A Gentleman and a Scoundrel (The Regency Gentlemen Series)

by Norma Darcy

“I won’t put up with it, Louisa. He may be handy with his fists but I’m not scared of him.”

  “Handy with his fists?” she repeated blankly.

  “Aye, the most punishing left you ever saw.”

  She stared at him.

  “Boxing,” he explained with a slight roll of his eyes. “He’s not such a one as I would wish to meet in the ring, but I will if I have to. A lady’s honour and all that.”

  “Does he box a great deal then?” she asked, diverted by this unexpected revelation.

  “Does he box? Trust to a female to say that! He outboxes us all, excepting Marcus who can match him, but you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him let me tell you. The last time he and Marcus had a set to, they each had black eyes the size of saucers. I lost a good deal of money on that match; I thought Marcus would take him in the third round. Not a bit of it. The Duke may be softly spoken, but he’s as hard and fast as they come.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you going to hand me that coffee cup or shall I just stand here and whistle for it?”

  Louisa blushed faintly and handed it to him.

  “Your sister’s in a queer mood tonight, ain’t she?” Nicholas observed, watching Emma flirting outrageously with the Duke.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Louisa replied carefully.

  “Don’t you? Well I ain’t the only one to notice it. Too much champagne if you ask me.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Alright, don’t fly up onto your high ropes. I’m just saying, is all. She’s all over him, not that he’s complaining. Look at him, like a pig wallowing in mud.”

  Louisa cast a look across the room at Malvern where he was standing by the fireplace with a cup and saucer in his hands, looking down at Emma with warm amusement as she reached up and straightened his cravat. Her hand lingered on his chest a moment before she withdrew it.

  Louisa observed this all with mild disquiet. She did not need Nicholas to tell her that Emma was acting strangely; she knew her sister well enough to be able to see through the smiles and the laughter. Emma was playing a part. She exchanged looks with her aunt across the room; Lady Garbey was not deceived either.

  “And look at my brother,” murmured Nicholas. “He looks as if she is ready to start spitting fire.” He chuckled into his coffee cup. “Lord did you ever see such a face? I fancy your precious Duke would be dead where he stands if looks could kill.”

  Louisa’s gaze shifted from her sister to Mr Ashworth’s brooding countenance.

  “To be sure he doesn’t look very happy,” she agreed.

  “Oh, he always looks like that. Picnic tomorrow,” said Nicholas, breaking into her reverie.

  “Sorry?”

  “Marcus is arranging a picnic for us all under the old ash tree. Just an intimate gathering, just us Ashworths and Munsfords and the Kings. We shall eat strawberries on a blanket and cook ourselves under the sun.”

  Lady Emma’s laugh tinkled across the room as the Duke whispered something in her ear. Marcus Ashworth set down his cup and walked out.

  Chapter 7

  The sun had lost its bite by late afternoon and the informal picnic laid out on the grass under the ash tree broke up. The servants were clearing away glasses and plates and the remains of their lunch as the party slowly meandered back to the house. Lady Garbey, Uncle Ned and Cousin Eliza were already walking some way ahead; Mr Ashworth, his brother and Emma followed a distance behind, leaving Malvern and Louisa to bring up the rear. Nicholas Ashworth turned to look around for her from time to time and Louisa sent an imploring look in his direction for rescue.

  “May I carry that basket for you, my lady?” asked the Duke, watching Louisa pack her shawl into it, along with her embroidery, a book and her bonnet.

  Louisa blushed as the Duke took the basket from her. She noticed his hands again, with their long fingers and neatly manicured nails. He smiled down at her in his calm, reassuring way and she tried to return it. “Thank you,” she said.

  They walked on in silence for a few moments, the long fronds of grass whipping against their feet. A white cabbage butterfly flitted before Louisa and landed on her breast. She laughed and caught the precious creature in her hands. Its wings tickled against her skin. She let it go and watched it soar into the late afternoon sky and fly higher and higher until it was out of sight. The Duke watched her, his dark brown eyes seeking hers.

