by Lauren Smith
Good God, he could not do this, not with everyone there to mock him.
“Ash!” Cedric stood and came to shake his hand. “Thought you’d be in Hampshire dealing with the tenant farms.”
“I was.” Ashton glanced at each of his friends’ faces, sensing he’d stumbled into the middle of something. It might prove to be a good excuse for him to depart without admitting his reasons for coming. “If I am interrupting, I could—”
“You aren’t.” Anne assured him as she stood up, a warm smile on her lips. “Would you like some tea?” She gestured to the tray on a nearby table and a footman who hovered next to the doorway. “Nelson just brought us some fresh pekoe, and it smells divine.” The domestic scene, the three of his friends and all of their wives meeting for tea—Ashton didn’t know whether to laugh or to turn tail and run.
“Tea?” He choked on the word.
“Yes, tea,” Emily replied. “It’s what friends do when they visit each other, have a cup of tea.” The glint in her eyes warned him she had sensed his rising unease. The little duchess was far too observant. It was one of the things he admired about her, except when that keen gaze was directed his way.
This was a dreadful mistake. He couldn’t ask Cedric for a favor, not when everyone was there staring at him. He could not let them know what he was up to until he had his license in hand and Rosalind on the way to the altar. Anything else might disrupt his plans. Emily might even attempt to sabotage his plans if she felt he was taking advantage of the woman.
“My apologies, but I should go. I forgot I had an appointment this morning.”
Lucien was soon on his feet, blocking Ashton from retreating through the door.
“Ho there, Ash, what’s the hurry? Surely a cup of tea with friends isn’t something to run from?” Lucien’s smirk filled Ashton with a sense of rage. If it wasn’t for the fact that the man would be a father in a few short months, he would have knocked him on his arse.
Emily rose from the settee she’d been sharing with Godric and walked toward him. “Ashton, are you blushing?”
Godric laughed. “Em, darling, men do not blush.”
“I don’t know about that,” Horatia chimed in, one hand resting on her slightly swollen belly. She hadn’t stood when he entered, and he wouldn’t have wished her to. She was due in October and needed to rest. “He is certainly turning a tad ruddy-cheeked.”
The focus of all eyes on him only made the flush on his face that much stronger.
“I’m not blushing,” he growled. “I have just ridden in, and I am nearly as exhausted as my horse. Cedric, I’d like a word with you—outside, if you please.” He knew he’d have to get his question out sooner or later, so he might as well get it done with now.
Cedric’s grin faded as he shared looks with Lucien, who still blocked the doorway, and Godric, who rose automatically and came over to join them.
“I said Cedric, not you lot.”
The men laughed. “If you think there’s anything he won’t tell us the moment you’re gone, you’re mistaken,” said Godric.
Ashton sighed dramatically. He was right, of course.
The three of them followed him into the corridor, and Ashton shut the parlor door to prevent the ladies from overhearing him.
“What is it, Ash?” Cedric asked. “Is it Waverly again?”
“No, nothing like that.” Taking a deep breath, he readied for the humiliation he expected to follow. “I was hoping you would accompany me to the Doctors’ Commons to obtain a special license.”
“The Doctors’ Commons? Who’s getting married?” Cedric asked.
Ashton let out a slow sigh. “I am.”
Godric gasped and Lucien made the sign of the cross, muttering half a prayer. Their overreactions made Ashton scowl.
“It’s not as though the four horsemen are riding down Curzon Street,” he snapped.
“Tell me you’re joking. Who the devil would you marry? You broke it off with your last mistress months ago.” Lucien crossed his arms, studying Ashton critically.
Godric snapped his finger. “Wait! I have it! You made a bet with Charles and lost. I say, though, awfully bad high stakes. Who are you marrying? Freddy Poncenby’s little sister? She’s a sweet gal, but that family…imagine the Christmas dinners. Lord, you don’t want that, do you?”
“Miss Poncenby? You know I’d never—”
“Then who?” Cedric prompted. “I can’t believe you’d marry, Ash—it’s not exactly your cup of tea.” At the mention of tea his friends sniggered.
