by Gayle Buck
Clarice was not interested in her brother's observation. Ignoring him, she cocked her head and asked the question most important to her. "Does his lordship have a wife?"
"Clarice!" exclaimed Belle. "My aunt is forever scolding me for my forwardness, and here you are setting such a bad example for me!"
Clarice smiled, her eyes dancing. "Oh, I know one shouldn't display undue curiosity, Belle. But it is only Roland that I am asking, after all."
Roland's eyebrows rose. "No, he does not possess a wife." Still looking thoughtfully at Clarice, he added, "He's a handsome devil, though."
“Then I should like very much to meet him, I think," murmured Clarice.
Belle glanced quickly at Roland's face and thought she saw some hurt reflected in his eyes. "Well, and so should I, naturally. You have made your cousin out to be something of a paragon, Mr. White."
Roland's expression cleared and he smiled slightly. "I don't know about that. What I do know is that my aunt has wished him to wed for years. But my uncle bought his colors for him, and he went to war instead. There was quite a family row over that, my father says." Light suddenly flashed in his gray eyes. "How I envy Ashdon. He saw every campaign of the war. He was even wounded. Twice." Roland seemed particularly affected by this fact, and Angus patted him on the shoulder in commiseration.
Belle could not imagine anyone as sartorially splendid as Roland ever going off to war, unless he wore a hussar's brilliant uniform, but she did not voice that observation. Her thoughts were on the viscount. What little that Mr. White had said, quite apart from his obvious hero worship of his cousin, had certainly aroused her curiosity.
"I hope that we shall all have the pleasure of meeting Lord Ashdon this Season, Mr. White," she said.
"Oh, there can be no doubt of that," said Roland confidently. "If I know my aunt, and I do, her ladyship will do her level best to puff Adam off. She dotes on him, you see. Why shouldn't she? He was the only issue, after all."
"Do you mean that the viscount is the only heir?" asked Clarice with an interested expression.
Angus rolled his eyes. "Dear sister, you positively embarrass me. Pay her no heed, Roland."
Roland smiled. "But that would be intolerably rude of me, Angus." He turned back to Clarice and nodded, adding ruefully, "I am the next in line, worse luck."
"Why, how is this? Why is that bad fortune?" asked Belle, highly amused by the gentleman's expression.
"Lady Ashdon dislikes Roland," said Angus helpfully.
"Oh, I see," said Belle politely. She and Clarice exchanged glances, then she shook her head. "No, I don't understand. Not really."
"It's this way. Lady Ashdon didn't want my cousin to become a soldier and go off to war. She wished him to take his place in society. Now, I wished to be a soldier, but m'mother begged me to reconsider on account of being next in line to the viscountcy. She said, and my father agreed, that there was a good chance of Adam's being killed. So I took my place in society," explained Roland with a shrug.
"Then Lady Ashdon dislikes you because she wanted the viscount to stay at home and she had only you instead?" asked Belle. "What an idiotic reason for dislike!"
"Lady Ashdon must be a veritable dragon," said Clarice in a low voice, her eyes wide.
"No one likes my aunt much," said Roland, nodding.
"I begin to pity the poor viscount," said Belle.
Chapter 5
At that very moment, the gentleman in question entered the ballroom. He paused to survey the company. Lord Ashdon felt uncomfortable, but his feelings did not affect his amiable expression.
He had submitted to his mother's wish that he attend Almack's Assembly rooms that evening for one purpose and one purpose only. Lady Ashdon had begged her son to look over the newest crop of young misses, in order that he might choose a candidate or two who might make a suitable wife. Rather than enter into an argument that he knew from past experience would be lengthy and futile, for Lady Ashdon rarely could be moved from a position that she had taken, his lordship had attired himself in the required evening dress and presented himself at Almacks. He intended to stay no more than a quarter hour, considering that to be ample time in which to discharge his duty.
It was not that the viscount was particularly malleable. He could be quite obstinate in his own right. In this instance, however, he had been dealing from a position of weakness, which he had known would be his undoing. He had agreed with Lady Ashdon that it was past time that he get himself a wife so that the family line could be secured. Since he had not yet set out for Bath, he had no excuse to forgo the pleasure of a look-in at Almack's. Surprisingly enough, the viscount was immediately hailed. "Ashdon!"