  “I think I have offended you,” he observed quietly.

  Louisa was startled and almost dropped her diary. She fleetingly met his gaze but her courage failed her. She looked away quickly with a nervous laugh. “Offend me? Why should you think that?”

  “Louisa, I am not stupid…”

  She coloured faintly. “I am a little tired, that’s all.”

  There was a short silence while they walked on together.

  “I hoped we are good enough friends by now that we could be plain with one another. I hope you will tell me if I have upset you.”

  “You haven’t, your grace.”

  He bowed. “You are kind, as always, but I think I have. I hope you will tell me how I can make amends?”

  They came to the narrow wrought iron gate and negotiated it in silence, the Duke holding it open for her to pass through. She moved close to him then, ducking under his arm, the puffed sleeve of her gown brushing against his coat. She felt his eyes on her.

  “Your Grace, I…”

  “Jasper,” he corrected softly.

  She shook her head. “It would not be proper to call you by that name, sir.”

  “Wouldn’t it? Why not? It is my name.”

  “It would imply that we were…that we had a…oh you know very well what I mean.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are right…it would not be proper,” he agreed, his voice tinged with regret. “Such rules as we make for ourselves as a society. I wonder that we can abide to live by them. What harm is there in two people calling each other by their given names after all?”

  “A great deal it seems.”

  He sighed and offered her his arm. She did not take it.

  “Louisa…” Malvern began, his voice low.

  “Please…don’t.”

  “You spurn my friendship now?”

  “No…of course not.”

  “Then why will you not take my arm?”

  The softness and the hurt in his voice was nearly her undoing. She looked across the walled garden and saw the green coat of Nicholas Ashworth disappearing through the gate into the rose garden. She dropped her gaze away but not before Malvern saw the direction of her gaze.

  “Ah…” he murmured.

  “It is not what you think.”

  “Isn’t it?” he asked, the smile twisting sourly on his lips.

  “If my aunt were to see us together, she would inevitably draw the wrong conclusion and inform my father.”

  “And what conclusion would that be?”

  “That you and I…that you and I…had come to an agreement,” she stammered.

  “And have we?” he asked softly.

  “Oh don’t!” she cried, her hands at her cheeks.

  “You raised the subject, my dear Lady Louisa. I was determined not to speak of it. But since you have raised the subject, I find I must ask: have thought any more on what I said to you last month?”

  She turned her head away, her face red, her eyes filled with distress. She cast a look at Nicholas, pleading for him to come back and rescue her.

  “I have the right to a proper answer,” he said quietly.

  “I know,” she said with her back to him. “I know that you do. Indeed, I have kept you waiting too long for it and I am sorry. You have been patient and I have not been fair, your grace.”

  “And your answer?”

  There was a long silence.

  “I think you quite the most agreeable gentleman of my acquaintance.”

  “That is a damming start indeed to be thought only agreeable,” he said with a wry twist of his m
outh. “I think I may safely guess the rest.”

  “My answer is still no,” she whispered.

  He nodded and turned his face away. “Very well.”

  “I am sorry, Duke.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “My father will be very angry with me,” she said tearfully.

  “Your father is the least of my worries. He will not know if we do not tell him, will he?”

  “Are you…are you very angry with me?” she asked.

  He smiled. “How could I be? Here, my handkerchief. There now, there is no reason to cry, is there?”

  “You are so very nice to me,” she said, dabbing her eyes with his handkerchief.

  “Nice? Am I?”

  “I don’t deserve your kindness. I am very flattered by your offer, indeed I think you would make a very good husband; you are so very kind, and charming and obliging…” she replied, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “And nice,” he said grimacing.

  “Well, yes…but you see that you are so very much older than me, and I am so innocent of the ways of the world, and you are so clever and experienced that I think you would very soon tire of me,” she confided naively. “I cannot sit still for five minutes together and I am sure I would quite wear you out. You will like to visit ruins and old churches when I had much rather go shopping. And I know you are very well educated and fond of books and I can only pronounce with any authority on the novels of Mrs Radcliffe or The Monk.”

