Kitabı oku: «Regency Scoundrels And Scandals», sayfa 26
‘Yes, ma’am.’ She received a smart salute and a grin from the one with a voice and a lopsided smile from his companion.
‘Well, give these men a hand up, James,’ Bel ordered.
Her vocal soldier informed Bel that they were Jem Brown and Charlie Lewin of the 14th Battalion. ‘The Bucking-hamshires ma’am,’ Brown explained. Lewin had been hit in the neck at Quatre Bras, the day before Waterloo, but the wound had not seemed serious at first, until he had been wounded at Waterloo. ‘Lying out for twenty-four hours in the mud with your leg shattered doesn’t do much for your wounds, though, ma’am,’ his friend explained. ‘I had it easier; a ball carried mine off nice and neat.’
Bel swallowed hard, wondering what Aunt Louisa was going to say if she returned Elinor in a fainting condition, but her cousin was made of sterner stuff than that. ‘A doctor is the priority, then,’ she said firmly. ‘And to send out for supplies of bandages, gauze and salves.’
They drove round to the mews and Bel sent James running for Hedges and the other footman while her coachman and groom helped the men down. She expected opposition from the butler. Hedges marched into the yard, his face grim, then stood assessing the two men through narrowed eyes. They met his scrutiny with more calm than Bel would have predicted. Hedges grunted. ‘I reckon they’ll do, my lady. Come on, lads, help them up to the hay loft.’
He watched them struggling up the stairs and turned to Bel. ‘I had a nephew, wounded badly at Salamanca. Died later on, after he’d come home, but at least it was in his mother’s arms, warm and comfortable and with those he loved all around. If he’d had no family to go to, he’d have ended up like those two, and it don’t bear thinking about.’ His mouth worked for a moment as though something else was going to burst out, then he was composed again, his face expressionless.
Bel stood back while Hedges organised the staff, sent for the doctor and had the footmen running for hot water and tubs. ‘First thing, get you clean,’ she heard him ordering from the loft. ‘Look at the state of you! I’m not having you on her ladyship’s premises in that state, even if it is only the hay loft. Then you’ll be fit to see the doctor. And then you can eat.’
When the butler came down to the yard again his face was grim. ‘National disgrace it is, the way the army treats its men. They do it better in the navy, that’s for sure.’ He looked up at the long loft, then back to Bel. ‘How many more of them have you got, ladies?’
‘Just the two,’ Elinor said faintly as Mrs Hedges appeared, the kitchen maid at her heels.
‘How many more can we take?’ Bel asked.
‘Up there, my lady? Half a dozen or so.’
‘Well, Elinor,’ Bel said with a rueful smile, ‘It seems I did not have to look far—my charity has found me.’
Ashe remained in Hertfordshire for ten days, surprised at how content he found himself, getting to know the workings of the estate in far greater detail than he had ever done while his father was alive, or while old Simmons, the previous estate manager, had been in charge.
John Barrington was a stimulating companion to work with, his family stopped their overt fussing after a day or two and the sun shone. If it were not for missing Bel, he could have rusticated happily until the start of the hunting season.
But miss her he did, and not, as he had expected, just in his bed. There was that, of course, and on several occasions he had tossed and turned, failing to sleep until he had given up, gone out and swum in the lake in the moonlight. That was some help, until his over-active imagination produced the picture of Bel in there with him, her skin pearly in the silver light, slipping like a fish through the cool water as he dived after her, his hands skimming over her sleek curves.
Ashe missed talking to her. That was the shock. He had not realised just how much time they had spent talking, exchanging opinions and confidences without really being aware of it. He knew she disliked striped fabrics, ormolu and the fad for the Egyptian style and was entirely in agreement with her. He knew she preferred opera to drama and chamber music to orchestral and that there they disagreed. He knew she would like a dog, but not a cat, and that she would rather ride than drive and he had no preferences as far as equestrian exercise was concerned but admitted to a weakness for cats about the house.
