CHAPTER SEVEN #2
‘I made you free of neither my name nor my hand, sir, and—’
‘The lady would be mightily relieved if you stopped behaving with as little decorum as a village swain at a 96revel-rout.’ Neither Elizabeth nor the lovelorn youth had noticed Sir Lucius Radstock leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.
‘However, that would seem to be too much to be hoped for, so I take leave to tell you that I shall remove you forcibly into the rose bed below, if you do not instantly take yourself off. I will also have no compunction in informing your father that you need taking in hand.’ The voice was bored, and not a little supercilious.
Mr Escott, very red in the face, and suddenly feeling far less the man of the town and more green stripling, stammered something incoherent, and scrambled to his feet.
He cast Sir Lucius a look of loathing, and one of despair at Elizabeth, indicative of his belief that, had he not been interrupted, she would have been won over by his protestations of undying devotion.
With a hasty bow, he withdrew, scowling.
Elizabeth pursed her lips, an action that Sir Lucius interpreted as natural irritation.
‘He was becoming a nuisance, ma’am?’
‘Yes, but I was quite capable of dealing with him. If you think you have in some way rescued me, sir, then you labour under a singular misapprehension.’ Her tone was civil, but only just.
‘Forgive me. You did not seem to be encouraging him. Indeed, I was under the impression that you did not appear to be enjoying the young man’s attentions one jot.
I think you were perhaps unwise to have permitted him to bring you somewhere private, however damping your intentions. ’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘No, of course I was not “enjoying” his attentions, but I was quite capable of sending him to the right about when 97he became too tedious. As well put up with him as any other …’ She halted, aware that she was about to sound churlish and unforgivably rude.
‘… Pretentious young cub?’ He smiled, seemingly unabashed, but the eyes looked very hard at her. She nodded. No, he thought, that was not what she was going to say, though she chose to accept his offer of escape.
‘Young men can be very irksome, sir.’
‘How fortunate, then, that I am no longer a “young man”, and thus am able to solicit your hand for the next dance without fearing that I might irk you. And please do not tell me that you are unable to dance through sustaining an injury, for I have watched you hobble on one side and then the other, Miss Ashling, and feel obliged to tell you that that hare will not run.’
She had had no intention of accepting any offer from him, whether of refreshment or to dance, but this disarmed her.
She coloured slightly, conscious that to decline in the face of his seeing through her ruse would appear petulant.
Then she laid her hand upon his arm, not daring to glance into his face as he led her back into the ballroom, and into the set that was forming.
Elizabeth had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed dancing with a gentleman who was adept at the exercise.
What a pity it was that one had to be engaged to dance by the man, selected by him, picked as carelessly as a buttonhole flower, regardless of his own abilities.
Had she not been intensely annoyed with Sir Lucius she would have exulted in the fact that, for the first time this Season, she had a partner who made it all seem natural.
The momentary 98distaste had crossed her features so fleetingly that only Sir Lucius noticed, and she otherwise played the part of delighted and delightful partner perfectly well, making such small talk as the movements of the dance made convenient.
At the conclusion, Sir Lucius led her from the floor, aware that several jealous matrons eyed her ‘success’ with disfavour, and wondered why, instead of enjoying her triumph, Miss Ashling seemed put out by it.
She certainly stiffened, and her thanks were patently insincere, her look a dismissal as obvious as the one he had given her unwanted poet.
He bowed, as coolly civil, and withdrew in good order.
He was confused, and more than a little piqued, since he had ended what he saw as an embarrassing interlude for her.
With his thoughts thus still upon her, he went to join his friend Collingbourne, who was trying to catch his eye.
‘Stealing a march, are you? For shame, Lucius. What need you of a wife with a neat little fortune? I have been fobbed off with the excuse that the lady’s shoes were most unfortunately pinching, and that she had resolved not to dance this evening. Yet there she was, and with you, sly dog.’
‘Perhaps she has seen you dance, my dear Collingbourne.’ Sir Lucius grinned at his friend, and then looked to where Miss Ashling was in comfortable conversation with the Dowager Lady Keynsham.
‘I’ll admit I’m no caper merchant, but dash it, Lucius, I am not likely to tread on the delightful Miss Ashling’s toes.’
‘Ah, are you one of those who would pay her court?’ Sir Lucius concealed his chagrin well, and, to all intents and 99purposes, was smiling in a benign and almost avuncular fashion on his erstwhile partner.
‘Dashed good-looking girl in a sort of reserved way, and worth a good few thousand, so they say.’
‘They?’ He cast a sidelong glance at the Viscount.
‘Foxton, for one, and Bensthorpe’s aunt heard it from Lady 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 the voice 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 suitable parti, 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 dealing 100with 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.
Whilst 101he 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.’