by Louise Allen
‘He will withdraw his consent?’ Phyllida dropped her gloves in agitation.
‘He hasn’t gone that far. I think if you stay in London and scotch the rumours of pregnancy and Clere continues to pay court to you in a respectable manner, that might set his mind at rest.’ Gregory’s normally cheerful countenance was set in an unfamiliar expression of resolve. ‘If he does forbid it, then Harriet and I will elope.’
‘What? Gregory, no! Her father will cut her off, you’d be penniless.’
‘I’d manage and Harriet is willing, she says so in this note. We love each other.’
‘Gregory, no, you must not do anything so rash. I will lay this scandal to rest, I swear. Now promise me you will do nothing irregular.’
He shrugged. ‘Not unless I have to.’
To Phyllida’s relief Ashe was prompt, although she was too agitated to admire the handsome curricle he was driving.
‘We must talk,’ he said as he drove up the hill of St James’s Street towards Piccadilly.
‘We are talking.’ Her stomach dipped in apprehension.
‘I do not mean social chit-chat. Where can we avoid the crowds?’
‘Cross the Serpentine. I will point out the less-frequented routes where we will still be visible. And I agree, we need to talk. Urgently.’
He did not reply and she glanced sideways at his profile, very aware of the groom perched up behind them.
‘Harris, you may get down here and wait.’ Ashe drew up just inside the gate, waited for the man to descend from his perch and then urged the pair into a smart trot. ‘Now then, how are you feeling?’
‘Confused,’ Phyllida said with a snap. ‘Anxious.’
‘I mean in the aftermath of the fish.’
‘Perfectly fine, thank you. And my nerves have just about recovered from that outrageous play-acting at Mrs Lawrence’s party. I have persuaded my brother not to call you out, but I am worried—his future in-laws are taking this very seriously. Mr Millington has dredged up the scandal with our parents and, forgive me, has even referred to your own family’s unconventional background.’
‘Hell.’ She glanced sideways and saw his mouth was a thin line. Then he smiled at her. ‘I am delighted that Lord Fransham is prepared to stay his hand. One hardly wishes to meet one’s future brother-in-law in a cold field at the crack of dawn.’
‘What?’ Phyllida almost dropped her furled parasol. ‘We need to behave like indifferent acquaintances until people believe there is nothing between us and I must stay very visible until it is obvious that there is no question of my being with child, but there is absolutely no need for you to marry me.’
‘Smile,’ Ashe said, reining the pair back to a walk. ‘Someone you know is approaching, I think.’
‘Lady Hoskins.’ Phyllida produced an amiable expression and kept it steady under the stares of Lady Hoskins, her son and daughter. ‘What a lovely day, is it not?’ Once they were out of earshot she said, ‘This is so embarrassing.’
‘They will all get used to me courting you,’ Ashe said calmly, looping his reins as they turned to cross the bridge.
‘My lord… Ashe, stop this.’ He reined in and turned to her, one eyebrow raised.
‘I do not mean the carriage! I mean this nonsense about marriage. You know perfectly well that I am a completely unsuitable wife for you.’
‘I compromised you. You know it, I know it and Lady Castlebridge knows it.’
‘And the fact that I do not wish to marry you, you do not wish to marry me and your father must be tearing his hair out at the thought of me as a daughter-in-law means nothing to you?’
‘It is a matter of honour. My family is in absolute agreement with me. And nothing would calm the Millingtons’ nerves more than the assurance their daughter will be related by marriage to a marquess.’ He sounded quite calm about the whole thing.
Phyllida wondered distractedly if this was actually a nightmare, one of those frustration dreams where the dreamer is thwarted at every turn and with the added torment of wanting to do exactly what he said and knowing she should not.
‘Arguing with you is like trying to reason with a cat,’ she said in exasperation. ‘You just sit there, calm as you please, licking your whiskers and purring to yourself and not attending to a word I say.’
‘Licking my whiskers?’ At least he sounded taken aback.
