by Norma Darcy
She swallowed hard, her eyes shyly meeting his. “And are you going to kiss me?”
“I was going to kiss you the minute I saw you stuck up that tree,” he replied and did so. He kissed her gently and almost as soon pulled his mouth away and Louisa was prey to a stab of disappointment. His arms held her close then and he placed his chin atop her head. Perhaps he would kiss her properly once they were married. She sighed contentedly and laid her cheek against his shoulder.
“Whenever you are with me everything seems so simple,” she said into his cravat. “It is when I am alone that I begin to have doubts. I don’t mean to but I just can’t help it.”
“Doubts about what?”
“You. Me. Malvern. Everything.”
“Malvern?” Nicholas ejaculated, pulling away slightly. “What on earth has he to say to this?”
“A great deal,” she responded, laying her hands against his chest. “My whole family wants me to wed him. His family too. It is expected of me.”
“I don’t give a stuff for that…” he said crossly. “You don’t, do you?”
“I don’t know.”
He took her by the shoulders and looked intently into her face. “Do you love me, Louisa?”
“Oh yes! At least I think I do,” she added thoughtfully in less than flattering accents, “but Mama says I am too young to think of love affairs. She wants me to make a good match first and then says I am to have affairs when I am older.”
Nicholas shuddered visibly at the thought. “You shall not. I won’t let you.”
“But it wouldn’t be so very bad, I suppose. Malvern is quite a good match besides being rather handsome and such a kind, considerate man―”
“Malvern isn’t just a good match,” he said grimly. “He’s the best match. They don’t call him the Nonpareil for nothing. Short of Prinny himself, you could not do better for yourself. And what am I? A poor country bumpkin who has acquired nothing but a little town bronze.”
“Oh no, Nicholas, you are a gentleman.”
He flung away from her. “A gentleman.” He laughed scornfully. “How can I compete with him? I have no title, no estate; I do not even have my brother’s purse with which to bribe your father.”
“What are we to do?”
“What can we do?” he asked disconsolately. “There’s nothing for it, I shall have to go to India as my brother did to make my fortune.”
“India?” Louisa clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no!”
“I daresay I shall be gone these ten years or more.”
“Ten years?” she whispered.
“It would not be so very bad. I should write often. Would you wait for me, love?”
She swallowed. “Ten years. But I shall be one and thirty and quite…quite an old maid. Oh I cannot even think it. Are you certain it would have to be ten years? Would five not suffice?”
“Seven at the earliest.” He laughed and took her into his arms once more. “There now, don’t look so forlorn, I am not going to India. I have little appetite for sweltering heat and none at all for business.”
Louisa was relieved. “What shall you do then?”
“I might work for the foreign office―I have a friend who might be able to put in a good word for me,” he suggested, contemplating a distant patch of daisies.
“To be sure I would like it if you were happy, but it does sound a trifle dull.”
“Well, yes, I own that is not precisely what I would like. But a second son, you know, has few options. I might become a curate…now don’t laugh. What pray is so funny about that?”
“You making sermons. Of all the most nonsensical notions,” she said, giggling.
He grinned. “Are you implying that I am so dissolute that I have no moral compass?” he asked, pretending to be offended.
“No, but you must own that it would be a trifle odd to have you prosing on to your parishioners about living a good Christian life while you were yourself gambling in to the small hours. I do not think you would make a very convincing curate, Nicky.”
“Well of all the shabby things to say! I am quite offended.”
She dimpled. “I think you would look just the thing in a red coat.”
His eyes shone. “Do you think so? Or the Hussars perhaps?”
“Very handsome.”
“I will speak to my brother directly, if you wish it. The uniform would certainly cut a dash… Although if I were to get posted abroad, which I very likely would be, I should be away from you a good deal. And then there is the unavoidable issue of getting shot at. And that, my love, is not agreeable at all. It would make a terrible mess of the uniform and me.”
They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating this gloomy picture.
