Belle's Beau

by Gayle Buck

  BELLE’S BEAU

  Gayle Buck

  Chapter 1

  One fine morning in early April, a nondescript hackney cab pulled up to the curb before an elegant town house on Park Lane next to Hyde Park. A gentleman of medium height and considerable breadth of shoulder, attired in a brushed beaver hat and a long military greatcoat, leaped down out of the cab. The cab's jarvey carried the gentleman's bags up the stone steps to the front door of the imposing house. The gentleman himself carried his own kit, which he set down on the porch next to the decorative iron railing in order to withdraw his purse and pay the driver.

  Clutching the coins, the driver touched his forelock. "M'thanks, m'lord."

  Lord Adam Alan Ashdon, Viscount, nodded with a friendly smile. He did not watch the jarvey's departure, but turned around to give the polished brass door knocker a good banging.

  The door opened slowly to reveal an elderly attendant somberly attired in black livery. This individual looked out with a superior expression, eyeing the visitor down the length of a long, thin nose. "Yes, sir?"

  Lord Ashdon grinned confidently at the servant, certain that he would be recognized even though it had been some years since he had last been in England. "Have I changed all that much?"

  The dignified old man's expression underwent sudden transformation. "My lord!" The door was thrown wide. The servant bowed. "Welcome home, my lord!"

  "Hello, Regis. You look just the same, you old rascal. What are you doing getting the door? Is her ladyship at home?" asked Lord Ashdon as he stepped inside across the wide threshold. He took off his beaver hat and handed it to the attentive butler, then started stripping off his pale kid gloves.

  "The porter has taken ill, my lord. A great inconvenience it has been, as you can imagine, as many visitors as we have. Her ladyship is resting, my lord, but I shall send word up to Lady Ashdon at once, sir!"

  The butler snapped his fingers to summon the footman who had emerged from the nether regions. He spoke a few words in a low voice. The footman sent a startled glance at the viscount, then, with a nod, strode away. The butler turned to the viscount. "I will see that your baggage is taken upstairs, my lord. I assume that you will be staying with us?"

  Lord Ashdon glanced around him once more. There was the portrait of his grandfather on the front wall and the massive vase of his mother's favorite white blooms arranged on the hall table. That much at least had remained the same.

  Memories crowded his mind, most particularly of his late father. How well he recalled past years. Lord Ashdon smiled at the waiting butler. "Yes, if my mother shall have me."

  "Have you, sir! Why, her ladyship will be beside herself," said the butler. He ushered the long-awaited scion of the house into the sitting room. "I will bring refreshment in at once, my lord."

  "Thank you, Regis. You are too good to me," said Lord Ashdon with a swift smile.

  The butler made the slightest bow, then looked across at the viscount. "If you don't mind my saying so, my lord, it is good to have you back."

  "Thank you, Regis. It is good to be back," said Lord Ashdon. He surveyed his surroundings. The sitting room did not look the same as he remembered it. He should not have expected it to, of course. It had always been his mother's habit to refurbish her surroundings whenever the latest fad dictated a change.

  This time the sitting room had been decorated in black and gold and a florid style that he found quite distasteful. Carved, gilded dolphins acted as arm supports for the armchairs, while seashells formed the legs. Those fanciful touches would have been done in honor of Nelson's great naval victory, naturally. There was also a delicately curved stool that looked as though it would have been better acquainted with an Egyptian tomb than an English sitting room. The striped silk sofa had lion's claws for feet. Around the room, three-legged stands that looked like graceful columned Grecian temples had been placed here and there, the flat tops supporting overflowing green plants in marble bowls.

  "I see that fashions have changed," remarked Lord Ashdon.

  "Indeed they have, my lord," agreed the butler impassively.

  "It looks a bit like a museum of antiquities, don't you think, Regis?" asked Lord Ashdon, glancing ruefully at the servant.

  The butler gave a slight cough, hiding the twitch of his lips. He asked respectfully, "Have you sold out of the army, my lord?"

  The viscount's easy smile flashed. "No, I have not, Regis. And let that be our little secret."

  "Very well, my lord," said the butler with a dignified smile.