‘You know what I mean. And if you are so determined to marry me, why did you not appear on the doorstep with a special licence in hand?’
‘And confirm the scandal? Have everyone watching your figure for months in expectation of a seven-month baby? With a leisurely courtship honour is satisfied, your reputation is unharmed and society will simply conclude that the incident at the inn brought us together and roused my interest in you.’
‘Your honour may be satisfied, Ashe Herriard, but what about mine? Do you think a woman enjoys knowing she has entrapped a man, however unwittingly?’
‘Nonsense. You were so far from entrapping me that you refused all my persuasions to become my lover.’
‘Really?’ Perhaps insult would convince him how insane this scheme was. She could hardly tell him why she could never marry any man. ‘I hardly felt over-persuaded—you had not even begun on the inducements. Where were the offers of jewels and gowns and a luxurious apartment that I gather are a standard part of the negotiations? Or did you think that we could meet in the rooms over the shop and save money?’
Ashe flicked a rein and the pair began to walk on. ‘If I had thought you were a woman who could be swayed by mercenary considerations, I would have raised the subject immediately.’
‘So you thought your kisses were enough, did you?’
‘I had hopes that you did not find me entirely repellent,’ he admitted. ‘I cannot imagine what gave me that impression,’ he said mournfully.
Wretch. ‘I do not, and you know it, so you may stop play-acting,’ she said, smiling despite everything. ‘Why I like you I cannot imagine. You order me about, organise my life, attempt to seduce me—’
‘No,’ Ashe interrupted. ‘Never that. I tried to persuade you. Seduction involves bedazzling someone until they do something against their better judgement.’
‘So, you would not seduce me into becoming your mistress, but you will compel me to become your wife? It is a fine distinction I do not understand.’
He reined in again and this time shifted on the seat so he was three-quarters turned to her. His eyes were hooded and intense as he studied her face. ‘What will compel you is your understanding of what society requires and your need to protect your brother’s engagement to Miss Millington from scandal.’
‘And what of the many reasons against you marrying me?’ Phyllida half-expected him to deny that her birth, her unconventional way of earning her living, her lack of influence or wealth mattered. She would not believe him, of course, but it would be soothing to her pride and that was very much in need of something to heal it.
‘I put them in the balance against what honour demands and the scale tips most definitely to marriage,’ Ashe said with flattening honesty. That was one thing she could never hold against him, he had always been truthful with her.
Honesty or deceit. There was one way out of this, a way that would safeguard Gregory until his marriage was concluded and save her reputation. She could lie to Ashe, pretend that she agreed, allow the courtship to progress and then jilt him. Society would doubtless agree that it would be a lucky escape for him.
‘I see,’ Phyllida said slowly as she turned the idea over in her mind, trying to see beyond her instinctive feeling that this was a dishonourable thing to do. But if it saved Ashe from an unsuitable marriage, freed him to make a match that was everything his duty to his family demanded, then where was the dishonour in that? And she was hardly living a life of open, honest virtue now—she deceived the ton every day of the week.
‘Very well,’ she said with a show of reluctant capitulation. ‘How do you propose we carry out this
courtship?’
‘As publically as possible.’ He did not sound rapturous over her surrender, but then, what did she expect?
‘In that case, in the interests of openness, I suggest you drive back towards the more populated parts of the park. How long do you suggest we should wait before you are overcome with a passionate, if unwise, desire to marry me?’
‘Four weeks?’
‘Four weeks it is.’ The Millingtons, she knew, had been happy to have Harriet marry Gregory fairly shortly after their betrothal was announced. She had four weeks of simulating a growing love. Then there would be a few weeks after she ‘accepted’ Ashe, during which time Gregory would be married and then she could develop cold feet, or a nervous collapse or some other excuse for quietly breaking it all off.
Four weeks in the company of a man she was perilously close to wanting to make her own, a few weeks of pretending to be a happily engaged bride-to-be. She could not bring herself to look beyond that.
Phyllida was not happy and he did not trust her capitulation. Ashe turned the curricle and tooled it back over the bridge and along the now-crowded Rotten Row.