“Well, we do not need to decide now. There is plenty of time. We shall be secretly betrothed in a very romantic way until I can figure out what is best to be done.”
“But we don’t have any time at all,” cried Louisa. “Malvern is coming tomorrow. And I can’t face him. I won’t!”
“Malvern? Here? Good God, what for?”
“Your brother invited him to stay with him at Stoneacre and he is to dine with us.”
Nicholas swore under his breath. “What in God’s name is Marcus playing at? He promised me―oh but never mind about that now. There is nothing for it; we shall have to run away together.”
Louisa laughed incredulously. “You are not serious?”
“Why not?”
“You want me to deliberately ruin myself? Papa would never forgive me.”
“What other choice do we have? Would you rather elope to Gretna Green?”
Louisa pulled away from him, paling at the thought. “Then I really would be ruined. I could not do that to my family. Pray don’t ask it of me.”
“Then I shall speak with my brother this minute. Meet me here tomorrow. Tell no-one and come alone.”
Louisa nodded as he kissed her swiftly on the lips and took himself off. She put her fingers to her mouth savouring the memory of his kiss.
* * *
Mr Ashworth was in shirtsleeves, engaged in dressing for dinner, when his brother sauntered into his bedchamber at his home at Stoneacre and threw himself down upon the bed.
“Where the devil have you been?” demanded Nicholas impatiently. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Mr Ashworth raised a brow, observed the young man in silence for a moment, and said, turning his attention back to his neckcloth, “It’s good to see you too.”
Nicholas missed the sarcasm. “I have something particular I wish to say to you.”
“Clearly. To what do we owe the honour? Have you been dunned out of London already?” asked the master of the house as his eyes lifted from the mirror, a flicker of warmth in the expression that rested fleetingly upon his brother.
Nicholas could not hide his irritation and scowled. “I am not here for money.”
“I didn’t suppose anything of the sort,” replied Mr Ashworth coolly, returning his attention to the matter at hand. “I am surprised to see you here, that’s all.”
“I thought you said I could stay whenever I wished it.”
“I did.”
“Well I wish it,” said Nicholas shortly.
Mr Ashworth bowed slightly. “Then you are welcome.”
Nicholas leaned back on the bed, propped up on his elbows, watching with vague disapproval as his brother negotiated the creation of a fold in his cravat with quick, impatient fingers. “Marcus wait, you can’t squash it all under your chin like that! Good Lord, it’s a travesty! And only one fold? Thank God the Beau cannot see you! He has quite twenty neckcloths at the ready in case he should make any mistake, you know.”
“More fool him,” muttered Mr Ashworth.
“What style are you copying anyway?”
“None,” replied his brother as he reached for his coat.
“None? But you must have been attempting some style or other, surely?”
“Er yes―it’s of my own cr
eation. I call it The No-Nonsense.”
“You would!” retorted Nicholas, goaded. “But only one fold Marcus, it’s not at all the thing, you know―I can show you the Waterfall, I think you would look quite the gentleman―”
“Content yourself with the fact that I have dressed for dinner at all; that’s about as far as I go.”
“Who made your coat?” asked Nicholas, eyeing his brother as he shrugged his shoulders into it.
“Strauss.”
“Strauss?” repeated Nicholas, wrinkling his nose with distaste. “And who pray is he?”
“He trades in Netherby. He used to work in London before he had a difference of opinion over the setting of a sleeve or some such nonsense and set up shop not two hundred yards from The Boar. I think he has done a fine job.”
“A Mr Strauss of Netherby?” repeated his brother scandalised. “And to think I introduced you to Weston himself!”
“Yes and a pretty penny it would have cost me too. Mr Strauss has made me five new coats for a fraction of the cost. And I fancy that the fact you had to ask me who made it informs me you could not yourself tell the difference.”
