Chapter 4
“I am convinced I was born to be a peer of the realm,” Julian announced to the velvet ceiling of the carriage. “In fact, I believe a great injustice was done at my birth. Someone clearly misplaced my coronet, and I demand a formal inquiry.”
Edmund Ashford sat in the opposite corner of the bench, rubbing his temples as the heavy wooden wheels rattled violently over the uneven London cobblestones.
If this carriage hits one more rut, my teeth will actually shatter.
Shifting his weight, he kept his eyes fixed on the passing streetlamps, watching the golden light flicker across the dark leather interior.
“You are a cloth merchant’s son from Bristol, Julian,” Edmund reminded him quietly. “Your only connection to royalty is that you once sold a rather garish waistcoat to a minor German prince. Please try to remember that fact before you attempt to pass legislation in the House of Lords.”
Julian laughed brightly. Stretching his long legs across the floorboard, he seemed entirely unbothered by the cramped space. His sharp, expressive features looked remarkably handsome in the dim light, animated in a way Edmund’s never were.
He had spent the entire evening at the Whitmore ball performing the role of the Earl of Ravenswood with sickening ease, charming the matrons, commanding the respect of the gentlemen, and completely captivating Miss Vivienne Ashwell.
“She is absolutely perfect,” Julian declared, folding his arms across his chest. “Miss Ashwell is everything your solicitor promised on paper. Classically beautiful, remarkably attentive, and possessing teeth like actual pearls. I told a terribly dull story about a hunting dog in France, and she laughed precisely at the correct moments. She is a magnificent creature.”
Edmund remained silent, leaning his head back against the squabs and closing his eyes.
He was not thinking about Vivienne Ashwell. His mind kept drifting back to the quiet, dark-haired girl by the ornamental pond. He could still feel the sudden, shocking weight of her in his hands when he hauled her away from the water’s edge.
Why didn’t she scream? he wondered. Any other woman in this city would have fainted or shrieked for a chaperone. But she just stood there.
She had sought the dark edge of the property, perhaps to escape the suffocating performance of the ballroom, and she had spoken to him with a blunt, refreshing honesty. When he pulled out a book on agricultural crop rotation, she had not laughed. She had actually seemed intrigued.
“You must stay focused,” Edmund finally said. He opened his eyes, leveling a hard stare at his friend. “Do not allow yourself to be swept away by her flattery, Julian. She was flattering the title, not the man.”
“I am perfectly focused,” Julian replied smoothly, reaching up to adjust the immaculate folds of his white cravat.
“I am merely reporting my findings. The eldest sister is a triumph. But you, my friend, have a completely different situation on your hands. I saw the way you were looking at the younger sister across the ballroom.”
Edmund stiffened. “I was observing the room. That is my job.”
“You were staring at Miss Corinna Ashwell as if she were the only person standing in the room,” Julian corrected, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“The quiet companion is already much more interesting to the younger sister than the wealthy earl is. That is either a terrible problem, or it is very funny. I honestly have not yet decided which.”
“Go to the devil,” Edmund muttered.
Turning his face toward the window, he resolved to ignore his friend’s teasing. He is wrong, Edmund told himself firmly. I have a duty to my family. I cannot afford distractions, especially not a girl with sharp gray eyes who asks too many questions.
The following morning broke with a bright, crisp chill, prompting Julian to suggest they exercise the horses. It was not a planned social call; Edmund simply needed the fresh air to clear his head.
By eleven o’clock, Hyde Park was teeming with the fashionable elite. Carriages rolled slowly along the wide gravel paths while gentlemen in tailored riding coats tipped their hats to ladies twirling silk parasols.
Julian rode Edmund’s prized black stallion.
Sitting tall in the saddle, he drew admiring glances from nearly every carriage they passed.
Mounted on a reliable but entirely unremarkable roan gelding, Edmund wore a plain gray coat that marked him clearly as a man of lower station.
It was a frustrating demotion for a man accustomed to commanding his own stables, but a necessary one for the masquerade.
They had just turned past the Serpentine when a musical, highly practiced laugh caught the crisp air.
Eleanor Ashwell and her eldest daughter, Vivienne, were seated in a beautiful open barouche parked near the pedestrian path.
Wearing a striking riding habit of deep emerald green that perfectly complemented her golden hair, Vivienne was already holding court.
