A Gentleman and a Scoundrel (The Regency Gentlemen Series)

by Norma Darcy

  “Lady Emma is unattended and is suffering under the ignominy of Yarlett having broken off their betrothal. You might do the gallant thing and show the world that we care not for their opinion.”

  “I think she is doing just fine without me,” replied his friend as the lady in question was led out into the dance.

  “See? You are too slow. You might ask her for the next set instead.”

  “And have her refuse me with great glee in front of everyone here? No, I thank you.”

  The Duke all but rolled his eyes. “Very well then, if you won’t then I might.”

  Mr Ashworth’s head snapped around. “Three dances, Jasper?”

  His grace smiled. “I find her company very pleasant. And I am sure that you would too, if you were but to make yourself agreeable.”

  “I am agreeable. Every other woman of my acquaintances is perfectly happy in my company. It is just the Lady Emma and her dreadful family who find me decidedly beneath their touch.”

  “You imagine it.”

  “Do I? Then why does the eldest sister look at me as if I were something she had trodden in?” demanded Mr Ashworth.

  The Duke grinned. “Sophie always has been…how shall I phrase it―?”

  “A snob?”

  “A woman aware of her own status.”

  “A snob,” confirmed Mr Ashworth. “Can we go now?”

  “You may go. I, for one, am going to ask the winsome Lady Emma to dance.”

  “Pray, when am I to wish you joy?”

  Malvern raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Three dances with the same female, is what is known as putting your cards on the table. Expect Crowborough to come after you with a parson’s noose without delay.”

  “Then you ask her.”

  “Not I. Make sure you step on her toes at least once for me,” said his friend savagely. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The Duke sighed as he watched his friend leave the ballroom. He could not help but notice Lady Emma’s blue eyes following the tall figure of Mr Ashworth until he was out of sight.

  Then his eyes slid to Lady Louisa. His amiable smile hardened as she hastily looked away.

  Chapter 4

  “Marcus, well met!” exclaimed Nicholas as he ran into his brother in St James’s the following afternoon. “This is famous―my, but what a brown study you are in! You walked right past me and did not even know me.”

  Mr Marcus Ashworth raised his eyes from the pavement to his brother’s face and forced a smile to his lips. “Sorry Nick, I’m a little distracted.”

  “A little? I should rather think that if Aphrodite herself were naked before you, you would have stepped over her and continued in your contemplation of the flagstones. Well, what brings you to London? You didn’t tell me you had business in town.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Oh…well, what the devil are you doing here then?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  The younger man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re alright, old boy? You look a little out of spirits. What you need is dinner. Are you engaged to dine this evening? Come to my lodgings. I have a capital cook. I thought about coming up to the house to see if a room might be had, but then it occurred to me you might not wish to be disturbed.”

  “You may come and stay at the house any time that suits you, as I have told you on many occasions,” replied his brother.

  “Come and dine with me,” said Nick impatiently, waving him aside. “I have found the best brandy I have tasted in a long while―almost as good as that bottle we had at Christmas. You never did tell me how you came by it; hot from the excise men, no doubt.”

  He took his brother’s arm and led him back up St James’s Street in the direction of the younger man’s lodgings.

  Some while later, his rooms were reached, the table was laid for dinner and the wine was poured. The gentlemen seated themselves before the cold unlit fireplace.

  Mr Nicholas Ashworth kept up a run of conversation, telling his brother the latest stories, the gossip and the scrapes their young cousin had gotten himself into up at Oxford; none of these stories failed to raise more than the barest hint of a smile.

  “The thing is…I’m in the devil of a coil,” said Nicholas, frowning into his wineglass.

  Mr Ashworth looked up suddenly at that.

  Nicholas regarded his brother with irritation. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I have said?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “You have been lost in your own thoughts since I saw you ambling along the street in no particular direction. If I asked you to name what you ordered for dinner I would imagine that you could not remember.”

  Mr Ashworth coloured faintly. “I have a lot on my mind. So who is she?”

  “Why do you automatically assume it is a woman?”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  Nicholas sighed. “Well yes…”

  “And?”

  “She’s exquisite.”

  “They always are at the beginning, before they start spending all your money―well, never mind,” observed his brother cynically. “So who is she?”

  The younger Ashworth rolled his eyes. “I already told you. Her name is Louisa. What is wrong with you today?”

  “Who the devil is Louisa?”

  “You know her. She was at Henry Trent’s wedding, for God’s sake. Don’t you pay attention to anything?”

  Mr Ashworth gave him a blank look. “Louisa who?”

  “Munsford. Lady Sophie’s sister.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t bark at me! You did ask.”

  “Hell and damnation. What the devil do you want to go and fall in love with her for?”

  “I’m not in love,” replied Nicholas crossly.

  “You fall in love once a month. I could set my watch by you.”

  “Well not this time.”

  “That’s what you said the last time,” muttered his brother. “Oh the devil fly away with you, Nick.”

  Nicholas stiffened and adjusted the arrangement of his nicely fitting coat, with its large brass buttons. “I fail to see why the mention of Louisa Munsford should have you muttering into your burgundy.”

