CHAPTER TWELVE #2
Sir Lucius rode home a troubled man. The image of Elizabeth Ashling, beautiful and at ease upon the horse that he had chosen for her, made his heart rejoice, and he acknowledged it, fair and square.
When she looked at him with barriers down he felt that they had a natural affinity, that there was no more comfortable and yet exciting place in all the world than at her side, that things that he found ridiculous she would find so, and what interested him would interest her.
He could imagine her galloping shoulder to shoulder with him, discussing his horses with him whilst watching one of his mares with a foal at foot, sitting in contented domesticity at the breakfast table with him at Paley.
There were other thoughts, thoughts of shared intimacy, which revolved within his brain, nebulous, but with occasional tantalising glimpses in sharp focus.
They seemed so close, and yet she kept pulling away, fearful.
He wanted to reassure her that she need not distrust him, that he would not be as Freshford had been.
Now he knew something of her story he regretted the half-uttered epithet, regretted it most bitterly.
In one foolish half moment he had been the one to start men, men like Easby even, chasing after her.
That he had immediately attempted to limit the damage 162exculpated him not at all.
How could he have been so insensitive as to not even to consider the poor girl might have her reasons for keeping men at arm’s length?
His half-declared irritation had caused her distress, and now, whether she could feel about him as he did about her or not, he would do his utmost to defend her, protect her, even if his actions remained unknown to her.
Yesterday he had bought the little pearl brooch upon a sudden whim, for Lady Godmanchester had mentioned that her friend was about to celebrate her birthday, and he had hoped to discover the exact date from her.
Fortuitously, he had learnt it via Miss Amelia Ashling, and had parted from the two young ladies with the idea of presenting the gift in person, hoping to see Miss Ashling’s face light up with pleasure.
In view of this morning’s encounter, he considered, regretfully, that he would have to send it with a note, lest she felt cornered further.
Of course, if she was relieved of the attentions of other men, that too would ease her mind.
He would have to set about steering them in other directions.
What Sir Lucius failed to see was that what he considered a gentlemanly act upon Miss Ashling’s behalf looked suspiciously like clearing a path for himself to other aspirants to her affections.
A couple of the less committed merely laughed, and shook their heads over the heretofore impervious Sir Lucius falling so heavily for a chit well past her first Season, and who was proving poor sport, but in two breasts, at least, less charitable emotions were roused.
Lord Easby smiled a little grimly, and Mr Escott 163was appalled, viewing Sir Lucius’s ‘pursuit’ of his Muse, and the clear intent to persecute him should he continue to be inspired by her person, as malevolent in the extreme.
He wondered whether he should write a poem about it, but, after some considerable thought, and failed attempts at quatrains, he opted for action.
After all, without poetry he was nothing, and this man was going to deprive him of his poetry.
He was the next best thing to a murderer.
That any physical remonstration with Sir Lucius was unlikely to go in his favour did occur to him, but he had to face the ogre.
That Miss Ashling would need to know of this courageous deed was obvious, and so he spent much of one night’s hours of darkness, after attending a party where Miss Ashling was notable for her absence, in composing suitable lines to convey his intentions.
It took five sheets of paper screwed into a ball and cast into the oblivion of the fire before he achieved his aim, but when he finally sought his couch it was in the pleasant certainty that he had created stanzas worthy of Byron – in fact, probably better.
Elizabeth had been feeling low. Lady Chalford looked at her heavy eyes and put the lack of sleep down to too many parties.
Perhaps Elizabeth did not possess the stamina she had thought.
It was therefore easy to persuade her to permit her niece to remain quietly at home for a couple of evenings, accounting for her absence with the excuse of a summer cold.
Amelia, encountering Lord Carbrooke, almost by accident, was a little more honest, and put it down to weariness.
‘Done to a cow’s thumb, no doubt, poor lady. She has not your youthful vigour, Miss Ashling.’
164‘She is not in her dotage, my lord,’ murmured Amelia, colouring deliciously at his compliment.
‘But you always look so wonderful—’ He caught himself up for being too open. ‘Wonderfully, I should say, fresh and full of life. You remind me of a leaf.’
‘A leaf?’ Amelia was not sure this was so complimentary.
‘Yes. A new leaf, just unfurled, all bright green and delicate and … I am sorry, Miss Ashling, fancy words are not in my line. You need poets for those and I am no poet, I assure you.’
‘I am glad, sir’ – she giggled – ‘for my dear cousin is beset by a poet, and most uncomfortable she finds it.’
‘But I thought ladies liked flowery compliments.’ Lord Carbrooke frowned slightly, and Amelia found it rather fetching. There was an almost puppyish innocence, which appealed. It made her feel very grown up in a womanly way.
‘We like compliments, yes, but it is nicer if they are meant,’ she explained. ‘The flowery ones are somehow all show. Pretty, but not real.’
‘Oh.’ His lordship digested this information, and then brightened. ‘Well, since I cannot do “flowery” …’
‘Just leafy,’ interposed Amelia, with a giggle, and their eyes met, full of laughter.
She really was a dashed pretty girl, sweet-natured too, thought Lord Carbrooke, and determined to get his mama to pay a formal call upon Lady Chalford as soon as she returned from aiding his sister following her recent confinement.
He had previously dismissed any idea of him becoming a tenant for life, but the golden-haired Miss Ashling had given him cause to reconsider his position.
165He had been a little worried that she was so social a girl as to want to spend as much time as possible in London, since at heart, barring the odd spree, he hankered for his estates.
She had favoured him with her artless confidences, however, and one of them was to declare that though she was, obviously, having a wonderful time going out every evening to glittering functions, she really rather missed evenings at home, playing spillikins with her younger sister, and entertaining on a more modest scale.
Had Lady Chalford been aware of such sentiments being expressed, she would have been horrified, but Lord Carbrooke’s very low-key wooing of her daughter seemed to have gone comparatively unnoticed whilst that lady had focused her eyes upon every nuance of word and gesture that marked Lord Nuneaton’s more florid and now aborted ‘pursuit’.
Amelia, who had found Lord Nuneaton’s compliments so objectionable, was positively delighted by the youthful Viscount’s rather more tentative efforts.
Lord Carbrooke did not make comments that put her to the blush, and if his initial fraternal manner had become rather less brotherly, it blended respectful admiration with hints of ardour that did not in any way frighten her.
He had held her hand for slightly longer than a dance might necessitate, or let it rest upon the hand she laid upon his arm if he led her into supper, but his restraint was admirable.
Only in the moments before sleep, when doubts assailed her, did she wonder if that meant he felt less for her. Otherwise, she was happy.