An Earl To Remember_The Yorkshire Downs Series_Love, Hearts and Challenges_A Regency Romance Story

by Jasmine Ashford

  Toby nodded heavily. “Frozen. That is a good description. He never loses his temper. Never laughs. Never smiles. At least, I had forgotten his laugh until...”

  “Until Ada,” Errol finished.

  “Until Ada.”

  “Remarkable,” Errol said quietly. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

  “She is,” Toby repeated.

  He leaned back on the leather chair, breathing in the scent of whiskey and dust and listening to the crackle of the fire.

  “Who is she, exactly?” Uncle Errol asked. “I lose touch with the peerage of England.”

  Toby looked up from his contemplation of the bookshelves, and took another sip of his drink.

  “She is the daughter of Daniel Drosty, the late Duke of Darbyshire. Younger sister by several years to the current duke. She is, I think, twenty years old. She is a true beauty, so I am surprised she is not already spoken for.”

  “I don't care if she looks like a goat,” Errol countered. “She has touched his heart with her mind.”

  Toby laughed. “Well said, my lord.”

  “Quite. So,” Errol said briskly, leaning forward in a creak of leather and floorboards, “we have to make sure our Liam is not hurt this time. And that he actually pursues this chance of happiness.”

  “Agreed.” Toby raised his drink. “And I think there are only two impediments to that.”

  “What are they?” Errol asked, rubbing his forehead.

  “His own self-hatred, and her family.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Toby sighed and ran a hand through his curly chestnut hair. “They think she is in love with the Duke of Norwich.”

  “Norwich?” Errol looked surprised. “Blond fellow with big eyes and a dreadful character. Am I thinking of the right man?”

  Toby laughed. “That is the best description of him I have heard.”

  “Not a nice man,” Errol said thoughtfully. “Is she?”

  “Is she what?” Toby asked. The whiskey was making him sleepy, and he wrinkled his brow at the sharp comment.

  “Is she in love with him?” Errol asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Heavens, no!” Toby said at once. “She has not confided in me, of course, but from what I can gauge, she cannot bear him.”

  “Well, then. I think there is no threat in that quarter.” Uncle Errol shrugged.

  “No,” Toby mused, “unless the duke himself takes it into his head to pursue the match. He does not like being crossed.”

  Errol looked up from his contemplation of the fire. “True,” he agreed slowly. “He is a nasty customer, as I said. I saw him in the House, once. He doesn't give in easily. Got a skull like marble... thick and difficult to budge.”

  Toby laughed. “I wish you lived in the North, my lord. I miss your company.”

  Errol grinned. “Give me the Town any day – a cesspit of intrigue it may be, but it's better than your raw moorlands and freezing weather.”

  Toby chuckled. “You are right, my lord. I admire your judgement.”

  “Good,” Errol sniffed. The two of them sat alone and watched the fire, the flames wavering in the grate. Toby felt the coldness inside him dissipate and allowed himself to imagine Liam and Ada happily together, his friend freed at last from his all-consuming guilt. Errol made it sound easy, and he hoped he was correct.

  “So,” Toby said after a long moment, “the only obstacle then is Liam himself.”

  “True,” Errol huffed. “And if young Norwich is marble, my dear nephew has a head like a brick oven – bright and brilliant inside, but completely impenetrable.”

  Toby lifted his glass. “Well said.”

  “And,” Errol added, “he's still in shock. Ever since you pulled him off that battlefield in India, he's been a lost soul.”

  “He has,” Toby said, lost momentarily in the memories of that day. Liam had almost died of his wounds. When he woke, a gray-faced, empty shell a few days after, he had remembered nothing. Not the death of his friend and comrade, not the battle, not his own brave fight through enemy lines to reach Geoffrey before anyone could touch his body. He had never spoken of it, and never spoken Geoffrey's name. He had only heard that he had killed twelve men and heard after that most of them were civilians – farmers, armed with whatever they had. He had despised himself then and taken the honorable discharge when it was offered.

