Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Past
James left the stuffy ballroom, wishing he had not accepted Lord and Lady Thurston’s invitation to celebrate the return of their scion, Thaddeus, from the Grand Tour.
The affair was loud and packed, and he was in no mood to socialize.
Earlier this week, Melanie Orneville, James’s lover of nearly a year, had ended their liaison rather dramatically: she’d flung a book at his head—Macaulay’s substantive volume, The History of England from the Accession of James the Second, no less.
While she’d done no physical damage, she’d staged her theatrics at one of the busiest bookshops in London, probably because she knew how much he detested public displays.
His lack of feeling had been one of her many complaints about him.
While James couldn’t claim that Melanie had broken his heart, she had shattered his faith in his ability to choose lovers suited to his temperament.
His mistress before her had also bemoaned his insensitivity—“an uncaring clod,” she’d called him for his indifference when other men flirted with her.
Contrary to her accusation, he was not incapable of jealousy; he simply hadn’t cared about her dalliances because there had been so many.
If she understood him even a little, she would know that he was not one to wear his emotions on his sleeve.
His papa was much the same way and shared a long and famously happy marriage with Mama.
Ergo, James was not overly worried. He simply had to find the right sort of female to be his lover…
and when the time came, his wife. At thirty, he was beginning to wonder if the inclination to wed would ever feel more like a desire and less like duty.
While there was nothing wrong with duty, he liked to think that, as the heir, he would uphold the family tradition of marrying for love.
Perhaps I am too pragmatic to fall in love. To lose myself in another. Perhaps I am too particular to believe that any woman could be my perfect soulmate.
He shook aside the thoughts which, for him, edged uncomfortably close to maudlin territory.
He had no reason to feel sorry for himself.
He was in his prime, with duty and purpose to occupy him.
Rather than brooding over romantic misadventures, he should focus on managing his land and investments and supporting the reformist policies he believed in.
However, he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to defend the repeal of the Corn Laws yet again this evening.
It was obvious to him that tariffs designed to enrich wealthy landowners at the expense of the working class had no place in a just society, and he was tired of arguing the point.
As Lord Thurston had boasted about the new greenhouse he’d built for his lady, a noted horticulturist, James decided to take a break from the melee and have a look.
The beginning strains of a waltz emptied the corridors, and he walked briskly.
Truly, he’d exercised poor judgment in coming to this crush when what he longed for was a glass of whisky, a book, and some blessed peace.
Passing a gallery of gilt-framed portraits, he arrived at the greenhouse.
The waft of cool, citrus-scented air was a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of the ballroom.
His leather soles slapped quietly against the tile floors, the sound muffled by the lush greenery that flanked the winding path.
It was like embarking upon a tropical adventure, with discoveries lurking around every corner.
Amused at the fanciful notion, he ventured deeper…
“Unhand me.”
He stilled at the low, female hiss.
“Don’t be coy, sweeting. We are alone. You’ve been making eyes at me ever since I returned home.”
James recognized that drawl. It belonged to Lord Thaddeus, Thurston’s heir.
In his early twenties, he already had a reputation for being a rake.
He was handsome and rich, oozing the sort of charm that James found insincere but which seemed to attract females like flies to honey.
Was the present woman Thaddeus’s latest inamorata?
Was she merely playing the part of a coquette?
“Keep your distance. I am warning you.”
“You ladies enjoy your games, don’t you?” The lordling’s voice was indulgent. “A tease before the tickle. Now be a good girl and show me what you’ve been hiding beneath that prim get-up, hmm?”
As James stood there, uncertain if he ought to intervene, a high-pitched scream pierced the dense wall of foliage. It mobilized him, and he sprinted toward the sound. He saw them standing by the windows: Lord Thaddeus, holding his right hand, from which a thin line of blood trickled…and the woman.
She was a pretty, plump blonde. Her unfussy hairstyle and plain dress conveyed her status as slightly above that of a servant, most likely a governess or companion. She had a pair of gold spectacles perched on her nose and looked harmless…except for the ivory-handled penknife she wielded.