  When the butler exited and closed the doors. Lord Ashdon crossed to the draperied windows overlooking the busy boulevard. A frown pulled his well-marked brows into an unbroken line above his straight, well-molded nose. There was an abstracted expression in his eyes as he stared out at the sunlit scene.

  Lord Ashdon had lately returned to England from the long war. The abdication of Napoleon Bonaparte had meant a huge exodus of officers and rank-and-file from the British army, but he had not been one of their number. He thought privately, and had publicly voiced his opinion on several occasions (to the derision of his fellow officers), that he did not believe that Bonaparte was done. So he had not sold out of the army but instead had taken a lengthy leave of absence from his official duties. The leave was willingly granted to him, with the explanation proffered to his commanding officer that it was time to see to the duty due to his family name.

  That was, to wed and beget an heir.

  Behind him, the door opened and Lord Ashdon turned quickly.

  "My dear Adam!"

  An elegantly attired lady bustled swiftly toward him, and Lord Ashdon stepped forward to meet her. He caught her soft hands, which she held out to him in welcome. "Hello, Mother."

  He kissed the powdered cheek that her ladyship held up to him and as he did so, he caught the wafting scent of a familiar perfume. He straightened and grinned at his parent. "You are looking extremely well, ma'am."

  "Thank you, my dear," said Lady Ashdon. She took a step backward and surveyed him from head to toe, then smiled and squeezed his strong fingers once more before releasing them. "It is good to have you home, dearest. You can have no notion how my heart gave a leap to be told the good news. We must celebrate your return! I am going to a small soiree this evening, and you must escort me. It will create quite a stir, believe me!"

  Lord Ashdon shook his head, his smile fading but still intact. "I have but just arrived, Mother. I prefer a quiet evening tonight, if you don't mind."

  "Of course! You are fatigued after such a long journey. Look at you! Why, you are still in your greatcoat. What was Regis thinking? And you should have refreshment, too!" said Lady Ashdon. "I shall ring for Regis immediately."

  The doors opened before her ladyship had finished speaking. Lady Ashdon turned her head and watched as her butler entered, followed by a footman. Both carried laden trays. With a frown, Lady Ashdon said, "Regis—

  Lord Ashdon stepped forward quickly, forestalling the scold that he saw forming on his parent's lips. "Ah, just as you promised, Regis! Thank you! I am famished."

  The butler had set down his burden and now came forward. "Allow me to relieve you of your greatcoat, my lord, so that you will be more comfortable." He performed the service with alacrity and smoothed the dense folds of the heavy garment over his bent forearm. "Will there be anything else, my lord? My lady?"

  “That will be all, Regis," said Lady Ashdon with a regal nod. The butler bowed and ushered his underling out of the sitting room, quietly closing the doors after them.

  Lady Ashdon swished over to the striped silk sofa and gracefully lowered herself to the cushions. She had once been a great beauty, and her figure was still elegant and her carriage upright. Her blond locks had faded to a subtle silvery gold, whil
e her face retained the same proud expression that it had always had. She gestured to her son. "Come, Adam. I will serve you a plate. You are naturally hungry after your journey."

  Lord Ashdon followed his mother, seating himself across from her in one of the dolphin-and-shell armchairs. He crossed his legs at the knee, allowing one booted toe to swing gently to and fro. "You are kindness itself, ma'am."

  Lady Ashdon smiled as she placed several pieces of cold meat, a couple of tartlets, and some cheese on a plate. "Here you are, Adam. You see, I remember," she said, handing the plate to her son. "You will want a brandy, of course." She reached for a well-filled cut-glass decanter and unstopped it.

  Lord Ashdon murmured his agreement, rather touched and amused by his mother's willingness to serve him. He leaned forward to take the glass that Lady Ashdon filled for him. "Do you not join me, Mother?"

  "I never partake of such a heavy meal in the afternoon, Adam. Surely you recall that," said Lady Ashdon, raising her arched brows.

  "Of course," agreed Lord Ashdon with a smile. He had forgotten that idiosyncrasy of Lady Ashdon's, actually, but it would not do to say so.

  "You are staying here with me while you are in London, naturally. I will not have you going to one of those horrid hotels," said Lady Ashdon decisively.