  “He has forgotten all memory of that time,” Toby said quietly.

  “Not forgotten,” Errol replied. “He has buried it.”

  Toby nodded. He had never spoken of it since, and from the day he and Toby had returned to England, he had hidden alone, rarely venturing out except for the few rides when they were alone in the North. It was the main reason Toby had declined a second tour of action in Ireland and returned to Darbyshire with Liam, to spend time with him.

  “He should discuss it,” Toby said quietly. “I would tell him so much of that time, if only he would talk of it. I want to help him,” he said, his face pained in the leaping firelight. It was a cause of much distress to him, that Liam would not trust him.

  “He will speak of it,” Errol said softly. “His heart will thaw, and he will remember. But it will take time, and patience. And love.”

  Toby looked up, and he and Errol shared a look.

  “Yes,” Toby replied. “And love.”

  In his heart, he prayed that Ada would overcome whatever difficulties she faced, and reach out to his friend. She meant more to him than she could ever know. And she was already healing him. If only she could overcome the expectations of her family, she could bring Liam back to himself. All she had to do was follow the love he knew they both felt.

  Shaking his head, Toby prayed she would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A GLITTERING EVENT

  A GLITTERING EVENT

  “I wish I didn't have to do this,” Ada said under her breath. It was seven of the clock, the soft blue dusk falling outside, and she was sitting in the chair before her dressing-table, waiting while her maid heated curling-irons.

  “Miss?”

  “Nothing,” Ada sighed, and turned to face the mirror so the maid could continue with her work. .She was preparing for yet another of Henriette's innumerable engagements. To this one, she was wearing a white dress, its fine weave covered with a layer of chiffon. The waist was high, just underneath the bust. The neckline was square, lace-trimmed, and showed her pale cleavage. The dress scraped the floor, allowing only the barest peek of her white satin dancing shoes. Ada reached up to touch her naturally-straight hair, which had been arranged in a mass of ringleted curls, held in place with pearl-ended hairpins.

  “I will go and fetch your cloak, my lady,” her maid said, and when Ada nodded, she slipped out of the room, leaving her alone with the remote, still beauty in the mirror.

  In the sudden privacy, Ada allowed a tear to trace down her cheek. She cuffed it hastily away. She was being foolish. All she had to do was speak to Oscar. She could even make him hate her enough to render him no threat, if she tried! Nothing was cast in stone. Why did she feel like she was walking to her execution?

  Stop being fanciful. Reaching for her perfume, she applied it quickly and breathed in the strong scent. Then, turning quickly in the doorway to check the skirt, she walked quickly and lightly down the stairs.

  “Sister!”

  Roderick was crossing the hallway as she entered, and he called out to her, staring. “You look... different.” He smiled somewhat bemusedly, and Ada could not help but grin back, if self-deprecatingly. She was exhausted and miserable, but the banter with Roderick did lift her spirits.

  “Thank you, brother,” she said archly. “Though I am not sure if that is a compliment or not.”

  “You are always beautiful, sister,” he said gently. “I simply meant the curls are a change.”

  “I shall believe you,” Ada said teasingly, and he walked across to escort her down the stairs.

  Henriette, who would attend as her chaperone
, was already waiting in the carriage. Dressed in a rich yellow silk dress, her black hair curled and topped with an embroidered turban in a silk a shade darker than the gown, she was the picture of society elegance.

  “My dear sister!” she breathed, covering her mouth with her hand. “You look... belle! Tres, tres belle.” She gestured breathlessly at Ada.

  Ada smiled coolly. She felt a little sad. “Thank you, sister,” she replied, “you are always beautiful.”

  Henriette blushed and patted her hand. “You will be the most beautiful woman there tonight, my dear. This is your evening.”

  Ada nodded and tried to look pleased, but she was so tired! Why is it, that I should look beautiful for Oscar, when I cannot bear him? It is Liam that I love! I wish he were there.

  But Liam never went to parties. At least, not the dazzling society events – it had been almost-miraculous that he had attended the small private ball those days ago. Ada could not imagine him attending an event such as this one: discussing poetry and drinking wine with the local high society was not something she imagined would appeal to his quiet, contemplative nature.

