Page 20 of Twice Shy
‘Foxton, for one, and Bensthorpe’s aunt heard it fromLady Chalford herself, and I ask you, would she be wrong?’
‘Not wrong, but perhaps keen to have her niece established and out of the way while she launches that fair chit of hers onto the Marriage Mart.’ The cynicism in thevoice was marked.
‘You think it is a hum, then?’ Lord Collingbourne looked disappointed.
‘Not necessarily. Do not let me put you off, my dear fellow.’ Sir Lucius wondered what made him encourage his friend in what would almost certainly be a fruitless effort, and decided that the thought of Miss Ashling beset by unwanted suitors had a certain uncharitable appeal to it. The London Season was an endless round of young women doing all in their power to attract a suitableparti, and one who showed every sign of wanting to keep the whole crowd of them at arm’s length had novelty value. He had spoken out of chagrin, to be sure, but her cavalier treatment of him when he had come to her aid was the outside of enough. Had she been some wide-eyed girl in her first Season, he would not have let his irritation show, but she was not some schoolroom miss in the whirl of her first visit to London. He wondered, suddenly, how it was he had not seen her before, and frowned. He judged that she must have come out at the time he had been dealing100with the demise of his father, but that would not account for his not noticing her in the subsequent years. It would serve her right if …
‘Do not blame me if you are chasing after the unassai—’ He gave himself a mental shake. Would he really stoop so low just because a young woman, probably still seething over the ridiculous suitor, was less than gushing in her thanks? The image had been tempting but no, he would not.
‘Unassailable? You think so?’
‘Unassuming, Collingbourne, unassuming,’ lied Sir Lucius smoothly. ‘You must have misheard me. The lady does not hold herself up as an object to be admired, I think.’ He was still wondering why that was so.
‘Yet she is not the coy type. Odd sort of female in some ways, but dash it, very fine-looking filly.’
‘Talking of fillies,’ Sir Lucius steered the conversation cleverly away from Miss Ashling, ‘are you coming along to Tattersall’s tomorrow? They are selling Coningsby’s breakdowns, and I rather fancy that bay he had off Carnforth last year.’
The conversation turned to horseflesh, and his rash comments upon Miss Ashling were, Sir Lucius hoped, forgotten. He did not see Lord Nuneaton, a few feet to his rear, smiling to himself.
Sir Lucius did not remain late at the ball, and although he stood up with several ladies of long acquaintanceship with every sign of pleasure, and three young ladies whom Lady Chesham feared had numerous vacancies in their dance cards with cool politeness, his mind was elsewhere. Whilst101he was perplexed by Miss Ashling, he was more concerned at his own behaviour. Almost unconsciously, he had looked for her in the crowded rooms, and watched her as she feigned her lameness, made conversation with various ladies, and then, rather inexplicably, permitted young Escott to lead her away. No, that was not quite true, for he would swear she was the one leading. Perhaps she was avoiding the fool delivering verse to her in front of too many onlookers. He had followed, he told himself, out of curiosity, but that was not the half of it. He had no faith in Escott behaving with any sense, and thought he might be of use to the lady. He had intervened for that reason, although Miss Ashling had been far from grateful. Why, he asked himself, was he putting himself out for her? She was not so breathtakingly beautiful, she seemed possessed of an uncertain temper and might even be bookish. The truth was that there was some magnetic attraction that drew him to her. He disliked the feeling that it was something outside of his own control, but it was there. He tried to see the positive things in her. She was pretty, if not a diamond of the first water, and he preferred dark-haired women to fair. She had a quick understanding that enabled a joke to be comprehended without laborious explanation, and sometimes without any words at all. She was not dithery, or timid, but assertive. Thus he had been left in no doubt as to her lack of enthusiasm at being ‘rescued’. He knew Escott for a fool, but surely he was being as great a fool. It was with that thought uppermost that he finally fell asleep.