He was getting the same prickling between the shoulder blades that he had come to recognise as a diplomat when someone was lying to him with skill and conviction and yet he knew, deep inside, that it was a front.
She had accepted him and she was planning something. Probably to jilt him as soon as she felt safe to do so, Ashe thought with a grim twist of his lips. That would solve the problem of her unsuitability, but his pride rebelled at such a reprieve. Or was it simply pride and would it be so much of a reprieve? He glanced across at Phyllida’s profile. She was smiling slightly, her eyes darting from side to side, her hand lifting every now and again to greet acquaintances, acknowledge other waves.
Why had he not noticed before that her nose was very slightly upturned at the end or that her lashes were really ridiculously long? Probably because he had been focusing on her mouth with the intent of kissing it, he acknowledged.
‘What are you staring at?’ she asked. ‘Have I a dirty spot on my face or is my hair escaping?’
‘I was admiring your eyelashes,’ Ashe admitted. She turned and laughed and something inside twisted with a kind of pleasurable discomfort. Ridiculous, to be so captivated by a laugh, especially when he strongly suspected Phyllida was laughing at him. Yes, it would hurt more than his pride if he allowed her to escape his net, he realised. ‘They are very long.’
‘So are yours.’ She studied him openly for a moment before turning back to watching the crowd. ‘But yours are darker than mine, which is unfair. Ashe, when you were dressed as an Indian at the warehouse, had you put something on them?’
‘Kohl,’ he admitted. ‘You can have it if you like, I doubt I’ll need it again in this country. When I was at my great-uncle’s court I found it handy on the occasions I wanted to pass unnoticed as an Indian on diplomatic missions.’
‘Was it dangerous, that work?’
‘Sometimes.’ He had the thin knife scar over his ribs and the nick out of his collarbone to prove it.
‘Will you be going back to Eldonstone Hall soon?’ Phyllida asked after a moment, as though that was a logical continuation to his answer. He supposed it was, if she was wondering how he intended to fill his time now without the stimulus of intrigue and danger.
‘Perhaps, for the odd day or so. But I will need to be here, courting you, don’t forget.’
‘What about the unsorted objects? I do not think I had better go there again, not until our betrothal is announced.’ Then she answered herself before he could reply. ‘Have Perrott pack up all the items we weeded out and any more of the indecent objects and paintings that he discovers and send them to London. I can assign them to the right dealers and auction houses for you in my guise as Madame Deaucourt. That will at least save your mother and sister the worst of it when they visit.’
Thinking about her work had meant she had relaxed in his company again, Ashe realised. ‘Thank you, I will do that.’
He watched as she greeted some more acquaintances. Ambivalent as her position might be, Phyllida knew everyone who was anyone in society and knew, too, how to navigate its shoals and rapids. It made him think of the less pleasant social obligations. ‘I have been taking dancing lessons,’ he admitted. ‘It was rather worse than learning Persian, but I think I have the waltz under control now, as well as the others, so will you dance with me?’
‘That was very fast,’ she exclaimed. ‘Or did you dance in India? Of course you will have done, English society in Calcutta must have had regular dances.’
‘I usually managed to avoid them, although I could stumble through a cotillion and the country dances if I had to,’ Ashe admitted. ‘But I learned to dance at court in Kalatwah.’
‘Will you show me?’ Her eyes were wide, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she turned to him, full of interest.
‘In India men dance with men and not for a female audience.’
‘Oh.’ She sent him a sliding, sideways look full of speculation. ‘You must not demonstrate for me, then? It would be improper?’
‘Very improper. So, not until we are married.’ She had not answered his question. ‘Will you waltz with me?’
‘I have not been approved by the patronesses,’ Phyllida said and the laughter vanished from her eyes.
‘You aren’t approved by them for anything,’ Ashe countered. ‘Why should you care about this? If they won’t let you into their stuffy club, one more infraction will not make any difference.’
‘True.’ Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. ‘But everyone knows I do not dance.’
