he loved but raise himself in society at the same time.
That’s because you’re a coward.
He snorted and took another swallow. Coward? He’d managed to build a successful business with no more than his brain and a mutually intelligent partner. No contacts, no wealthy investors, just them and their dream.
Ash owned all the things the nobility possessed—more than some—except for the title that made him acceptable to marry Pru.
“Bloody hell!”
He finished his drink and hurled the glass into the fireplace, glass shattering and spewing everywhere. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“Mr. Reeves, you have a visitor.” Dennison, his butler, entered the room, frowning as he took in the space. Even in the scant light, the disapproval on his face was evident. The older man had been with him for years and thought of himself as some sort of parent. Tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for one of his comments.
“Who?”
“Lord Pomeroy,” the voice said from behind Dennison. “And it looks to me, my boy that you’ve crawled into your cave to lick your wounds.” Pomeroy turned to Dennison. “Light some lamps and bring tea.” He paused. “And some decent food, none of that skimpy ladies’ fare.”
With a smirk in Ash’s direction, Dennison bowed toward his lordship and left the room.
Ash jumped to his feet. “My lord. What brings you here?”
“You.” He pointed to the settee. “Sit.”
Surprise rendered Ash speechless, so he sat where the man had pointed. Pomeroy proceeded to pace in front of him, then finally stopped and placed his hands on his hips. “My daughter is unhappy. I don’t like it when my daughter is unhappy. Since I am far too old to be insisting you name your second, I am here to find out what the devil is wrong with you.”
“So, you know.”
“Yes. I know that Lady Prudence sits in her room and weeps. In fact, she has insisted upon returning to our country home. Where I am sure she will wallow in self-pity and spend her days wandering the place like some tormented ghost.”
The idea of Pru so upset and wishing to return to the country tore into him like a knife to his heart.
“I can see from your expression that you don’t care for the picture I have just painted.” He chuckled. “Speaking of painting, she says she will continue—something about your insistence she would abandon her art one day—and have the paintings sent by coach to your gallery.”
Ash dropped his head into his hands and fisted his hair. “Bloody hell.”
“Yes.”
The door opened and Dennison entered with a tray of tea and substantial sandwiches, along with several biscuits.
Pomeroy rubbed his hands. “Ah, I knew a bachelor home would have more than dainty little tidbits to serve guests.”
With a few swift movements, Pomeroy had two cups of tea poured, fixed with cream and sugar, and was chewing one of the sandwiches. Now that the shock of his presence had worn off, Ash smiled at the man’s attention to the food. Thin and wiry as his guest was, it amazed him again how much he could eat. All the energy that steamed from him required a great deal of food, apparently.
“Son, my wife tells me my precious daughter is locked in her room because you rebuffed her. Serious stuff, that.” He waved his hand around, crumbs from the bread dropping onto his trousers. “I know women are apt to succumb to drama and other sorts of emotions, but I have spent enough time watching you watching my daughter to know there is something wrong here.”
Ash pushed his tea cup away and slumped in the chair. “I love Lady Prudence.”
Pomeroy swallowed and nodded. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
He hopped up from his chair. “She is a lady. I am a commoner and a bastard.”
“You forgot merchant.”
“Are you trying to make it appear worse?”
“Not at all. I’m just laying it all out here. So, you are a bastard, a commoner, and a merchant.”
“Yes. And as such, I am not in the same class as Pru—er, Lady Prudence.”
Pomeroy wiped his mouth with his serviette and placed it alongside his place. “My boy, don’t pass on love because of something that foolish. My darling wife was employed by me before we married.”
“She was also a lady.”
Something glimmered in the man’s eyes and he smiled. “Not always.” He coughed and continued. “Nevertheless, I am here to tell you the family is gathering Sunday next for dinner to see Pru off to the country.”
So soon. She would be gone from his life so soon. The pain in his heart increased.
“Yes. I can see how well you took that news.” He stood and regarded him. “It is a family tradition that all proposals of marriage take place before the entire family.”
With those surreal words, Pomeroy nodded, grabbed one of the biscuits from the tray, and left the room.
The next afternoon, Dennison entered his library again with another announcement. “Mr. Reeves, you have a visitor.”
Ash threw down the pen alongside the stack of invoices he’d been working on. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he’d had more visitors the past two days than he’d had the past two months. “Send him in.”
Dennison removed himself, and Ash looked up as the Earl of Stanhope stepped through the door.
Ash sat perfectly still and looked at the man he’d hated all his life. “If you’ve come to see me, I’m not here.” He jumped up from his seat and strode to the window, keeping his back to his visitor.
I will not turn around. I will not turn around. I will not turn around.
He turned around. Stanhope hadn’t moved. “May I have a seat?”
“I just told you I’m not here. Are you going to leave?”
“Not until I’ve had my say.”
His stomach knotted at this intrusion into his life at a time when he did not need or want such a thing. However, curious enough, Ash waved to the chair in front of the fireplace. “Then sit.” He took a seat across from the earl, slumping in an attempt to show both disdain and disrespect. His heart pounded so loud he was certain the man could hear it. If Stanhope thought he was going to welcome him or have anything at all to say to him, he was mistaken.
Eventually, Stanhope took a deep breath. “This is a meeting I should have had years ago.”
Ash snorted and studied this man who looked so much like him. “Why?” Not that he cared, but the polite thing to do was respond when someone made a statement like that. And his mother raised him with good manners. His single mother. His abandoned mother. His ill-treated mother.
“I don’t know what your mother told you—”
“Leave my mother out of this, or I will have you forcibly ejected,” he growled.
The earl ran his fingers through his hair. E
xactly like Ash did hundreds of times over the years. He would break every one of his fingers before he ever did that again.
Ash ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you want, Stanhope?” He’d be damned if he would refer to him any other way. Definitely not father. He waved toward his desk. “I have work to do. Unlike your kind, I work for a living.”
Stanhope dipped his head in acknowledgement. “From what I hear, you are a very hard worker and have built quite a name for yourself in the art world.”
Ash tapped his fingertips on the arm of the chair. “If you’ve come to flatter me—or hit me up for some blunt—the door is right behind you.”
“I deserve that. I deserve everything you feel for me.”
Ash waved his hand in dismissal. “I feel nothing for you.”
“You might think that, but the hate I see coming from you is a feeling. A very strong feeling, and one I know I deserve.” He shifted in his chair. “I just want to talk to you, explain a few things.”
Apparently, the man was not going to leave until he had his say. As much as he would enjoy having him thrown out, Ash had to admit he was interested in the purpose Stanhope had in coming here.
Ash stood and walked to the sideboard. He poured a glass of brandy, turned toward his guest, and lifted the bottle, his brows lifted in a question.
“Yes, please.”
Once they were settled with their drinks and Stanhope had taken a hefty swallow, he let the glass dangle between his spread knees and looked directly at Ash. “I can’t have this conversation without mentioning your mother, so please allow me that courtesy. When I am finished, you can have your butler forcibly eject me and I will never again bother you.”
Ash gave him a curt nod. “Go on.”
“I loved your mother with my whole heart, and I believe to this day I still do.”
Ash hopped up. “I will listen to what you have to say, but I will not abide lies.”
Stanhope shook his head. “No lie, Son.” He took in a deep breath. “Sorry, that just slipped out.”
“See that it doesn’t again,” Ash growled and reclaimed his seat.
For the Love of the Gentleman Page 10