102Elizabeth drew off her long gloves, and sighed as she let Ditcham unfasten her gown. She had the headache, and she was also prey to guilt. She had told herself she was immune to the inconsequential frivolities of the Season, that all she wanted was to retire to Dowlands and concern herself with the price of fleeces each summer, and the wheat yield of the home farm, but tonight … tonight there had been brief moments as she danced when she had forgotten herself, and revelled in it all. Why had it to have been whilst dancing with the infuriating Sir Lucius Radstock? Why had she had to be observed in that embarrassing situation by him, of all men? If only he had arrived five minutes later, that foolish young man would have been dismissed upon her own terms, and would never have desired to repeat as much as a line of poetry to her again. As it was, and her brows drew together in a frown, he no doubt felt ‘oppressed’ and filled with some Quixotic gallantry, reserving his loathing for Sir Lucius. Well, he need not bother, for she would do the loathing for him. How dare the man interfere, act as if she were some helpless female incapable of ridding herself of a feckless boy. Did he think so little of her? Or had he followed them, been watching the whole sorry episode, taking pleasure at her discomfiture? Either way, it was insufferable. She told herself this three times, in an effort to believe it. Then she made an exasperated noise, which Ditcham ascribed to the slowness of her fingers.
‘There now, Miss Elizabeth, I am going as fast as I can.’
‘Oh, I am sorry, Ditcham, that was not directed at you.’ She paused. ‘Men are horrible.’
103‘Yes, miss, of course they are,’ agreed her maid, shaking her head. ‘Clumsy, thoughtless, cruel …’
Elizabeth laughed, and groaned.
‘You let me finish brushing your hair, and tuck you up nice and comfy in your bed, and then you can forget the lot of ’em. Never was one worth a decent woman losing tears or sleep over, yet we do, drat them.’
Elizabeth wondered at the ‘we’. Had Ditcham some distant reason of her own for her condemnation of the male sex? She was too worn to think deeply of it, but it distracted her mind for a few minutes until she did indeed lie in the comfort of her bed. Although she fell asleep quickly enough, her dreams were jumbled, and at one point Mr Escott, his arms full of lurid red roses, turned to look at her and she was falling into a blackness, but was caught in strong arms, and the firm voice behind her said, ‘I will not let you fall again.’
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CHAPTER EIGHT
Sir Lucius soon became aware that his injudicious and hastily withdrawn epithet concerning Miss Ashling had, most unfortunately, become known. It was one of those things that spread without anyone wondering whence it had originated. It certainly provided a degree of entertainment and interest within the clubs of St James’s, and he remained a largely silent observer, although he did manage to quash one gentleman’s idea of opening a book on who might be ‘first past the post’. It was at this point that he was conscious of a pang of guilt, but tried to assuage it by recalling Miss Ashling’s behaviour, even as he sought out Lord Collingbourne, who was the obvious source of its wider promulgation, being a gentleman to whom the term ‘discreet’ was rarely applied. His lordship was, however, vociferous in denying having breathed a word, and said he would swear an affidavit if his friend so wished. He looked most put out, and Sir Lucius, frowning, begged his forgiveness. Someone, and he knew not whom, must have105caught his ill-considered outburst and thought to make it a joke. Sir Lucius could only salve his conscience with the thought that Miss Ashling, a competent and self-possessed sort of woman, ought to be quite capable of fending off her new admirers. What he did not know, other than whose was the loose tongue, was that Mr Escott, convinced that only some devious plot would keep him from winning his Muse, was already convinced that Sir Lucius Radstock was the Hand of Fate. Sir Lucius was thus spoken of as the instigator of the rumour in order that he might keep rivals from the Fair Elizabeth, and then swoop to claim her for himself. How this might be achieved, and indeed why such a complicated plot need have been devised, did not concern Mr Escott. Suffice that Sir Lucius assumed the properties of a dragon, which he, the noble knight, must slay to win his damsel. As a prelude to this, Mr Escott kept to his rooms as much as possible, and devoted himself to writing a poem of epic scope, bloodthirsty imagery and heroic conclusion. The end proved problematic, since the hero dying in the heroine’s arms after having saved her appealed to his poetic soul, but made him feel distinctly blue-devilled.