Bel declared herself a Whig not a Tory, but expressed distrust of most politicians and was very clear that she preferred short sermons on Sunday, which meant that she would be at odds with several of their neighbours and bored by the Rector. And at that point he realised he was again imagining her at Coppergate, gave himself a brisk mental talking-to and went to discuss pigsty design with the Home Farm stockman.
But despite his attempts at self-control, Ashe was conscious of his heart beating faster as he sifted through the pile of letters, bills and notes that Race retrieved from the Albany porter’s lodge when they arrived back in London. He had written three days ago to tell them to forward on nothing more to Hertfordshire, so there was a considerable stack to flick through.
Yet there was no cryptic little note signed B, to greet him, hinting at a time for their reunion, despite his having sent a letter, ostensibly enquiring if she had any further problems with the house, as he would be able to call any day after this date. Disappointed, Ashe poured himself a glass of Madeira and began to work systematically through the pile, tossing the bills aside to deal with later. He had had almost two weeks of paying careful attention to accounts; he was in no rush to immerse himself in them here yet a while.
Invitations, advertisements, solicitations from tradesmen, more invitations…He opened one letter, addressed in a clear black hand that looked vaguely familiar, and found it was from Bel. Not a hastily scrawled, secretive note, but bold as brass, a formal invitation to take tea tomorrow at three o’clock.
Ashe folded the invitation and sat, absently tapping it against his lips as he tried to divine its meaning. Was Bel about to give him his congé? Or was she becoming much bolder, entertaining him openly in front of her staff? Or…what?
He unfolded the paper and scrutinised it again. No, surely not his dismissal; the tone, although completely harmless if anyone else happened to see it, was warm.
There was the familiar tightening in his loins as he thought of her, but overriding even that, the desire just to see her, to hold her, to talk. What had she been doing? What would she think of how he had spent the past days? He would welcome her opinion about the actions he had taken to advance Frederica’s romance, his ideas for the town house.
‘My lord?’
‘Eh?’ Race was standing by his side, looking faintly martyred. Presumably he had been speaking for some time. ‘Sorry, Race, did you say something?’
‘I enquired which garments you would wish me to put out for this evening, my lord.’
‘I’m going to White’s, I think, so the usual for that. And for tomorrow afternoon, those new kerseymere pantaloons and the dark blue superfine swallowtail coat.’
‘Indeed, my lord. Most suitable to the occasion, if I may say so.’ Race produced a discreet smirk and took himself off before Ashe could retaliate. It really was almost impossible to hide anything from your valet.
Chapter Thirteen
At three on Tuesday afternoon Ashe walked up the steps to what had once been his own familiar front door, knocked and was admitted by Hedges. The butler regarded him with more approval than might be expected, given that on the occasion of their last meeting in Half Moon Street he had been hideously hung over and in the wrong bed.
‘Good afternoon, my lord. Lady Belinda is in the drawing room.’
Ashe handed his hat and gloves to a footman, the butler opened the door, announced ‘Lord Dereham, my lady’, ushered him through and closed it behind him with a soft click.
Bel came towards him, her hand held out, her smiling lips parted as though to speak. He did not give her the chance. His coat was off, thrown to one side as he took two urgent strides across the room, then she was tight in his arms, his mouth crushing down on hers, every soft curve pressed against him as he drank in the taste and the scent of her like a parched man.
She writhed in his arms, inflaming him further; her hands were clenched against his chest, beating a tattoo of desperation every bit as urgent as his. Her mouth was open, working under his searching lips as he swept her further into the room, past the knot of chairs around the hearth and towards the sofa. All he had to do was to get there, although the urge simply to drag her to the floor was overwhelming.
One hand slid down to cup the delicious peach-curve of her buttock; she was so tense, quivering with an excitement that matched his own, struggling in his embrace. They were almost there, almost at the sofa. Out of the corner of his eye, Ashe glimpsed the tea tray on a low table, swerved to avoid it, swept the honey-sweet moistness of Bel’s mouth with his tongue—and froze.