Lord Ashdon turned. Recognizing who was coming up to him, he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He met the gentleman with a firm handshake of his wide, square hand. "Peter Crocker! It is good to see you again, Peter."
Still shaking hands, Mr. Crocker grasped the viscount's arm with his other hand, too. He was a short, stocky gentleman, dressed respectably but unremarkably. There was nothing of the fop, either in his frank, open gaze or in his speech. "I had heard that you were back in England. Sold out, I suppose?"
Lord Ashdon shook his head. "No. I am on extended leave from my duties. I shall be going back to the Continent in a matter of months."
Crocker looked at him curiously. "What holds you to it, Ashdon? Too much the soldier to want any other life?"
Lord Ashdon threw back his head and laughed. "Scarcely that, Peter. No; it is Bonaparte. I don't think that we have seen the last of him. He gave in too easily, and I wish to be in on the kill when he comes plunging onto the stage again."
Crocker shook his head. "There aren't many that would share in your opinion, my lord. The Congress of Vienna is even now deciding the fate of Europe."
The viscount smiled again. "I truly hope that they may do it. But enough of politics, Peter. I haven't seen you since I was last in England, a year ago. How have you been keeping yourself?"
"Yes, you were on wounded leave then," said Crocker, his gaze tracing the scar that cut through the viscount's right brow and into his hairline. "That was a wicked cut, Ashdon. You should have been killed."
"It was divine intervention that preserved my life," said Lord Ashdon with an easy smile. "Now, satisfy my curiosity. What has brought you to Almacks this evening? Your lovely wife?"
Crocker grinned and shook his head. "No, not precisely. It is family duty. My wife is sponsoring her younger sister this Season, Miss Abigail Fairchilde. I never suspected that Melissa's chaperoning her sister would mean that I would be enlisted, too. Come, let me take you over. Melissa will be delighted to see you again."
Lord Ashdon threw up a broad palm. "A moment, Peter. Pray tell me that you are not leading me into a web of marital hopes."
Crocker laughed. His eyes full of mirth he said, "I admit that it crossed my mind. My sister-in-law is a good girl, a quiet miss who can boast all of the ladylike accomplishments."
The viscount groaned. "It is just as I suspected. This is precisely why my mother insisted that I attend this evening." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "I am to be put on the strut, Peter."
Crocker cracked a laugh. "That is good, Ashdon! Put on the strut! You don't care for it by half, I know!"
Lord Ashdon shook his blond head. "No, I do not, but I could not deny the core of my mother's argument. I have been away at war for years. It is only God's providence that has kept me whole, when all around me others were falling mortally wounded. Believe me, it has weighed ever heavier on my mind that I am the last of my line." He chuckled, his easy smile flashing again. "I could scarcely forget, for each of my mother's letters made reference to it! And so, friend Peter, I am dutifully, though somewhat reluctantly, in search of a wife."
Crocker eyed the viscount thoughtfully for a moment. "Yet you believe that Bonaparte will return."
Lord Ashdon's expression at once sobered, the smile fading from his firm, thin-lipped mouth. "I do, P
eter. And I suspect that it will be the gravest, most desperate battle of all. That is why I must find a suitable wife. I am not at all reassured that I will return alive in the end."
Crocker whistled. His eyes widened as he stared at the viscount. "You are completely serious, aren't you, Ashdon?"
"Deadly serious," said Lord Ashdon somberly. "I need an heir to carry on my name, in the event of my demise."
Crocker shook his head. "Lord, what a depressing topic to bring into Almack's. War and death! I am glad now that I did not buy my colors. So many, so many that we went to school with are gone, Ashdon."
"Well I know it," said Lord Ashdon. He clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder. "But let us leave these morbid reflections, Peter. You are to deliver me into Mrs. Crocker's dainty hands, are you not? A title, no less! She will thank you a thousand times for bringing her sister to my notice. You see, Peter, I am fully cognizant of my worth on the market."