  “Because her father is on the hunt for a title, that’s why. And another Mister Nobody, rich or not, ain’t going to appease him this time.”

  “Speaking from experience, Marc?”

  Mr Ashworth grunted into his wine.

  Nicholas brought his finely shaped eyebrows together in a frown. “But I don’t want to marry her…at least not yet. Too young for marriage, you know, want to see a bit of the world first.”

  Mr Ashworth gave him a blank stare. “Then I fail to see your problem.”

  “I’m engaged to her,” blurted Nicholas.

  There was a moment’s pause. Mr Ashworth shook his head as if trying to shake cobwebs from around his brain. “So if you don’t want to get married, and you’re not in love, why on earth did you offer for her?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Mr Ashworth blinked. “Either I have drunk too much or not enough. What are you talking about, Nick?”

  “I am engaged to Louisa Munsford and only you and Malvern know about it and it had better stay that way or I’ll have the Earl on my back. And Malvern…well, I know he is your friend Marc, but really, I never thought him so rag-mannered.”

  Mr Ashworth put up one dark brow in surprise. “Jasper? Ill-mannered? You are acquainted with the Duke of Malvern, are you not?”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Of course I do…I just think it sounds a little…unlikely, that’s all.”

  The Duke was famed for his calm, his unflappable poise in any situation and his elegant manners. In all the years Mr Ashworth had known him, he had never seen him lose his famous tranquillity.

  “Oh the devil take Malvern,” said Nicholas impatiently. “What am I to do about my engagement?”

  “For
give me if I am being dense, but how did you manage to get yourself engaged without asking the chit to marry you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I thought it might be,” murmured Mr Ashworth.

  Nicholas drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It arose from a moment of chivalry, Marcus. An emotion that I know you are unfamiliar with.”

  “And how is hurling insults at me likely to win my assistance in this matter?” asked his brother with a raised brow.

  “The lady was in a compromised situation,” said Nicholas, doing his level best to sound dignified. “I felt honour bound to come to the rescue.”

  “What sort of compromised situation?” demanded Mr Ashworth with a frown. “Have you insulted the lady?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Oh Lord no, it wasn’t as bad as that! When I say compromised, it wasn’t anything that needed―oh devil take it, then I really would have to marry the chit! No, it was merely a compromising situation brought about by moonlight and champagne and roses and the admiration of a very pretty girl looking at me as if I were her hero.”

  “Lord,” muttered Mr Ashworth reflectively. “There must have been a lot of champagne.”

  “And,” continued Nicholas, glaring at his brother for his interruption, “that is as much detail as you will get out of me. The how or why is not important. What I want to know is: how do I get myself out of it? Louisa thinks we are betrothed.”

  “Then you are.”

  “But, confound it, you don’t wish me married at the age of two and twenty do you?” asked Nicholas aghast.

  “Not in an ideal world, no. But as you have been foolish enough to offer her your hand, however gallantly it may have been intended, you cannot now withdraw it. There are laws about that, you know. Breach of promise.”

  “Then I will go to India and make my fortune as you did.”

  Mr Ashworth stared at him. “And abandon her? No you will not. I’ll not have our family name dragged through the mire in such a fashion.”

  “Again. Our family name bears the stains of many generations of Ashworths dragging it through the mud. You included. Nothing I could possibly do could compete with the damage you have done over the years.”

  Mr Ashworth compressed his lips. “The Earl of Crowborough is courting the Duke of Malvern for Louisa’s hand now that Sophie has married Trent. He will not take news of this engagement of yours lightly. Let us hope he manages to find a way to break it and does our dirty work for us. Us? What do I mean us? Why am I involving myself in this? I must be insane.”

  “Because you are my brother and you promised you would help me.”

  “Did I? How remiss of me.”

  “Marcus, you said―”

  “Yes, I know what I said,” snapped Mr Ashworth. “But you’re a damn fool, Nick. How could you be so utterly stupid? Did you not listen to anything I said to you last time? I warned you that if you were not careful you would be caught by some scheming female sooner or later. And I was right.”

  “She’s not a scheming female,” replied Nicholas, bridling. “She’s an angel.”

  “Then go and marry her.”

  Nicholas swore under his breath. There was a silence as the servant came in and supervised the arrival of dinner. The food was arranged on the table and when they were once more alone, the two brothers moved with their wine from their chairs by the fire to sit at the table.

  Mr Ashworth thoughtfully picked up a knife and began to carve.

  “Look, the family will never agree to it. They’re as ambitious as they come. All the money in the world won’t mollify them. And if I know Crowborough, he will move heaven and earth to stop this match.”

  “It’s not that I’m not fond of her, you understand, just that I’m not sure I want to be married…at least not yet.”

  “Do yourself a favour, Nick, and cool it off. Let her see that she was mistaken in your feelings for her and she may call the whole thing off herself―if that’s what you want.”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  Mr Ashworth laughed. “I think we all know what you want Nick, but what you have failed to grasp is that ladies of quality don’t give up the goods until they have your wedding band upon their finger.”

  Nicholas flushed. “Well, she is the most delectable piece I ever saw…”

  “Then I put it to you that there is more lust than love in any of this.”