  “Here we are,” Henriette announced as she looked out of the window into the gathering blue dusk. They drew up outside a large sandstone building, the front terrace long enough for two carriages to park before it, and lit all over with torches that whipped in the wind.

  A man with a torch ran up to light their way as Ada stepped lightly from the carriage. Henriette followed her and they made their way toward the stairs.

  “It is chilly out here,” Henriette said, shivering in her silk shawl. Ada agreed, and drew her velvet hood closer about her face.

  It was too late for more words, for they were at the top of the steps, facing the host who waited to welcome the guests.

  There he is... Ada’s whole body tensed.

  “Lady Ada!”

  Ada smiled stiffly, willing herself to neutrality and politeness. She was so locked into the role of Lady Ada, polite guest, that she did not even look up when her hand was taken very firmly, and raised to someone's lips.

  Ada felt her skin crawl as she looked up into his pale blue eyes, their expression of haughtiness and intense focus worrying her.

  “Lord Oscar,” she said in a small voice, and gently pulled her hand away.

  “Welcome to this small gathering,” he said smoothly. “I trust it will be more to your taste than our previous encounter?”

  “I...” Ada stammered at his cool, even tone. “I am sure I will enjoy it,” she said, swallowing her feelings of distaste.

  “Good,” he said, and stepped back, allowing Henriette to enter next.

  “Lady Henriette!”

  “Lord Oscar. A delight to see you again. And what a lovely evening,” Henriette enthused.

  Ada drifted in ahead of them, listening with half an ear as Henriette charmed Oscar as she charmed all men and most women.

  “He is so agreeable, is he not?” Henriette whispered to Ada as they walked into the hall, satin shoes whispering over marble, “and quite handsome. Oh, Ada...”

  Ada swallowed and walked stiffly by her side into the hall.

  The room where the soiree was taking place was wide, with white marble on the floor. Ada had to admit that it was beautiful – the high, molded ceilings supported on slim and stuccoed columns, the room lit with hundreds of candles in their chandeliers. She drifted in, wide eyed, looking about the room. It all felt unreal, as if she was only half-there. As she walked, Ada listened to the voices around her, which seemed to reach her as through a veil of mist.

  “Lady Aldrich! I have not seen you since the ball at Almacks!”

  “My dear Lord Percy! I would ask you about the poems of the evening...”

  “Do try some of the wine – the Rhenish is delightful!”

  Ada sighed. She could hear a dozen cultured, elegant voices talking about a dozen elegant and cultured things. She should feel happy. The room was slowly filling, the scent of perfume and pomade mingling with the warm smell of the candles. Soon the evening would begin. She looked about looking for faces she knew. Henriette was talking to a tall man in a dark suit, and his elegantly-dressed wife, laughing warmly.

  “I wish I could feel at ease,” Ada murmured to herself. But every time she tried to relax, her eyes would shift to the doorway, where Lord Oscar stood welcoming his guests, and she would feel discomforted once more. She went across to a man with a tray, hoping a glass of Malmsey would soothe her nerves. On the edge of her vision, she noticed that the great double door in the hallway was closed. Lord Oscar must have come in by now. The thought made her uneasy, and she reached for her glass of wine.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and lifted it to her lips. She saw a lady she thought she recognized – Lady Phillipa Woodstock – and drifted across the hall to join her.

  “Lady Ada,” a voice spoke from behind her, soft but clearly not expecting to be ignored. “You are enjoying yourself thus far?”

  She turned to see Oscar behind her, a glass of brandy in one hand. His eyes teased her. Sapphire and dangerous, they made something tighten in her stomach. She swallowed, feeling the blood singing in her ears.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said quietly, lifting her wine to her lips. “It seems a very well-appointed gathering,” she observed.

  “I pride myself that it is, yes,” Oscar agreed. He was standing beside her, and reached for her hand. Ada instinctively pulled back.

