* * * *
“It was the strangest thing,” Ada told Chas later, when he came for tea. After the initial awkwardness that naturally followed yesterday’s sudden soul-searing kiss, each had privately decided to pretend that such an emotion-fraught event had never taken place. A certain heightened awareness, however, did sit between them on the sofa, and Ada was quick to fill any silences.
“Reverend Tothy would not take the money. He said I should keep it as my dowry, since I had given up mine to pay Rodney’s gaming debts.” She would have, had Sir Rodney not gambled her portion away long before his fatal wager.
“And so you should,” Chas said while spreading slices of toast with apple jelly. “Wise man, our vicar.”
“Then he said that the church was so well endowed, it had everything it needed. Whoever heard of such a thing?”
Chas scraped some of the jelly off. Laying it on too thick, Tothy, he said to himself. “Must be my mother’s munificence.”
“Hah! I’ll believe that as easily as I’ll believe you fell off your horse. I am certain it was your own generosity.”
Chas shrugged and offered her a slice of toast. “You seem determined to believe what you will, no matter what anyone says.”
Ada ignored that, as well as the tremor that fluttered up her arm when their hands touched. “Anyway, then Mr. Tothy proposed to me. Can you fathom that?”
Chas could not even swallow the bite of bread in his mouth.
“I know it is not polite to speak of a gentleman’s proposal, but—”
“Why not? The world and its uncle seems to know you rejected my suit. What did you tell the villain—ah, the vicar?”
“I told him I was honored, of course, and that I would think about his offer.”
Chas wondered if a man could hang twice for shooting a cleric.
* * * *
The viscount’s day went downhill from there.
“I thought you said you were going to hire a companion, Mother.”
“No, dear, you said you thought I should do so. I merely said I would think about it. Then I got this letter from my cousin Margaret’s sister-in-law, Harriet.”
Lady Ashmead was related to half the families in England, it seemed to her son, who was trying to place Cousin Margaret, much less her sister-in-law.
“You remember Margaret. She sent you the lovely silver porringer for your christening.”
“Ah, how could I have forgotten?”
“Harriet leased a house on Laura Place five years ago, or was it six? No matter. Her neighbors are the Wrenthams, Lord Ravenshaw and his family.”
Chas brightened, recalling the earl’s reputation as a well-schooled fencer. “Is that whom you have invited to come visit?”
“Unfortunately the earl had to travel to some foreign properties he owns, and the countess passed on some three years ago, I believe. Their daughter, who is Harriet’s godchild, has been staying with her in Laura Place, but now Harriet’s own daughter, Elizabeth, is increasing, in York, and you must see how such a long journey would be tedious, not to say unsuitable, for a young miss.”
Chas began to see the end of rope, and it was looking a great deal like a noose. “Exactly how old is the daughter?”
Lady Ashmead stopped plying her needle long enough to wave her hand in the air. “Oh, I suppose she has seventeen or eighteen summers in her dish. She is to make her curtsy to the Queen in the spring.”
“That is the companion you chose? A young chit barely out of the schoolroom?”
Lady Ashmead straightened her already rigid spine. “Harriet says that Lady Esther is a fine needlewoman. We shall have a great deal in common. Furthermore, this will be an excellent opportunity for the child to learn about managing a grand household, don’t you see?”
What Chas saw was a clutch of old crones managing his life. “I don’t suppose Lady Esther’s family has fallen on hard times, has it?”
“Of course not. She is one of the premier heiresses in the land. That’s why her father does not want her in London until he can be there to guard the girl from fortune hunters. Do not raise your eyebrows at me, Charles. You have nothing to complain of, since you shall not have to be paying any salary to some gray cipher of a hired attendant to keep me company. If you had been obliging enough to be married, I could return to Bath and take Lady Esther in hand there. This seems the perfect solution for everyone.”
For everyone but Chas. “Do you know how particular this will look to the gossipmongers, an unfledged heiress visiting an unmarried man? Do you know how many opportunities there will be for the chit to be unavoidably compromised? Do you know how good a swordsman the Earl of Ravenshaw is?”
“Do not be more of a fool than you have to, Charles. Lord Ravenshaw is an old friend of mine. Of course I know that having Lady Esther here on her own would appear as if you were singling her out for your attentions. That is why I have invited the other young ladies and their families.”
“Others? You are filling my house with a gaggle of schoolgirls? I refuse. I will leave, go up to London.”
“I never thought I would live to see the day that any son of mine turned craven. Besides, the party will not be all that large, not with the autumn Season in swing. And you can invite whatever gentlemen you like.”
“Leo Tobin.”
“Excuse me, I do not know any—”
“Of course you do, Mother. That’s my price. I will stay and play host to your children’s party, and you will invite Leo to the occasional dinner, to any dancing parties, to tea.”
“When I am dead and buried.”
“Which will be about when I return from London. I’d better go tell Purvis to start packing for an extended stay.”
“The ball only. I can make it a masquerade.”
“The ball and two other invitations.”
