Page 19 of Dared By a Lyon
“I was just reading a most diverting little piece from London,” the countess continued. “It appears that you and your cousin have created something of a stir in London.”
Ashlyn’s heart gave a nervous twist. “Indeed, ma’am?” she croaked.
“My dear Miss Vickers, I do hope you are not coming down with something because of that terrible storm.” The countess turned to the footman and asked for a pot of tea and honey.
“Thank you, my lady,” Ashlyn said before she sipped the tea and then cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice even.
The countess tapped the column with her finger. “It says here that Miss Elizabeth Vickers and her cousin, Miss Ashlyn March,were seen about Town not long ago. The two of you made several visits to Gunter’s in Berkeley after several turns in Hyde Park. It also lists several visits to the modiste, Madame Trousseau’s shop, and that your portraits were painted by none other than Matteo, that Italian artist who has made quite the name for himself. One article says that you look so much alike, you could be twins. Imagine that.
“Oh, to be young again and enjoy the amusements of what London has to offer, especially for two young ladies newly arrived from America. And it says”—her brows lifted with gentle curiosity—“that you were expected to attend a certain house party hosted by Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, at the estate of Lady Ashbourne just outside Bath. The writer claims Lady Mildred Ashbourne is most anxious to find a match for her daughter, Lady Paula Ashbourne.”
The countess took a sip of her chocolate. “To be honest, I think Lady Ashbourne has her hands full with that girl. Her daughter had her come-out four Seasons ago, and, well, she had absolutely no interest in doing any charity work. Only in attending every single ball.”
“Oh dear, that is unfortunate,” Ashlyn murmured, not fully understanding. Wasn’t the Season all about attending balls?
“My dear, you did mention you and your maid were on your way to the house party when you had your terrible accident, but where is your cousin Miss Ashlyn March? Why did she not travel with you?”
“Oh, my cousin was not feeling well, and I insisted she stay at the hotel and rest. I did not anticipate being away from London for overly long, but in light of the weather, perhaps I might trouble you to post a missive for me? I’ve also written one to Billy’s family.”
“Of course, my dear,” the countess said. “Of course.”
Ashlyn smiled, though her stomach was twisting in knots. Why did she have the feeling that the countess seemed to know more than she was letting on? What if the gossip about Elizabeth had already reached them? What if word of her elopement was printed next? “May I—may I read the article when you have finished, Lady Ravensthorpe?”
“Yes, my dear child,” the countess replied warmly. She folded the sheet and passed it to Ashlyn. “I have read it all. And you may keep it.” She rose with stately grace. “Now, let us see what Mrs. Fitz has prepared for us.”
“First, I must thank you for your generosity in giving us refuge. I cannot imagine any feeling more fortunate than to have seen your home at the top of the hill,” Ashlyn said.
The countess led Ashlyn to the long sideboard, where a gleaming silver chafing dish held a savory egg preparation. “Pish! You mustn’t think more about that. It is our pleasure to host you. We have plenty of room and we love company,” she said. “Well, my dear, shall we have our breakfast? I highly recommend the eggs. Mrs. Fitz finds an innovative and delicious way to cook them every day. This morning, she has prepared them with cheese and butter—my favorite.”
“They do look delicious,” Ashlyn said, hearing her stomach growl, and grateful she wasn’t standing where anyone else could hear it. She couldn’t wait to try the eggs.
Beside the eggs were baskets of warm scones wrapped in linen, a plate of golden crumpets, rashers of bacon, and cold ham on a platter with carved slices fanned neatly. A compote of stewed apples and raisins glistened in cut glass, and a tiered stand held marmalades, honey, and butter.
Ashlyn selected the eggs and a scone and quickly took a bite of the eggs, so she could settle her growling stomach, which threatened to growl again any moment. After a few bites, she gathered her courage. “Lady Ravensthorpe, I wished to mentionsomething that occurred last night. I do not know if Gabriel has spoken to you.”
The countess inclined her head.
“Your granddaughter came into my room. Caro was sleepwalking, I believe. I held her until she settled, sang to her softly, and she soon relaxed. A little later, Gabriel discovered she was gone from her chamber, found her in mine, and carried her back to bed. I hope you do not think I overstepped, ma’am.”
The dowager’s expression softened. She reached across the table and touched Ashlyn’s hand. “Say no more, my dear. Gabriel told me all of it this morning before he left with his men to inspect the site of your accident. I thank you for your care of Caro, and I beg you not to trouble yourself with apologies. She breakfasted with her nanny today and was quite well. I read her a story and helped her with her letters.”
Relief loosened the knot in Ashlyn’s chest.
The countess smiled with quiet assurance. “Gabriel should be back soon to give us his report. Until then, let us enjoy our breakfast. And please—do not worry. Caro is safe, and all is as it should be.”
After a few quiet moments of eating, the countess dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and regarded her with that thoughtful, perceptive gaze that made Ashlyn feel that all-too-familiar twist of guilt at having to keep up this charade.
“Gabriel mentioned to me,” the dowager began gently, “that he spoke with you last night about Caro—and about the accident, three years ago.”
Ashlyn lowered her eyes. “Yes, my lady.”
The countess sighed, her fingers resting lightly on her cup. “I do not know how or why Caro was sleepwalking again. We thought her nanny, Mrs. Bundles, had cured her of it. Gabriel believes it may be the anniversary of her parents’ deaths that unsettled her, though she did not falter last year, on the secondanniversary. He also thinks it may have to do with the blue room.”
“The blue room, my lady?” Ashlyn asked.
The countess looked troubled and sad. “Her mother, my daughter Olivia, used to stay in the bedroom you’re occupying when they visited, so she could be close to Caro. I’m so sorry for not realizing that could happen. It’s just that the nightmares and sleepwalking seemed to have stopped, as I said.” The countess dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t think a person ever gets over something like that. The accident was on a night much like last evening. The weather was bad, and their carriage slid off the road into the river…”
She choked back her tears. “I do not know what happened in that carriage. Max was strong…as strong as Gabriel. He must have been injured somehow, and Olivia would not leave him. I suspect she thought they had time, that they would be rescued. I do not think she realized that the current would be so strong that it would drag them under. I wish I knew. Sometimes, at night, it is as though I can feel my daughter’s presence, and I ask her. I ask her if she is all right, if she is with Max, if she is happy, and if Juliet is with them. I only hope that my husband was there to greet them if he protected them.