The tea tray was laden with cups and plates and more cakes than two people could eat in a week. The realisation sunk in as Bel’s teeth closed on his tongue in a sharp bite that had him freeing her with a yelp of pain. From behind him a voice like thunder said, ‘Unhand her, you libertine!’
Bel staggered back from Ashe’s arms, panting from her struggles to free herself. His appalled expression contrasted with the outrage on her aunt’s face as Lady James surged to her feet from the depths of the wing armchair, reticule clenched in one mittened hand, intent on saving her niece from masculine assault.
To an onlooker it would have seemed highly amusing, a farce of the first order; all Bel could feel was a sick apprehension. There was absolutely no way this could be explained away, no way that she was not now exposed, before her own aunt, as a loose woman.
‘Explain yourself, sir!’ Ashe turned slowly to face Aunt Louisa. Her face, as she recognised him, was a picture of shocked disbelief. ‘Lord Dereham! What is the meaning of this outrage?’
‘Lady James. I can explain—’
‘I would like to hear you try, sir!’
Bel groped for the high curved end of the sofa and held on to it. Explain? How could he possibly explain that away? How on earth had it happened? She had felt so safe, so happy, and now, in a few seconds, it was tumbling around her ears. She swayed, dizzy, convinced that every ounce of blood had drained out of her face. The back of Ashe’s neck was red, but his voice was steady as he faced the outraged widow.
‘The force of my ardour—’
‘Hah! Is that what you call it, you libertine?’
‘—for Lady Belinda,’ he continued steadily, ‘deceived me into believing that my feelings were reciprocated, and, in coming here today with the intention of proposing marriage, I—’
‘What?’ The question was out of Bel’s mouth before she could stop herself. Neither of the other two answered her, or even appeared to remember that she was standing there.
‘In short, ma’am, the novelty of finding myself, as I thought, alone with Lady Belinda so inflamed my passions that I threw caution to the winds and seized her, wishing to press my suit with more zeal than, I know, is proper.’
‘Proper, indeed! You were about to ravish the poor child upon the sofa, sir. That is not zeal, that is not ardour, that is the action of a ravening beast! You are half-dressed—’
‘Will someone please listen to me?’ Despairing of either of them attending to her, Bel poked Ashe in the ribs so that he half-turned towards her. His neckcloth was askew, his shirt half-untucked and his coat gone.
‘Lord Dereham,’ she said, with as much steadiness as she could command, shock at his words overriding even her shamed confusion, ‘I do not believe that I have, on the few occasions we have met, given you any indication that your suit would be acceptable to me.’
‘I agree, ma’am,’ Ashe responded with equal control. ‘Nothing you have said to me could be construed as encouragement for me, or any other man, to make you an offer of marriage.’
‘Then why—?’
‘You must forgive the ardour of a man seized with feelings too strong to be denied. I had hoped to persuade you.’ Ashe had shifted so that Aunt Louisa could not see his face. His intense expression urged her to agree. His lips moved. Bel strained to read them. Say yes, for goodness’ sake, Bel.
Yes? Marry him? Bel was aware that her mouth was opening and shutting like a carp in a pond and that nothing was coming out.
‘Well, you have achieved your aim, young man,’ Aunt Louisa said wrathfully. ‘Because you are most certainly going to have to marry my niece after this exhibition of unbridled lust.’
‘No!’ The word burst out of her tight throat. ‘No, I am not going to marry him.’ With denial came a kind of awful calm.
‘Of course you must, you foolish gel! Your reputation is at stake.’
‘You must. Bel…Lady Belinda…Think of the scandal.’
