As for him, Philip knew he dared not provoke more gossip than could be helped by trying to dance with her more than twice himself. Or by dancing only with Miss Ashbourne. So he chose, almost at random, some young ladies to dance with making certain, however, that it was he who partnered her for the supper dance.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Ashbourne?” Philip asked with a smile as he led her to the room where the tables had been set up.
She smiled back up at him unaware, he would have sworn, of how much pleasure her glowing face betrayed. “Oh, yes, Mr. Langford!”
“I vow my niece has not sat out a single dance,” Miss Jarrod, who had come in to supper with them, added, with no small note of pride in her voice.
Philip went to fetch them both plates and was surprised, when he returned to the table to discover that another gentleman had joined them. He was even more surprised to realize that it was Sir Thomas Levenger.
“Sit, m’boy. I’m renewing my acquaintance with an old friend,” Sir Thomas said, smiling at Miss Jarrod who, to Philip’s surprise, blushed.
He glanced at Miss Ashbourne who appeared to be equally fascinated. Sir Thomas? With a woman? No doubt Miss Ashbourne was thinking, Aunt Agatha? With a man?
It was an interesting development and one that Philip could only applaud. This was a sentiment patently shared by Miss Ashbourne who looked at him with merriment in her eyes as Sir Thomas addressed Miss Jarrod.
“Perhaps, Miss Jarrod, you would favor me with another dance after supper?”
“Another dance?” Philip echoed the words aloud.
Sir Thomas quirked an eyebrow at him. “Yes, another dance. Do you find it so hard to imagine that I know how to do so?”
“No, not at all,” Philip hastily replied.
Sir Thomas turned back to smile at Miss Jarrod, who blushed again. “I should like that,” she said, with becoming reserve.
“Careful, Aunt Agatha,” Miss Ashbourne said, teasingly. “If you dance more than twice with Sir Thomas, you will have tongues wagging!”
Another woman might have taken alarm and drawn back. Miss Jarrod, to Philip’s amusement, merely straightened, looked at her niece, and said loftily, “Let them wag. I am past the age of having to worry about such things. Besides, I shan’t listen to any gossip and neither will you.”
“That’s the spirit!” Sir Thomas said approvingly.
He beamed at Miss Jarrod and she at him. The two left the table before Miss Ashbourne and Philip were done.
The moment they were gone, Miss Ashbourne looked around to see that no one was listening, then said, “All right, I am here. And I have danced until my feet hurt. But I have yet to see one member of the House of Lords who could be useful to me. The few here are unrelenting enemies of the sort of change I am urging.”
Philip grinned at the fierceness in her expression. “Peace, child,” he said, fanning the flames with his teasing. “It is a beginning. You need to go out and about and then, when you are in company, and you see the gentlemen you need to speak with, they are less likely to shie away from you. For they will think you as harmless as their wives and sisters and mothers.”
Her eyes narrowed, as though she wondered if he were merely fobbing her off with some tale. But then she nodded. “Perhaps you are right. The best generals say that to win a battle, it is a great advantage if one can catch the enemy off guard.”
Philip burst out laughing, he could not help himself. “What do you know of generals and battles and armies?” he asked.
“As much as you do, I should wager!” Miss Ashbourne snapped.
She reeled off the names of a number of texts on the subject of war. Philip sobered quickly as he realized she meant she had read them all.
His own face darkened as he thought of Harry and he said, when she paused to take breath, “So you have read books. Have you known anyone who came back from a war?”
She shook her head. He went on. “I have, Miss Ashbourne. My brother, Harry, is fighting in the Peninsula. Even now I am waiting to hear the casualty lists of yet another battle to know if this time he survived or was hurt or killed. So when you speak of war you ought to know that it is not a game, a series of words in a book, but a grim reality. In war there is a real cost to every battle, to every decision, whether right or wrong.”