‘Dance with me and they will see you have changed your mind. You know you want to—you enjoy it, don’t you?’
‘You could tell? Oh, yes, so much. But then gentlemen started getting warned off by their mothers in case they forgot my situation. So I stopped.’
He imagined the subtle snubs, the gradual realisation that this was happening. Or perhaps it had been sharp, like a slap in the face. Now if anyone tried to wound Phyllida in his presence, he would call them to account for it. His conscience jabbed at him. So he was the only one to be allowed to hurt her then, forcing her to do what she did not want?
‘There is Lady Castlebridge,’ Phyllida said, her voice tight.
‘Excellent.’ Ashe began to rein in, ignoring Phyllida’s hand closing hard on his left forearm.
‘I don’t want to talk to her,’ she hissed.
‘Oh, but I do.’ The curricle came to a halt beside the open carriage Lady Castlebridge was occupying with three other ladies of a similar age. ‘Lady Castlebridge, good day to you. Ladies.’ He gave them the look that Sara described, amidst giggles, as his seducer’s smoulder and they fluttered their plumage a little and smiled back.
‘Miss Hurst, fancy seeing you with his lordship. Are you quite well now?’ Lady Castlebridge asked, her eyes narrowed on Phyllida’s face.
‘I believe Miss Hurst feels better for the fresh air,’ Ashe said before Phyllida could reply. ‘I was just congratulating myself on the very mischance that led us to meet,’ he added. ‘It is probably most ungentlemanly of me to be grateful that a lady was indisposed, but I suspect that she would not have agreed to accompany me to try out my new curricle if had not been for that chance encounter at the inn.’
Four sets of feminine eyebrows arched upwards. Phyllida’s unobtrusive grip on his arm developed claws. ‘I certainly realised you were a safe pair of hands, my lord,’ she said demurely.
Ashe bit the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself laughing. ‘Good day, ladies.’ He raised his whip in salute and drove on. ‘For goodness’ sake, Phyllida, you almost had me losing my countenance then. I think we had better be seen with my mother as chaperon as soon as possible.’
‘Hmm.’
It was one syllable that held a wealth of meaning. ‘You do not want to meet her? You must, soon.’
‘Yes, of course. I am
sure she is delightful, but she will not welcome me as a prospective daughter-in-law, will she?’
‘If she likes you, she will accept you whether you are a duke’s daughter or a flower seller,’ Ashe said with perfect truth. As soon as he said it he spotted the danger. The corollary was, of course, that if Anusha Herriard decided that Phyllida was wrong for her son then she would move heaven and earth to stop the match and the woman beside him was quite sharp enough to realise that. ‘And it is no use you play-acting in order to give her a disgust of you. She has seen you and heard enough about you to see through that.’
‘I have told you, my lord, I am resigned to my fate,’ she said as sweetly and meekly as she had addressed the carriage full of ladies.
And I trust you no more than I do Lucifer, Ashe thought. He would just have to give Miss Hurst something to think about besides plotting to get rid of him.
They conversed with excruciating politeness all the way back across the park to pick up Ashe’s groom, then on even blander topics on the drive back to Great Ryder Street.
At a word from Ashe the groom jumped down and went to the horses’ heads and he dismounted himself to hand Phyllida out of the curricle. She was relaxed, he saw, confident now that she had arrived home unscathed, probably pleased with the little barbs she had slid under his skin.
He escorted her up the steps, then took her hand and raised it to his lips. That was unconventional enough behaviour these days, he knew, but she accepted it readily enough after a quick glance to ensure that his body hid what he was doing from the almost-deserted street.
Phyllida was wearing short kid gloves. It was the work of a moment to roll the one he was holding down her hand until her palm was exposed to the sweep of his tongue, slow, insinuating, deliberately lascivious.
‘Ashe.’ She froze, her hand rigid in his, the scent of the jasmine water she had dabbed on the pulse point of her wrist filling his senses as he sucked the swell at the base of her thumb right into his mouth.