  He smiled, wincing a little at her frank confidences. “But I see my education is woefully incomplete!” he cried. “You shall have to lend these books to me.”

  She looked up at him in wonder. “You surely do not wish to read them, do you sir? You are a man! They are not at all informative or educational and my father says if read too many of them, they will rot my brain.”

  “Does he so?”

  “You are laughing at me,” she said accusingly.

  “I am in deadly earnest. Lend me these books and then we may compare them together. Which one shall I start with, do you think?”

  “You are not serious.”

  “Perfectly! What an intolerable bore I should be if I cannot enjoy a good novel!”

  Louisa cast a look up into his eyes and saw that he was not teasing her; at least she didn’t think he was for his face was perfectly grave.

  “Then you shall start with The Monk,” she declared, eyes shining.

  “Capital! Will I be very afraid?”

  “Oh yes. It is quite the most horrid book. But probably you don’t wish to really read it at all and are only saying so because you wish to oblige me.”

  “Not at all. I very much wish to read a book that all society is reading. But I do wish that you would not cry, however. Please don’t cry, I think we may be friends, may we not?”

  She smiled tremulously up at him. “Yes. If you please.”

  “Shall we put the entire episode behind us? From this day forward we will forget our conversation in horrid Vauxhall Gardens ever happened. Neither of us shall mention it ever again and we shall go on like ever we did before.”

  “Oh thank you. It would be so much better if we could be friends again.”

  “Then let us shake on it. There. Now dry your eyes and give me that smile. That’s better!” he approved. “And I shall begin our new acquaintance by asking how you like Stoneacre? Is it gloomy enough for you?”

  She laughed nervously and threw him a speaking look. “My sister calls it Bluebeard’s Castle.”

  Malvern’s lips twitched. “Does she indeed?”

  Louisa blushed. “Well only the house, you know, for it so terribly dark inside and all those pieces of armour, and bears and stuffed fearsome creatures with the staring eyes―but not―I mean, I didn’t mean to imply that she thinks Mr Ashworth is Bluebeard―I am sure he was never even married before and even if he was, I am certain that a man in this day and age would not get away with murdering women―not that Mr Ashworth would dream of such a thing―oh my wretched tongue!”

  “No, don’t go and spoil it,” he replied, his eyes dancing. “I think that is a splendid description of him. I always did wonder what he kept in that study of his.”

  “You are funning with me.”

  He twinkled. “Just a little.”

  “You won’t tell him, will you?” she said anxiously.

  “You don’t wish me to?”

  “No, if you please. I don’t wish to do anything that would―” She broke off in confusion. Louisa paused and looked at her hands. “I mean, they already argue all the time. I should not wish to give them further reason to stay at odds with each other. I…I think perhaps that things are not all that they seem between them.”

  He inclined his head, smiling faintly. “I think you are very perceptive, my lady.”

  “I used to think they loathed each other, for they are always sniping at each other, but since I have been staying here…I have noticed…a tension between them,” she said suddenly in a sudden rush of confidence. “The way he looks at her sometimes. I shouldn’t be speaking to you of such things, I know. You are his friend after all.”

  “I am. But I hope I am also your friend and if you wish to confide in me, I hope you know that it will go no further.”

  She bit her lip. “Thank you. It was a little strange, now I come to think of it―at least I thought it so. Emma flirted with you so outrageously at dinner last night that I couldn’t help but remark upon it. I was shocked. I have never seen her act so strangely. She was smiling and laughing the whole night long and yet her eyes looked as if she might have cried at any moment.”

  “I think it was an act for Marc’s benefit.”

  “I hardly knew how to answer when Mr Ashworth bid me goodnight.” Louisa bit her lip. “But Papa will never agree to a match between them.”

