CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Declining Lord Bensthorpe’s repeated invitation to the Board of Patrons of St George’s Hospital, Sir Lucius continued home, a frown of concentration upon his brow.
In view of the circulating rumour, he was surprised that Miss Ashling had been civil to him at all in the park, and the very fact that, at times, she had been on more comfortable terms, yes, friendly terms, gave him reason to hope that she was not impervious to him.
Lord Easby, by contrast, knew an awful lot about women and far less about horses, but the gossip that reached him, which declared confidently that Radstock was about to put things to the touch, gave him cause to think.
He had dismissed Sir Lucius Radstock as a rival, largely because of his inexperience with the weaker sex, and to Easby they were weaker.
What he had failed to consider was that the simplicity of his approach might find favour with a woman such as the Unassailable.
He himself had been tangential, hunting without fear of alerting his prey, while Radstock had blundered in so boldly that perhaps she had not realised anyone that obvious could be serious, until he had got so close that his rather mundane honesty slipped past her guard.
Miss Ashling proved elusive to both gentlemen for the next few days, but it might be said that Sir Lucius had the advantage, because he knew the day of her birthday, and because it was he, rather than Lord Easby, who frequently interrupted her thoughts.
Lady Chalford was not of an age when birthdays were celebrated except very privately.
She had come to find the day depressing, although her husband never failed to remind her, very cheerfully, that she should be rejoicing at living another whole year.
He did, however, sweeten this by remarking how beautiful she still looked to him, and presenting her with some expensive trinket.
This year she had had so much to keep her mind busy that she had almost forgotten the anniversary altogether.
She had every hope that Amelia would end the Season betrothed, and to a man whose position would mean comfort and social elevation.
Amelia shared the aspiration, but with an entirely different gentleman in mind.
Blinkering herself when it came to Lord Carbrooke, whom she dismissed as a ‘mere boy’, he being no more 182than twenty-five, Lady Chalford had once cherished hopes of Lord Nuneaton.
These had been quite dashed when he had overstepped the mark, and he had withdrawn from the lists.
However, unbeknown to Elizabeth, he had approached Lady Chalford but three days previously at an evening party, and been abject in his apologies, and, he said, was desperate to make restitution.
He had, he claimed, been so smitten with Miss Ashling that he had not known how to make himself agreeable to her, and having not sought out a young lady in many years, went about it in entirely the wrong manner.
He sounded so desirous of absolution that her ladyship had relented, and granted that he might again ask her daughter for dances.
If he was prepared to grovel, and Lady Chalford felt this was so, he must be very keen.
Hope was rekindled in her maternal breast.
With regard to Elizabeth, she had initially despaired of her niece’s disinclination to put herself out in any way to be appealing, and then been surprised by that damsel’s popularity.
Most of the gentlemen who were inclined to court her were, in Lady Chalford’s opinion, unworthy, but there were a handful she would not think a bad match.
When her daughter had nonchalantly mentioned how Sir Lucius Radstock seemed so frequently in her vicinity, she had at first dismissed the idea as girlish over-optimism, but she had paid more attention.
He did not act like an aspiring lover, but then, perhaps it was the aspiring lover in men that put Elizabeth on the defensive.
When Amelia reported the rumour of Sir Lucius’s impending proposal, she quite rightly chastised her for listening to gossip, but hastily sent an invitation to him for the party that they were holding in 183Mount Street to celebrate Elizabeth’s coming of age.
What better occasion for him to request the pleasure of a private interview at Elizabeth’s earliest convenience.
Elizabeth herself was unaware of these machinations.
She felt oddly out of sorts, and flitted about the house unable to sit still long enough to set more than a few stitches, or turn a few pages of a book and thereafter have no idea what she had just read.
She told herself that it was the sultry weather, that it was being cooped up indoors, which was Sir Lucius’s fault, since she was having to avoid him – any reason except the truth.
That truth was so disturbing to her mind as to be banished to a dark recess, from which it clamoured to escape.
Giving in to it, admitting just how much keeping herself away from him cost her, how easy it would be to let herself be carried away with the idea of placing her future in his hands, was against everything she had learnt in the past decade.
Her heart ached to trust him; her head cried ‘No surrender’.
She tried to set aside her confusion and look to her cousin’s affaire de coeur.