“Pardon,” James said.
Both heads swung in his direction.
“Are you all right, miss?” he asked.
She stared at him, clearly taking his measure. Behind the lenses of her spectacles, her eyes were a rich whisky-brown and would be rounded in shape, he guessed, if they weren’t narrowed in suspicion. She didn’t loosen her grip on the penknife.
“I mean you no harm,” he said. “I came to offer assistance since I heard you cry out.”
“That wasn’t me,” she said.
Her voice was steady, almost detached. They might have been discussing the weather. Yet noticing the bone-white of her knuckles and the rapid surges of her bosom, he felt a tightening in his chest.
Turning to Lord Thaddeus, he raised his brows. “That was you, sir?”
“The ill-bred creature stabbed me, Manderly,” Thaddeus snapped. “She drew blood.”
“Here.” James offered his handkerchief. “Wrap it with this.”
Thaddeus snatched the linen and bound it clumsily around his hand, which James noted had already stopped bleeding.
“You’re going to be sorry for this, Evelyn Ashewood.” Red-faced with outrage, Thaddeus glared at the blonde. “You have worked your last day under this roof and that of any respectable household. By the time I am finished, no one will hire you. You will never find employment in London again.”
The woman—Miss Ashewood—said nothing. She kept her chin up and shoulders back, and she didn’t let go of the knife. A warm sensation spread in James…admiration, he realized. For her pride and courage.
“Do you really think threatening this lady is necessary?” James inquired.
Thaddeus shifted his pale and spiteful gaze to James.
“She is a household employee and she attacked me, her master,” he spat.
“You are not my master.” Miss Ashewood spoke up, her voice trembling. “I work for Lady Thurston. And I did not attack you: I acted in defense of my virtue when you would not take no for an answer.”
Thaddeus sneered. “Why would I bother with you, you common chit? I have my pick of the crème de la crème—ladies with beauty, breeding, and fortune. No one would believe that I would take an interest in a nobody like you.”
“Nonetheless, it is true.”
Touched by Miss Ashewood’s raw dignity, James cut in.
“Why not let bygones be bygones, sir,” he said. “There is no use in sullying Miss Ashewood’s reputation.”
“Are you defending the blasted female?”
The scoundrel had the gall to act like the wounded party. Perhaps he even believed he was. James was acquainted with Thaddeus’s sort: cads so accustomed to privilege that any deviation from their desires felt like an assault on their liberties.
“I heard the lady refuse your advances,” James said evenly. “She asked that you unhand her and warned you to steer clear. You did neither.”
The color rose on Thaddeus’s high cheekbones.
“Think carefully, Manderly. Is our friendship, the friendship between my family and yours, worth sacrificing for the likes of her? I am giving you the chance to walk away. To enjoy the party my parents are throwing. I do believe Mama plans to do some matchmaking as well. You’ve met my lovely cousin Lavinia, the Duke of Stafford’s eldest daughter? ”
James had met Lady Lavinia and partnered her for a polka. She had looks and fortune…and was blander than a bowl of blancmange. She was also entirely beside the point.
“I think it would be best if you attended to your guests,” he said. “This ball is, after all, being thrown in your honor. There is no reason for a celebration to end in scandal, is there?”
Thaddeus gnashed his teeth. “Have it your way. Our friendship is over, do you hear me? I hope she is worth it.” He stomped toward the exit, pivoting to deliver a parting shot. “Rescue her all you like, but she’s not the sort to part her legs in gratitude. She’s colder than a nun in winter.”
James waited for the door to slam before addressing Miss Ashewood.
“My deepest apologies,” he said.
“You needn’t apologize, sir,” she replied quietly. “You came to my assistance.”
“Forgive my manners.” Bowing, he did the formalities. “James Harrington, the Earl of Manderly, at your service.”