Crocker laughed as he led the way toward a small knot of people seated next to the dance floor. He slid a glance of amusement at the viscount, who paced beside him. "You haven't changed, my lord. You are as full of fun as ever."
"I hope I am as much as the next man," said Lord Ashdon, smiling.
A peal of feminine laughter rang out, and both gentlemen turned their heads. Two young ladies, seated beside the dance floor, were conversing animatedly with a couple of their admirers.
Lord Ashdon could not see the ladies entirely, his line of vision being partially blocked by the gentlemen who stood with the ladies, but Mr. Crocker apparently had little difficulty in recognizing them despite the limited view. He pointed with his chin. "The one seated on the left is Miss Clarice Moorehead, Lord Moorehead's daughter. Perhaps you know them?"
"I recall Lord and Lady Moorehead, yes. His lordship was a friend of my father's," said Lord Ashdon. "Who is Miss Moorehead's companion?"
Crocker smiled. "Ah! That is the 'Belle of London.' Like Miss Moorehead, she is just come out this season and is fast becoming all the rage. Perhaps you should solicit an introduction, Ashdon, for no doubt the lady would make a fine viscountess."
"For shame, Peter! What would Mrs. Crocker say if she were to hear such treason?" admonished Lord Ashdon.
Crocker laughed. "Yes, you are no doubt right. However, I am perfectly serious. From all that I have heard, the Belle of London would be a fitting bride for you, or for anyone else, for that matter. She is ravishingly beautiful, which poor Abigail is not, I fear, and she has a considerable portion to her name."
Lord Ashdon shook his head and said quietly, "I am not interested in a spoiled society miss, Peter. In fact, ever since I was recuperating in Bath last year, I have carried the image of a certain young lady emblazoned on my memory."
"Oh, I see!" Crocker regarded his companion thoughtfully, slowing his steps to deliberately delay their joining of his party. “Then you will not be staying long in London, I take it?"
Lord Ashdon's easy smile reappeared. His summer-blue eyes glinted with laughter. "Am I as transparent as all that? You have the right of it, Peter. I am but satisfying a promise that I made to Lady Ashdon before I am off lo Bath."
"Poor Abigail," said Crocker with a sigh. He put a smile on his face as he came up to his wife. "Melissa, look whom I have found. You will recall Lord Ashdon, I am certain. He wasn't able to attend our wedding, but he called on us last year when he was on wounded leave."
"Of course I do!" Melissa Crocker held out her gloved hand in a friendly manner. Her shrewd brown eyes regarded the viscount with approval. "My lord, I am very glad to see you. I trust you are back in England for good. Allow me to introduce you to our party." She performed introductions to the two elderly ladies seated beside her, who turned out to be her mother and her aunt; to Mr. Crocker's younger brother, August, who flushed at being greeted by a hero of the war; and to Miss Abigail Fairchilde, a demure miss who scarcely lifted her eyes to meet the viscount's gaze.
Lord Ashdon said all that was civil. Then he politely asked Mrs. Crocker to stand up with him. As he had expected, she gracefully turned down his invitation and suggested that perhaps her sister could stand up with him in her stead. Miss Fairchilde appeared alarmed and threw a wide-eyed glance at her sister.
The viscount bowed to the young lady, his ready smile coming to his face. "I hope that you will not disappoint me as well, Miss Fairchilde."
"Oh, no, my lord! At least—" Miss Fairchilde met his sympathetic gaze, and a shy smile crossed her face, "I will be most happy to stand up with you, my lord." She rose and placed her hand on his arm. With the most unaffected grace, she allowed his lordship to lead her into the set that was just forming.
The viscount was not the only one on the dance floor. Belle turned a corner with her partner, her eyes automatically surveying the others, and a fleeting glimpse of a handsome, browned face caught her gaze. She had only a second to absorb the impact of a rakish white scar and an easy smile before her partner reclaimed her attention. When she had the opportunity to glance around again, she was disappointed because she did not see the unknown gentleman.
Lord Ashdon finished the set with Miss Fairchilde and led her back to her chair. He began to make his excuses to part from the Crocker party. Melissa Crocker invited him to a small soiree that they were holding in a few nights, and the viscount expressed his delight at being able to attend. Peter Crocker shook hands with him, a gleam of sympathy in his eyes, and murmured, "I trust that we shall not be serving up roasted goose."
