Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
A t every event that followed Lady Bulphan’s ball, Amelia enjoyed herself. She danced, she laughed and she ate whatever took her fancy. She smiled so much her jaw hurt, but she would be damned if Ash and his broad shoulders crossed her mind for more than a fleeting moment.
During the Duchess of Glanmore’s ball, she danced twice with Lord Stanmere and hung on his every word during supper. Ash had been sitting with the Longbottoms almost directly behind Stanmere’s head, which she’d only noticed because she’d been paying such particular attention to the man opposite her. It had nothing at all to do with the way Ash’s cravat had picked out the blueness of his eyes or the way his long fingers had curved around the stem of his wine glass.
At Mrs Dashworth’s afternoon tea, she had been captivated by Aurelia Lemonstone’s description of her newly decorated sitting room. So much so, she had not paid even the slightest bit of attention to the conversation going on behind her about Ash’s return to society, and how he had become quite dashing in the years of his absence. She certainly hadn’t winced when Agatha Willson had commented on the way his strong legs filled out his fitted pantaloons.
And, at Lord Ogmore’s lavish dinner, she had been quite content to sit next to Ogmore’s elderly mother and engage her in conversation, while Ash entertained the room with some self-deprecating stories about his efforts during the war. At all of these events and many others, there had been no reason for her to talk with Ash, and so she hadn’t.
Now she and Sienna were on their way to a musical soiree as guests of the Beauvarlet family. It was bound to be a crush and Amelia was going to enjoy it. There was nothing quite like getting lost in music, allowing your soul to take flight as…
‘Do you think Ash will be there tonight?’ Sienna broke into Amelia’s reflections just as she was about to rid her mind of the man.
‘I have no idea.’ Really, must she be plagued by mentions of him at every turn? It was getting tiresome having to avoid thinking about him all the time when everyone and his wife kept bringing up his name.
‘I think he will be. He was only saying on Thursday that—’
Amelia straightened. ‘What were you doing speaking to Ash two days ago?’ Amelia was not aware of her sister having anything to do with her ex-friend. Of course, she had not been watching Ash’s every move. It was just that he always seemed to be around and in her eye line, drat the man, and she had not seen him with her sister once.
‘Just because you two are behaving oddly, and pointedly ignoring each other, does not mean that I have to act in the same way.’ Amelia opened her mouth to protest that she wasn’t avoiding Ash but closed it again without saying anything because she didn’t like to lie. She had been going out of her way not to be in Ash’s vicinity, for all the good it was doing her. ‘I rather like talking to him,’ Sienna continued. ‘He’s kind and doesn’t patronise me like a lot of the older men who speak to me as if I’m a child, while also trying to catch a glance down my cleavage.’
Amelia momentarily forgot about Ash in sisterly outrage. ‘Who would dare to do such a thing?’
‘Oh, Melia,’ said Sienna, sighing, with a world-weary tone far beyond her years, as if Amelia were the younger person in this carriage. ‘That is what men do. We can only ignore their behaviour and hope that, when they marry, they have many daughters and finally realise their conduct was disgusting and inappropriate. Perhaps they will teach their sons how to behave properly but that is an outlandish dream that is unlikely to come true.’
‘Well…’ Amelia could not think of anything to say to that. The idea that some men were treating her intelligent, funny, beautiful and much younger sister with the same lack of courtesy they had her when she had made her entrance to society, filled her with impotent rage. For the first time, in a very long time, she regretted not having a man in her life who could protect her sister from lascivious looks. They had their brother, of course. But Stephen was preoccupied with rebuilding the family seat and creating the next generation of heirs. It was up to Amelia to look after her sibling because there was no one else to turn to. Only, it had been a lot easier to protect Sienna when she was in leading strings. ‘If any man looks at you like that again, you must tell me.’
In the dim light of the carriage, Amelia saw Sienna roll her eyes. She decided to ignore the unladylike gesture because Sienna was right to be sceptical. There was a limit to what Amelia could do because men did not take kindly to a woman’s interference. Amelia did not want to be labelled as a shrew, not for herself but because it would harm Sienna’s prospects. But she could try to do something. She was no longer the young woman with no friends, no money and no protection that she had been when she had first made her debut. She was a wealthy woman with many connections. That had to count for something; there must be something she could do to protect her sister from vile men.
