CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“I’m not sure it can be called kidnapping if you knew nothing about it,” I said, taking a sip of water, my movements less frantic now the mean edge of hunger and thirst had been tempered. “Actually, I think I should be considered more of a stowaway.”
“I suppose I should be grateful I wasn’t sailing off to the Americas,” Ash said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver coin I had seen before, rolling it along the top of his knuckles in an absent gesture. “You’re quite intrepid enough to have smuggled yourself aboard.”
“What a nice thing to say. I don’t think anyone has called me intrepid before. I like it.” I paused, glancing at him. He looked back steadily and I knew I could trust him with the whole truth. “Although, would you be disappointed if I confessed that when we arrived here I wasn’t feeling very intrepid?”
His expression softened. “Felicity, when you emerged from the carriage looking half dead, I wasn’t feeling very intrepid either.”
I exhaled. “No, I expect it was a bit of a shock.”
“That’s one word for it,” Ash replied dryly.
“Only it’s frustrating, you know,” I rubbed at my arm where the bruises ached. “I’ve always wanted to be brave and adventurous, but I’ll admit that so far this particular endeavour hasn’t been much fun. I’d almost rather be at one of Mother’s awful social events.”
Ash made a sound that was something like a laugh mixed with a sigh. His eyes were glued to the spot that I was rubbing on my arm and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “That’s a damning assessment indeed,” he said, finally. “But I’d like to know the whole story. What exactly prompted you to stowaway in my carriage?”
In between bites, I told him everything that had taken place since the last time I saw him. His face gave nothing away, but there were several moments when that coin stopped its fluid movement across his fingers. The first was when I told him about Laing’s proposal. The second was when I revealed that the man he and Davey had spoken to outside the Penny was the one who had tried to kidnap me.
“I didn’t show myself then, because I didn’t want to drag the pair of you into it,” I explained. “I couldn’t let you get hurt.”
He went utterly still, and I saw a brief glimpse of something wild and dangerous in his eyes, but it was gone in a moment, replaced by his usual lazy grin.
“Davey will be disappointed he missed the opportunity for a good brawl,” was all he said.
Patty came over to clear some of the plates from the table, replacing them with platters of fresh fruit and a bowl of sweet, whipped cream. Ash tucked the coin back in his pocket and selected an apple from one of the plates in front of him, cutting a slice out of it with a knife, his movements swift and economical. “So what do you want to do now?”
I was surprised. I’d assumed that Ash would want to take control of the situation. I should have known better, that he would treat me as a rational, intelligent person, because he always had.
I sat back in my own chair, pleasingly full, though I accepted the fruit that he prepared for me, the slices of crisp apple, a bright ruby of a strawberry that I dipped into the cream.
“Where exactly are we?” I asked.
“We’re in a small village called Pebton in north Hertfordshire,” Ash replied promptly.
“And this isn’t your final destination?”
He shook his head. “No, I was planning to drive up to Cambridge. It’s still a couple of hours’ ride from here.”
“Cambridge?” I sat up straighter in my seat. “ Cambridge Cambridge?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but there’s only one Cambridge I know of.”
“I didn’t know you were from Cambridge,” I said.
Cambridge was a city that had loomed large in my imagination for a long time.
“What makes you think I’m from there?” Ash frowned, folding his arms.
This position, coupled with his rolled shirtsleeves, made the muscles in his forearms tense. Once again, the black-ink edge of his tattoo was on display. A wash of heat moved over me, and I wondered what it was about Ash’s flexor carpi ulnaris that stimulated such a peculiar physical response in me.
Perhaps it was because I was distracted by these typically uninteresting muscles that I said unthinkingly, “Because you’re going to settle your brother’s affairs and attend his funeral as the new Baron Ely and next in line for the viscountcy.”
When I finally tore my eyes away from Ash’s arms, I found him staring at me with a look of such profound shock on his face that a nervous giggle escaped my lips before I could think better of it.
“How could you…” Ash began, voice rough with surprise. “Hardly anyone knows about…” He trailed off again, and I could almost see his clever brain working. Finally I saw the realization hit, and his expression cleared.
“The pretty slippers,” he said at last, his tone rueful.
“Yes,” I conceded sympathetically. “In my defence, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on anyone’s family secrets. I only wanted to get away from the crowd.”
Ash scrubbed his hands over his face, made a noise that sounded like a growl. “So you’ve known all along?” he asked.
“That you’re a gentleman?” I asked.
The growl again, louder this time.
“I didn’t know the details,” I said, eyeing him warily. “Not until the poker game, when you got the note. That’s when I realized you must be Perry’s brother.” He still looked grim and I wondered why he was so annoyed that I had discovered his secret.
“Would it help,” I said tentatively, “if I told you I never thought of you as a gentleman?”
This surprised a laugh out of him, breaking the strange tension. “Actually, it would help a lot.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” I asked. If his parentage was really something only a few knew about, I supposed that he hadn’t had much opportunity to do so.
“Why not?” Ash shrugged. “You already know the worst of it.”
I thought it strange that he’d consider being the son of a viscount “the worst of it”, but kept this to myself. He looked at some fixed point over my shoulder for a moment, face stony, before he began.
“I was born the third son of the Viscount Ely.” He spoke as though he was making a confession. “My father already had his heir in my eldest brother, Perry, and a spare in his middle son, Christopher. My parents are not … fond of each other.” I nodded; this was common in my circles, where matches were often made for practical reasons rather than any romantic feeling.