‘Considering that my aunt is the sole witness of this débâcle, and knowing that she has only my interests at heart, I fail to see where the scandal is going to come from, my lord,’ Bel said frostily. Over his shoulder her aunt moved and Bel caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her mouth was swollen with Ashe’s kisses, her hair was half-down and the pretty fichu she had arranged at her throat was a wreck. ‘Oh, my God! Look at me.’
‘Lady Belinda.’ Ashe raised his voice over her gasp of horror and Aunt Louisa’s furious mutterings. ‘Please listen to me…’
Bel slapped his face.
She did it without thinking, her hand flashing out in a reflex that dismayed her almost as much as it must have shocked him. ‘How dare you?’ she whispered. ‘How dare you talk about marriage? How dare you try to force me into something I am resolved never to do?’
There was a silence as they stared into each other’s faces. Bel could feel the heat and sting of tears and fought them back. Ashe’s eyes were dark with what she could only assume was thwarted anger at her refusal to bow to the conventions and satisfy what his masculine code of honour told him he must do. And the marks of her fingers branded his cheek, to her shame.
From the hallway there was the murmur of voices, the sound of the front door closing. The drawing room door began to open. The three of them, united suddenly, stared at each other. Then Bel spun round on her heel and ran for the door at the other end, the one that opened on to the service passage. As she whisked through it she heard Hedges announcing,
‘Lady Wallace, Lady Maude Templeton, Miss Ravenhurst, the Reverend Makepeace, my lady.’
How Ashe and Aunt Louisa were going to explain his presence in her drawing room in his shirtsleeves she had no idea, and, she told herself furiously as she wrenched open the back door that led into her tiny garden, she did not care either.
It was not so much a garden, more of a court, the width of the house and a few yards deep, paved and with tubs of shrubs and flowering plants set about it. But, despite its modest size, in the afternoon it caught the sun and was a pleasant place to sit. Bel remembered too late as she ran down the six steps into it that she had urged her loft-full of soldiers to take the air there whenever they chose: today it seemed they had taken advantage of the offer.
She stood and regarded them, five of the eight who now occupied the loft, brought in over several days by Brown whom she had sent out in a hackney to scour the streets. He had recovered quickly with good food and medical attention, but his friend Lewin was still very poorly and confined to his bed.
They got to their feet with varying degrees of ease and stared at her mutely. Then Brown took a step forward. ‘What’s the matter, ma’am?’ His big fists clenched. ‘Who’s touched you? You tell me, I’ll sort them out.’ The group at his back growled agreement.
Bel pushed pins back into her hair with hands that shook. ‘No one. I…I had a stupid argument with a friend. I am upset…I am sorry, I forgot you might be here.’
‘We’ll go, ma’am, let you have your garden back for a quiet sit, don’t you fret.’ The others began to shift towards the gate, uneasy, she realised, that she was less than poised, less than completely in control. Probably, she thought with a flash of desperate humour, they were afraid she was going to weep.
‘No, please, don’t go. Stay and I will sit out here too. Tell me how everyone is doing.’ Bel forced a smile and saw them begin to relax.
‘Well, ma’am, Lewin’s sitting up and seems to be getting his appetite back, leastways, for Mrs Hedges’s soup. And Jock here…’ he tipped his head towards the taciturn Scot with an eye patch who seemed to be resigned to never being addressed by his real name ‘…his foot’s a lot better. And I found two more lads this morning, the doctor’s looking at them now.’ He talked on, marshalling and presenting his facts efficiently. Bel found herself wondering why he had not become a sergeant, he seemed to have the requisite qualities. She must ask Ashe about how that worked. If they ever spoke to each other again.
Ashe shot one glance down the length of the room to where his coat lay crumpled on a chair where he had thrown it. The door was already opening—he could never make it in time, and besides, the marks of Bel’s hand on his face must be crimson.
This entire ghastly episode was like a farce, he thought, despairing for a second before military training kicked in. Think, improvise, survive. If this was a farce, then salvation might lay in making it even more of one.