“Well as to that, I noticed a slight difference in the cut and the finish is not quite up to standard, you know, one’s eye becomes attuned to it―” Nicholas broke off as he encountered the amused stare of his brother. “Oh rot you Marcus! You have enough blunt to float the Royal Navy and you choose Mr Strauss in Netherby to dress you?”
His brother smiled. “I know, trying is it not?”
“It’s obscene, that’s what it is. I am sure Lady Emma would like to see you rigged out in the first stare of fashion.”
Mr Ashworth pulled a face at that. “In primrose yellow pantaloons? I think she would laugh herself silly. And what’s more I shouldn’t blame her.”
Nicholas coloured faintly. “Those pantaloons are―”
“All the crack, yes I know Nick, thank you,” replied his brother with a weary smile. “You have told me so any number of times.”
There was a sniff. “Well I think Emma sees more than you think.”
The smiled became a little strained. “Lady Emma wouldn’t notice if I turned up for dinner wearing doublet and hose with a two foot log cod piece and a ruff around my neck. She pays little enough attention to me, I assure you.”
Nicholas shook his head, grinning. “Two foot long? I think anyone would notice that. But you are wrong, Marcus. She has an eye for a well turned out gentleman as much as any other female.”
“Well, we disagree upon this point. What brings you all the way down here? London too flat for you?”
Nicholas laughed. “Hardly.”
“In dire straits again, are we?”
“Why is it that whenever I come and see you, your first thought is that I am after a handout?”
“Because you usually are, dear boy,” replied Mr Ashworth.
“Well I’m not,” scowled his brother.
“Very well. So why then are you here?”
“To see you, of course.”
Mr Ashworth gave up on his cravat and stuffed the loose ends of it into his waistcoat. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” Nicholas said throwing himself back upon the pillows.
“Would you have the goodness to take your boots off my bed?”
“Sorry…you are dressing for dinner at home, Marcus? That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?”
“I’m a reformed character,” replied Mr Ashworth reaching for his signet ring.
“Lord, what a thought.”
“Isn’t it?” agreed his brother, turning at last to see him. “So, are you going to tell me what brings you here? And in such a fit of the sullens?”
“Louisa tells me Malvern is to stay with you,” said Nicholas, not mincing matters.
There was a slight pause before Mr Ashworth answered. His grey eyes flickered for a moment thoughtfully over his brother’s figure. “He is. What of it?”
“She is not happy about it. Come to think of it, I ain’t happy about it either.”
Mr Ashworth tugged the sleeves of his shirt at his wrists. “With all due respect to the Lady Louisa and to you, Nicky, whomsoever I invite to my own home has nothing at all to do with either of you.”
“But you must understand, things are very awkward for her just now.”
“Are they? How so?”
Nicholas could not stop the colour that tinged his cheeks. “Damn it, you know Malvern…”
“Well, yes,” said his brother gently, “we have known each other since we were children. For God’s sake, Nick, come to the point! What is so awkward?”
Nicholas kicked at the rug on the floor at his feet. “You don’t understand…he…I mean, I…oh if you must have it, I kissed her! And I’m not ashamed of it either, so don’t think that you can make me! And if you’re wondering what the devil this had to do with Malvern, well I’ll tell you. He saw us.”
“Ah.”
“And the cursed fellow threw me through a hedge,” blurted Nicky, his eyes flashing with anger at the thought of it. His pride was still wounded and for all he had tried to brush it off, he still felt humiliated. “And you can wipe that smile off your face, Marc, it ain’t funny.”
“No, of course not. And did you deserve…ah…being thrown through a hedge?” asked Mr Ashworth, schooling his face into a neutral expression.
“No! Well…no, dash it, I didn’t. But it’s the hypocrisy of the thing! Don’t tell me Malvern has never kissed a girl before because I won’t believe it! And he came and found me at my lodgings the next day and read me such a lecture that he had no right to do. You Marc, yes, that I can stomach, but him? Telling me to stay away from her? I won’t put up with it!”