The carriage finally rattled to a stop. They’d arrived at Lord and Lady Beauvarlet’s residence for the evening soiree. The grand townhouse was lit up with lanterns lining the way for the crowds making their way towards the entrance. Amelia was hit with an intense longing for her nightgown and her own bed. To curl up with a book, the fire crackling in the grate and a warm cup of cocoa suddenly appeared to be the epitome of paradise. She dismissed the craving. She had plenty of time left in her life for such pastimes, but now was the season for enjoying every entertainment the ton had to offer her, and she could not do that alone in her nightwear.
Of course, the first person she noticed as soon as she entered the room was Ash. He was taller than most and it was not surprising that he stood out, but it was irritating how her gaze always snapped to him. Tonight he was surrounded by his three friends, the men with whom he had gone off to war. They appeared to be having a very intense discussion, and Ash’s focus was riveted to one whose name Amelia had forgotten. Not one of the men smiled. Occasionally, one of them nodded, the gesture sharp and emphatic.
When Ash was at university, he had written to her about these three men. His letters were so descriptive, so funny, that she’d felt as if she’d known them herself. In the years of silence that had followed, she had missed the stories about them, had felt an almost echo of the grief she experienced over Ash’s absence. During the university years she had longed to be a part of their antics; their exploits had seemed funny and charming but the war appeared to have changed them all. There was an aura of darkness that seemed to follow the four of them around, especially when they were together. Amelia could see why women were interested in getting to know them; there was something about the idea of taming that wildness that seemed to simmer beneath the surface. They were a formidable foursome but Amelia was not going to be one of the simpering females who flocked around them.
Ash turned, his gaze unerringly locking with hers, and for a moment the chatter around her faded away. It might as well have been just the two of them in that room. Somewhere a bell was ringing, warning her that she should turn away, that staring at him like this was dangerous, but it was as if a taut rope was holding her in place, locking her into position.
Someone nudged her elbow, breaking the spell. She turned away, her cheeks burning, no idea how to explain the endless moments that had just passed. She all but threw herself into the conversation taking place at her right, laughing when everyone else did, although she had no idea as to the joke. She couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. She was doing such a good job of not looking at Ash and the only time she did so, he had caught her and then she’d made matters worse by continuing to hold his gaze like a love-struck debutante. She needed to be even more careful. She did not want him to think that she had any lingering feelings for him at all, because she did not and never would again. He had killed all tender thoughts towards him when he had not replied to any of her carefully written missives, not even the one when she had told him of her father’s passing. She would never forget that cruelty.
It seemed to take an age but gradually the odd snatches of musical instruments being tuned could be heard above the babble of many voices, and guests started to move towards the seats. Amelia found a spot near the back of the room. Normally, she liked to position herself within the front few rows; not only did one experience the music better but it was also easier to converse with more people. But tonight she wasn’t feeling quite the thing. She couldn’t put her finger on what was off. She didn’t have a headache and her stomach was settled, but it was as if her skin was somehow too tight for her body. She was brittle, as though if she moved too much something might snap. The sensation was as unwelcome as it was unpleasant, reminding her of the early days of her marriage when she had been desperate to win the approval of her mercurial husband, but with no idea how to do so. This evening, though, she had no idea what was causing such an unpleasant build-up of tension that had her desperate to leap from her seat and run from tonight’s performance.
The music began. Amelia leaned forward in her seat, trying to force herself into the mood to enjoy the concert. As the music swelled around her, she caught sight of Ash sitting a few rows ahead of her, his head tilted, not towards the music, but to the woman sitting next to him. Elizabeth Bishop, who was not only incredibly lovely to look at but also had the wit and intelligence to match. On top of that, she was a wealthy heiress. In short, she was a diamond of the first water and would, without doubt, be married before the end of the season. Amelia liked her. They’d had many an entertaining conversation and Amelia could imagine the two of them becoming friends. The searing anger whipping through her, causing her fingers to curl and her teeth to grind, could not be directed at the young woman, who’d done nothing wrong. The only possible explanation must lie with the man who sat next to her, smiling as if he had not a care in the world, which she supposed he didn’t.
