Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1)

by Rebecca J. Greenwood

  * * *

  Daniel had a passing acquaintance with Mr. George Mowbray. He presented his card, a corner turned down to indicate he was visiting in person, at the man’s bachelor’s residence, and requested an audience. The servant didn’t turn Daniel away, so it appeared Mowbray was not yet out for the evening. He itched to ask the manservant if he knew anything of Miss Moore, but Daniel controlled himself. If this proved unfruitful, that would be the next step.

  After a short wait, Mowbray entered, dressed for the evening, looking more slick and oily than Daniel had ever noticed before. “Ho, Ashton! What gives me the pleasure? Won’t you sit down?”

  “I’d prefer to stand. I am here to discuss a particular matter. What do you know of the current whereabouts of Miss Eliza Moore?”

  Mowbray’s eyebrows raised, and his face grew wary. “Haven’t the foggiest, my good man. Haven’t seen the chit in weeks.”

  “But when she was in a vulnerable position earlier, you took advantage of her willingly enough.” He slapped his gloves in his hands, his face tight and his brows lowered. Daniel didn’t care if he looked dangerous. He was dangerous.

  Mowbray took a step back, waving his hands. “I say! No need for this umbrage.”

  “Yes, there is. Where is she?”

  “No idea.”

  “I ought to call you out for your involvement in this.”

  “I did nothing!”

  “What is it? This nothing you think you did?”

  “It was just some fun.”

  Daniel surged forward and grabbed the man by the knot of his neckcloth.

  “It led to a gently bred young woman being thrown out on the streets. That is not ‘just some fun’.” He spit out the words.

  “See here, she did nothing, and I did nothing in connection with her!” Mowbray’s face was panicked, and he dug his fingers into Daniel’s hands, struggling to loosen his grip. “I brought over some flowers and visited with her a few times, all on the up and up.” His face was getting red.

  “I’ve heard you did more than that.”

  “Lies! All lies!” Mowbray choked out. “The chit’s . . . innocent! Never . . . touched her!”

  Grim elation filled Daniel. He knew Eliza would never have done such things. He gave the man a shake and let him go.

  “Why then?”

  Mowbray retreated several steps, coughed, and straightened his waistcoat. “Look, it was just a lark. She did nothing with me. My name has been bandied about, and I didn’t mind. But if you’re of a mind to call me out, that’s more bother than the whole thing is worth.”

  Daniel glowered, opened and squeezed closed his fists, and let silence linger. Mowbray fidgeted with his gloves.

  He gave a sigh. “It’s all a lie, at least on my end. Nothing actually happened. But I can’t speak for any of the other men whose names have been connected with hers.”

  “Who is the orchestrator of this?”

  “Lord Crewkerne, of course. He wants the girl.” Mowbray smoothed his hair and straightened his neckcloth. “Knew he couldn’t get her, not without ridding himself of a wife, and not while Miss Moore was a lady with reputation and protection.”

  Daniel gritted his teeth. “So he arranged for her reputation to be besmirched and her protection lost.”

  Mowbray shifted eyes and feet—confirmation enough.

  Daniel ground his teeth. “So she is with Lord Crewkerne?”

  “No, that’s the curious thing. She escaped him, and he has no idea where she is. Been scouring the city since. Else, he didn’t know where she was two weeks ago, last time I spoke with him. No idea where she got herself. Now that you know all the truth I’m a possessor of, I do think you should be leaving. Good day, sir.”

  Daniel wouldn’t be dismissed. “And what was your reason to go along with this appalling endeavor?”

  “I owed Crewkerne a debt. It seemed a harmless enough way to repay.”

  “Not harmless at all. I say you are no gentleman. You are a liar and a destroyer of innocents. I will be spreading the news of your culpability in this sordid affair. Pray that I find Miss Moore whole and well, Mowbray, else be looking over your shoulder. I will be coming after you with a horsewhip.”