  Nicholas fired up at that. “That’s all you think I care about. Just because that is all you care about. Just because you were so embittered by your experience of love, does not mean that the rest of us feel the same way. And just because you fell for the wrong woman does not mean that I am foolish enough to do the same.”

  There was a long silence. “Who says I fell for the wrong woman?”

  Nicholas paused in the act of raising the glass to his lips. “Why you have said so any number of times.”

  He frowned. “I have? When?”

  “Are you telling me now that you don’t regret it? Do you honestly think she was the right woman for you?”

  Mr Ashworth set a piece of beef on his brother’s plate. “I think she was made for me.”

  “Well, I am frankly astonished. You vowed in front of half the membership of Whites never to offer for a woman again after what she did to you. How you can sit there and―”

  “Who are you speaking of?” demanded his brother suddenly.

  “Maria Dewksbury, as she was then, however many years ago it was when you made a cake of yourself…” Nicholas paused and frowned. “Who were you speaking of?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Who?”

  “Nick, leave it.”

  “Made for you? Isn’t that what you said?” Nicholas chuckled. “Oh Marcus, you got it bad. And I have a pretty strong notion as to who the young lady may be.”

  Mr Ashworth frowned as he concentrated on carving another slice of beef. “If you want my advice you’ll give her the cold shoulder. Or better yet, find yourself a new flirt. Her pride will do the rest.”

  * * *

  In the breakfast parlour of Lady Garbey’s town house on the other side of London, Lady Louisa Munsford was happily demolishing plum cake and hot chocolate, watching her sister read a letter. “Is Papa so very angry with me?”

  Emma forced a smile and set down the letter that had come from Haymarsh and their father. “Not with you, love. With me.”

  “Because your engagement to Charles is off?”

  “He blames me for it all. He says that I must have done something to upset Yarlett. He said that I started the rot when I refused Lord Allenby all those years ago, and I have encouraged both you and Sophie to marry against his wishes.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Emma sighed. “Yes.”

  “Oh Emmy, what am I to do? I was so enjoying Vauxhall last week and then our aunt ruined it all for she said I was flirting with Mr Biggleswade, which I was not for I’m sure he’s a charming young man and such fun, but Lord, what a name! And never, I promise you, did I think of him in that way but…it wouldn’t have been so very bad if…if,” and here she stopped to blush carnation red, “…I had not gone off with Mr Ashworth.”

  Emma stiffened at the dreamy way in which her adversary’s name was uttered. “Mr Ashworth?” she repeated blankly.

  “Didn’t he look handsome?” demanded Louisa wistfully. “I’m sure I never saw a man with a better figure.”

  A picture forced itself into Emma’s mind of the man in full evening dress and she did have to admit that his tall, broad shouldered frame set off any clothes to advantage, but handsome? Not even his own mother would have used that epithet.

  Emma regarded her sister with disbelief. “Mr Ashworth?”

  “Why yes, do you not think so? And such a gentleman. His manners so polished, his readiness to laugh and dance and sing and generally make himself agreeable.”

  Emma blinked and stared. Mr Ashworth? He wouldn’t know good manners if
they fell upon him. He hated dancing. And his singing? Good Lord, let him not inflict that upon any poor unfortunate audience.

  She closed her eyes as if she had momentarily lost her mind. “Louisa, am I to understand that you have fallen in love with Mr Ashworth?”

  “Oh yes!”

  Emma felt a cold hand rearranging her stomach. “But he is…unsuitable.”

  “Unsuitable? Why?” asked Louisa.

  “Well, I grant you that he has a good figure and an attractive smile when he can be bothered to find anything droll enough to entertain him, that is. And he may be as rich as Croesus, but I do not think your personalities are at all compatible.”

  Louisa stared at her sister as if she had developed a pair of sideburns. “Not Mr Ashworth silly, I mean, not your Mr Ashworth. I mean Mr Nicholas Ashworth.”

  Emma stiffened. “He is not my Mr Ashworth,” she retorted coldly. She poured herself another cup of coffee but wished for brandy instead as her stomach plunged with the most disturbing sensation.

  “Emmy, you silly thing. As if I could come between you two love birds. Never was there a couple so in love. Eliza King told me that you did not care for your Mr Ashworth above half, but I knew she was only jealous for she wanted him for herself.”

  “I? In love with Marcus Ashworth?” exclaimed Emma, aghast. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “Are you not?”

  “No!” choked Emma vehemently. “What in God’s name gave you that idea?”

  “The fact that you can’t keep your eyes off him.”

  Emma definitely needed brandy. She decided a change of subject would be timely. “And you are in love with Nicholas?” she asked. “Forgive me, but are you sure? Quite, quite sure?”

  The dreamy expression in Louisa’s eyes faltered a little. “Of course I am sure. Emmy, don’t tell me that you doubt me too! Our aunt says I am too young to know my own heart. I had thought I could depend upon you to understand.”

  “But my dear, you must know that Nicholas is a dreadful flirt. He pays very pretty compliments to be sure, and he is very amusing but―”

  “You do doubt me,” cried Louisa.

  “Does Papa know?” asked her sister.