Sir Ashley's Mettlesome Match

by Mary Nichols

  ‘You are not ill, are you?’

  ‘No, but I am old. I married too late and your aunt was almost past childbearing, which is why we only ever had Edward. Do not let that happen to you, my boy. I have always regretted it.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Ash said mildly. ‘What happened to the young lady Edward was enamoured of?’

  ‘I believe she went to live in the country. Norfolk, I think. I have heard nothing of her since. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wondered how she had taken Edward’s rejection of her.’

  ‘I have no idea. I only met her once. Gertrude disliked her on sight.’

  ‘Why? Was she ugly? Ill mannered? Top lofty?’

  ‘Not exactly ugly, no, but she had the brightest and wildest red hair I have ever seen on anyone. Gertrude said she had been kissed by the devil and no good would come of marrying her.’

  ‘Did she say that to Edward?’

  ‘I cannot recall. It was not important.’ Henry rose ponderously to his feet and even that small effort made him breathless.

  Ash stood up. He was head and shoulders taller than his uncle. ‘It might have been important to the lady herself, had she heard it.’

  ‘No reason why she should. There were sufficient reasons to reject her without mentioning that. I told you what they were.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ash murmured. ‘No breeding and no dowry.’

  Ash went to bid farewell to his aunt and then walked slowly homeward, ignoring the chairmen calling out for him to hire them. He needed to think.

  Edward and Pippa. It was an unlikely match. Edward was a conventional soul, thoroughly spoiled by his doting mother and used to his comforts. No wonder he did not like the idea of living in straitened circumstances. Had he hoped Pippa would move into his family home after they were married? He smiled wryly; he could just imagine what she would have said about that. And there was her brother and her aunt and cousin, all of whom depended on the money she earned—his uncle would not have taken them on as well. The red hair was a minor issue. Except that he was sure she had been hurt by it. Poor Pippa. But she wasn’t poor, she was infuriatingly independent. Anyone who married her would have his hands full. Life with Pippa would never be dull. And then he laughed aloud, making several passers-by look at him as if he were mad. What would his aunt and uncle say if he told them he was going to marry Miss Philippa Kingslake? They would have a fit. Not that he would do it, of course.

  He stopped laughing suddenly. It could never be Pippa Kingslake. She was a real lady of gentle birth and he was well aware of his reputation, as was she. Real lady she might be but she did not behave like one. She was too independent, too fond of adventure and getting into scrapes, too mettlesome to be called ladylike. But wasn’t that exactly what attracted him? And now he was expected to persuade her to be otherwise, to keep her lovely nose out of national affairs. How could he do that and at the same time, keep her at arm’s length, her good name unsullied?

  Was his uncle right? Was it time he settled down to marriage? He liked the idea of becoming a father. He had a sudden vision of a wife and children at Fairfields, scampering about on the lawn, their happy voices rising to the sky, or riding ponies or learning their lessons in the schoolroom, not used since he had been a child himself, and in his mind’s eye, every one of them had red hair.

  Pippa wanted to go home. She wanted everything to be back to what it was, when her only problem was how to get her hero and heroine out of the muddle they were in and bring about a happy ending. She could manipulate events in a story, could have her readers on the edge of their seats, knowing, even as they turned the pages, it would come out all right in the end. Why could she not manipulate real life like that? If she went home, could she make it happen? She lay on her bed in her shift, waiting for Teresa to bring her hot water to wash and dress for supper and mentally set out the real life plot so far, hoping for inspiration.

  There was Nat, who was goodness knows where, and Aunt Augusta and Ben staying at Sir Ashley’s country house, more or less under house arrest. There was Sir Ashley himself, ubiquitous, self-assured and unbelievably attractive, and there was that ridiculous band of thief-takers. How could half a dozen men imagine they could make a difference to the lawlessness of the country? But that was where Sir Ashley’s first loyalty lay. And for some even more ridiculous reason that hurt. She had no call to be hurt, she told herself angrily, she had no claim on him at all. Why then did her heart thump so uncontrollably whenever he was near? Why did she feel weak and boneless when he kissed her? She was being a traitor to Nat feeling like that.

