CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
He worked upon the assumption that Elizabeth would be present at the Prestwicks’, or more likely Lady Jersey’s, in the evening, and perhaps, since he already had her uncle’s permission to do so, he might find some quiet spot where they would not be disturbed.
He therefore dressed most carefully for the second time that day, but this time purely reliant upon the good cut of his evening dress and the snowy whiteness of his linen.
He would have felt the better had he not feared that somehow his demeanour gave away his intent.
He went first to Lady Prestwick’s and appeared, outwardly, sufficiently composed that his hostess saw nothing unusual about him, excepting a certain buoyancy in his step as he trod up the stairway towards her and bent gracefully over her hand.
He said the right things without them sounding trite, and passed on into the crowded rooms, his eyes searching for the dark head.
He caught a glimpse, and, heart beating a little faster, threaded his way, at what seemed an interminably slow pace, between nodding acquaintances and good friends alike.
Only at the last moment did he realise his error.
Lady Rendlesham turned to smile at him, her smile a little brittle as she saw the disappointment in his eyes.
‘She, er, enjoys good health, excepting the stiffness in her joints, ma’am.’ He was frowning, clearly answering automatically, and brought the thought uppermost in his mind to his lips. ‘Have you seen Miss Ashling this evening, Lady Rendlesham?’
‘Miss Ashling?’ Lady Rendlesham repeated, as if trying to put name to face.
‘Miss Elizabeth Ashling? Oh, she is not here. I heard Lady Chalford say that she has taken to her bed with a sick headache, poor thing. Such a shame to be so sickly! She has frequently lacked the stamina for the Season, I have noticed. Sometimes ladies suited to the quiet existence of the country, where they appear quite strong, wilt in the Metropolis.’
She noted the deepened frown, but was not so sure that her words were the cause of it.
He bowed and turned away, and she watched him, shortly afterwards, make his excuses to his hostess and leave.
She permitted herself a small, secret smile.
So he was as badly smitten as she was, was he?
Well, she had never liked him, and if he chose to make a fool of himself at long last, having seemed so impervious to feminine charms, he deserved no sympathy.
No doubt he would now think that the object of his affection was tucked up in her bed, and retire to his own abode to consider the fragility of female health, when she knew for a fact that Elizabeth Ashling, an Elizabeth Ashling putting on a brave 290face but with hollows under her eyes, was in the next room, and would be going on, as so many were, to Lady Jersey’s.
Poor Lady Prestwick would soon find her guests sadly depleted in number to those against whom Lady Jersey had taken a dislike. Life was so entertaining.
Sir Lucius was undecided. Without the lure of Miss Ashling’s presence he had little inclination to attend even so popular a haunt as Lady Jersey’s, but the alternative was in fact remarkably close to Lady Rendlesham’s image, and he thought if he pondered much longer he would drive himself mad.
Lady Jersey’s promised good fare, and good company, since he expected Bensthorpe, the Godmanchesters and Collingbourne to all be present.
With a sigh, he turned towards Berkeley Square and the Earl of Jersey’s residence.
The flambeaux in front of the house illuminated a scene of considerable activity, with carriages setting down their noble occupants, and noisy link boys arguing over who was next in line to offer to light the way for any – and there were very few – who chose to leave.
He trod up the steps amidst the bustle, acknowledging a lady, his mind only half on the occasion. He looked a little distrait to Sally Jersey, but he managed to make her smile, nonetheless. It was not long before he came across Lord Bensthorpe, in deep discussion with Mr Southram.
‘Lucius, my dear fellow! Just the man we need. Southram here says that Monty Westrupp is selling his black hunter. I think it must be a hum, but surely you will know the truth of it.’
Sir Lucius shook his head, though he smiled.
‘I am sorry 291to disappoint you, Bensthorpe, but I have to confess it is news to me too. Not up to your weight, though, I should say.’ He surveyed Lord Bensthorpe’s slightly rotund figure, and then looked at the younger man. ‘Would do for you, Southram.’
‘Ah yes, Sir Lucius, but it does depend very much on what he wants for the gelding. Paternal generosity is not unbounded, and, er, the old man did have to bail me out a trifle last quarter day.’
‘But it is a fine animal. Your father appreciates a good horse.’
‘He does, my lord, but he also appreciates a dutiful son. I am sure he would think buying the horse would be rewarding my folly.’ Mr Southram pulled a wry face, and sighed.