He had angered her, though he never meant to do so. Her voice was grim as she replied, low so that she would not be overheard, “So, too, there is a cost in what I do! You rescued me from Bedlam but do you have any notion what the hours were like for me, while I was there? And I was fortunate! Lord Darton could have had me sent to jail. Have you ever visited a prison, Mr. Langford? I have. You may laugh at me, at my naiveté in thinking I can change the world. But do not pretend to me that what I do has no cost!”
Abruptly his own mood changed and his hand shot out to grasp her wrist. “What did happen to you in Bedlam?” he demanded.
Gently, firmly, implacably, she freed her wrist. And she managed to do so without drawing the eyes of those around them, no mean feat given his mood.
She placed her hands in her lap and met his eyes squarely as she said, “I shall never tell you. Or anyone else. And no, it is not what you most fear. But it was bad enough, all the same.”
He wanted to demand she tell him more, but there was a look in her eyes that somehow told him there was no way that he could make her do so.
Instead, he rose to his feet and bowed. “Miss Ashbourne,” he asked, in a cold and distant voice, “shall I escort you back to the ballroom?”
She looked away and then back at him. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Finally she rose to her feet and placed her hand in his.
“Yes.”
Miss Jarrod was dancing with Sir Thomas and Philip could not abandon Miss Ashbourne, however many tabbies there were willing to look after her.
“Shall we take a walk around the room and perhaps peek into the card rooms?” he asked, instead. “Perhaps we shall catch a glimpse of your father.”
She nodded, eagerly. Too eagerly, Philip thought in confusion. He was right to be wary. The second room they looked in, she gave a tiny exclamation by his side. But why? Her father wasn’t in the room. Philip wasn’t left in doubt for very long. Miss Ashbourne told him.
“There is Lord Beaumont. He is a potential ally. I am told he is sympathetic to causes such as ours.”
Ours? When had her cause become “ours” in her mind? But Philip had no time to ponder the matter. Instead he had to stop her for she was marching toward the table where Lord Beaumont sat, playing piquet.
There was no time for discretion, no time to be polite. Philip grabbed Miss Ashbourne’s arm and swung her back around so that she was facing the doorway again.
“Not now! Not here!” he hissed at her as he continued to push her out of the room.
“But you said I should speak to men such as Lord Beaumont at social events,” she protested indignantly. “Isn’t that why you said I should come?”
Philip wished he could mop his brow, but that would have drawn far too much attention to them. “Not here, not now,” he repeated, a hint of desperation in his voice. “While you are dancing or perhaps over a glass of wine in the supper room. Times like that is what I meant. I never meant that you should interrupt a game of cards and draw everyone’s attention to yourself.”
“But how can I talk to Lord Beaumont on the dance floor or in the supper room if he never comes in there?” she asked, reasonably. “What am I supposed to do if he spends the entire evening playing cards?”
“Wait for another opportunity, another night, another ball,” Philip replied, in exasperation.
“And if I choose not to do so?” she demanded.
“Then I shall wash my hands of you,” Philip retorted, meaning every word.
“But you promised to help me!”
“Only so long as you show at least some shred of discretion,” he warned her.
She wanted to challenge him, he coul
d read it in her eyes, in the very way she stood, chin tilted up toward him. But in the end she did not.
“I suppose you are right,” she said, with a tiny sigh. “You had best take me back to my aunt. The dance is over and she will no doubt be sitting among the chaperones again by now.”
Philip was happy to take her back to Miss Jarrod. If he could have found her. But another gentleman had already asked the woman to dance and he found himself in a quandary for he could not simply abandon Miss Ashbourne and yet the longer he stayed by her side, the more gossip there would be.
Fortunately, a gentleman came to ask her to dance and Philip was able to retreat to find a partner for himself. He made himself stay away from Miss Ashbourne for the rest of the evening, save when the figures of the dance brought them together.