“This isn’t a joke, and I don’t want any bloody tea. Christ, you all are enough to drive a man to the bottle. I require someone to come with me to the Doctors’ Commons. That is all. I was hoping, Cedric, that you would be the least likely to make this matter difficult.”
Godric sobered a little. “I think he’s telling the truth. The question now is why would you marry? Have you fallen in love?”
Cedric shook his head. “It’s an alliance, I’ll wager.”
Lucien’s eyes suddenly lit up. “It wouldn’t happen to be a certain Scottish lady, would it?”
“This isn’t about love, but yes, I am marrying Rosalind even if it kills us both.”
Without warning, Emily burst through the parlor doorway and hugged him. “Oh, Ashton! You and Rosalind have sorted out your differences. How wonderful!” She beamed at him, and in that moment his heart sank. He was about to disappoint her. Emily, the woman who believed everyone deserved to be loved.
Godric gently pried his wife off Ashton. “Let the man breathe, darling.”
“How did it happen?” Horatia asked. She and Anne had joined them, forming a large group in the hall. “When we last saw Lady Melbourne, she was furious with you and determined to save herself from the financial ruin you put her in.”
Emily suddenly narrowed her eyes. “Ashton, were you inconsiderate to her? She is a friend, and I shouldn’t like to discover you bullied her into something. I won’t allow it.”
She thought she could control him? How sweet. How utterly misguided. “I did not bully her.” Not exactly, he silently amended. “She lost a game of chess, and the stakes were marriage if I won.”
Lucien frowned. “That doesn’t seem like you, leaving an outcome to chance.”
“Hardly chance. There’s a reason none of us play against him anymore,” said Godric. “But how the devil did she make the mistake of playing chess with you?”
Ashton grinned. “Rafe had convinced her my skills were…below average.”
Lucien snorted. “There’s the Ash I know.”
“Why would Rafe say that? He’s not usually in the habit of helping you,” Cedric added.
“Indeed,” Ashton agreed. “But he was foolish enough to rob Rosalind’s coach, and—”
Godric cut in, waving a hand. “What?”
“Rob?” echoed Lucien.
Emily held a hand to her mouth in shock before Godric continued. “What in blazes was Rafe doing robbing a coach?”
“It seems he’s added highwayman to his ever growing list of questionable talents,” said Ashton.
“Good God,” Lucien muttered. “That man is going to hang someday.”
“Yes, I’ll have to deal with him later, once I’ve married Rosalind.”
“Oh, no you will not!” Emily jabbed a finger in his chest hard enough to make him stumble back a step.
“Emily…” Ashton felt exasperated. He was not in the least bit interested in receiving another lecture about how he should treat Rosalind with kid gloves.
“Don’t you ‘Emily’ me, Ashton. I’ll not have you mistreating Rosalind. She’s a wonderful creature, and I won’t let you break her spirit out of some misguided notion of pride. What, it was not enough to simply ruin her finances, you now must possess her as well?”
She honestly thought he had it in him to break a woman? God’s teeth, he’d never do that. He loved the fairer sex far too much to be that cavalier in his interests.
“She is wonderful, and I have no intention of breaking her,” he countered. “This is to our mutual advantage.”
Emily halted her military-style advancement. Her violet eyes grew wide and searching.
“You think she’s wonderful too?”
He nodded. “Of course.” How could he not? She was intelligent, beautiful and stubborn.
“Yet you don’t love her?” Emily asked, her violet eyes full of curiosity.
“I am fond of her and wish her no harm, but you are correct.”
Emily looked briefly at Anne and Horatia before she spoke again. “Then off you go to the Doctors’ Commons. We ladies have some dresses to shop for if we’re to be ready for the wedding.”
It took a moment for Ashton to absorb what had been said. “Pardon?”
“Yes,” Anne agreed. “It’s important we are all there. Weddings are family affairs. And you are family in all ways but blood.”