She closed her eyes, rubbing a forefinger between her eyebrows. The gesture didn’t help. She knew she had no reason to feel anger towards Ash. Or perhaps a better way to describe it was that she had no right to feel new anger towards him. The pain he’d caused her was long gone, and she had promised herself she would put that behind her. There was no room for her to hold on to the resentment; the only person it hurt was her because Ash clearly didn’t care about what he’d done. She’d thought she’d let go of it years ago. As she fought to survive her marriage with her happiness intact, she had realised she could not hold on to any feelings at all for Ash. She’d thought she’d been successful and so the boiling fury that simmered through her blood had to be part of a new anger she really had no right to feel. But really, the way her old friend was moving through the ton’s eligible women, obviously searching for a bride, was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. The man she’d thought she’d known would not have acted in such a way, would not have been all smiles for one woman and then another and another.
It was an additional reason, in her long list, as to why remarrying was such a bad idea. One could not trust a man not to turn his attentions elsewhere. No, she was far better off alone, pleasing herself with whatever took her fancy.
The music being played out in front of them was reaching its crescendo, violins racing towards a powerful climax, the passion of the musicians playing reverberating in her chest. With each sweep of the bow, her skin tightened until it felt as if she must splinter apart.
She stood, muttering words of apology to those sitting next to her. She had no destination in mind, only knowing, with a bone-deep certainty, that she had to get away. She slipped from her row and pushed through the heavy door out into the space beyond.
The noise of the musical was subdued in the corridor, the notes muted behind the thick walls. Even so, the sound of the soiree still grated on her. Servants lined up on either side of the door. One of them directed her to the retiring room and she fled from the noise as if it were a dragon chasing her.
The retiring room was sumptuously decorated with beautifully embroidered chairs and paintings. She wandered around it, running her fingers over the upholstery, wondering whether there was any way to replicate some of it in her own home, but whenever her mind tried to settle on a plan, her thoughts skittered away from it. It was blessedly quiet in the room, too far away from the music room for any of it to reach her here. She had no idea what was wrong with her. Away from the sight of him, her anger at Ash felt ridiculous. Perhaps she was coming down with something, maybe even serious illness.
She caught her reflection in one of the mirrors. She expected to see herself pale and wan, her hair limp against her forehead, but she looked exactly as she had when she left the house earlier. Her hair hung in flattering curls about her face, and her dress, a vibrant, peacock-blue, showed off her curves exactly how she had intended it. How strange that she should look well, while feeling so out of sorts. She pressed a hand to her forehead but the skin was smooth and cool, not clammy or heated.
Perhaps there wasn’t anything physically wrong with her, or maybe she was in the very early stages of an illness and later these feelings would show themselves in a violent cold or something equally as dreary. She should return to the musical soiree before her absence was noticed and salacious reasons given.
She gave herself a determined nod. The endless evening would come to a close in the not-too-distant future. It was only a couple of hours of feeling uncomfortable, nothing really when one considered the years she had spent married to a man who made her feel far worse than she did in this moment. She could get through this evening and then go home and sneak down to the kitchen and rustle up some of Cook’s delicious fruit cake. There was nothing that couldn’t fix.
Buoyed by the knowledge that later she would get to eat something deliciously decadent, Amelia took one last look at herself before exiting the room and walking smack into a wall of muscle.
Her whole body hit warm fabric, her nose bouncing against a hard chest. She heard a masculine grunt as she ricocheted backwards, stumbling over the hem of her dress. She would have fallen to the tiled floor if a strong arm hadn’t come around her at the last moment and held her upright. She closed her eyes tightly, knowing instinctively who it was she had walked into, whose arm was now holding her, but not wanting the visual confirmation of what her other senses were screaming at her. She’d know this body anywhere.
‘Melia, are you all right?’
She scrunched her eyes even tighter closed.
