She loved him.
There it was. Straightforward and simple. The one man who could change her mind about marriage sat across from her. Had she spent time over the years compiling a list of what she would want in a husband, she would have enumerated all of Ash’s qualities.
After they got past their instant distrust of each other, she’d found him to be intelligent, witty, and dedicated to his work. Although dedication to an occupation was looked down upon by the members of the ton, she’d found it refreshing. After all, Mother had found such happiness with Papa because she had worked for him as a chaperone and companion to her two sisters, Juliet and Marigold.
The men she’d met over the years at numerous balls, routs, and garden parties were more interested in their wardrobe, horses, entertainments, and the latest gossip. There was truly nothing wrong with that, but she’d found with her brothers-in-law there was much more to life than gadding about like a peacock, running from place to place, wasting time and money.
Phoebe’s husband, the Duke of St. Albans, worked as hard as any businessman, handling his estates. Was that so very different from Ash handling art shows? Maybe in most people’s mind, but certainly not in hers.
In any event, the very quiet voice in the back of her head nudged her to accept the offer of marriage that she felt Ash would make. He was not a man to bed an innocent woman and not do the right thing.
And the rewards of married life with Ash would be great. She flushed, remembering how he’d touched her, kissed her, brought her such pleasure. Yes, indeed. She might enjoy that part of marriage.
“Are you well, Pru? You’re quite flushed.”
Indeed she was, thinking about their time together. But now was not when she should be thinking about that. “Yes, I am well. Just excited.”
Ash looked out the window as the carriage came to a halt. “Here we are.”
The groom opened the door, and Ash stepped out, turning to assist her. Pru took a deep breath and accepted his arm as they strolled up the pathway to the gallery.
Once inside, she pulled her gloves off and once more wandered around the space. With the rare sunlight, all the paintings were nicely displayed. She had to admit that even she was impressed.
“What do you think?” The deep, warm voice rolled over her like thick honey as Ash stood behind her and spoke softly into her ear.
She nodded. “I think I am…” She turned. “Excited. Scared.”
He reached up and ran the back of his hand down her cheek, causing her to lean toward him, her eyes closed. His loving touch soothed her.
“Well, it seems we all ready to go.” Mr. Goddard’s voice cut into the silence, jarring her. She stepped back. Ash’s expression went from tender to terse in a matter of seconds.
“The restaurant has just delivered the refreshments, and I am directing them to set it up in here.” Mr. Goddard pretended not to notice what he’d just witnessed, but she saw the look that passed between him and Ash.
She flushed at being caught and removed her bonnet and pelisse and handed it to the man dressed in butler’s attire. Two other men arrived and took their place at the door.
Suddenly, everything seemed to come alive. Platters and bowls were carried in and placed on long tables set up against the wall. Bottles of champagne were set at the far end of the table. Everyone scurried about, leaving her at a loss as she stood in the middle of the room.
Pru spun at the sound of Phoebe’s voice. “We’re here, Pru. Everyone is here!” Phoebe rushed across the room and hugged her.
“Congratulations, Sister.”
13
Ash stood against the wall and watched the parade of nobility stream through the gallery doors. They’d had shows before where members of the Beau Monde had attended, but since this was one of their own, it appeared to him as if every person listed in deBrett’s Peerage was standing around his gallery, chatting, drinking champagne, and admiring Pru’s work.
Never one to lack confidence, he’d greeted each arrival with a smile and a warm welcome. He directed groups around the room, made sure everyone had access to refreshments, and sent those who were interested in purchasing a painting to Ted who always handled the sales part of the business.
He should be thrilled. He should be delighted. He should be counting coins in his head. Instead, he was miserable.
Pru—his Pru—blended with the group as if she were born to it. Which, of course, she had been. And therein lay the problem.
Why did he ever think he could have a future with her? His heart ached just watching her laugh and converse with members of the ton, most of whom she knew by title. In fact, in all the time he’d been aware of her, despite seeing to his duties, she’d been the center of attention.
Which was normal, he reminded himself. She was the star. She was the artist. It was her work on display and everyone was here because of her. All the dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts, barons, and their bejeweled, expensively clothed spouses—hell, even the untitled guests who had been invited as well—were falling all over themselves to spend time with her.
Pru’s face was flush with excitement and her smile lit up the entire room. He snorted. They didn’t even need the lamps that they would light once the sun went down.
Chastising himself for behaving like a recalcitrant child, he pushed away from the wall to greet the group of newcomers. He was halfway across the room, maneuvering around clusters of people when he came to an abrupt halt, all the blood racing from his head toward his feet, leaving him lightheaded.
The Earl of Stanhope.
His father had the nerve to come to the event with his mousy wife alongside him! Never, in all the time Ash and Ted had owned the gallery, had the man graced them with his presence. He’d often wondered if he kept away because he knew Ash owned the gallery or if he had no interest in art. Or in his son.
Whatever his interest, it was apparent he would not be left out of what appeared to be the ton event of the Season.