“Miss Evelyn Ashewood.” Her curtsy was as neat and unaffected as she was. “I am Lady Thurston’s companion. Or was, rather.” She exhaled shakily. “After tonight, I shall no doubt be given my marching orders.”
“Lord Thaddeus will not speak of what transpired. Self-incrimination is not his style.”
“You probably have the right of it,” Miss Ashewood muttered.
Then she folded the penknife, a sign of trust that warmed James. When she removed her spectacles, tucking them and the tool into the pocket of her skirts, he nearly smiled. What an unusual little creature.
“Lady Thurston believes everything her son says.” Miss Ashewood’s long lashes veiled her eyes. “In her estimation, he can do no wrong. He will find a way to be rid of me…but no matter. After tonight, I have no desire to stay. I will find employment elsewhere.”
James found the injustice of the situation intolerable. “I will speak to the Thurstons, if you wish. Bear witness to what happened.”
She lifted her lashes, confirming his suspicion. Her eyes were rounded in shape and uncommonly large. With her spectacles removed, he saw flecks of gold in her rich brown irises.
“Why would you do that?” Twin furrows appeared between her straight brows. “You don’t even know me.”
His offer of assistance clearly puzzled her, her honesty tugging at his chest. What had this young woman been through to expect so little from the world? He was merely acting as any gentleman of honor should.
He kept his tone light. “I know you are industrious and organized enough to carry a penknife. To open an urgent letter, for instance. Or to defend yourself against an entitled bounder.”
She stared at him. Then, slowly, her lips curved. He found himself dazzled...and he wasn’t a fellow prone to losing his equilibrium. Yet her warmth was so unexpected, her beauty so pure and natural that his breath jammed, his heart stumbling against his ribs.
“It is not a penknife,” she said. “It’s a pruning tool.”
“All right,” he said after a moment. “I shall bite.”
His choice of words betrayed his sudden awareness that Miss Evelyn Ashewood was a toothsome creature.
He had a baffling urge to nibble on her full lips, the dainty curve of her ear.
Despite its prudish cut, her gown didn’t hide the tempting fullness of her bosom.
Would her skin feel as silky as it looked?
He flashed to an image of himself kissing his way down her tender neck and décolletage, planting a little love bite atop the firm swell of her breast…
Bloody hell, what is the matter with me? She is the hired companion of my hostess, for God’s sake. Am I no better than that blasted skirt-chaser Thaddeus?
“Why do you carry a pruning tool?” he added hastily.
“Lady Thurston enjoys horticulture. Assisting her with her hobby is a part of my duties. In truth, it is the reason I took this job.”
Her wistfulness was nearly as enchanting as her smile.
By Jove, what was it about this female? If he were honest, she was neither the prettiest nor the liveliest of his acquaintance, and yet…
and yet she struck a chord in him that no woman had before.
The awareness had him reeling. It also made him suddenly, inexplicably certain that he wanted to know more about her.
“You enjoy working with plants, Miss Ashewood?” he asked.
“It is my passion. My mama…” She hesitated. “She was an herbalist and taught me many things. She passed when I was fourteen.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Have you other family?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. When she didn’t elaborate, he didn’t press.
“I am certain you would like to return to the party, my lord,” she said. “I should be moving along as well.”
He’d nearly forgotten the ball. That was how singular this encounter was for him. Alone with Miss Evelyn Ashewood, he felt as if the rest of the world had dropped away. Yet proprieties were proprieties, and he wouldn’t rescue a lady only to compromise her.
He bowed. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Ashewood.”
“The pleasure was mine.” Her smile was sweet and shy, so captivating that his heart thumped helplessly and his groin flooded with heat. “Although we probably will not meet again, I shan’t forget tonight.”
She bobbed a curtsy before heading off. He remained, standing alone in the moonlit jungle, bemused and strangely elated. Perhaps the family tradition hadn’t skipped him after all.
And Miss Evelyn Ashewood was wrong.
She would see him again…and soon.