‘Melia?’ His voice was laced with a hint of laughter, and her lips wanted to curve in response like they always used to when Ash teased her. She forced them to remain straight, but it was a battle she had to fight hard to win. She ached to rest her head against his chest, just for a moment. She wavered, her whole body craving that surrender. The moment stretched as her longing fought with what her mind knew was best. She succeeded in holding herself still, in not turning this into an embrace, but she couldn’t bring herself to step out of his arms. For the first time in years, she was home.
‘Please,’ she said quietly, when she was sure she had her voice under control. ‘Please, let me go, Mr Ashworth.’
There was a beat of silence before she heard him swallow. ‘I do beg your pardon, Lady Mortram. I hadn’t meant to hold on to you for so long.’ His arm dropped and she heard him take a step away.
Her heart cracked a little. He had lost the right to call her by her family nickname, but somehow hearing her formal title on his lips was worse.
She opened her eyes but didn’t look at him, bending slightly to adjust her dress, smoothing wrinkles that weren’t there. ‘That is quite all right. I would have fallen if you hadn’t caught me. I should thank you for assisting me.’
There was a silence, which her thanks should have filled, but for some reason the words refused to form on her lips. Why, after years of being the most amenable person, of rushing in to fill awkward silences or finding kind words to say even to the most irascible of people, was the ability to converse amicably failing her now?
She had managed to avoid Ash for weeks—she could pass a few moments longer by being pleasant. And if she couldn’t, she should excuse herself, return to the music room and move out of Ash’s company. But both her mouth and her legs refused the orders her mind was shouting.
She glanced up at him. He was gazing down at her, a slight frown on his forehead. His forehead cleared as their eyes met and held. Up close, she could see a tinge of purple beneath his blue eyes; his skin was pale, a faint scar visible near his left ear. He did not look as good as he had when they had met at the ball two weeks ago. Perhaps he was sickening for the same thing she was. ‘Are you well?’ she asked, before she could stop herself.
‘Of course,’ he replied instantly.
She waited, her gaze moving over his face. He had changed so much since she had known him well, the remains of any boyish softness disappearing completely, leaving hard lines and that scar she had not noticed in their previous encounter. Even so, his face was as familiar to her as her own. It was a face she had seen change from that of a young child to a gangly youth and later the start of his adulthood. She had laughed with him and even cried with him and, for two precious summers, she had been able to explore every ridge and valley of his face with her fingertips. Now she could not touch him at all.
‘You don’t look it.’ Her words were blunter than she intended as the harsh reality of their situation reasserted itself.
A surprised laugh barked out of him and her skin heated. She ought not to say such things to him but the words were out there now and she could not take them back. ‘It is my turn to beg your pardon.’
He rolled his eyes in a gesture she had seen so many times. ‘There is no need to apologise. I know how I look.’ He tugged at the cravat rubbing against his neck; beneath the material his skin looked red.
For a moment, she forgot herself. ‘What symptoms do you have?’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘I have three younger siblings. There cannot be many illnesses I am unaware of. Perhaps I can suggest a remedy.’
He rubbed a finger along his jaw. She was close enough that she could hear the scrape along his stubble. ‘Do you have a cure for crushing disappointment?’ he said eventually.
She scoffed, instantly irritated. ‘What do you have to be disgruntled about? You have everything that you ever wanted.’
His jaw swung open, his eyes flashing. ‘How can you honestly believe that? There is nothing, nothing, in my life that has turned out the way I wanted.’
It was her turn to gape at him. He had wanted to go off to war and he had. While she’d had to fight to keep her family together and afloat, he’d swanned off on an adventure, not caring enough to write to the people he’d left at home. Or at least, not concerning himself with the woman who’d loved him with all her heart. And then, years later, he’d returned to society a war hero when so many other men had not come back at all. Admittedly, Ash’s beloved father had passed in his absence, but unlike Amelia, Ash still had his mother. His family was almost still intact whereas Amelia had done everything in her power to hold on to hers, and there had been times when she had thought they would all lose everything.