He’d never seen Lady Stanhope up close, but now studied the woman who married the man who deserted his mother. As he got near the group they’d arrived with, he took in her tight lips and sour expression. She was passable in looks and might have been a bit prettier had she been smiling, but it was apparent she did not want to be where she found herself.
Since he couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Pru, her annoyance had to have stemmed from awareness that her husband’s bastard owned the gallery.
He and Mother could have eaten for a year for the price of the necklace that graced her scrawny neck. Her gown was exquisite and of the very first fashion. His eyes wandered from Lady Stanhope to his father standing next to her to find the man staring at him, his face red. From anger? From guilt? No matter, he had chosen to come, so whatever uncomfortable feelings he was dealing with were of his own making.
Drawing on all of his professionalism, Ash bowed in their direction. “My lord, my lady, welcome to Reeves and Goddard’s Art Gallery.”
He didn’t miss the growing silence as those near them stopped to watch father and son facing each other for the first time in public.
Bloody hell, it was like looking at himself in thirty years. Light gray strands were scattered throughout his blond hair. Same blue eyes, same aristocratic features. They even had identical lines running across their foreheads. No smile graced his lordship’s lips, but the apprehension in his eyes could not be hidden. Did he think his son was so crass he would toss him from the building?
“Good afternoon, Lord Stanhope, Lady Stanhope. I’m so happy you could join us this afternoon.” Pru stood next to him and offered a slight curtsy. “As you can see, Mr. Reeves and Mr. Goddard have done an excellent job of displaying my work.” She waved her hand around.
“Thank you for your kind words, Lady Prudence.” Ash returned his regard to Stanhope. “Please avail yourselves of the refreshments, and I will be on hand to answer any questions.” With a slight bow, he turned on his heel and left Pru to deal with them.
His heart pounded and he opened and closed his fist. As soon as he began a conversation with Lord Appleby who had questions on one of Pru’s paintings, murmurs from the crowd resumed. Another almost-scandal had been averted. He had no intention of speaking with his father, and it appeared the man had no intention of conversing with him, either.
Three hours after they’d opened their doors, the room was at full capacity to the extent that it had become almost impossible for anyone to peruse the room and actually look at the artwork.
Pru, however, was oblivious to the problem and flitted—that was the only word he thought applied—from group to group. Her laughter rang out, her face was flushed as she accepted hugs and air kisses from numerous women, and bows, smiles, and leers—that made him want to punch someone—from the men.
Despite what she’d told him, this was not a woman who detested the ton and was finished with the Season’s social events. She belonged in this group.
She was born into it and would always be a part of it. If he’d been stupid enough to think otherwise, he deserved the beating his heart was about to take.
* * *
Pru had never been happier in her life. All these people had come out to view her artwork. Every once in a while, Mr. Goddard would take down a painting and carry it to the back room. According to what Ash told her, that meant that painting had been sold and was going to be framed and delivered to the client.
She’d lost count of how many times he’d done that, but a quick perusal indicated many spaces where her artwork no longer hung.
“Pru, I’m sorry, but we must be off. Jackson and Rebecca are both down with colds, and they tend to be a bit clingy when they’re sick.” Her sister, Juliet, held her hands out, taking Pru’s hands in hers. Her husband Graham, Lord Hertford, stood next to her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You didn’t have to come if the little ones were sick.”
Juliet waved her hand. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. It does them good to be apart from me for a few hours.”
Graham took her hands. “My dear sister, Pru. You are a remarkable artist, and I know you will find much success.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thank you for your kind words, Graham. And I appreciate you both coming.”
Juliet hugged her. “Now, I have to find places to hang your artwork.” They both gave her a little wave and moved through the crowd.
“My dear daughter, this is truly a remarkable event.” Papa placed his hands on her shoulders. “You shall always be known henceforth as a renowned artist.”
Tears flooded her eyes at the warm words from this dear man who had come into her life when she was a mere child and loved and nurtured her and her sister as if they were his blood daughters. “Oh, Papa. I’m only just starting out.”
“Perhaps, dear,” Mother added, “but you seem to have sold quite a bit. And I know this crowd; they would not be buying paintings they did not appreciate.”
“There are still interested parties coming through the doors, so Mother and I will take our leave to give you more room.” Papa touched her cheek with his finger. “You make us proud, daughter.”
Again, she teared up. Her true father had been a horrible man, and Papa had done everything a loving parent should do. The best thing her mother had ever done was take a job as companion to her stepsisters, Juliet and Marigold.
Her parents had surprised them all with the arrival of her brother, Michael, Viscount Monthorpe, shortly after they married. Her brother of eight years was attending his first year at Harrow, probably happy as a lark to be away from all the fussing he received from his mother and five sisters.
“Thank you, Papa. I love you very much.” She hugged him and dashed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
Mother hugged her and then took Papa’s arm as they made their way out of the room.
She looked around for Ash since she’d only seen him briefly, dashing back and forth, greeting people, answering questions, and directing those who wanted to purchase a piece to Mr. Goddard who took care of the sales.