She had no shortage of partners, he noted grimly. Nor did her aunt, which made him look at the woman a little closer and realize that she was not quite as old as he had first assumed. She must have been much younger than her sister, Miss Ashbourne’s mother.
Well, it was none of Philip’s affair. All he had to do was make certain Miss Ashbourne did not land herself in the suds. And it would no doubt take all his energy just to manage that.
Indeed, Philip felt a distinct sense of impending disaster when he realized that she was dancing with Lord Beaumont and that whenever she came close enough, spoke earnestly to the man. Lord Beaumont looked distinctly alarmed and Philip felt an impulse to intervene. But it was impossible. He could not. Philip and his partner were in another group and it would have created far too great a sensation were he to leave his position and join theirs.
To be sure, Lord Beaumont did not seem terribly disturbed, when at last the dance ended, but Philip could not help noting how quickly the man returned Miss Ashbourne to her aunt and made good his escape, not only from her, but from the ball as well.
With a sigh, Philip decided that perhaps it was time to take the Ashbournes home. With that thought in mind, he went in search of her father.
He found him in the card room. Winning. Philip knew what that meant. Ashbourne would be all but impossible to pry loose from the table. Still, he had to try.
To his surprise, the man came at once. He was even more surprised when Ashbourne explained why. “Doesn’t do to stay at the tables too long when you’re winning, m’boy. Luck always turns. Best to leave before it does.”
Since this seemed, to Philip, a most sensible philosophy, he could think of nothing to say. The ladies were less pleased to be leaving, but they made no actual protest.
Indeed, Miss Ashbourne confided that she felt a little tired, as he handed her into the carriage waiting outside.
“I am not accustomed to such late hours,” she said, leaning back against the squabs.
Her father laughed self-consciously. “Now puss,” he said, “you mustn’t be giving Mr. Langford the notion that you are hopelessly countrified!”
“On the contrary, she gives me the impression of having a great deal of sense,” Philip said, instantly coming to her defense.
And then, alarmed at discovering yet again such a chivalrous impulse in himself, he fell silent. As did the others. What the devil was the matter with him?
Philip was distinctly relieved to let the Ashbourne party down at their hired house, though he allowed not a trace of this to show in his voice. But the first thing he did when he arrived at his own was to pour himself a very large glass of brandy.
Philip had no notion what was happening to him, but he was quite certain he did not like it. When had he come to feel so much concern for Miss Ashbourne? He thought himself safe from the fairer sex. His brother George’s wife had provided all the example he needed to be wary of such entanglements.
And yet, apparently it was not enough. Philip poured himself a second brandy, but even that did not let him sleep. Some hours later, he found himself watching the dawn come up, no closer to an answer than before.
Chapter 14
Lord Beaumont did not quite know what to think of the young lady who had accosted him the night before. On the one hand, she took an unseemly interest in matters that ladies should know nothing about, and she had talked to him about it at a ball! On the other hand, she clearly knew firsthand of the things she told him.
Since he had not been present the day the madwoman accosted Lord Darton outside of White’s, Lord Beaumont had no notion they were one and the same. As a result he congratulated himself that he was luckier than his colleague. At least he had a lady to deal with and one who was remarkably pretty.
It was also true that Lord Beaumont had made something of a career out of championing the poor. It made him different from his fellow members of the House of Lords. And he even managed to believe, in a passing sort of way, in the causes he took up.
But until now, the people affected had never touched his own reality. If he won, he celebrated. If he lost, he shrugged and went on to the next cause. Beaumont had a shrewd notion, however, that if he took up Miss Ashbourne’s cause, she would not allow him to relinquish it easily.
If he accepted her challenge, she would expect him to follow through until he succeeded in changing the law. And no one, he thought gloomily, could suppose that would be easy! Or quick. No, it would be far wiser to tell her that he was too busy with the causes he already championed to take up hers. That would be the sensible thing to do.