  Lord Ashdon gently swirled the brandy in his glass, inhaling the bouquet, as he glanced at her ladyship. "The hotels are scarcely horrid, Mother. In fact, travelers to our shore are amazed at the clean linens and abundant washing water to be found in our hotels," he said in a teasing tone.

  Lady Ashdon shook her head. A small smile just barely touched her face as she watched him begin to eat. "I see what it is. You are funning me in your inimitable way. You are staying with me, are you not?"

  "If you will have me, ma'am," said Lord Ashdon. "I do not wish to put you or your household out in any way."

  "Pray do not be ridiculous! This is your home, Adam. You may do just as you wish," said Lady Ashdon.

  "You relieve my mind. Mother. You see, I have already had the temerity to see that my bags were carried upstairs," said Lord Ashdon, flashing his smile again.

  Lady Ashdon also smiled. Her eyes were not lake-blue like her son's, but rather a cool gray. There was rarely any real warmth in her expression. "I am glad that you are in such good humor, Adam. Now that you have sold out of the army, you must tell me all about your plans. You will be here for the Season, of course?"

  Lord Ashdon set aside the becrumbed plate and the empty wineglass, thus giving himself a second or two to best formulate his reply. He had no intention of informing his mother just at that moment that he had not sold out of the army. There would be time enough later, when his leave was up, to go through the inevitable explosion that such news was certain to trigger. It was best simply to allow Lady Ashdon to continue in her assumption that he was back in England for good. As for how much he should say about what he had been contemplating for several months, he did not believe that it would be wise to reveal all of his thoughts. Therefore, he settled on the simplest, most straightforward answer that he could possibly give to his parent at that moment.

  The viscount looked directly at her ladyship and said, "Mother, I am planning to wed this Season."

  Lady Ashdon's mouth dropped open. She quickly shut it and a brilliant smile lit her face. It was the most animated expression she had worn since the viscount had arrived. Her ladyship surged to her feet, holding out her hands. "Dearest!"

  Lord Ashdon quickly rose, too. In her enthusiasm Lady Ashdon grasped her son's coat sleeves. "Adam! How wonderful! I had almost despaired of getting through to you how urgently your duty stood."

  Lord Ashdon removed one of his mother's hands and lifted it to his lips to brush a light kiss across her smooth knuckles. He smiled down at her, not at all surprised by her fervent reaction. "I am glad that you are pleased, ma'am."

  "Pleased!" Lady Ashdon gave a light laugh, and her gray eyes positively sparkled. "I am more than pleased, my dear! You need an heir to carry on the family name, as I have been writing to you for ages."

  "Yes, each of your letters did refer to that fact," said Lord Ashdon dryly, but with an easy smile.

  Lady Ashdon laughed again. "You make game of me, but I shall not take offense. Why, Adam, I am positively thrilled that you are finally going to heed my advice."

  "It was very good advice, ma'am," said Lord Ashdon. He let go of his mother's hand and took a turn about the sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back. "I have come to realize it very well." Even though he was preoccupied with his thoughts, he nevertheless took note again of the black-and-gold decor and unconsciously grimaced. Fortunately, his back was to her ladyship and so she did not see his disapprobation of her furnishings.

  Behind the viscount, Lady Ashdon was already making plans, ticking them off on her beringed fingers. "We must throw a ball in your honor as soon as possible so that everyone will be made aware that you are returned. I shall invite several families with whom I am acquainted that have marriageable daughters. We shall naturally receive invitations from them also, of course, and you will have ample opportunity to become better acquainted with the most eligible young misses."

  Lord Ashdon turned back to his parent, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation. Her ladyship had always been a dominating personality in his life, but he was not a small boy any longer. Years under his father's influence had also shaped his character, as had the years at war. He said firmly, "You go too fast, my lady. I have no intention of plunging into a round of entertainments. In fact, I am not staying in London for long — a fortnight at most."

  Lady Ashdon stared at him in great astonishment. "Why, whatever can you mean? Did you not say that you were here for the Season?"