‘Nothing for it but to win a fortune at hazard, I suppose.’ Since Mr Southram was not noted for playing for high stakes, and his only debts were for tailoring and on the Turf, this was accepted as the jest that it was. ‘Any idea how you play it?’
Lord Bensthorpe patted the youngster on the back. ‘Not going to get you into bad habits, Southram.’
‘Now there’s a thing. Sir Lucius, name your next colt Bad Habits and I volunteer to back him throughout his career.’
Sir Lucius smiled more broadly, and left them to their bantering.
He caught sight of Giles Godmanchester conversing with his host in one corner of the room and threaded his way towards them.
He was within a few feet when Lord Jersey stepped back to move on.
There, right before him, a glass of champagne in her hand, was Elizabeth Ashling.
She froze, the glass partway to her lips.
292They stared at each other for a moment. Both were tongue-tied, but for wildly different reasons. He had been so certain that he would not see her that it was as if she had appeared from his imagination, his thought made tangible.
‘Miss Ashling.’ He began to smile, but it died on his lips.
‘You.’ Her voice throbbed with emotion, and it was not adoration.
He frowned. The one word was so heavily loaded with loathing that it made him reel. ‘What on earth …’
‘How you can have the effrontery to stand before me, I do not know.’ She spoke in a low, impassioned voice, barely above a whisper.
He looked genuinely puzzled, and not a little hurt, but rather than lessening her wrath, it seemed to fire her further.
‘Very good, Sir Lucius,’ she sneered. ‘Had you considered a career on the stage, in tragedy? I am sure you would do very well. Or do you see yourself as the romantic hero?’
‘Miss Ashling, I have absolutely no idea what I have done to—’
‘Not here. Not now. Whatever it is …’ Lord Godmanchester looked at his friend and then Elizabeth, his voice an urgent undertone. That his pleas registered in some way was shown by the lowering of their voices, but otherwise he might have saved his breath.
‘No idea? That is rich. You make me the talk of St James’s, my name bandied about in gentlemen’s clubs, the object of vulgar wagers, no doubt, and offensive hounding, and do not think it might upset me?
You even have the gall to pretend to be my knight in shining armour, defending me from the “wicked” Lord Easby, when without your 293instigation he would never have given me a second glance.
Did you watch that morning, biding your time to appear at most advantage?
And then you deceive me, using my own friends, into riding your horse.
Mistral, hah! The Trojan Horse must have been her real name. Was that some game, a secret jest?’
He looked at her with dawning horror and understanding.
It was all so very wrong, and yet true. In his anticipation he had now nearly forgotten his part in her being so popular, and most certainly regretted it.
He had no idea whence she had come by the information, but it had clearly left her incandescent with rage.
‘Miss Ashling, I assure you that—’
‘You could assure me that the sun will rise in the morning and I would not believe it, sir.’
‘Let me at least finish what I have to say?’
‘Why? I cannot believe a single word of it. You have lied to me, deceived me into thinking …’ She halted, unable to go on for the lump in her throat, the tears that threatened to betray her.
‘If you would but let me explain.’
‘Explain? What?’ Her whisper was fierce, and she almost spat her response. ‘How much entertainment you got from watching me trying to fend off unwanted suitors?’ Her eyes accused.
‘No. I never intended … I did not know …’ Even as the words came tumbling urgently from his lips he knew that that had been the thought in the fateful moment when he had begun to give Collingbourne the name.
It had been so brief in its duration that he had almost persuaded 294himself it had never existed.
He coloured, and halted, and his silence, taken as admission of guilt, fuelled her rage the more.
‘First you think it amusing to persuade your friend to pass off a horse as his so that I ride an animal that belongs to you. I scarcely dare imagine what perverse delight that was meant to give.’ Her lip curled.
‘Then I find you are the originator of the vulgar soubriquet that means I am positively hunted by men who wish to say they conquered the Unassailable. Thank you, Sir Lucius. Thank you so very, very much.’
‘That came first, and I had no idea—’
‘First? Was there then a long list of things? Tell me, Sir Lucius, what other ideas did you have for me?’ Her eyes flashed.
He was goaded into reply, goaded into saying what was the last thing he should have mentioned at that moment. ‘I was going to ask you to become my wife.’