‘Nothing changes,’ she sighed. ‘From the first time I met James, I noticed the two of them could not keep their hands off one another. Always slapping, hugging and wrestling.’
‘Yes, well, we do have a bit of catching up to do, my dear,’ replied her husband, his head tucked firmly under his older brother’s armpit. The two men both grinned like naughty schoolboys. The joy of being reunited with his younger sibling shone brightly in Lord Ashton’s eyes.
Millie had a sudden vision of two little boys running wild through the fields of Kent, laughing as they went. Her father had related many stories of his joy-filled childhood at Ashton Park to Millie and Charles as they grew up.
Years later, when they were grown and the Ashton estate was facing financial ruin, her father had travelled to the other side of the world to restore the family fortune, leaving both his brother and England behind.
Lord Ashton released James and turned his attention to Violet. Pulling her into his arms, he gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. ‘I am so glad to have you home, my lovely sister; you spent too many years away from us, too many.’
Hot tears stung Millie’s eyes as she watched her uncle hold her mother as if he would never let her go.
Until recently, Lord Oscar Ashton had been merely a name on a treasured letter from a far-off land, but here and now, he was all too real. All flesh and human emotion, wrapped up in the spitting image of her father.
She felt the gentle pressure of her aunt’s hand on her upper arm and turned to see Lady Ashton gulping down air as she vainly attempted to stifle her own tears.
During the blissful, ignorant years of her young life, Millie had never understood that her parents had been painfully separated from their families. Although India was her home, for James and Violet their time on the subcontinent had been twenty years of sacrifice and longing.
Now, thanks to her father’s endeavours and skilful management, the family had made enough capital to return to England and re-establish themselves at the pinnacle of London society.
Millie drew a handkerchief from within her gown and dabbed at her tears.
‘To think I wailed over leaving my horse behind. What a dreadful, selfish daughter I am. I should be happy that my parents have finally come home, yet all I can think of is my own miserable self.’
Her aunt put a comforting arm around her.
‘My dear girl, you have nothing to be ashamed of; don’t be too hasty to punish yourself. Your mother tells me your first week has been a bit of a trial. We all have to remember that England is a foreign country to you, Millie, so none of us should expect you to settle in here straight away. Your parents might have returned home, but now you are the one who has left her homeland behind and begun a life abroad.’
‘Thank you,’ Millie replied, finding a smile for her aunt. ‘You are kind.’
Lady Ashton’s failure to provide her husband with an heir must have been a painful humiliation for her. Yet, from the moment James and Violet had arrived back in England, she had done everything to make them and their children feel welcome.
She gave Millie a hug. ‘Nonsense; that is what family is for, my dear. If you need an ear to bend with your problems, I would be more than happy to lend you mine. It’s hard to be an outsider in the ton if you are not born into it. Now, dry your eyes; I want to show you and your mother how beautiful the ballroom looks before the rest of the guests arrive.’
An hour or so later, Millie stood alone to one side of the crowded ballroom reflecting upon her aunt’s words. As the other guests huddled in small, intimate groups, she felt the sting of being a true outsider.
Earlier, she had made several turns of the elegant ballroom with Charles, both smiling with pride as the other guests admired the beautiful silk wall hangings their father had brought back from India for his brother. The four large multi-coloured panels were hung on the walls in pairs on either side of the French doors at the rear of the ballroom, affording a full view of them from the top of the staircase.
‘They will serve as a constant reminder of where the Ashton family’s salvation came from, when it came so very close to the edge of ruin,’ her father had said when he commissioned the works from the local weavers in Calcutta. Now, as she stood looking at her favourite panel, which depicted a view of the Hooghly River from Fort William, it occurred to her that the silks were a visual representation of all that her parents had sacrificed.
When their uncle came and dragged Charles off to meet his friends, Millie declined the invitation to join them, preferring to spend some time on her own. Considering that apart from the Ashton family she knew no one else in the whole of London, this was an easy feat.
‘What a crush; I didn’t think there would be this many families in town at this time of the year,’ observed a young, fair-haired woman who stopped at her side. ‘Though I ought not to complain; at least it keeps me from Lord Ashton’s supper table. My mother says if she sees me near it once more this evening she will have my lips sewn together.’
Millie turned and after taking in the petite pink roses on the bodice of the slender girl’s muslin gown, gave her a wan smile. After the miserable morning she had endured, another figure-obsessed miss was last on the list of things she needed.
A spark of mischief glinted in the other girl’s eye.
‘Of course, if you and I just happen to be deep in conversation and stroll slowly by the said table of delights and I lose one of my slippers and . . .’
‘Your hand reaches out to the table to steady yourself,’ replied Millie, quick on the uptake.
‘At which point, my hand accidentally touches one of those delicious apple-and-cinnamon tarts . . .’
‘Then you could only be held to acclaim for your good manners. Since you had touched the food, you could hardly leave it on the table for another guest to eat.’
The other girl giggled, before painting a determined, serious look on her face. She took hold of Millie’s hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
‘You know you are right, absolutely right,’ she replied. A grin threatened at the corner of her mouth, but to Millie’s delight, her new acquaintance managed to keep it valiantly at bay.