Lord Ashdon gave a quick smile, understanding his friend perfectly well. "So do I, sir, believe me."
Crocker chuckled. "We shall see you then, Ashdon."
Lord Ashdon left Almack's without a backward glance. He was relieved to have completed his duty for that evening. He could declare to his mother with good conscience that he had met one young lady of good family, and that news would pacify Lady Ashdon for at least a day or two. His rash promise of a fortnight's sojourn in London would soon be fulfilled, and he hoped he would be able to delay his mother's machinations on his behalf for that long. Then he could be off to Bath in search of the lady whose lovely face he had never forgotten.
As he started down the street, it occurred to him that he would be returning to the town house early. Lady Ashdon was probably not yet returned from fulfilling her own obligations. It was entirely possible, however, that she had cut short her own amusement to wait for him. Lord Ashdon grimaced. He did not wish to be pulled into a late-night discussion about his matrimonial prospects.
He decided that he was in just the right mood for a late dinner and perhaps a round or two of cards, so instead of returning to the town house, he hailed a hackney cab and gave the direction of his club. As he leaned back against the squabs, he grinned to himself. No doubt his appearance would occasion some surprise.
At the door of the club, Lord Ashdon paid off the hackney, then bounded up the steps, colliding with a gentleman who was just emerging. "Sir! My abject apologies. I did not see you coming out," said Lord Ashdon.
The shorter gentleman had almost instantly righted himself. "Quite all right, I assure you," he replied in a drawl.
Lord Ashdon looked more carefully at the gentleman in the uncertain light thrown by a nearby streetlamp. "By all that's wonderful! Sylvan Darlington!"
The smaller man, preparing to brush past, suddenly turned. "Wait a moment. I know your voice, do I not?"
Lord Ashdon laughed. "It is I, Ashdon. How have you been, Darlington?" The two gentlemen gripped hands.
"I am better than one might expect." The smaller gentleman hesitated. "You heard about my cousins, Richard and Phillip, I suppose?"
Lord Ashdon instantly sobered. "Yes, I am sorry. I did not see much of them while I was in Spain, since I was in a different division. But I understand that they acquitted themselves well."
"Thank you, Ashdon. That is kind of you. It came as a startling surprise to me, as you may well imagine. I never expected to inherit the title."
Lo
rd Ashdon suddenly realized that his companion was now a marquis. "No, of course not. War changes many things. I was about to order supper. Will you join me, my lord?"
"I have already supped, but I will take a glass of wine," said Lord Darlington.
The two gentlemen went into the club and entered the dining room. Lord Ashdon made his order and poured the wine, then spent a comfortable hour in conversation with Lord Sylvan Darlington. The marquis was younger than himself, having been up to school with Ashdon's cousin, Roland White, but he felt no discomfort in their discourse. He had been fairly well acquainted with Darlington's cousins and had often had occasion to include the younger gentleman in their youthful exploits. They talked of several things, coming eventually to the duties that hound a gentleman's honor.
Ashdon leaned back in his chair, rolling his wineglass between his fingers. With a smile, he commented, "It seems strange to me to be back in England. It is all so very civilized."
"Yes, I wish that I had had the opportunity to escape it," said Darlington. He lounged back in his own chair, and a lazy smile lit his pale face as he met the viscount's surprised glance. "You see, I have always envied fellows such as yourself, Ashdon. My greatest ambition was to purchase a pair of colors and run off to war. But my familial duties bound me close to home, so that any dream of soldiering remained but a dream."
Ashdon frowned thoughtfully. "I had quite forgotten. Your father had died, had he not? And there were younger siblings, as I recall."
The marquis bowed from his sitting position. "My duty was plain, of course."
Ashdon nodded. "Yes; I understand that you were honor-bound to support your family. I, too, find myself in the position of satisfying family duty."
Darlington's eyes lit with interest. "Indeed! How is this?"
Ashdon smiled ruefully. "I am the last of my line, Darlington. It behooves me to find a suitable wife."