And yet, her urgency, her concern touched that very core of Lord Beaumont which had led him to adopt the pose of crusader in the first place. The part of him that cared more than his peers, the part of him that was human enough to be able to imagine what it would be like to be someone without the advantages he and his peers had been born to possess.
By the end of the morning, Lord Beaumont knew, with a sinking feeling, that he was well and truly caught in Miss Ashbourne’s snare. He only hoped someone would join him there and he would not turn out to be pursuing a hopeless cause alone. Who, he wondered, could he enlist to help him?
* * * *
On the other side of town, Emily was making a botch of her needlework.
“What is the trouble, dear?” Aunt Agatha asked kindly.
Emily glanced over at her father, who seemed engrossed in going over the bills. Still, one could not presume he was not listening. She bit her lower lip and hesitated. Her aunt seemed to understand perfectly and she nodded decisively.
“Come, Emily, I need to purchase more silk thread to finish these handkerchiefs. I should like your help in matching them in the shop.”
Immediately Emily rose to her feet. “Of course,” she said, heading for the door. “It will only take me a moment to fetch my bonnet and spencer.”
“It will take a trifle longer than that for me to get ready,” Aunt Agatha replied tartly, but there was no real annoyance in her voice.
Ten minutes later, they were walking down the street in the direction of the nearest shops. “Do you really need silks?” Emily asked her aunt.
Agatha smiled and shook her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “No, but we had better buy some, all the same. One never knows what your father may or may not notice. And as we walk, you must tell me what is troubling you.”
Emily hesitated for a long moment. Not entirely certain, herself, what was wrong. At last she said, staring down at her feet, unable to meet her aunt’s eyes. “I suppose it is Mr. Langford.”
She waited but Aunt Agatha did not speak and, after a moment, Emily went on. “I know it is foolish to repine too much upon his proposal. I know he does not mean to marry me, that it was a chivalrous gesture to protect me. For a little while. Until I can find some other solution to my dilemma. A gesture he no doubt regretted the moment it was made.”
“But?”
Emily turned to her aunt and looked at her with haunted eyes. “But a part of me wishes he did mean it, Aunt Agatha. And I am very much afraid he will read it in my face. And it is not right. I ought not to wish for more than he has been so generous to give!”
Aunt Agatha smiled, but there was an edge of exasperation to her voice as she said, “Whatever gave you the notion that the heart listens to reason? Or to what is right or wrong? Do you think mine listened when I loved a man my family considered totally ineligible? Or that when I obeyed my parents and refused to run away with him, it would listen when I tried to tell it to fix an interest on someone else? Someone of whom they could approve? No,” she said, shaking her head vehemently, “the heart loves as it will. And I am not so certain it is wrong to do so. Perhaps Mr. Langford will feel obliged, in the end, to carry through with his proposal and marry you after all.”
Now there was exasperation in Emily’s voice as she replied, “That is what I fear, Aunt Agatha! Mr. Langford has been so kind as to offer me his protection. For the moment. It would be a wicked turn I would serve him if I actually held him to his proposal. But I fear I shall be sorely tempted to do so.”
Agatha awkwardly patted her niece’s shoulder. “You have too much strength of character to do such a thing. But why are you so certain he does not feel something of the same? I should have said he did.”
Emily only shook her head.
Aunt Agatha sighed. “Well, if you do not marry Mr. Langford, what will you do?”
“That,” she confessed, “is what troubles me the most. I do not know. I suppose I ought to be looking about me for another possible husband. But I cannot like the useless fribbles who have danced with me. Or the ones who are pompous beyond belief. Or the elder gentlemen who remind me far too much of Papa. There has not been one gentleman I could even contemplate as a husband!”
“Except Mr. Langford.”
“Except Mr. Langford,” Emily miserably agreed.
They turned into the shop that sold the embroidery silks and spent some time picking out just the right colors. It was a pleasurable occupation and one that gave Emily the time her aunt judged she required to sort out her own thoughts.
The Reckless Barrister Page 11