“She is right, you know,” Cedric said. “We all ought to be there. When’s the special day?”
“I thought tomorrow.”
All three women gasped in alarm as if he’d threatened to do something so scandalous that even his reputation could not be salvaged.
“Tomorrow? Oh no, Ashton, that’s far too soon,” Horatia protested. “We need a few days to pack and arrange travel to Hampshire.”
Ashton knew these three ladies well enough to know that he could not fight them on this. Well, not fight them and expect any form of victory.
“You have two days,” he informed them. “I’m not risking anything longer than that in case my fiancée should try to back out of our bargain.”
“Would she?” Lucien asked, half smiling.
Ashton shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, and I certainly don’t want to give her the chance.”
His friends laughed. Godric glanced at Ashton. “Well, should we be off?”
“You don’t have to come.”
“Nonsense.” Godric pressed a kiss to Emily’s lips before he faced the others. “We wouldn’t miss this for the world. Em, darling, you’d best have the servants see to packing, and notify our solicitors where to reach us should any business matters arise while we are out of town.”
“Have fun making Ashton blush. He’s still red.” Horatia giggled and kissed Lucien.
It was all the public displays of affection that were making him blush, not the idea of obtaining a marriage license. It was business and nothing more. Even if Rosalind was equal parts wonderful, infuriating and fascinating.
Ashton waited on the front steps while his friends collected their hats and coats.
“We ought to take the coach. I’ll have it brought around.” Cedric disappeared inside, leaving Ashton with Lucien and Godric.
“Are you sure about this?” Godric asked with true seriousness.
“I am,” Ashton replied. He now understood more clearly the irritation Cedric must have felt when he first announced his engagement to Anne. The League hadn’t embraced the idea at first. Not having the support of one’s friends was off-putting and filled one’s head with doubt. After a decade of being in complete agreement with them on nearly everything, it felt strange to disagree with them on the matter of whether he should marry, and do so without hesitation as to whether they would agree with him or not.
“There’s more to my reasons than my male pride, as Emily puts it,” he added quietly, “For three weeks now I’ve been monitoring Lady Melbourne’s shipping company activities. Hugo Waverly has been using her ships to transport men and supplies to and from England for purposes I cannot yet explain. I don’t know what he is up to, but I’d certainly sleep better at night if I had access to the manifests and passenger lists.”
“But you already own her debts, and the companies are as good as yours,” Lucien said. “I thought you had accountants and solicitors going over her accounts.”
“I do. But I want there to be no question as to the ownership. When I marry her, it will be easier for me to manage all the companies and look deeper into her records.” He turned at the rattle of wheels upon the cobblestones and saw the Sheridan coach pull up the steps.
“Right-o, lads.” Cedric bounded down the steps to meet them as they all prepared to climb inside.
“I feel like we ought to be getting Ashton foxed tonight to prepare him for marriage,” Godric said with a laugh.
“Or a final trip to the Midnight Garden,” Lucien suggested.
“Absolutely not.” Ashton laughed. “The last time I set foot there I was shot. I have no desire to repeat the experience.”
“Touché.” Cedric closed the coach door and slammed a hand outside the window to signal the driver to go.
As the coach jerked forward, Ashton settled back in the seat, smiling as his friends teased him, but he didn’t mind. Rosalind was going to be his, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Seventeen
Nelson Lewis, a footman in the Sheridan household, lingered in the doorway to the servants’ quarters, straining to pick up any bits of conversation from the three ladies still standing in the hall.
“Emily, why did you stop pestering once he admitted Rosalind was wonderful?” Lady Sheridan asked.
The Duchess of Essex played with the pearls around her neck. “I don’t believe Ashton has ever said that about any woman. I believe he has stronger feelings for her than he admits, even to himself.”
Nelson nudged the door an inch further, studying the well-bred ladies as they walked back into the parlor. But before they disappeared inside he heard Lady Rochester speak.
“A wedding in Hampshire. It will be lovely.”