And yet, here Ash was complaining about his life, one in which he was surrounded by crowds of people congratulating him on his heroics during the war and young, beautiful, rich women who hung on his every word. He had his pick of them to become his wife and still he was dissatisfied.
‘I do not understand why you look so surprised.’ Ash’s voice was hard enough to cut diamonds. ‘We can call each other Mr Ashworth and Lady Mortram but you know me better than anyone, or at least you used to. No matter how much you have changed, you must know that, for me, this season is utter torture.’
There was so much wrong in these handful of sentences, Amelia didn’t know where to start her reply. How dare he? Her whole body trembled with impotent rage. ‘Ah yes, I expect it is absolute agony to be one of the most popular people of the season. All the men want to be you and all the women want to marry you. The endless choice for the perfect bride must be a blight on your soul.’ It turned out she did know exactly where to begin. She did not have time to wonder if she had revealed more of her private thoughts than she was willing to admit even to herself because his whole demeanour changed, his entire body tightening in front of her as his lips thinned and his eyebrows became an angry slash.
‘I do not want to be surrounded by women,’ he bit out. ‘I want to be at Easton Hall where I would not have to speak to a single soul unless I really wanted to. Sometimes the urge to yell at everyone to close their damn—’ he paused and shook his head violently, before lowering his voice to an angry hiss. ‘I’d very much like it if everyone could stop asking me for details about the war, or telling me about parts of it that they can’t possibly know about because they were here, enjoying themselves and not there, amongst the blood and the grime and the endless horror.’
He was breathing heavily now and Amelia’s anger fled as quickly as it had arrived. She had not thought, had not considered, what life might have been like for Ash over the past seven years. She had been so fixated on Ash’s leaving and on his experiencing an adventure that the true reality of the situation had not occurred to her. Now, with him standing before her, his once smiling mouth twisted in anger and she began to realise that perhaps she had not properly taken into account what the war might have done to his soul.
‘Or worse yet,’ continued Ash, ‘the discussion of the weather on an endless loop. The same comments repeated endlessly as if it is a surprise that the weather is dreary, and God forbid if there happens to be a sliver of sun that day, the conversations about that are interminable. I do not know how it is possible to care what shade of grey the clouds are.’
Amelia, who had thought the same many a time, stayed silent. Even she got tired of speaking to people about the same things on a seemingly repetitive cycle. The weather was grey because this summer was a dreary one so far. There was nothing remarkable in their colour and yet it was a constant topic of conversation. He was right that it was dull and he was also correct in suggesting that she would have known that the younger Ash would have hated discussing it.
It didn’t mean she was going to let Ash off the hook. She may be sorry to hear his hint that he had not had a good experience during the war, but to join up had been his choice whereas she had been left alone to fight her own battle for her family. She had been making pointless small talk for years now, masking how she truly felt beneath banal words. He’d been here for a fortnight and it was not as if he had to do it. Unlike her, he could have his pick of brides, if that was what this season was about for him. He had options; she had not had that luxury. ‘How difficult it must be to make conversation with people who want to please you,’ she said.
‘Please me? Please me? ’ Her comment only angered him further. ‘Nobody wants to please me. They want access to Easton Hall. They want to be my wife because they believe it will hold some sort of position in society after my so-called heroism during the war, a fact they know nothing about.’ He shook his head abruptly. ‘No, that is unfair to most of the women I talk to. It is their mothers who are after a connection, although I do not know why.’
Amelia snorted. ‘There is no need to be modest. Everyone knows you are a wealthy war hero. Any family of worth would want to be connected to you.’
His jaw dropped. ‘Of all the insulting…’
‘What is disrespectful about that statement? It is the truth.’ She didn’t mention that he was also one of the more handsome men on the market this year. He did not need to know that she still thought him attractive.
‘I can understand the epitaph war hero by those ignorant enough to believe what they read in the papers and who do not have the wits to read behind the nonsense spouted within them, but wealthy…’ He said the last word with such disgust.