Mr Ashworth sat down on the edge of the dressing table and crossed his ankles, his hands resting on the edge by his hips. “But perhaps,” observed he softly, “Malvern was protecting his own.”
Nicholas’s head shot up. “His own? She’s promised to me―hang on, has she accepted him then?”
“My dear Nicky, how should I know?”
“Who else should know but you? You’ve been as thick as thieves with him since you were both knee-high to a grasshopper.”
“If I did know, and I am not by any means saying that I do, would you expect me to betray a friend’s confidence by blabbing all to you? Would you like me to treat you in such a fashion?”
Nicholas flushed faintly and dropped his gaze from his brother’s.
“No, I thought not,” said Mr Ashworth. “I merely offer an explanation for Malvern’s uncharacteristic show of temper, that’s all.”
“Louisa won’t have him, she is promised to me,” said Nicky.
“Then if she is promised to you, nothing Malvern can say will make any difference. But if Lady Louisa had led Jasper into thinking that she had accepted him…you see what I am thinking. I do not mean to imply that the lady has played fast and loose with anyone’s affections., merely that she is confused.”
Nicholas stood up abruptly. “I don’t understand you Marcus; you promised you would help me.”
“Aye and so I did.”
“Forgive me, but how is inviting my rival to stay helping?” demanded Nicholas.
Mr Ashworth smiled as he pocketed his snuffbox. “All will be revealed in the fullness of time. Shall we go down to dinner? I am famished.”
“But―”
“Have you changed your mind about this girl, Nicky? Do you wish to marry her?” Mr Ashworth demanded, stopping with one hand on the door handle but making no move to open it.
Nicholas looked rather taken aback. “Wish to marry her?”
“Yes. You appear to be more willing now than when we spoke of it before.”
“Of course I wish to marry her! Have you not been listening?”
Mr Ashworth sighed heavily and shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t keep up with you; one minute you are begging me to help you get out of the engagement and now you want me to help you to
do what exactly? Persuade Crowborough into it, is that it? Well, I’ll tell you this, Nick, it had better be marriage. Louisa is not one of your Cyprians. Crowborough won’t stand for anything else, you know. Come to think of it, I won’t stand for anything else,” added Mr Ashworth reflectively. “Ashworths do not molest innocent females, for all our father did his best to break that rule. But I will not have Emma railing at me because she is upset by your dalliance with her sister. Do I make myself clear?”
“Oho! Big brother puts his foot down!” said Nicholas half annoyed, half laughing.
“Quite. Louisa is a gently bred female. She also happens to be related to one of the most disagreeable women of my acquaintance. You would do well not to press your attentions in that direction unless you mean to see them through. Or you will have me to answer to.”
Nicholas ran a finger around his collar as if it was too tight. “I mean to see them through.”
Mr Ashworth directed his penetrating stare at his brother for a moment, nodded and then smiled. “Come then, let us go down. Good Lord, how you can wear those ridiculous shirt points for any length of time beats me. I should more than likely have my own eye out with them.”
Chapter 6
“He’s here,” Louisa announced.
She was standing by the open window of the drawing room at Foxhill gazing out at the park and the hills beyond, her hands leaning on the sill, her blonde curls at her temples stirring in the breathless heat of the afternoon.
It was four o’clock and every window had been flung wide open to let in what cool air might be had. Sunlight streamed in between the curtains, illuminating the dust motes in a swirl of glitter and the fine sheen of sweat on Louisa’s brow; then it fell in a white hot wedge across the pale blue carpet. The parkland quivered with rising heat, the grass was dry and brown, the trees rustled in the warm breeze.
“Who is here?” enquired Emma as she set another crooked stitch in her embroidery.
“Good gracious, what magnificent horses!” cried Louisa, ignoring this. “And he’s driving himself and Mr Ashworth in his curricle with two of the most beautiful grey horses I have ever seen―and one, two, three, four, five…oh at least five capes on his greatcoat. How very elegant he is, Aunt.”