  “No. But I have an idea that I might hatch a plan to bring them together.”

  “Oh yes, that would be marvellous! And I shall help you. We shall be very clever and bring them together, despite my father’s objections.”

  He smiled. “I think we may try, my lady.”

  She threaded her free arm through his. “Then I shall be perfectly happy to stay, for you and I shall be a team. We shall ride to see Sophie tomorrow and see what she knows, for she has seen them any number of times―oh but I forget that you don’t like to ride do you, sir? We shall take the landau instead if you prefer, I am sure my uncle would not mind lending it to us, then you may truly comfortable see the ruins of the old abbey at a more sedate pace.”

  “Thank you,” murmured his grace gravely.

  * * *

  “What am I doing in this Godforsaken place, Marcus? The bed you have given me has lumps, my bedchamber reeks of damp and now I have just been told by one of your neighbours that I am bookish and clever and as crusty as the ruins I like to frequent!”

  Mr Ashworth laughed. “And who dared say such a thing?”

  “The fair Lady Louisa. I apparently do not enjoy riding because I am far too old to keep my seat upon a horse; we are to go by landau instead at a sedate pace―for my comfort, you know, just in case too much excitement carries me off.”

  His friend burst out laughing. “Poor Jasper!”

  “Just so. Does Ned even own a landau? Oh, I suppose he kept one for Mrs King. And then to cap it all, she tells me that I am nice.”

  “Nice?” ejaculated Mr Ashworth, pouring his friend a glass of wine. “You are a lot of things, Jasper, but I would never have described you as nice.”

  “Nice; what a damming that word is, to be sure! I am kind and obliging and agreeable and a dull, dull dog…and your brother is handsome and dashing and exciting, devil take him.”

  “Did she say that?” asked Mr Ashworth, handing him the glass of wine.

  “She didn’t need to,” muttered the Duke. “I caught Nick making up to her at Vauxhall, damn his impudence.”

  “He did mention something about it.”

  His grace sipped his
wine. “Did he though? I sent him off with a flea in his ear.”

  “So I understand. Did you land him a facer?”

  “Very likely. If he hadn’t been your brother…well, suffice it to say that I lost my famous unshakable calm.” The Duke lifted his wine up to the candlelight and watched the colours dance and refract. “I don’t think I have ever been so angry.”

  “Do you want me to send him off?”

  “To what purpose? Louisa will think you have done it at my behest and despise me all the more for it. We are to be friends, you know.” He ran a ragged hand through his hair and laughed bitterly. “Friends, Christ.”

  “She’s infatuated, that’s all. She’s young. She does not know her own heart yet.”

  “Except that she has resolutely set it against me,” replied Malvern with feeling.

  “Nick don’t mean marriage. Louisa will find that out at some point.”

  “Damn you, Marcus!”

  “Me?” replied Mr Ashworth half laughing. “What have I done?”

  “Your little brother is following in your footsteps, can’t you see that? He has become exactly what you were ten years ago. He’s never done one sensible day of work in his entire life. He dresses like a coxcomb, spends night after night gambling into the small hours, in which I might add, you seem to encourage him! He flirts outrageously with every young chit who finds herself catching his eye, makes her an object of his gallantry for three weeks until her mama expects an announcement in The Times at any moment and then diverts his attention when someone prettier comes along―and I know for a fact he has a mistress in Brook Street paid for at your expense! And all you do is laugh.”

  Mr Ashworth smiled. “So much anger, my dear Jasper, it’s surely not good for your health. At your age you know…”

  “This ain’t funny, Marcus.”

  Mr Ashworth sighed. “No. Are you jealous because your old man kept you on a tighter leash? Or would you like me to pay for you to have a mistress in Brook Street?”

  The Duke glared at him.

  Mr Ashworth sobered. “What would you have me do, your grace?”

  “Don’t give me that ‘your grace’ flummery. I won’t be toad-eaten by the likes of you. I’m being serious. Isn’t it time you reined him in?”