CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sir Lucius returned home prey to unsettling thoughts.
He had not formed any intention of revealing anything of his feelings to Miss Ashling, largely because they were not clear in his own mind, but he now believed that she could not be in total ignorance that he felt some ill-defined inclination towards her.
She had not ripped up at him at this meeting, which was an advance, and had made what was effectively an assignation with him in the park for the morrow.
This was, on the one hand, a pleasure to be anticipated, but at the same time it presented further risk of him saying too much, far too soon.
Perturbed, and trying to unravel complicated knots of thought and emotion, he did not sleep well, but awoke to find that the Heavens had been kind to him, and opened.
A summer storm of torrential proportions meant that there would be nobody out riding this morning.
He lay back against his pillows as his valet announced this news and declared it a ‘poor sort of day’, and contradicted him.
‘Indeed, sir. I had not perceived it in such a positive light, but I see now that you have the right of it. Er, you said last night, sir, that I should remind you of your intention to visit Messrs Rundell, Bridge and Rundell today, though if the weather remains inclement …’
‘Thank you. I will probably take the carriage anyway.’
His mother had sent the steward with a hamper containing some choice early fruits brought on in the succession house at Paley, as if such things were not purchasable in the metropolis, and a ruby necklace, part of what were termed ‘the family jewels’ – though they were only purchased by Sir Lucius’s grandfather as a wedding gift to his bride – which she said needed cleaning and two loose stones securing.
She would be sure to write and ask if he had attended to this, so he had decided to do so before other events might lead him to forget.
He was not, he knew from experience, too old to avoid being rung a peal over by his mama.
The morning passed as he had hoped, and he ate his luncheon secure in the knowledge that he had dealt with several important matters and cast his eye over the domestic accounts that had been brought up for his approval.
The rain was considerably lessened, but he did take his carriage to Ludgate Hill, not wishing to bear such a valuable burden in the public thoroughfare.
Whilst far from the most illustrious of the clients of 143Messrs Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, Sir Lucius’s family were always treated with the greatest courtesy.
Lady Radstock was known to smile and say it was because the senior Mr Rundell had had a secret tendre for her when she was newly married, and it was true that if ever she did visit the premises, he made every effort to attend to her ladyship himself.
On this occasion, Mr Rundell had to content himself with asking after her ladyship’s health and promising that the ‘Radstock Rubies’, which grandiose title nearly made Sir Lucius laugh out loud, would receive their prompt attention.
With his errand completed, Sir Lucius then gave in to a spontaneous urge, being surrounded by jewels, and undertook a more modest purchase.
He selected a small pearl brooch in the form of a ring, which might be thought suitable to nestle in the folds of the stock with a lady's riding habit.
It was whilst this item was being wrapped that Lady Rendlesham entered, head held high and as imperious as royalty.
She paused for effect and awaited someone to come forward and be suitably obsequious.
Sir Lucius gave her the briefest of nodded acknowledgements, and then shook hands with Mr Rundell.
‘We will, of course, send to you as soon as the necklace is ready, Sir Lucius. I never like to keep a lady waiting, after all. I am sure it will look as good as when the first bride received it.’
With which he nodded to an underling to open the door and bow Sir Lucius out.
Lady Rendlesham raised an eyebrow and smiled to herself.
Perhaps Lord Easby was not taking the opposition seriously enough.
What was 144potentially more useful was the opportunity to start a little rumour that might give Elizabeth Ashling palpitations, if it was true that she wanted nothing to do with men.
The rain had ceased by the time that Sir Lucius’s carriage reached Piccadilly, and so he directed the coachman to set him down at Hatchards.
His mother’s letter had made mention of a new novel over which one of her friends was waxing lyrical, and he thought that enclosing her a copy with the letter confirming that he had discharged his errand would please her.
Since his father’s death, Lady Radstock rarely came to Town, and certainly not for the Season.
She contented herself for the most part with good, if dictatorial, works in the neighbourhood, writing to a wide network of friends and reading eclectically, from Improvements in Horticulture to far-fetched romances.