  And there was Sir Felix. He was almost certainly in league with the smugglers, was perhaps the kingpin of the Narbeach operation. The sailor on board the Sally Ann had implied as much and Sir Ashley had not seemed at all surprised. Sir Felix might know where Nat was. Dare she ask him? But then he would want an answer to his proposal. If she turned him down again, what then? Would it seal Nat’s fate? She did not know and had no time to try and think of a way out, because Teresa came in with the hot water and she scrambled off the bed to dress.

  William and Eleanor were having a little supper party. ‘Nothing elaborate,’ Eleanor had said. ‘And afterwards a few hands of cards and a little music.’

  Pippa went downstairs, dressed simply in a blue-and-white striped taffeta open gown over a quilted petticoat in a paler blue embroidered with pale yellow rosebuds, a matching quilted stomacher and her hair partially tamed by judicious use of combs, to find the guests already congregating. Eleanor had misled her; they were all splendidly attired in silks, satins, brocades and velvets in every hue of the rainbow, embroidered, ruched, pleated, covered with gold or silver embroidery, the men no less than the ladies. And standing head and shoulders above them was Sir Ashley Saunders, in plum-coloured velvet.

  There were other guests she did not know, milling about, all talking at once. She hesitated, wondering whether to flee back to her bedchamber, but Eleanor saw her and, taking her arm, led her into the room to be presented to those she did not know. When her cousin left her for other hostess duties, Pippa found herself standing next to Viscount and Lady Leinster and Lord and Lady Portman, with whom she was already acquainted. They introduced her to Lord Drymore and his wife, Amy, and Captain Alexander Carstairs. All the men, she realised, were members of the Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club, all determined to promote law and order and see every wrongdoer in custody. It made her feel uncomfortable.

  It was not long before Ash excused himself from the couple he was talking to and drifted over to them. He bowed to the ladies and had a compliment for each, before stationing himself beside Pippa so that when the meal was announced they went into the dining room together.

  Eleanor’s idea of nothing elaborate was a seven-course meal with everything from soup, pork, broiled pigeons, crayfish, stewed carp, pheasant, peas, broccoli and cucumber with mock turtle as a centrepiece. After that came buttered apple pie, tarts with every conceivable filling and a pudding covered in a cobweb of spun sugar. When all that was removed there was still candied and preserved fruits. No one commented on the vast quantities, but attacked everything as if they were starving.

  Pippa, with no appetite, looked round at the company close to her. She and Ash were surrounded by the Piccadilly Gentlemen and their wives.

  ‘I collect you have but lately arrived in London,’ Amy Drymore said to Pippa.

  ‘Yes, last week. It is a short visit with my cousin, Lady Trentham. I am from Norfolk.’

  ‘What a coincidence,’ Amy said. ‘My home is on the border of Cambridgeshire and Norfolk. Blackfen Manor, Highbeck—do you know it?’

  ‘I believe I have passed through Highbeck, but I do not know it.’

  ‘Miss Kingslake’s home is in Narbeach,’ Louise informed Amy. ‘It is where Ash met her.’

  ‘That is not far from Highbeck,’ Amy said. ‘Barely half a day’s journey. You must come and visit us, Miss Kingslake.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Do you not say so, James?’

/>   ‘You will be most welcome,’ James said. ‘My wife is infrequently in town. She prefers the country and the company of our four children. But she loves entertaining.’

  ‘You will love Blackfen Manor,’ Louise put in. ‘It is so peaceful and Amy’s children are delightful.’

  ‘I should certainly like to pay a visit,’ Pippa said slowly. ‘When my commitments allow.’

  ‘Then Sir Ashley must bring you.’ This from Amy.

  Pippa was taken aback by this. Had they taken for granted that she was destined to become Ash’s next mistress? She felt her face turning scarlet and wished she did not blush so readily. ‘Sir Ashley is a very busy man,’ she said. ‘I am sure he is…’ She stopped in confusion.

  ‘I am never too busy to visit Blackfen Manor,’ Ash said, rescuing her with a smile. ‘But Miss Kingslake is also very industrious.’

  ‘Are you?’ Louise asked her. ‘In what way are you industrious?’