  Lord Ashdon shook his head. "No, Mother, I did not. I said that I meant to wed this Season. That does not necessarily mean that I shall remain in London."

  "But what do you intend to do, then? You can scarcely expect to discover a suitable bride if it is your estates where you mean to ensconce yourself," said Lady Ashdon briskly.

  "I am not going to my ancestral house, ma'am," said Lord Ashdon.

  "Then where?" demanded Lady Ashdon.

  Lord Ashdon gave a wide grin, his blue eyes dancing as he anticipated his mother's certain reaction. "I am going to Bath."

  "Bath!" Lady Ashdon sat down abruptly on the sofa, not once taking her eyes from her son's face. "Of all the harebrained, idiotic notions! Adam! What do you possibly hope to find in Bath?"

  "Not what, Mother, but whom," corrected Lord Ashdon cheerfully. "I hope to find my future wife in Bath."

  "Adam, I realize that you have a fondness for the place since your recuperation there, but pray listen to reason," begged Lady Ashdon. "There is no one of any consequence in Bath during the Season, only tradespeople and old maids! You must remain here, in London, for the Season. You'll be able to meet all of the misses making their come-out in the upcoming weeks. You may have your pick of them, I assure you, dearest."

  "Vastly flattering, ma'am," said Lord Ashdon lightly. "I could scarce ask for better inducement, could I?"

  "I am perfectly serious, Adam. Pray do not dare to make a jest of it," said Lady Ashdon, frowning at her son.

  Lord Ashdon at once sobered. "I apologize, Mother. I recognize that acquiring a suitable bride is no jesting matter. Indeed, I have given much thought to it."

  "Then you'll stay," said Lady Ashdon, satisfied that she had carried her argument. Getting up, she moved toward the door. "Now I must run, dearest. I have so little time left to have my hair done and dress before the soiree. You will be all right this evening without me?"

  "I think that I can manage," said Lord Ashdon with the slightest of grins. "And I am staying for a fortnight."

  Lady Ashdon glanced back at the viscount as she opened the door. "We will talk of this again, Adam," she promised.

  Lord Ashdon bowed, a hint of irony in his expression. "No doubt we shall," he murmur
ed.

  "Do you know, at this moment you remind me very much of your father," observed Lady Ashdon, her voice leaving little doubt that she was making an unflattering comparison.

  Lord Ashdon's defense was impenetrable. He bowed again. "Thank you, ma'am. I shall treasure the compliment."

  Lady Ashdon sent a speaking glance in his direction before she stepped out and closed the door.

  The viscount grimaced. "I wish I were already in Bath."

  Chapter 2

  Miss Anabelle Weatherstone left her bedroom and the attentions of her maid and ran swiftly downstairs. She entered the well-appointed drawing room, where she knew that her aunt would be waiting for her.

  "Will I do, Aunt Margaret?" asked Belle gaily, twirling around and smiling over her shoulder at the elegant lady seated on the satin-covered settee. Her olive-green velvet bonnet was set at a rakish angle above her sparkling hazel eyes and lively countenance, the pale-brown satin ribbons tied close under one delicate ear. The merino pelisse she wore was also olive green, corded in the popular military style, and was vastly becoming to her slender figure. Small kid half boots peeked out from beneath the hem of her swirling skirt.

  Mrs. Weatherstone smiled tolerantly at her niece. The white egret feathers in her own handsome bonnet bowed gently as she nodded her approval. "You will do very well, dear Belle. I am glad that we chose the olive. It complements your complexion and hair." She paused a moment, her considering gaze rising to her niece's headgear. "However, I believe that we might adjust your bonnet just a trifle."

  "Oh, is there something wrong with it?" asked Belle, going at once to stand before the fireplace, where a huge gilded mirror hung above the mantel. She peered anxiously into the glass at her lovely reflection.

  "Stand still a moment, Belle." Mrs. Weatherstone rose, her skirt whispering across the Persian carpet as she approached her niece, who was obediently waiting for her ministrations.

  Unfastening the olive satin ribbons, Mrs. Weatherstone shifted the bonnet so that it was centered on Belle's head. "That is much better," she said, retying the ribbons in a competent bow under her niece's chin. "Don't you think so?"