Amelia was exhibiting every sign of, at the very least, infatuation.
Excepting in the presence of her mama, she spoke frequently of Lord Carbrooke, and Elizabeth noted that ‘Lord Carbrooke says’ was now more frequently used than ‘Mama says’.
Part of her wanted to warn her of the dangers of giving her tender heart into another’s keeping, but the girl was so innocently happy that Elizabeth could not bring herself to disabuse her of her happy ignorance.
She was very fond of Amelia, and wished her nothing but joy.
From what she could tell of the young Viscount, he was perfectly genuine in his affection 184and clearly held Amelia in the highest esteem.
The morning of her birthday dawned to rain, which Ditcham berated as she drew the curtains as if it had fallen just to disrupt her mistress’s day. Elizabeth was unconcerned by it, but laughed.
‘My birthday will be much the same whether the clouds are grey or not, Ditcham.’
‘That’s as may be, Miss Elizabeth, but I know as how you like your ride, and it would be nice if you could get out this morning, having kept indoors a few days.’
Elizabeth sighed. She thought of Mist, eating her head off in Lord Godmanchester’s stable, and resented her enforced seclusion.
‘Will you be wearing the sprigged muslin this morning, miss?’ repeated the maid, seeing her in a brown study.
‘The … Oh yes, please, Ditcham. I do not intend going shopping this morning, unless Miss Amelia is set upon it, and if we do, then the mulberry spencer will suffice with it.’
‘And tonight?’
‘The pale lemon silk with the silver trimming, if you please. I will wear Mama’s diamonds with it, for the occasion, the grande parure.’
When she came down to breakfast, her uncle was finishing his repast. He had clearly enjoyed a hearty meal and the servants were clearing a plate showing signs of cold beef, and slices of a fine York ham.
The ladies of the household ate far more sparingly, and Lady Chalford frequently shook her head at her spouse’s adherence to what he termed ‘setting up for the day’.
He rose at her entrance, beaming, 185and came forward to envelop her in an avuncular hug.
‘My favourite niece. My sincere felicitations, my dear. I was hoping you would come down early, so I lingered over breakfast.’
She smiled at him, and her eyes twinkled. ‘I do hope that this lingering did not lead you to overindulge, Uncle. I am sure I have heard my aunt say that if you ate too much she would put you upon a restricting diet.’
‘Your aunt, bless her, fusses too much. A man needs to keep his strength up.’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘Minx.’ He patted her cheek, and then took a package from the seat of the chair beside him. ‘Upon the occasion of your coming of age, my dear.’
He handed her the slim parcel. She unwrapped it carefully. Within a case with the name of Phillips, New Bond Street inside it, lay a delicate necklace of topaz stones, and a matching bracelet.
‘Oh, Uncle William, they are beautiful. Thank you.’ She hugged him. ‘I was going to wear Mama’s diamonds tonight, but I can …’
‘Oh no, my dear, tonight is just the night for your poor dear mother’s jewels. I shall not be offended, I assure you.’ He planted a kiss upon her cheek. ‘You are a good girl, Elizabeth, and I am as proud of you as your father would have been. Now, before I get maudlin, I will be off.’
He left her in solitary state, but it was not long before Amelia peeped round the door, gave a giggle and rushed to embrace her.
‘Happy birthday, my dearest, dearest cousin.’
186‘I am your only cousin, to my knowledge, barring those awful connections of your mama, who descended upon us last summer, and they were second cousins, I am sure.’ She grinned.
‘Well, you would still be my dearest cousin if I had a positive regiment of them,’ declared Amelia. ‘And I have a present for you.’
‘Not one of those knotted purses you made for Aunt Risborough last year, I hope.’
‘No such thing.’ Amelia giggled. ‘So wait here.’
She rang the bell, and Ribston, clearly primed, entered with a soft package upon a salver. Beaming in a positively paternal fashion at Elizabeth, he held the tray so that Amelia might take the parcel and hand it to her cousin.
‘What is it?’
‘Open it and find out, go on.’
Untying the ribbon and folding back the tissue paper revealed a scarf of ecru ribbon lace.
‘Oh Amelia, just such a one as we saw at Grafton House. You clever puss, that is just the thing.’ She hugged the blushing Amelia.
‘I was, of course, tempted by a book of verse, but in the end …’
‘Wretch!’