  * * *

  The butler claimed the Earl of Crewkerne was not at home. Daniel contemplated strong-arming himself into the man’s townhouse, but it was late in the evening, and Daniel might find him at any of the numerous haunts of the elite during the Season. He left a card, and found a lad willing to watch the entrance for him for a few coins.

  Daniel began his search at Whites. Then he inquired at Brooks, Watiers, and several other clubs, should the earl prove to be a member. He remained elusive. Soon, all patrons of London’s gentlemen’s clubs and gambling hells knew Captain Lord Daniel Ashton was looking for the Earl of Crewkerne.

  Chapter 7

  One month before April 24, 1817

  Eliza stiffened her spine as she faced the sea of grim-faced older gentlemen. The governors’ committee was populated entirely of men. She swallowed back nervous bile that rose in her throat and kept her eyes on the tabletop that spread before this gathering of philanthropic nobility and gentry.

  She recognized the president, the sharp-nosed Earl of Radnor, his face lined and lips pressed together as he focused on her from under his powdered wig. He had been gracious enough when her grandmother had introduced him to her during Eliza’s first Season, but that had been a lifetime ago. Eliza had been a different person living in a different world.

  “Most irregular,” a gentleman muttered.

  “Quite against policy,” said another she did not recognize.

  “Very well, my dear,” the earl said as he sat forward. “As you are here, please tell us your story. How did you come to be seeking refuge at the Magdalen House?”

  She told them, keeping it bare and as unemotional as possible. She had recited the tale so often now—to the matron, to Mr. Prince, to the treasurer—it was beginning to feel rote.

  “Crewkerne, that blackguard,” the Duke of Northumberland grumbled with a sour expression. His skin hung from his thin frame in an unhealthy way, his large nose twitched under his spectacles, a wrapped, gouty foot thrust out before him, cradled by the V of a rocking gout-stool. “Your grandmother is rolling in her grave, girl,” he said in a louder voice.

  She had no answer for that except an involuntary nod. Yes, the Duchess of Lyonston would be appalled at how her last known descendant had fallen.

  “But I vote the girl be allowed to stay. To honor at least that much of the duchess’s memory.”

  Lord Radnor sighed. “Have your cousins—the Boughtons, was it?—been contacted since you entered the home?”

  “No, but they were final in their dismissal of me. I will find no quarter there.”

  “Is there no better place?” One of the gentlemen she did not recognize spoke out. “We’re giving a lady the training to go into service.”

  A heated discussion broke out among the committee: pros and cons and disagreements.

  Eliza tightened her clasped hands. She hoped, fervently, that they wouldn’t throw her out onto the street again.

  “Enough,” Lord Radnor called. “I move that Eliza Moore be given a place in the Magdalen Hospital until a more suitable arrangement can be made for her. Are we in agreement?”

  “Aye,” the Duke of Northumberland rumbled.

  Other ‘ayes’ joined him, more than the ‘nays’ of grumbling detractors.

  “There we are, my dear. For now, welcome to the Home.” Lord Radnor sat back.

  Relief flowed through her. She pulled in a breath and curtseyed, deep and low, to them. “I thank you, my Lord President, your grace, my lords, gentlemen.”

  A few looks of approval from this bolstered her courage further. “Good sirs, I ask . . . it would be a great favor to me . . . if you would keep my presence here a secret from society. Please.”

  “Yes, we will be discreet.” Lord Radnor nodded.

 
“Of course, my dear.” Northumberland shifted in his seat with a look of discomfort. “The busybodies will not hear of it from us. Nor any others.”

  When finally dismissed, she left the room on shaking legs. She was safe.

  Chapter 8

  Two weeks till April 24, 1817

  During rehearsal with the Magdalen choir in their screened choir loft, Miss Dowding the organist struck a discordant note, stood abruptly, her face green, and said, “If you will excuse me!”

  She rushed from the loft. An assistant matron hurried after her. The young women around Eliza whispered excitedly.

  Long minutes stretched as the Magdalens fidgeted. Assistant matrons shushed them, encouraging reverence in the chapel.