When he was at home she would be as likely to read him a snippet from the former as the latter when they were alone after dinner, and he never knew whether he was going to hear advice on growing cucumbers or the most lurid details of a Gothic romance. On balance, he preferred the former.
Hatchards was busy, those who had been put off by the morning’s rain having now emerged to make their purchases.
He recalled the name of the novel but not that of the author and so made his way to the desk to ask for assistance.
The young man offered to direct him or to fetch a copy for him, but he chose to find it himself, since browsing the shelves, redolent of the leather-bound volumes, was a pleasant way to spend twenty minutes before heading to St James’s to look in at his club.
He had not expected, however, to bump 145into Mr Disley, a gentleman who shared his interest in thoroughbreds.
Disley was in a similar position to himself, with a modest little stud in Cambridgeshire.
They greeted each other warmly, and for a while the purchase and wrapping of The Rescue of Lucrezia, clutched in his hand, was forgotten.
The Misses Ashling, having spent a frustrating, and far less productive, morning, had been keen to get out shopping in the afternoon, so whilst Lady Chalford enjoyed a welcome visit from an old friend, they headed for Grafton House.
Their object was to purchase some figured muslin that Amelia had seen a few days previously and had persuaded her mama to let her buy to make a morning gown when the Season was over and she was back at Marden Hall.
That Lady Chalford secretly hoped that she would be too busy with wedding preparations to worry about making a gown was something that lady kept to herself.
They made their way down to Piccadilly, the footman carrying the parcel of muslin and some lengths of ribbon that Miss Amelia Ashling could not resist, and they crossed the busy thoroughfare to Hatchards, where Amelia hoped to buy a book of poems for her mother’s birthday.
Elizabeth had greeted this announcement in mock horror.
‘No! Please, not poetry. Your mama might start holding evening readings or press Mr Escott’s lamentable suit upon me. Take pity, Amelia, dearest.’
Her young cousin merely laughed.
Standing before several shelves of slim volumes, Amelia began to leaf her way through them, giggling occasionally.
146‘I think,’ whispered Elizabeth, ‘the authors generally wish to rouse the reader to joy or tears, but rarely mirth.’
‘But Elizabeth,’ hissed Amelia, ‘this is nearly as “good” as Mr Escott.’
‘Oh no! You mean things like that get published?’
‘It appears so.’
Elizabeth shook her head and tried to think of something other than imagining the horror of being the subject of printed words. It was then she heard voices on the other side of the shelving. The first spoke indistinctly, but she recognised the respondent instantly.
‘No, I disagree. I would give her a year off, not counting any miscarriages. I think it unreasonable to produce every year. Think of the strain upon the system. I know we put them through the risk with the births, but to wear them out young seems, well, unfeeling. Yes, I know you think me too soft, but …’
Indignation rose within Elizabeth’s bosom. How could Sir Lucius think himself considerate with views like that? ‘A year off’ indeed! How fortunate that he was not yet married. Pity the poor woman who accepted him and was then treated as some sort of …
‘And I have no intention of expanding beyond twenty.’
Twenty! Her mind reeled for a second but then Elizabeth put her gloved hand to her mouth, caught between the gasp of shock and laughter.
Of course, Sir Lucius must be talking about brood mares.
She coughed, and choked slightly. Sir Lucius and a shorter gentleman, some years his senior and with thinning hair, emerged from behind the line of shelves. Sir Lucius smiled.
147It was such a simple thing. He smiled. There was no mocking laugh in it, no polite greeting. It was a surprised smile that announced unashamedly that he was pleased to see her, and it sent such a tremor through her that she caught her breath. He bowed.
‘Miss Ashling, good afternoon. I regret commenting upon Lady Godmanchester’s mare was impossible unless one had developed gills this morning.’
‘Indeed, Sir Lucius, but the offer stands for tomorrow if you are free of other commitments.’
‘Thank you. Weather permitting, I hope to be there. Oh, I forget my manners. Miss Ashling, may I have the honour of introducing my good friend Mr Disley, who has bred some very successful racehorses at his home north of Cambridge. Horace, may I present Miss Ashling, who appreciates a good horse.’
There was a twinkle in his eye, and she just knew he was thinking of her adverse comments upon the Slug.