‘It would be saving my family from the most outrageous of scandals. Why, I should receive a standing ovation the moment that tart touches my lips.’
Millie closed her eyes and sagely nodded.
‘I should think a medal would be struck in your honour; my uncle would see to it. For eating that one tart, whilst saving your good self from falling, was truly a feat of wonder, and it should not go unrewarded.’
A snicker escaped the other girl’s lips, followed by the most unladylike of snorts.
Both girls bent their heads and tried to capture their laughter in their hands.
Millie let out a sigh of relief. Real girls did exist in London society.
‘Lucy Radley,’ said her new friend, her pale-green eyes sparkling with tears of mirth. She extended her hand with all the elegance of a queen.
‘Millie Ashton,’ Millie replied, dropping into a curtsy.
As she rose, she saw the smile had disappeared from Lucy’s face.
‘Ashton, as in Lord Ashton’s niece?’
Millie nodded.
‘Oh, no. How embarrassing. You are one of the guests of honour and here I am telling you how to steal food from your uncle’s table. You must think me the height of rudeness; I am so terribly sorry,’ Lucy said, as a patches of red appeared on her cheeks.
Millie took the opportunity to make a thorough study of her evening gloves. If she was ever going to see what sort of girl Lucy truly was, now was the time.
‘I am sorry, but your apology is simply not good enough, you shall have to be punished for such a grave transgression,’ she replied haughtily.
‘Yes?’
Millie raised her eyes and with a grave look worthy of an Old Bailey judge, she passed sentence.
‘I am afraid there is nothing else for it, the sentence must match
the severity of the crime. Lucy, you shall have to become my new best friend.’
A look of relief crossed Lucy’s face, followed swiftly by a well-executed expression of feigned horror.
‘It was only a tart, I had no idea the punishment would be so harsh. Couldn’t you just transport me to the colonies?’ she replied.
Millie laughed; her instincts about Lucy had been spot on. They were meant for each other.
‘Now, let us visit that supper table,’ commanded Millie, rubbing her hands together with glee. She had just made her first friend in England and it was time to celebrate.
Lucy gave her a short bow and waved toward the table. ‘Lead on.’
Later, after polishing off several of the delicacies gracing Lord Ashton’s table, including two of the apple-and-cinnamon tarts, Millie and Lucy retreated to a far corner of the ballroom.
Fortunately, they managed to find an empty space near some open doors and sought refuge from the heated crush. Millie had expected a few people to be interested in meeting her family due to her father’s position at the East India Company, but the three hundred or so guests crowded into the ballroom left her stunned. The room itself was lost in a sea of bodies and humming conversations.
‘I have never seen so many people in one room,’ said Millie. Then turning, she pointed her face toward the doorway and allowed a cold breeze to ruffle her hair. She shivered. After a lifetime of the heat of the subcontinent, the English winter would forever be a novelty to her.
‘The weather was always too hot and steamy to have this sort of number at a social gathering in India. Without room to fan themselves in the heat, ladies would simply have fainted dead away.’
‘Now, that would make for an interesting evening, though it might stop your aunt and uncle’s guests from ever returning to Ashton House,’ Lucy replied.
Millie nodded her head. ‘Yes, well, from my short time in London, there are few people I would like to meet for a second time. Present company excluded, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy replied with a smile.
Millie watched as Lucy’s gaze now drifted from her and tracked slowly across the room. Lucy rose up on her toes and attempted to peer over the heads of the other guests.
‘Who?’ Millie enquired.
‘Who, what?’ Lucy replied, as her gaze continued to roam the room.
‘Who or what are you looking for?’
The thought that her new-found friend might have already tired of her company crossed Millie’s mind. Perhaps her instincts about Lucy had been wrong. After a week of bitter disappointment in the land of her heritage, the thought of being unceremoniously abandoned in the middle of a party was too much to bear.
‘If you have someone else with whom you have made a prior arrangement, I shall understand. I did attach myself to you without notice,’ she added.
Lucy turned, and with a reassuring smile on her face, shook her head.
‘I’m not going anywhere without you, sweet Millie, so there is no need for you to be alarmed. I am simply looking for my brothers. They’re supposed to be attending this evening’s festivities and as usual they are late. I am eager to introduce you to them. David is wickedly amusing, and Alex is just . . .’
‘Just what?’ Millie replied.
Lucy screwed up her nose. ‘Well, let me put it this way: all the girls are in love with him, and all the boys wish they were him. If he weren’t my brother, I am certain my father would have him at the top of the list of suitable husbands for me.’ She screwed up her nose once more. Alex’s magical spell clearly had little effect on his sister.
Millie wondered how long it would be before her own parents started talking to her about finding a husband. Charles had to marry soon; it was expected of the future Viscount, but she prayed she would be allowed a little time before the question of marriage was raised for her.
She hoped that before then she would have found a way to return to India.
