His father flitted his gaze briefly over Ashton before he intently returned to applying the mon to papers scattered across his desk. “What is it now?” he asked.
Ashton’s lips twisted. Nothing had changed. He was as ignored now as he had been in earlier years.
“Is the night watch at our door searching for another missing female?” his father groused. “Have the servants not procured enough wine and spirits to meet your entertainments?” He glanced up, annoyance in his expression. “I’m a busy man, Ashton. I haven’t much time to invest in your exploits, or those of your stepmother.”
“Yes. I know your time is precious.” Too well, Ashton was tempted to add, but refrained. “I realize I’ve had a working relationship with most of the vices known to man, but you may have noticed that those days are behind me.” Ashton straightened, planting his walking stick securely by his side. “While in the King’s Royal Rifles, I became known not only for my shooting abilities but also as a man of courage and honor.”
“And a talented figure with the ladies, I’ve no doubt,” his father sneered.
Ashton lowered himself to a chair opposite his father’s desk. “I suppose you’re as much to blame for that. I’m told the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He used the tip of his stick to tap the pillow book on the corner of the desk.
His father chortled, the first sign of humor Ashton had seen in far too long. “I was young once myself, you know.” His father lifted the pillow book and placed it out of sight in his desk drawer. “Shouldn’t leave that out for the servants to find.”
Ashton noted that he hadn’t mentioned a concern that Constance discover the book. Then again, he imagined the book held no surprises for Constance. Edwina, on the other hand . . .
“I appreciate your assistance in hiding the book earlier. Questions about it would have been awkward.” There was something about the set of his father’s lips that suggested the awkwardness had not been totally avoided. “You didn’t happen to notice a note or letter that might have come with the package?”
“A note?” Ashton drew his brows together. “What sort of note?”
“Nothing to be concerned about,” his father said, turning his attention back to his papers. “There often is a letter that comes with these acquisitions, that’s all. Business details. Nothing to concern you.”
Business details would not likely be set in code. His father’s anticipation confirmed he, and not some other member of the household, or member of the Guardians, was the targeted recipient. Ashton quickly scanned the room, looking for something that might serve as the key for the coded text, but saw nothing beyond the paintings of frigates on the wall and papers scattered about the desk. Remembering Lord Rothwell’s cautionary advice, Ashton was even more conflicted about placing himself in the employ of someone possibly disloyal to the Crown.
“I didn’t interrupt your work to discuss your collection.” Ashton took a breath, preparing himself to step off the precipice. “I’ve been considering your advice about my future, sir. I believe I would like to know more about the movement of freight.”
His father’s jaw slackened a moment before he studied Ashton as if a stranger had wandered into his study. “Are you certain, lad? There’ll be no fancy parties or fawning women in my world.”
“Yes, sir.” Ashton winced while he lightly tapped his walking stick on the floor. “I believe you said my options were limited. I suppose I should count myself fortunate that you have opportunities for a cripple.”
“A whole man would have been better, that’s for certain. Lifting a heavy load requires the cooperation of both legs.” His father stopped his work, then shifted back in his chair. He scrutinized his son like one assessing a horse. “With all those schools you attended, I’m hoping you learned something. I could put you in the yard. You could schedule the freight with the railroads . . . or maybe I should put you in a cart. You won’t need your legs to snap the reins of the Clydesdales. The men might even appreciate your skill with a rifle. Bloody robbers are everywhere.” He squinted at his son. “It’s hard work. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
Ashton nodded.
“Good.” His father smiled. “I’m sure I can find a position for you.”
It was without a doubt a candle-snuffing moment.
• Eleven •
“EDWINA, YOU’VE BEEN WORKING ON THAT LETTER for days. When are you going to tell me about the boys’ mischief that has kept you so occupied?”
Startled, Edwina glanced up from her sequence charts and attempted translations to discover her mother pulling at her gloves in the doorway. Edwina’s kitten, Isabella, prepared to pounce on the fringe trim on her mother’s skirt before Edwina scooped her up into her arms. “I’m sorry, Mother. What did you say?”