  The chaplain Mr. Prince bustled in, his kindly eyes concerned. He looked over them in their seats. His gaze landed on Eliza.

  “Eliza, if you’ll come speak with me?”

  She started. “Of course, sir.”

  She rose and followed his comfortable bulk as he walked out through the door of the screened area of the upper mezzanine into the open portion of the octagonal chapel.

  The noise of the gossiping Magdalens rose behind them.

  The chapel pews before and below were empty, but just the idea that the paying public was in this space regularly made Eliza feel uncomfortably exposed outside of the obscuring screen.

  He turned and spoke to her in a low voice. “Miss Dowling is feeling quite poorly and won’t be returning today.”

  Eliza nodded.

  “I recall you are a talented musician. Skilled at the pianoforte, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you any training on the organ?”

  “I have.” Eliza’s stomach tightened.

  “Oh, good. As you know, the anniversary meeting of the governors is coming up in two weeks, and I’m afraid our choir is not yet prepared for their performance. With the new music they’ll be singing, they need all the practice time they have been scheduled for. Miss Smith can assist by directing the practices, but she does not play the organ. Will you take Miss Dowding’s place as she recovers?”

  Eliza clenched her hands in front of her. While no one had spoken openly about her being a gentlewoman, she felt the distance between her and the other Magdalens. She was different; she was educated; she spoke with cultured accents. Her reserve of nature made the separation more acute. With the addition of her appearing suddenly without going through the normal admission process, many of the girls looked at her with suspicion. Playing the organ would distance her even more.

  It could not be helped. She owed Mr. Prince and Mrs. Wiggins the head matron a debt of gratitude for giving her sanctuary against regulations and providing her with a safe refuge. Playing the organ for them would be the least she could do. She gave her assent.

  She followed Mr. Prince back behind the screen and approached the organ’s bench. As he announced to the other inmates that Miss Dowding was feeling poorly and Eliza would take her place, she rested her hands on the multileveled keyboard, and reviewed the knobs and stops. She scanned the sheet music of the hymn they had been rehearsing when Miss Dowding fell ill.

  A thrill went through Eliza. She would be able to play again. Only a few weeks’ abstinence had left her hands aching to create music even more than they ached from the unaccustomed labor the Magdalens performed.

  The organist was screened with the choir. If Miss Dowding remained ill even through Sunday, Eliza would stay safe from the eyes of paying visitors during the open Sunday evening chapel services.

  Chapter 9

  Two days before April 24, 1817

  Daniel slapped his gloves against his leg and shifted his weight again. He had come early for morning calls, and it appeared the ladies of the household were not dressed and home to visitors yet. He’d presented his card, corner turned down, to the butler and insisted he’d wait.

  He ought to have come later, but he couldn’t stand to sit at home cooling his heels just to wait on fashionable visiting hours.

  First thing this morning he’d gone down to Bowstreet and hired a runner to try to locate Miss Moore. The man would focus on the seedier parts of town.

  Daniel wished his friend Thomas was here to lend his ingenuity and charm to the situation, but even without his help, if there was one thing that Daniel was, it was doggedly determined. He would find her, God willing, and he prayed it would not be as a corpse.

  Had she turned to prostitution to survive? The thought made his stomach clench. But if she was still alive, he would pull her from any gutter he found her in.

  But would she not accept Lord Crewkerne’s advances over a brothel? Was she out of London? Did she flee to some friends unknown? He clung to the hope that she was safe and well somewhere.

  “Lord Daniel Ashton! I do not believe we have been introduced.” A shrewd-eyed middle-aged woman advanced into the room, a smile curving her mouth up. She offered her hand.

  Daniel bowed over it. “Forgive me, ma’am, for my presumption, we have not. Captain Lord Daniel Ashton, at your service.”

  “You are most welcome, Lord Daniel. You are of the Kentworth Ashtons, I believe?”

  “Yes, ma’am, the marquess is my brother.”

  “I am so pleased to meet you. What brings you to our humble home?”