She was still struggling daily to convince her mother that she was too old for a debutante season. That at least kept the subject of marriage at bay. With any luck she would be able to persuade her mother that the notion of a twenty-year-old debutante was ridiculous and she would be spared that particular form of public humiliation. The idea of being presented to London society alongside a group of rake-thin, young debutantes made her feel ill. With her curvaceous figure, she could not possibly compete with any of them for the eye of an eligible bachelor.
No matter what her mother said, Millie held grave doubts about her chances of making a love match. How many times this week had she heard that English gentlemen only liked slim-figured girls, no curves, no breasts? Of course, once the ton discovered that thanks to her father’s efforts abroad, she now came with a sizeable dowry, her stakes in the marriage market would lift significantly.
Every fortune-hunter in the country would find her a delight. They would overlook her many faults until she finally relented and selected one of them as her husband. She would then be free to spend the rest of her life regretting her decision while her spouse frittered away her fortune and shared his nights with someone else.
She knew the same fate might well await her back in India, but at least she would be home – and far away from England.
Leaving her brother behind would be the hardest part, but she had come to realise that she did not belong in England and never would. It would be best if she went home and did not remain to embarrass him.
A recent visit to the tailor on Bond Street had resulted in a daily display of Charles’ new, well-cut wardrobe. While the new clothes made him look more handsome than ever, she worried that the change would go deeper than just his attire.
It would be a terrible pity if the influence of his new friends and expected future title took away the very things that made him uniquely Charles Ashton.
‘Stay true to yourself,’ she murmured.
‘Pardon?’ Lucy replied. But before Millie could respond, something caught Lucy’s attention and she shot up her arm and began waving madly toward the staircase at the end of the ballroom.
‘Hello! We are over here,’ she called out.
Millie smiled; Lucy really was a breath of fresh air. She looked to the stairs and saw two young men standing on the landing. They were peering out over the crowd in the direction of Lucy, who continued to wave at them. Upon seeing the girls, the man nearest to them raised his hand and gave a friendly wave.
‘The one with the black hair is my oldest brother, David. The fair-haired one next to him is Alex, known to all and sundry as Alexander the Great,’ Lucy explained.
As the two men made their way down the stairs and into the ballroom, Millie saw the immediate impact that the arrival of the Radley brothers had on the gathering. For every step they took, someone hailed them. Handshakes came from everywhere, their backs were slapped by every every man in arm’s reach and a chorus of cheery greetings rose ever higher in pitch.
She wondered which of them had been wielding the sword when the dragon had been slain, so rousing was the reception these two young men received. Any moment now, she expected the crowd to hoist them high on its shoulders for the whole world to laud.
How intoxicating it must be to be so popular, to wield such power.
Lucy’s brothers slowly made their way through the thronging mass. Finally, Millie got her first real look at the Radley brothers and her heart stopped.
David had been leading the way through the crowd, but as they drew closer to the girls, the crowd thinned a little and Alex was able to walk beside his brother.
As he appeared from behind David, Millie thought she must be imagining things. No mortal man could be that good looking.
Not merely handsome, but breathtakingly beautiful.
A pile of blond hair sat ruffled atop his head. At first glance it appeared not to have seen a comb or brush for many a day and yet it was perfect.
He looked as if he had rolled out of bed, thrown on his evening clothes and hea
ded out to the Ashton party.
His cravat, against all fashion dictates, was tied loosely around his neck, but in such an elegant way that it was clearly by design. His red-and-gold striped double-breasted waistcoat fit his long, lean muscular body perfectly. As Millie’s gaze took in the magnificence of Alex’s evening attire it was obvious that every piece of clothing on his body was of the finest cut and fabric, the work of a master tailor.
Her eyes drifted down to the highly polished black Hussar boots which clung to his calf muscles. She took a deep breath and tried to turn her head away, but found herself unable to.
Or was it unwilling?
The instant she saw the deep green of Alex’s eyes, she knew he was dangerous. When his soul-piercing gaze landed upon her, she felt a cold shiver run down her spine.
Millie gave a quick glance over her left shoulder to see who had caught his eye, but found herself facing a dark-green velvet curtain.
There was no one behind her.
When she looked back at the approaching Adonis, she realised his gaze was locked firmly on her, a look of puzzlement etched upon his face.
She looked towards Lucy, but could not catch her eye. Her friend was busy feigning a look of annoyance directed at her approaching brothers.
‘Oh no, I can see this is not going to end well,’ Millie muttered, feeling her face turning red. She took two steps backward, but found herself hard up against the ballroom curtain.
‘I need to get away from here,’ she said under her breath, beginning to panic.
Horrid girls were bad enough, but disapproving brothers were another matter entirely. With his eyes trained upon her like a hunter stalking his prey, she knew she would not be fortunate enough to escape unscathed.
From the look on his face, Millie deduced Alex was not happy to see her standing beside Lucy. Was it that the perfect brother did not like his sister associating with those who were less than godlike? It would not be the first time since arriving that she had been judged by others because of her looks.
Lucy shook her head. ‘You can’t leave yet; you haven’t met my brothers. They will be delighted to meet you, I am sure of it,’ she replied. ‘Once I have finished boxing their ears, that is.’
Letter From a Rake: Destiny Romance Page 2