“Don’t look so shocked, dear. I’ve known for some time that your brothers like to keep their secrets by writing in code. I was just wondering when you planned to tell me of their latest exploits.”
She’d been working on Ashton’s coded message for weeks, not days. Relieved that her obsession with cracking the code hadn’t been noted, she released the struggling kitten to the floor while she gathered up her charts and translations before her mother could see that the handwriting was not that of one of the boys. That gave her pause. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier?
“If there was anything significant, I’d be sure to tell you,” Edwina replied. “Mostly they write about the scenery.” She’d have to view the original coded letter again to be certain, but if she recalled the slant of the letters and their shaping correctly, the original had a decided feminine nuance. She’d have to mention that to Ashton when she saw him next—whenever that may be. Since she’d refused his gift of the Japanese fan, labeling her in a sense as one of his women, she hadn’t heard from him at all. At least the intervening weeks had given her time to find the missing scandalous netsuke. For the moment, it lay buried deep in her bureau. Hiding it there was only temporary until she managed to return it to its proper owner.
She slipped the gathered papers into the drawer of her writing desk, then turned to her mother. “Are we making calls this afternoon?”
Her mother adjusted her hat. “Not today. Mrs. Farthington is addressing the gardening society on all matter of pests among the perennials.” She met Edwina’s gaze. “I don’t suppose she will include herself in that category, but she really should. She has nothing but criticism for my hydrangeas.”
Edwina smiled. The animosity between her mother and Mrs. Farthington had been years in the making and would most likely disappoint the both of them if one or the other refused to participate. There was little doubt that her mother enjoyed the bickering, but only with Mrs. Farthington. Such arguments with her father did not have the same effect. Which made her wonder . . .
Edwina studied her mother’s face. “Are you happy, Mother? Truly happy?”
Mrs. Hargrove cocked her head while dangling a handkerchief just out of reach of the kitten’s batting paws. “That is a strange question from you, dear. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered if you had regrets.” Edwina wasn’t sure how to ask the question that was on her mind. “I know you didn’t know Father well when you married, and I wondered—”
Her mother sighed and put the handkerchief away. “You’re wondering how you and Mr. Thomas will suit, aren’t you?” She moved deeper into the room.
That really wasn’t what was on her mind, but Edwina knew enough to keep that to herself. Better to just listen to what her mother had to say.
“I knew what I needed to know about your father. I knew his prospects were sufficient to provide an adequate household. He came from a respectable family, and my father approved of him. It was a good match.”
“But you loved him, did you not?” The kitten hopped into Edwina’s lap and purred contently.
Her
mother smiled softly. “I was too young then to know of love. A good wife tends to the hearth and home. Then, if she is lucky, in time she will learn to love her husband.” She patted Edwina’s hand. “You’ll see. Your father says Mr. Thomas is a studious clerk and will sit for the boards soon. His income will rise accordingly and be of a sufficient nature to allow him to ask for your hand. You are a very lucky young woman to have caught his attention. Any number of women would be thrilled to have an offer from such a fine prospect.” She tapped her hand on the bed. “I must be off. Do not strain your eyes unduly on that letter, dear. Oh!” She patted her cheek. “I almost forgot to tell you what I came in to say. There’s a package downstairs. I believe it may be a gift from Mr. Thomas. Gifts from a suitor are always an encouraging sign.”
Edwina could not imagine what Walter could possibly have sent her. A book, perhaps? One on the proper deportment for a traditional wife? She sighed, remembering her mother’s words. She certainly didn’t feel lucky. She felt . . . trapped. Yes, much like a beast in the zoological park, denied the freedom to explore beyond the bars that defined the cage. Thinking about being trapped made her long to dash out of the house and into the sunshine, perhaps even ride her bicycle, just to remind herself that she was a modern woman, and not just a decorative object like so many of the women she and her mother had called upon in their fifteen-minute visits.