Lennox was to be married? He shut the door and came down the stairs to find the butler, careful to appear as though he was about his normal duties. The older man was standing in the servants’ corridor, speaking to the housekeeper.
“Ah, Nelson, there you are. We have a few errands for you to run.” The butler held out a strip of parchment.
Nelson glanced at the parchment and tucked it into his vest pocket. “Of course.” He had become accustomed to the patterns of the household and knew he’d most likely be sent off about now. He bid the butler a hasty farewell and left the Sheridan house.
He walked for some time before he deemed himself sufficiently out of sight and allowed himself to wave down a hackney.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“The Strand.” He handed the man a few coins and leapt into the cab.
The cab rattled past Covent Garden, and Nelson watched the streets as they passed. During the day the Strand was fairly reputable, with shops open and decent folk exploring the stands and peering into the shop windows. At night, however, the street took on a more ominous character. Not that Nelson was afraid to travel then. He had been well trained in ungentlemanly combat. It was those who might interfere with him who should be afraid.
The cab stopped at the edge of the Strand, and Nelson hopped out. He dodged the fine ladies in their walking dresses and the men escorting them from shop to shop. Nelson ventured farther until he saw the Coal Hole Tavern’s sign creaking in the light breeze.
The door burst open, and several men and two women stumbled out laughing. Their faces were familiar, actors he’d seen at recent plays. That was of no surprise, though. The Coal Hole was a gathering place for many actors and had even been a private theater at one time. Nelson let the men and women pass by before he caught the open door and slipped inside.
The taproom was rowdy but not as unseemly as a tavern would be in other parts of London. But by nightfall the lightskirts and pickpockets would be out, much to the respective delight and despair of men brave enough to venture here after hours.
A barman stood near the back stairs that led to the upper rooms. Nelson made his way over.
“What do you need?” the barman grunted.
“Have you ever seen a White Lion?” he asked.
“I believe we have a painting of one. Last door on the left.” The barman moved his
considerable bulk aside and let Nelson pass.
The sounds from the rooms he passed showed that more than one soul was out enjoying their pleasures early.
As he reached the last door on the left, he rapped his knuckles in a specific pattern.
“Enter.”
Twisting the handle, Lewis opened the door. The two men inside stared at him, one seated at a writing table and the other leaning against the wall by the window. The man by the window was in his late twenties, and the other man was in his late thirties; Lewis reported to the latter.
Hugo Waverly waved a hand at Nelson. “Ah, Lewis. Report.” He dropped his gaze back to his papers, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he shuffled pages, looking for something. The man by the window, Daniel Sheffield, Hugo’s right-hand man, encouraged Lewis with a nod.
“I completed a search of the Melbourne residence for the item you were seeking. I’m afraid I could not find it.”
Hugo scowled. “Damn. She must have taken it with her when she left London. Anything else?”
Nelson nodded. “Lennox is off to the Doctors’ Commons for a special license. He plans to be married in two days’ time in Hampshire.”
Hugo’s quill ceased scratching on the parchment. He slowly raised his head.
“Married to whom?” He gave each word such weight that even Lewis, who’d been raised in a thieves’ den, got chills.
“Lady Melbourne.”
The quill tip snapped, spilling ink across the page. Sheffield came around the side of Hugo’s writing table.
“Do you have any other details?” Sheffield asked.
Lewis stood straighter, recognizing the seriousness with which they took this news. “Essex, Rochester, Sheridan and their wives will be traveling to Hampshire to stay with Lennox and will be there for the ceremony.”
With a vicious growl, Hugo crumpled up the stained report and tossed it into the fireplace.
“Sheffield, we must ride for Scotland immediately. We may not be able to delay the wedding, but we can disrupt the League long enough to finish our West Indies operation if we can buy ourselves more time. The necessity of obtaining those items we discussed is even more paramount.” He folded his hands pensively. “Blast. I was a blind fool. When Lady Melbourne left London, her letter indicated that it was to fight to get her property back. But if he’s somehow wooed her and won her, then those properties will be exposed to his scrutiny.”