The tips of Amelia’s fingers turned cold. Surely he wasn’t hinting that… No, it was impossible that his family wasn’t a rich one. Easton Hall was far larger than her own family’s home, even though her brother’s estate ran along some of the edges of his. She had heard someone mention that the Ashworth funds weren’t as flush as they used to be but she had dismissed that as salacious rumour. She avoided speaking about the Ashworth family as much as possible but someone would have told her if there were real problems, wouldn’t they? ‘But…your family…they don’t need… I mean you don’t need to marry a…’
His scowl deepened. ‘If you’re asking whether my family is short of blunt to the point of ruination, then the answer is a most resounding yes. But I don’t know why you would be questioning it. You of all people should know the truth of it.’
She reeled backwards, her heart pounding as a sickening dread swept over her. ‘What do you mean, me of all people ?’
‘My father trusted your father.’ Amelia’s heart dropped to her shoes. She was desperate for Ash to stop talking but also to keep going until he revealed the truth. Surely it couldn’t be as bad as what she was thinking… ‘He made investments based on what your father told him.’
Amelia closed her eyes. His words meant exactly what she dreaded. If Ash’s father had done that then their situation would not be dissimilar to her own family’s. She couldn’t explain to Ash just how much her once brilliant father had changed in the years prior to his death. She hadn’t told anyone about his memory or his confusion because her lovely, generous father would have been beyond embarrassed by his failing wits.
‘And then,’ Ash continued. ‘When that investment went wrong and my father lost a tremendous amount of money, instead of asking someone else to restore our finances, he took more advice from his best friend.’ Amelia groaned softly. ‘He believed, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, that Edward Smythe would not steer him wrong.’
‘Oh, dear.’ The words were whispered but Ash still heard them.
‘That is quite the understatement.’
Her father’s mistakes in the final years of his life cannot have had the same impact on Ash’s family as it had on hers. They had shaped her adult life, leading her ultimately into the arms of Marcus, an old yet wealthy man, so desperate for a wife to provide him with an heir, he was willing to overlook her family’s penniless state. ‘But Easton Hall is still in your family name.’
‘Barely.’
No. It couldn’t be true; she would have heard differently. Like everyone else, she’d heard whispers that Ash was looking for a wealthy bride but she’d thought the rumours unsubstantiated and vaguely ridiculous. Besides, their country estates were so close together that the locals would be agog with the gossip, and her brother had sent her no word that Easton Hall was floundering, although he was not the most communicative of men.
‘I am not sure why you are shaking your head. My family’s position is well known by the ton. I have heard it discussed openly.’
Amelia winced; she knew what it was like to overhear one’s private business being talked about for entertainment. It was painful and humiliating. ‘It cannot be so bad. Your mother…’ She closed her mouth before she made a dreadful faux pas. She would have been able to talk about Ash’s family years ago but now it would be a terrible breach of etiquette. His mother was always dressed in the latest fashion; it was one of the reasons Amelia had dismissed the rumours.
It was no matter. Ash understood her anyway. ‘My mother’s tastes far outstrip her means.’
Amelia had no response as the truth of the situation settled on her. Ash’s family had little money left. That was awful in itself. The Smythe and Ashworth families had once been very close, spending much time together. That relationship had slowly died with the deaths of Amelia’s parents and the natural distancing that had taken place when they were no longer meeting all together. That didn’t mean that Amelia didn’t care about the family. Ash’s younger twin sisters had once been as close to her as her own, and it hurt her to know that their circumstances were less than ideal. Those girls were sweet and shy and they deserved the best that a London season had to offer. No wonder Ash was moving through the ton’s most wealthy debutantes; his family needed the money. Amelia had done the same.
Worse than that, though, was the knowledge that their strained circumstances were her father’s fault. He had taken down the Ashworth family as surely as he had his own. His motives were pure. Her father had no intention of destroying lives; he’d had no idea that his investments weren’t as sound as any of the others he’d made during his lifetime, but he’d made mistake after mistake. By the time he’d passed, he was living in a world that existed only in his mind.
Ash sighed. ‘I don’t know why I am telling you all this. It does not matter. Let us return to avoiding each other at these engagements.’
And with that he swept past her, disappearing farther up the corridor and quickly out of sight.