  “What is amiss, my lady?” Oscar asked, surprised. “My duties as a host are to be welcoming. Yes? But you seem to evade my welcome, as you evaded me on the last occasions when we met.”

  His voice was silky, lilting. Charming. Dangerous. Ada looked around desperately, hoping to catch Henriette's eye, but she was engaged in deep conversation in the group surrounding the tall man, and was looking the other way.

  “My lord...” She stepped back, trying to break the tension and the contact of his hand on hers. She was not sure why she felt threatened – he was being perfectly polite – but she did.

  “You seem to dislike me, my lady.” Oscar said quietly.

  “No,” Ada stammered. “It's not that...”

  “I must admit I have been... remiss... in my treatment of you. I hate people to think ill of me, and would like to make amends.”

  “Thank you,” Ada said automatically. Her whole body was stiff. Go away, she thought desperately.

  “If you will join me on the terrace?” Oscar said insistently, and rested a hand on her arm. “I want to show you my garden. It is especially lovely by moonlight.”

  “I...” Ada swallowed, and looked desperately around the room. The thought of being alone outside with this man was terrifying. He was courting her, so the minor impropriety of her being alone with him outside would be excused. It was not that, then, but his presence that scared her.

  “You flee so readily from my company, my lady,” Oscar said tightly. “I do not appreciate it. I do not appreciate humiliation. But I want you to see my gardens. I need to put a good face on matters with you, or all my friends will know I can be made a fool of by a woman.”

  Ada looked round again, trying to catch Henriette's eye. He reached out and took her hand. She pulled away sharply, breath heaving in, and whirled toward the hall.

  Oscar let go of her hand, but followed her as she crossed the floor. She wished someone would notice, but everyone was either surrounding the poet, or involved in their own discussion.

  She reached the refreshments table and slid quickly in between the people, disappearing in the crowd.

  On the terrace, she breathed in shakily, drawing air into her lungs. She wanted to cry. She felt nauseous and light-headed. She wished she could just disappear.

  “Ada?” Ada turned at the gentle voice, and found Henriette standing behind her. “What's the matter?” She frowned concernedly.

  “I'm... just feeling ill,” Ada whispered. “If I could go home, please?”

  Henriette's frown deepened. “M
y poor Ada! But you love poetry! Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” Ada whispered, noticing that her teeth were chattering. She had walked out onto the terrace without her shawl, and it was surprisingly cold outside.

  “You do look ill,” Henriette agreed, concern overcoming doubt. “Are you sure I should not call Doctor Hughes?”

  “It is well,” Ada said quietly. “I am sure I am fatigued. All the activity yesterday has simply worn me out. I should not have come this evening.”

  “My sister,” Henriette said gently, placing an arm about her shoulders, “you should be in bed. Let us ask this man here to hail us a cab.”

  Ada shivered, and allowed her to lead her down the stairs to the street, talking with the footman as they went. He hailed a cab and stood with the two ladies while the driver turned in toward them, then handed them up.

  In the cab, Henriette leaned forward, taking Ada's hands.

  “My poor dear! But it is so sad. You could have made such progress with Oscar Ridlington! You must be most disappointed.”

  Ada shut her eyes, feeling nausea rise in her at the mention of the man's name. Disappointed? I have never been more relieved to run from someone.

  “Oh, Henriette!” she murmured, and covered her face with her hands, sobbing.

  “What is it, dear?” Henriette asked, covering her mouth with her hand in shock. “You poor dear! What has made you so sad?”

  “It's Oscar Ridlington,” Ada sobbed. “I cannot bear him! I am so scared.”

  “Scared?” Henriette looked horrified. “Oh, but my dear Ada! Why?”

  Ada collapsed in sobs. It was such a relief to be able to tell someone! Now that she had started, the relief coursed through her and she could not stop crying.

  Henriette moved across the seat, coming to sit beside Ada, her arm around her shoulders. “Sister, please, tell me.”

  Ada, sobbing and shuddering, told her. When she had finished, she sat back, eyes damp.