  Pippa looked round at them, all waiting for her answer. ‘Oh, this and that,’ she said.

  ‘Miss Kingslake, you do yourself a disservice,’ Ash said. ‘I am sure the ladies would like to hear what occupies you.’

  At the moment what occupied her to the exclusion of almost everything else was how to find her brother. Did he mean that or was he referring to her authorship? She smiled. ‘I write.’

  ‘Write,’ Amy repeated. ‘You mean letters and poetry?’

  ‘No, novels.’

  ‘Novels!’ they exclaimed almost in one breath. ‘How clever of you!’

  ‘What about?’ Louise demanded.

  Pippa, who had never made much of what she did, preferring to hide behind her nom de plume, felt embarrassed and murmured, ‘Oh, simple adventure stories.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of Philip King?’ Ash asked them.

  ‘I should think I have!’ Amy said. ‘My sons, John and William, love his stories.’ She turned to Pippa. ‘Do you mean to say you are he, Miss Kingslake?’

  She nodded, hating to be the centre of attention.

  ‘Annabelle loves them too,’ Rosamund said. ‘Goodness me, she will be overcome to think I have met you.’

  ‘Then you must all come to Highbeck and bring your children to meet the famous author,’ Amy said. ‘We shall have a house party, especially for the children.’ She laughed at Ash. ‘You have no children, but that does not mean you cannot come. It will be practice for when you do.’

  ‘I do not think Sir Ashley needs practice,’ Rosamund said. ‘He is very good with Annabelle. Is that not so, Harry?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ her husband confirmed. ‘I have been telling him this age that he ought to marry and set up his own nursery.’

  ‘Oh, not you too,’ Ash laughed. ‘I have had enough of that from—’ He stopped. He had been going to say his uncle Cadogan, but suddenly remembered that mentioning that name might upset Pippa, especially when she realised there was a family connection between him and Edward. One day he would tell her, but not in public. ‘My housekeeper, Mrs Bellamy,’ he finished somewhat lamely. ‘She has known me since I was born and thinks she can say what she likes to me.’

  ‘Do you have siblings, Miss Kingslake?’ James asked her.

  Pippa had supposed she would be asked that question sooner or later and was prepared to answer. ‘I have a younger brother, Nathaniel. Our aunt and her son, Benjamin, have lived with us for many years and it was for the boys I began to pen the stories. They are grown up now, but I continue to write them and will do so while others enjoy reading them.’

  Ash leaned towards her to whisper, ‘Well, done, my dear.’ It seemed he was not about to expose her for concealing her brother’s smuggling and for that she was thankful.

  ‘We must make the most of your stay in the capital, Miss Kingslake,’ Rosamund said. ‘Why do we not make up a party to go and watch the military review in Hyde Park tomorrow? I am told it is to be a prodigious grand affair, a stirring memory for Miss Kingslake to take back to the country with her. She might even write a tale around it.’

  Louise, the youngest of the three women, clapped her hands. ‘Oh, do let us all go. Say you will come, Miss Kingslake.’

  Ash looked at Pippa and smiled, one eyebrow raised in the idiosyncratic way he had. ‘Will you be free to accompany us?’

  Pippa understood he was asking her, as clearly as if he had said the words, if she intended to pursue her search for Nat, which in his opinion was best left to him. ‘If Lady Trentham can spare me, I should like to come,’ she said, giving him the answer he hoped for. It did not mean she would not find other opportunities to look for Nat. She might even see him among the crowds, but if that proved abortive, she would go home the following day and confront Sir Felix.

  ‘The gentlemen will undoubtedly be looking about them for thieves and pickpockets and passers of counterfeit coins,’ Rosamund said. ‘They do not seem to be able to help themselves. We might even have a little excitement if they catch one.’

  ‘Do you always occupy yourselves so assiduously with society matters?’ Pippa asked, looking from one to the other of the gentlemen, picturing them chasing after criminals and her brother in particular. Oh, how humiliating that would be.

  ‘We do what has to be done to the best of our ability,’ James said.

  ‘Do your wives work for the Society, too?’ Pippa asked.

  ‘Work for the Society?’ Rosamund asked, puzzled.