Her mother continually assured her that those calls would ultimately benefit her in an improved social status, but Edwina had her doubts. She’d agreed to participate in the practice, as it made her mother content and, in the long run, might improve her mother’s social status. While that might be her mother’s dream, it certainly wasn’t Edwina’s. She looked out the window at the beckoning sunshine and thought of all the places beyond that window, all the places she would one day love to explore. A whimsical fantasy, that! While her brothers were encouraged to explore the world, her father had made it perfectly clear that it would be a waste of money for a woman to do so. Her future was to be a wife and mother, here in England, where all respectable women resided. She’d live in a stuffy little house, with a stuffy little husband, and entertain calls in a stuffy little parlor. Excitement would be experienced only through reading the writings of others, like those of Isabella Bird, her kitten’s namesake. A cloud slipped in front of the sun, dimming the sunlight, dimming her dreams, dimming her future.
Her concentration interrupted, she glanced at her lap writing desk, hesitant to pull out all the papers to return to her code-breaking efforts. Instead she put the box on the top of her bureau, the same bureau that housed the scandalous netsuke. She had found it in a far corner under her mattress, then hid it in a silk stocking tucked in a deep corner of a drawer. Now she just needed a way to return it.
Just thinking of the scandalous artifact made warmth expand in her private areas. While she kept it hidden by day, sometimes she took it out at night when she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed. The carving reminded her of her adventure closeted away with Ashton in the secret gallery with prints of men and women performing intimacies with no sense of shame. After a week of resisting, she’d even explored herself in the manner of the woman on the netsuke. Her finger discovered areas so sensitive to touch, sensation rippled from her chest to her toes. If her slim finger unleashed such sensation, she marveled what a jade stalk could do. A delicious shiver tingled through her.
Her gaze caught on the cherry blossom necklace curled near her lap desk. Ashton had called her the Mistress of Cherry Blossoms that magical night at Lady Sutton’s soiree. The mistress of fleeting pleasures, she almost wished that was true, as it appeared any opportunity for pleasurable pursuits was rapidly disappearing. She should cast concerns aside and live each day to the fullest. Well, Christopher, that was precisely what she was going to do. No stuffy houses today!
She stood, dropping Isabella to the floor, then grabbed a wide-brimmed hat to shield her from the sun. She slipped down the stairs, the kitten in close pursuit, but she stopped in the foyer. A familiar cylindrical package wrapped in brown paper sat on the table where mail was placed for her father’s perusal. Edwina collected the surprisingly heavy package as she escaped into sunlight, fresh air, and the freedom of her Victor safety bicycle.
Perhaps it was her earlier maudlin thoughts of caged animals, but she was drawn to Regent’s Park. Rather than visit the zoological gardens, though, she found a quiet bench that faced one of the green commons and contemplated Ashton’s gift. She was surprised he had sent it, after her rather triumphant refusal at the Crescent. Trewelyn was nothing if not persistent. She hadn’t anticipated, however, that a fan would be quite so heavy.
She quickly removed the paper and string, discovering she had erred in her assumptions. This was no Japanese fan but a spyglass. Her mind instantly turned to their conversation the night of the Sutton soiree when he told her of the stars and constellations. A bit of shame rose to her cheeks. It was a thoughtful gift, and one for which she would have thanked him profusely, if she hadn’t been so intent on criticizing him. She raised it to her eye and discovered she could see nannies pushing perambulators on the far side of the green as clear as if they walked in front of her bench. She saw birds flitting from one tree to another, where before she would have just seen green. Delighted with the gift, she felt she was back playing pirates with her brothers, climbing trees, dueling with sticks. She stood, imagining she was the captain of the Black Spot, studying the horizon for . . .