“Having done her duty to my father and produced two healthy sons, my mother engaged in a number of affairs with other men.” He said the words as though they couldn’t touch him. “It’s always been clear to me that I was the result of one such affair.”
If he expected shock he wouldn’t get it; not only did I already know this piece of gossip from my mother, but I wasn’t so naive that I didn’t know that many society marriages had similar rules. Turning a blind eye to such things was only one of myriad hypocrisies that “polite” society enjoyed.
“Do you know who…” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, and I’ve got no desire to find out. Neither of my parents has ever had the slightest interest in me; I don’t feel the need to go searching for another.”
Again, the words were said with no bitterness or pain, as though he were speaking about strangers, but I was quite sure that we were touching on an old, deep wound.
He blew out a long breath. “I was something of a wild child.” He paused at my sound of amusement. “Hard to believe?”
“Not at all.” I grinned. “I was only thinking what scrapes the pair of us would have got into together. My mother had not the least idea what to do with me.”
The look we shared then took me by surprise. It was a look of friendly recognition, something sweet and simple, as if in that moment I saw the boy he had been and the man he was now, and knew that both were kindred. I felt certain that he was having a similar experience.
“Then you understand,” he said, a smile still warming his eyes. “I decided that rather than being sent away to school I’d like to go and have an adventure. I asked my father if he thought I might have a career in the navy.”
“When you were thirteen?”
“I was actually twelve at the time.” He cut another slice of apple. I liked watching his teeth bite into it.
“It’s not uncommon,” he continued. “I went on board as Boy First Class, employed as a sort of valet for one of the officers. It’s the start of a quick climb up the ladder for members of the aristocracy. Most of the boys stay on land for those years, while officers log fictitious hours at sea for them so that they can gain a promotion, but I was adamant I wanted to be put to work. My father didn’t care enough to argue.”
“And you enjoyed it?” I asked.
“I loved it.” There was no restraint in his grin now. “Took me a while to convince the rest of my crew that I was there to work, not too high and mighty to get my hands dirty. I proved myself. Made friends, travelled the world.”
The sigh that escaped me was wistful. It sounded wonderful.
“Why did you leave the navy if you loved it so much?” I asked. I’d put this question to him once before, but this time I hoped he would answer.
“Christopher died in a carriage accident,” Ash said. “He and I hadn’t been in contact for years and it was a big shock. Suddenly my father had an heir but no spare, and he found that unacceptable. The risk that I’d be injured or killed while in the navy hadn’t troubled him before, but it did now. It was time for me to come home and start behaving like a gentleman.”
“But you were eighteen,” I said, remembering that he’d said he had been in the navy five years. “It should have been your choice.”
“My father is close friends with several admirals – it was how I got the position in the first place. If they decide you’re not going to sail, then you’re not going to sail. There was nothing I could do about it.” I heard the anger and frustration in his voice. “So I came back, but I refused to go home. I used the money I’d saved and went into business with Joe. I had some helpful connections through my travels and we built the Penny. My father wasn’t happy, but we hardly had anything to do with one another. He’d got his way by yanking me out of the navy and, after all, he had Perry.”
“But then a few months ago your brother was shot?”
“Yes.” Ash narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “In some ways it wasn’t a surprise. Perry had a habit of making friends with unsavoury characters. It was ironic – my father always thought of me as the bad seed, because Perry’s awful friends were all gentlemen . In name, at least, if not in deed.” He said this with a sneer. “My family are notoriously terrible with money – any fortune the Archers once held is long gone, frittered away by generation after generation of gambler or fool. Father lost a fortune through bad investing. Perry had a taste for fine things, and a whole lot of debt. He borrowed from friends, ran up bills all over the place with no hope of paying them. There were rumours he was in deep with some unscrupulous characters. But then, before he died, he seemed to come into some funds. He was flashing his new-found wealth all over town.”
“You think someone killed him over it?”
Another shrug. “It crossed my mind.”
“Was Lord Covington one of his friends?” I asked thoughtfully, remembering the dissolute young man from the poker game and his shock at Perry’s death. “And the others at the game?”
“Covington and Johnson, yes. Peabody, not as far as I know – although he is an acquaintance of my father’s.”
“And Laing?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought about this for a moment. “Does Laing know you’re Perry’s brother? Did anyone else at the game?”
“No,” Ash said firmly. “It’s a secret I’ve kept carefully. It hasn’t been in my father’s interest to broadcast the connection either. He is … displeased with my career choices.”
I digested all this information, and Ash seemed comfortable to sit quietly while I did so, though I felt him watching me with an intensity that felt a little like plunging into the hot water earlier.
“Any other questions?” he asked.
I thought about it.
“What’s your name?”
Ash leaned forward, elbows on the table, and I mirrored his pose. He reached out, gently brushing the hair away from my temple, his eyes lingering solemnly on the bruise there. My skin tingled where he touched me, a feeling that seemed to connect with my stomach, where fluttering sensations erupted. When his eyes met mine it felt as though we had stripped away any pretence between us, as though I was seeing him, really him, exactly as he was. And he was looking right back at me.
“Frederick Ashton Archer,” he said finally, the words almost a whisper, a caress. “A secret few people know, Felicity Vane.”
I felt another golden thread stretch between us, another confidence that tied us closer together, and I wanted to rub my face against his hand like a cat.
“I’ll keep it,” I whispered back instead. “I promise.”