  ‘Miss Kingslake thinks a woman might be an asset in certain situations,’ Ash put in.

  ‘A lady member of the Piccadilly Gentlemen,’ Louise laughed. ‘What an extraordinary idea!’

  ‘And yet every one of you has been involved in the Society’s work one way and another,’ Ash put in quietly, rescuing Pippa yet again. ‘Not one of you met your husbands in a conventional way.’

  ‘That is true,’ Amy said, nodding her head in agreement and making the feather on her turban dance. ‘Did you know, Miss Kingslake, that there is a tradition that the Piccadilly Gentlemen find their marriage partners through the Society? James and me, Jonathan and Louise, Harry and Rosamund, even our servant, Sam Roker. Ash and Alex have yet to succumb, but I am persuaded they will in the end.’

  ‘Ash does not subscribe to marriage as an institution,’ Alex said, laughing.

  ‘Oh, you do not have to believe that,’ Rosamund said. ‘It is simply that he has not yet found his match.’

  Pippa felt more uncomfortable than ever. There were matchmakers among them who were intent on marrying Sir Ashley off, and she had become their target. She wondered if they did that with every new female acquaintance or were simply trying to disentangle him from Mrs Thornley. He might be willing, in his good-natured way, to be the butt of their jokes, but she did not like the idea of being used in that way, especially as the Piccadilly Gentlemen were all for law and order and punishing the wrongdoer, whereas she was on the wrong side of the law/lawless divide. It put them on opposite sides of a wide abyss. The sooner she sorted out her own problems the better.

  ‘I wish you ladies would not try to decide my fate for me,’ Ash said, pretending to be aggrieved. ‘I am perfectly capable of doing that for myself.’

  ‘Then you are being an unconscionable long time about it,’ Amy said. ‘I fear you are too particular.’

  ‘No doubt I am,’ he said.

  This put an end to that particular strand of the conversation, much to Pippa’s relief, and they began making plans for the following day. These had been concluded to everyone’s satisfaction when the meal ended and they went to listen to music provided by a string quartet and afterwards played a few hands of whist. Unaccountably, Ash, the most successful gambler they knew, lost for once and Amy was heard to laugh and say, ‘Unlucky at cards, lucky in love’, to which he refused to reply.

  Soon after that the party broke up and Pippa escaped to her own room, to ruminate on what she had learned about the Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club. They appeared light-hearted about it, but she suspected that covered a serious inte
nt which did not bode well for Nat. Or her.

  As soon as he arrived back at his home, Ash changed into his rough brown clothes, covered his head with a scratch wig and a tricorne hat, and set off for the docks again. Here he made a tour of the taverns, looking for any crew of the Sally Ann who, with money in their pockets, were roistering until the ship sailed again. He was glad he had a strong stomach because he was obliged to buy ale in them all and there were more of those than he cared to count. He had to be careful not to appear too affluent or the customers of these establishments would have his purse and clothes off him in the twinkling of an eye.

  He slouched, rather than strode, and appeared a little half-seas over, as he took his mug of ale over to the noisiest group in each tavern. ‘May I join you, gentlemen?’ he asked, swaying on his feet.

  They shifted up to make room for him. ‘Where you from?’ one of them asked. ‘Off the Merry Matilda,’ he said, naming a lugger he knew had docked late that afternoon. ‘Where are you from?’

  They named several ships, not one the Sally Ann. He stayed with them for several minutes, then moved on. It was the same with every drinking place he entered. It seemed the Sally Ann crew had gone to ground. Unless they were all back on board, ready to sail again. He took himself off to her berth. It was still anchored, but there were one or two seamen making their way up the plank to the deck. They were most of them drunk and he wondered how they managed to negotiate it without falling in. There was a man coming along the quay towards him who seemed a little less foxed than the others. He approached him cautiously.

  ‘Are you from the Sally Ann?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you want to know for?’

  He repeated the tale he had told the first mate and was met with gales of laughter.

  ‘I am glad you find it amusing,’ he said, pretending to be affronted, though he realised he had made a serious mistake. The man was laughing because he must know Nat Kingslake was no servant. It was imperative he retrieve the situation.