‘Scream,’ he ordered brusquely, lifting Lady James bodily and standing her on top of a side chair. ‘And stay there.’ She gave a muffled shriek and waved her arms for balance. As the sound of the entering guests’ chatting reached him, Ashe dived under the chaise, the poker snatched from the hearth in his hand.
The door closed, the animated conversation petered to a halt. Obviously the new arrivals had taken in the scene. ‘Damnation!’ he exclaimed, wriggling right back out again and getting to his feet in front of two young ladies, one formidable matron and a rector. ‘I do beg your pardon, please excuse my language.’
‘Lord Dereham!’ Lady James glared down at him from her precarious perch on the chair. ‘This is an outrage!’
‘I am sorry, ma’am, but it escaped into a hole in the skirting—too fast for me. There was no need to slap me, Lady James,’ he added reproachfully. ‘I only lifted you up in case it tried to run up your skirts.
‘A very large rat.’ The bemused guests gaped at him as he set the poker back in the hearth and offered a hand to Lady James, who accepted it with a glare and allowed him to help her down.
‘You are a very ingenious young man, are you not?’ she asked grimly, settling back in the chair with an awful dignity.
‘Taking off my coat in an attempt to throw it over the creature?’ Ashe snatched gratefully at an explanation for his missing clothing. ‘Ingenious, perhaps, but it was a poorly executed manoeuvre, I am afraid; I missed it by feet.’
‘Your coat, my lord.’ Hedges approached with the garment, well shaken out. ‘I will send for a rat catcher directly. Shall I bring the tea now, my lady, or should I wait upon the return of Lady Belinda?’
Lady James folded her lips, stared arctically at Ashe and then appeared to realise that she had to give him some help for Bel’s sake. ‘Please bring it in at once, Hedges.’ She turned a thin smile on the guests. ‘My niece spilt milk on her skirts, jumping clear of the rodent. She retired in some confusion to change.’ She gestured to the seats around the tea table. ‘Please, everyone, do sit down, I am sure she will not be long. Lady Wallace, how fortunate you were able to come this afternoon, I had feared you might not be back from Exeter in time…’
‘If you will excuse me, I will just go and wash my hands.’ Ashe took himself off through the door while the others settled down to greetings and exclamations about Lady James’s adventure. ‘Where is Lady Belinda?’ he demanded of Hedges the moment the door closed.
‘In the garden, I believe, my lord.’ The butler assessed his appearance with professional detachment. ‘If you would care to step into the dining room, I will bring some warm water and a towel. Your lordship may also wish to adjust your neckcloth, which is a trifle disarrayed.’
He reappeared as promised a few minutes later, his face a perfect blank. ‘Should I send for a rat catcher immediately, my lord?’
‘No, you should not, as you very well know, Hedges.’ Punching the smug butler, who was now so expressionless as to make it quite clear he had a very good idea about the truth of the situation, would relieve his feelings but could only make matters worse.
Ashe soaped his hands vigorously, his emotions churning. I asked her to marry me. Why did she slap me? Didn’t she believe I meant it? Of course I have to offer for her now. He used the towel, then tugged his neckcloth back into some semblance of order. Brummell would have had kittens at the sight of it.
‘As you say, my lord. I should perhaps mention that Lady Belinda appeared a trifle distressed when she passed me.’
A small understatement, he imagined. His cheek was still stinging like the devil. ‘She is not the only one,’ Ashe retorted grimly.
‘My lord—there is something you should know…The garden—’
‘Later, Hedges,’ Ashe threw back over his shoulder as he strode down the hall. I have got a marriage proposal to get right first.
Ashe flung open the door into the tiny garden and stopped dead on the top step. He had expected Bel to be pacing furiously, or to be in tears in one of the arbours. What he had not expected was to find her surrounded by a motley group of men in what appeared to be the ragged remnants of British army uniforms, incongruous amidst the topiary and the tubs of bright blooms.