A familiar, though vastly more tanned, face appeared through the lens. She lowered the spyglass to confirm. Yes. She recognized his awkward gait. Ashton walked beside a much smaller replica of himself, carrying a boat almost as large as the child holding it. Their appearance presented her an opportunity to correct her earlier rudeness. Yes, she told herself. Holding both the spyglass and the handlebars of her bicycle proved challenging, but she felt she couldn’t pedal across the green fast enough. She needed to thank him and speak again of codes and constellations, secrets and adventure. Once more, before it was too late.
• • •
“ARE YOU SURE SHE’LL SAIL, ASH?” MATTHEW ASKED BESIDE him.
“Most certainly,” Ashton replied. “That’s why you’ll have to hold on to the string. Otherwise, she just might sail down the stream, then into the Thames, all the way to the ocean.”
He smiled down at the boy, whose enthusiasm at the simple task of putting a boat in water proved infectious. Ashton had to believe his father was a fool for not spending time with his own son. Foolish, but not unexpected. After all, Ashton recalled a similar dismissal himself as a young boy. He supposed he’d spent a goodly part of his youth trying to capture that attention. When polite, obedient behavior failed to garner notice, he tried the other extreme. That approach failed as well, but at least he managed some fun in the process. For all intents and purposes it appeared the process of avoidance and dismissal was beginning again, only with Matthew as the victim.
Would you do any better as a father? The question loomed in his mind. According to society, child rearing fell in the realm of a mother’s responsibilities. If no mother was present, the father made arrangements with governesses and schools. A father’s primary responsibility was to provide for all under his roof. His father had indeed done his duty in that regard. No one was wanting of clothing, food, or shelter. If providing for a family required continuing in the same sort of drudgery that Ashton had faced the last few weeks, he wondered if he could do as well.
“Good afternoon!”
Ashton turned to discover Edwina barreling through the grass in their direction with determined accuracy. Her bike wobbled and bounced over the ruts in the grass like a drunken lord, but Edwina appeared nonplussed. Edwina always appeared nonplussed. Never was a woman so headstrong about taking on the world. She had the heart of a tiger, that one, and the countenance of . . . a disheveled, chaotic, laughing angel. Ashton reached out ready to catch her if sh
e were to fall in his arms.
“Whoa,” he called out as he steadied the wobbling wheeled death trap.
“A bike is not a horse,” Edwina advised. “It does not respond to spoken commands, though at times I wish it did.”
“I’ve never seen a lady riding a bicycle before,” Matthew marveled.
“That’s because Miss Hargrove is a modern woman and not an ordinary lady,” Ashton replied. No, there was little ordinary about Edwina. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed her. Even though his father had kept him traveling the drayage routes, he’d received invitations from agreeable women to dawdle a bit in taverns and fine manors alike. In his prior life, he’d have been tempted to accept those invitations, but this time around he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure why until he saw Edwina jostling across the grass like a knight on a charger. Unlike Edwina, those women were disinterested in life, and they had no curiosities or talents beyond the bedroom. They had assumed he was little more than a handsome face driving a team of horses. In spite of many assurances to the contrary, Edwina believed he was capable of more. Just seeing her made his chest expand with pride, and his determination to prove her correct grow stronger.
“Allow me to introduce my brother.” He tousled the boy’s head. “This is Matthew, the proud owner and captain of the good ship Impatience.”
Edwina curtsied as if presented to the Queen herself. And Matthew, after Ashton relieved him of the burdensome ship, bowed like a proper gentleman. Ashton beamed, proud of his little half brother.
Edwina nodded to the young lad. “Very pleased to meet you, Master Matthew. That’s a lovely ship.”
Matthew squinted at Edwina. “Is that a pirate’s spyglass? Can I use it to watch my boat?”
“I think you have enough in your hands as it is,” Ashton said, placing the toy ship back in his arms. “Perhaps Miss Hargrove will join us as we take the Impatience on its initial launch.” He raised an eyebrow in invitation.
The Casanova Code Page 14