  The sound of scurrying feet had Daniel turning his head toward the doorway. Two young women collided with each other just outside the sitting room door. The taller, and by her actions, the younger, giggled while the elder and slighter gave her a scathing look. The girls patted ringlets, straightened their dresses, and entered the room with dignity restored. The elder, a pretty blue-eyed blonde, affected a look of haughty boredom. The younger, a spotty, reed-thin brunette, eyed him with fresh-faced excitement in her blue eyes.

  He had roused the household. He grimaced internally.

  “May I present to you my daughters, Lord Daniel? Miss Broughton and Miss Margaret Broughton.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he lied with a bow.

  They curtsied.

  “The pleasure is all ours, Lord Daniel,” the blonde Miss Broughton simpered. She was half a head shorter than her younger sister and had a classic peaches and cream English complexion.

  “Won’t you please sit down, my lord?” the mother said. She shared the blue eyes of her daughters, but with an icy calculation that put Daniel at his guard.

  “If you’ll forgive me, madame, but I would like to speak to you about a matter of some delicacy. Could I be so bold as to request to do so in private?”

  She raised her brows. “If my husband were home. But he is off doing his Parliamentary duties already today. He is newly elected to the House of Commons, you understand, and has been appointed to several important committees. I do think it best to give a good example to my girls and not meet with gentlemen unaccompanied. Unless you would like to wait and speak to me with my husband returned and present?”

  Daniel blinked. “I see, well, I would be happy to speak to Mr. Broughton as well, but as my errand is a matter of urgency, I will approach you with it in any way that you request.”

  “Do sit down.” She indicated a chair.

  The ladies arranged themselves around him. The daughters sat across from Daniel’s chair on a settee. Mrs. Broughton took a seat across and to the left.

  Daniel sat in the chair as she’d directed. “Mrs. Broughton, I have come to inquire if you know the whereabouts of your cousin, Miss Eliza Moore.”

  Miss Margaret Broughton squeaked, and both girls gave their mother wide-eyed looks.

  The woman’s face darkened. “That name is not welcome to be spoken in this house, my lord. We do not acknowledge that person.”

  “I see. She was staying with your family a mere month ago, however, was she not?”

  “I have nothing to say on the matter.”

  “It appears she has not been seen nor heard from for over a month? Before she became unwelcome in your home, she was under
your care, was she not?”

  “She is of age, and we do not accept behavior such as hers under this roof. Are you one of her ‘gentlemen’, my lord? If you are, then you also are not welcome.”

  “No, madame, last month I was on the Continent with the army of occupation. I have not been involved with Miss Moore. But she was a friend. I’m dismayed at the things I’m hearing of her, and even more dismayed that she was thrown onto the street. I care for her welfare and seek her whereabouts. Do you know where she is?”

  “I do not! And I do not wish to know. She is removed from our lives like the trash she is.”

  “The granddaughter of the Duke of Lyonston is not trash, madame, and I am offended that you say so.” His voice was quiet. “What do you base your accusations on? Rumor and salacious gossip?”

  The girls had gone white and watched with wide eyes.

  “I will not speak of such things in front of my daughters.”

  “I did suggest we discuss this in private, madame.”

  “She kissed a married man! She was alone with him!” The eldest spoke up.

  “Who?”

  “Lord Crewkerne.”

  “But she didn’t know he was married,” the younger said with an earnest expression. “She said it over and over, afterwards. She thought he was courting her!”

  “Margaret, hush. She should never have allowed such liberties!” the blonde Miss Broughton said. “And to be alone with a gentleman!”

  “A kiss. She is thrown out, left destitute, for a kiss?” Daniel’s hands tightened on his knees.

  “No, it is much more than that,” Mrs. Broughton said.

  “I have heard the rumors, Madame, but I put no stock in them. They are too much by half. In fact, I do believe they were fabricated. Had you thought of that?” He watched her face closely.

  It closed, her mouth tight. Her eyes shifted. “All rumors have a basis in fact.”

  “Do they?”