‘What the devil?’ Had they broken in, intent on burglary, and found Bel, alone and defenceless? His eyes swept over them, assessing, calculating odds. There were five of them, standing close around her. As he stared they closed in tighter with the air of a pack of dogs guarding a bone. Then he realised that not only did Bel not appear at all alarmed, but they were looking at him with deep suspicion, as though he were the threat to her, not them.
The big man on crutches standing closest to Bel glanced down at her, as though for confirmation, then back up at Ashe. ‘Is this the friend who upset you, ma’am? Because if it is, we’ll sort him out for you.’
‘This is Lord Dereham,’ she said hastily. ‘Major Dereham. I do not need any protection from him, I assure you.’
‘Major? Stand up straight, lads!’ The group shuffled to attention and he saw all of them were wounded, more or less seriously, and that their uniforms, although tattered, were clean and darned.
‘No need for the rank. Not any longer, I’m a civilian now,’ Ashe said pleasantly, coming down the steps. He swept the group with his eyes as he did so, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet, still not trusting the situation. ‘You are all acquaintances of Lady Belinda?’
‘Aye, we are that. And I know you, Major, I saw you at Waterloo, just before the end.’ The broad Scottish accent drew Ashe’s attention.
‘Did you now?’
‘I did, and I’m fair dumfoonert to see you standing here now, all in one piece, sir, and that’s the truth. Seeing what you were doing at the time. Aye, bludy brave, it was.’
He did not want to get into reminiscences of that last, all out, charge, certainly not now. ‘I have been more fortunate than you and your friends, by the look of it. And you are here because—?’ His eyes locked with the big man who still had his shoulder turned in a way that shielded Bel from Ashe.
‘They live here, all of them,’ Bel said firmly, stepping out from amongst the men. Most people would not notice anything wrong now, but Ashe could see the tension in her, the rigidity of her shoulders, the bruised look in her eyes. He had improvised as best he could, but she had not escaped that scene unscathed. What was her old dragon of an aunt going to do now? He realised Bel was still explaining about the soldiers and pulled his attention back to listen. ‘…in the mews. There are eight of them at the moment.’
‘So that is why you invited me here?’ It was beginning to make sense. Bel was collecting wounded veterans from somewhere and wanted advice on what to do with them.
‘Exactly,’ she said briskly, turning back to the small group. ‘I must go back inside; let Mrs Hedges know if you need anything. I will come down this evening.’
They were treating her with respect, Ashe saw, scanning their faces covertly as they watched her make her way to the steps. Wherever they had come from, and whatever their stories, they did not appear to be intent on taking advantage of her. With a nod Ashe followed Bel, closing the door to leave them alone in the empty hallway.
‘Bel—’
‘How could you, Ashe?’ she demanded, her voice shaking with barely suppressed anger.
‘I did not know anyone else was there,’ he began, but she shook her head impatiently, dismissing the explanation.
‘No, not that, I realise you thought we were alone. But how could you ask me to marry you? I thought I could trust you.’
‘Damn it, Belinda—’Ashe kept his voice down from a roar with an effort that hurt his throat ‘—of course you can trust me! And trust me to do the right thing, I hope—’
‘Poppycock,’ she said baldly, ‘You are just like all the rest of them.’
Bemused and affronted, Ashe stepped in front of Bel as she stalked down the passage towards the front hall. ‘Bel, my honour demands that I marry you.’
‘So that is all right, is it? I marry you, honour satisfied?’
‘Yes.’
‘No. No, no, a thousand times no. It takes two to marry, my lord, and if I ever should again—which I very much doubt—it will not be because it is necessary to save some man’s honour.’
‘I see. So I am just some man to you. Do I have that correctly?’
For a moment Ashe though she was going to either slap him again or storm off. Bel stopped in front of the dining-room door and looked at him from under levelled brows. ‘No, you are not, and you very well know it. You are the man I am having an affair with and now I have no idea what to do about you.’
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