It did not take long to become apparent to Elizabeth herself that she was becoming unnaturally popular, and that popularity could not be put down to her new riding habit, which arrived early the following week. Several gentlemen who were not noted for being of matutinal habits were suddenly seen riding in Hyde Park of a morning, eager to ‘accidentally’ come across her. Lady Chalford regarded106this with some surprise but vague pleasure, and entreated Elizabeth not to be dismissive. She was, in part, obedient to this. What the gentlemen did not realise was that Elizabeth, despite being condemned to ride the Slug, assessed them as much by their own mount and horsemanship as by their address. To those who showed some discernment in the matter of horseflesh she was prepared, to appease her aunt, to be non-committal rather than crushing. Thus Sir Augustus Lasham, indigent by virtue of inheriting from a spendthrift cousin, and hoping to find a wife of sufficient means to restore order to his finances, was accorded a friendly smile and easy conversation, for he rode a cherished, if rather elderly, chestnut by the name of Hotspur. By contrast, Lord Mathon, who had clearly as little interest in matters equine as Lord Chalford, had hired a wall-eyed roan that was also a wind-sucker. Despite his good looks and eligibility, he was treated to imperious aloofness to such a degree that he retired early from the lists, assuring any who would listen that he would be dashed if he would rise from his bed at an unwholesome hour of the morning to trot around the park in company with a woman who treated him with less courtesy than she did her groom.
Elizabeth tried to think of anything she might have done to attract attention, and drew a blank. Her next thought was that her aunt had quietly encouraged a rumour that had inflated the state of her finances, in an effort to provide her with suitors. This Lady Chalford vehemently denied, aggrieved that her niece could have thought, even for a moment, that she would have stooped to such a deceitful course.
107‘I declare it is most hurtful, Elizabeth. When have I ever tried to push you forward like that? I do not deny that I would be delighted to see you comfortably established with a man of character, but as for this … No, do not set this at my door.’
Though Elizabeth apologised most profusely, Lady Chalford was left feeling both hurt at the false accusation, and also as perplexed as her niece. In desperation, she applied to her lord for advice.
‘It is most peculiar. Elizabeth is a pretty girl still, but not … forthcoming. I never expected more than a handful of gentlemen of taste to show an interest in her, but the last ten days or so she has been courted as if one of the hits of the Season. She is pestered, and I mean the word, by gentlemen, not all blatant fortune hunters, though most interested in a wife with money. This morning she has given in and let Lord Collingbourne drive her out in his phaeton, and she is engaged to ride out with the Misses Overton, whom she scarcely knows, and at the pressing of their brother. What on earth is going on?’
Lord Chalford could give no satisfactory answer, but promised to see what he could find out.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth, in a cream gown and with a very fetching parasol of Brussels lace, was sitting beside Lord Collingbourne, and bitterly regretting her submission to his entreaties. On horseback, he had seemed competent enough, but it did not require Elizabeth to be knowledgeable about driving to tell that as a whip he bordered on the downright dangerous. On several occasions she actually shut her eyes108and awaited the splintering sound of wheel against wheel as they passed another vehicle at a reckless pace for the width of the carriageway, and since he had daringly decided to drive in tandem she was given full opportunity to observe just how not to point one’s leader.
It was just after the latest close encounter, whilst she was still quite pale, that Sir Lucius Radstock drew alongside them on his big bay. He raised his hat and bowed to Miss Ashling, with a look in his eye that showed remarkable understanding of the situation.
‘Good morning, Miss Ashling, Collingbourne. I see, Miss Ashling, that you have taken your life in your hands, and let Collingbourne drive you. Have you offered up prayers in advance?’