She’d been stunned when Lord and Lady Stanhope had shown up. They were not on the list that she’d given to Mr. Goddard, nor were a lot of other people who had arrived. Not much of a surprise since Mr. Goddard had his own list, as well.
But surely, his lordship knew that his son owned the gallery.
Despite the intimacies they’d shared, Ash had yet to tell her about his father. He’d been quite vocal in his disdain for Society but never explained why. Had Mother not told her, she would never know that her Mr. Reeves was an illegitimate offspring of a peer.
At this point, her throat hurt from talking, her feet ached from standing, and if she had one more glass of champagne, she would begin to behave in an alarming manner.
“Here, Lady Prudence. It might do you good to eat something.” Almost as if he’d just read her mind, Ash stood there, holding a plate with a few small sandwiches and a lemon tart on it.
“Thank you.”
He gave her a slight bow and left her to speak with Lady Bevins who studied one of her paintings.
How she wished they could have some quiet time together. It would feel wonderful to sit down, take off her shoes, and enjoy a nice hot cup of tea with her food. And then maybe share a kiss or two on the way back to her house. Surreptitiously, she glanced at her timepiece.
Six o’clock.
The show had been set for two o’clock to seven o’clock. One more hour and then she could relax. At least her initial nervousness had vanished once she’d seen the first painting removed from the wall and carried into the back office.
She nibbled on one of the sandwiches while nodding to elderly Lady Amberley who rattled on and on about how she always wanted to be a painter but her parents refused to allow her to obtain further study.
Once again, Pru was thankful for her parents and their support of what she loved.
Eventually, the last of the buyers and event-seekers left the gallery and Mr. Goddard locked the door. He turned to Pru and Ash standing in the middle of the room. “Your art show, my lady, was a huge success. Not only did we sell every single painting, but I have requests for more.” He grinned at her, and she smiled back.
“That is wonderful. I am so happy, and, I must admit, a little bit impressed.”
“As you should be, my lady,” he said.
“If you are ready to return home and get some well-deserved relaxation, Lady Prudence, I shall be happy to escort you home.” Ash’s attempted smile did not quite make it.
Whatever was wrong with him? She thought he would be as excited as she was or at least as satisfied as Mr. Goddard. He almost appeared as though he’d lost something.
“Yes, in fact, I am ready. I find now that all the excitement has ended I am quite weary.”
Ash helped her into her pelisse, and they left the gallery. She settled into the carriage and breathed a sigh of relief. The silence felt good against her ears.
After a while, it occurred to her the silence was no longer soothing, but something in the air caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. “Is something the matter, Ash?”
He’d been looking out the window the entire trip. Then he turned to her. “No, my lady. I am quite happy with your success.”
My lady? Well, then. Certainly, something was amiss. “What is wrong, Ash?”
He reached across and patted her hand. “We are both tired. I would like to stop by tomorrow and take you on a ride through the park if that is acceptable.”
She studied him for a few moments. “Yes. That is fine. What time?” She found herself growing more confused and formal at his behavior.
“Two o’clock?” His smile did not reach his eyes.
“Yes.” The carriage came to a halt in front of her house. “I shall be ready.” The footman opened the door, but before Ash could climb out, she exited the coach and made her way up the pathway to the front door.
<
br /> 14
Pru paced the thick carpet in her room, her stomach muscles tightening with each minute as she waited for the summons that Ash had arrived.
Something was wrong, and she couldn’t figure out what. The art show had been successful, and both Ash and Mr. Goddard had seemed pleased. All the guests seemed to find her work worthy of acknowledgement. There could certainly not be any complaints there.
She allowed her mind to wander in a different direction. Ever since she and Ash had made love, she’d reconsidered her stance on marriage. Their joining had been wonderful, and she realized her feelings for the man were very strong. Compelling enough that she was certain if she was not in love with him now, she was surely headed in that direction.
Or may have already arrived.
She smiled at her change of heart. Wedded to Ash would be no burden. He was all the wonderful things she would ever want in a husband and most compelling was his commitment to her art. He would never ask her to give up her passion.
Then whatever could be troubling him?
Before she could twist her mind into more knots, Mother tapped on the door. “Mr. Reeves is here for your ride.”
She opened the door, a bright smile on her face. “He is a fine-looking man, Pru.” Mother’s smirk set her on edge.
“Yes. I know.” She bent to pick up her gloves and reticule.
Mother brushed off the invisible lint from Pru’s shoulder. “Um, and unmarried.”
“Yes. I know that, as well.” She tried to be patient, but anxiety over what Ash wanted to discuss strained her nerves.
Her mother tucked a loose curl into her bonnet. “He would make some woman an excellent husband.”
Pru placed her hands on Mother’s shoulders and smiled. “Whatever it is you are trying to say without actually saying it has been noted.” She kissed her on the cheek. “Now, if you will excuse me…”
For the Love of the Gentleman Page 9