Three young gentlemen on horseback were clustered around the carriage, desperately vying for her attention.
A few yards away on the gravel walkway, Corinna Ashwell and her Aunt Phoebe were taking a stroll. Clad in a simple, unadorned pelisse of dark navy blue, Corinna was not smiling. She was merely watching the chaotic parade of society with quiet, guarded eyes.
“Well, look at that fortunate coincidence,” Julian murmured.
Before Edmund could object, Julian smoothly guided the black stallion toward the carriage. Reluctantly, Edmund followed. They dismounted, handing their reins to a passing groom so they could approach the ladies on foot.
“Lord Ravenswood!” Vivienne called out, her voice carrying clearly over the noise of the park.
With a careless wave of her gloved hand, she dismissed the three young gentlemen and turned her full, radiant attention to Julian.
“What a wonderful surprise. I was just telling my mother how much I hoped we might cross paths this morning.”
“The morning was entirely dull until this very moment, Miss Ashwell,” Julian replied, executing a flawless bow.
Taking his designated place a few steps behind Julian, Edmund walked silently.
“We were just debating the absolute tragedy of the new spring fashions,” Vivienne continued, leaning slightly over the edge of the carriage. “Do you not agree, my lord, that the new French muslin is entirely too sheer for polite company?”
“I must confess, I leave matters of fashion to those with a superior eye,” Julian answered charmingly. “Though I am certain whatever fabric you choose would immediately become the standard of elegance.”
Vivienne beamed, placing a hand elegantly against her collarbone.
A sharp prickling sensation on the side of his neck made Edmund turn his head.
Phoebe Cavendish was staring directly at him.
Walking next to Corinna and holding a silver-handled walking stick, Phoebe studied him with the penetrating focus of a portrait artist. She looked as though she were mentally measuring the distance between his cheekbones and mixing the exact shade of blue required for his eyes.
Don’t react, Edmund warned himself. You are a servant. He offered Phoebe a small, polite nod meant for a social superior.
“You have a very structured jawline, Mr. Marsh,” Phoebe said suddenly, her voice casual but piercing. “Have you ever sat for a portrait?”
Blinking, Edmund feigned mild surprise at the direct question. “I have not had the pleasure, madam. I am merely a secretary. My face is not of sufficient importance to commit to canvas.”
“Importance has very little to do with art,” Phoebe noted dryly. “Structure is everything. You have the face of a man who is used to giving orders, not taking them.”
“Aunt Phoebe,” Corinna murmured, casting a highly apologetic look in Edmund’s direction.
“I am simply making an observation, Corinna,” Phoebe replied smoothly. She looked back at Julian. “Speaking of art, my lord, I located that small volume of Italian landscapes we discussed last evening. I have an errand near your square this afternoon.”
“You are too kind, Mrs. Cavendish,” Julian said gracefully. “My secretary will ensure it is received.”
Edmund let out a slow, quiet breath of relief as the immediate scrutiny passed. Falling into step beside Corinna, he matched her slow pace along the gravel. She remained quiet, yet he could sense her absorbing everything around them.
She doesn’t demand the spotlight, Edmund thought, watching the subtle way she observed the passing carriages. She just watches.
They walked in silence for several minutes while Julian and Vivienne exchanged loud, flirtatious banter a few paces ahead.
“I assure you, my lord, the duke’s ball will be the absolute highlight of the month,” Vivienne was saying, her voice bright and breathless. “Everyone of consequence shall be there. We simply must save a dance.”
“I would be devastated if we did not,” Julian assured her.
Listening to them, Edmund felt a strange sinking feeling. Vivienne was magnificent, but her conversation was entirely predictable. She spoke exclusively in safe, expected platitudes, a perfectly crafted society doll performing her prescribed routine.
Shifting his gaze to Corinna, Edmund realized he could not predict a single thing she might say. He found himself walking slightly closer to her, highly curious about what she was thinking behind those guarded gray eyes.
A movement in the sky caught Corinna’s attention. Stopping on the gravel path, she tilted her head back to look at the clouds.
Edmund followed her gaze. A large hawk was circling high above the park. Ignoring the wide open spaces above the sweeping lawns and the lake, the bird banked sharply, gliding closely along the dense tree line bordering the edge of the park to keep itself hidden among the branches.