“Very well, the ball and two of your gentlemen’s pursuits. You can take him hunting or whatever.” If Leo got shot, her tone implied, that would add to her entertainment. “I do not wish that person in my home.”
“Well, I sure as Hades am not looking forward to turning the Meadows into a Marriage Mart.”
The viscountess bit off a thread with her teeth. “Then you should have done your duty and taken a bride years ago. Which reminds me, if you are not going to marry the Westlake girl, what do you mean by still hanging about her skirts? The servants are talking.”
“We are old friends. It would cause more gossip if I suddenly stopped visiting. I merely go for tea.” And kisses. He’d kissed Ada good-bye again, and she had melted in his arms, again. This kiss hadn’t been as cataclysmic as the first, not with old Cobble waiting to hand over his hat, but she hadn’t boxed his ears. That was something he could cling to, if he could not cling to Ada. Rumors of those kisses would tangle his mother’s yarns for sure.
Lady Ashmead put down the cloth she was currently working on, another seat cushion. “You aren’t calling on that widow of Sir Rodney’s, are you?”
“Good grief, no.”
“Heaven be praised for small blessings.” She went back to her needlework, then paused once more. “Egad, it’s not the attics-to-let sister you go to see, is it?”
“Tess is merely eccentric, Mother, in an artistic way. When I go, I visit with the entire household.” When he could not get Ada alone.
“Then stop. People are talking and it will hurt Ada’s chances.”
“Ada’s chances of what, pray tell?”
“Her chances of not leading apes in hell, you ignoramus. Ada won’t have any reputation left if people start whispering that you two are having an affair instead of a wedding.”
The next person who suggested such a thing had better be prepared to meet his maker.
* * * *
As if the day wasn’t bad enough, Chas had to spend the evening crisscrossing the countryside, looking for the local riding officer. In the rain. His Ada thought she’d return the unpaid customs taxes to the excise men in the morning.
Chapt
er Eleven
Ada’s day had gone very well, she reflected as she readied for bed. She’d received her second proposal in a sennight, and Chas was jealous.
A lady did not boast of her conquests, not even to herself as she brushed her hair, but Ada could not help being pleased. Reverend Tothy had offered because she would be a worthy wife, not because he had known her forever, or because he felt sorry for her. The vicar thought of her as a possible helpmate, a potential partner in his life’s work, which was not to be scoffed at. Ada liked being needed, enjoyed keeping busy. She would never accept Mr. Tothy, of course, for she could not relish the idea of sharing his boring sermons, much less his bed, but it was satisfying to be asked.
She had told him she’d think about her answer, but only to ease her conscience, that she had not rejected a respectable offer out of hand. If Ada were willing to accept a marriage of convenience, however, she could have wed Chas two years ago, which would have been infinitely more convenient, from a practical viewpoint. Ada paused in her brushing to consider if one of her recommendations to the vicar might just be her ability to stretch a shilling. Well, she could have done more for the parish, too, as the wife of its leading landowner, than married lo its man of the cloth.
She would tell him on Sunday, Ada decided, that she was honored by his proposal, but she felt she had to refuse. With regrets. She would be certain to add her regrets. Her family needed her more at home right now, she would tell him, which he had to understand. There was no way Tess could fit in the tiny manse, if Mr. Tothy were willing to invite her, and Ada would not leave her sister to Jane’s untender mercies. Mostly, she would tell him, she was not willing to give her hand where her heart could not follow. He might chide her for holding onto silly schoolgirlish dreams the way Jane had, but the vicar would never shout at her or slam doors, since neither his heart nor his pride was involved. Ada did not have to worry about bruising any masculine feelings, which naturally reminded her of Chas.
He had been jealous, she knew it. First of Leo Tobin, then of the vicar, and jealousy was not a bad thing, Ada considered, not in someone who was used to thinking of her as just another playmate. Of course, the notion of Viscount Ashmead entertaining a house full of well-bred, well-dowered, and willing young females was not sitting so easily on Ada’s plate, either, but if she could suffer that unpalatable prospect, his lordship could resent Reverend Tothy.
How did she know he was jealous? A mere friend would be happy that Ada had received an honorable offer. A family confidant might even have urged her to consider the vicar’s suit, since respectable swains were not thick on the ground around Lillington, and spinsterhood loomed. An old chum might have laughed with her at the absurdity of the hoydenish Miss Ada Westlake turning into a pillar of the community.
Chas had growled. Yes, it was a distinct growl. The memory warmed Ada even as her bedroom grew cold as the fire died down. Still, she dawdled over braiding her hair, missing half the flyaway curls anyway, letting an even warmer recollection stave off the chill. He’d kissed her good-bye. He didn’t have to, was not supposed to, should not have repeated the previous day’s folly, but Chas had kissed her again. The ground did not move this time, but neither was it a fond, brotherly salute, not by half. Ada trembled, and not from the cold. If kisses were roses, she’d tuck this one away under her pillow.
What was he about, then? Chas could never be so ungentlemanly as to entertain rakish notions, could he? No, Ada refused to think that his intentions were anything less than honorable, no matter what Jane said about his repeated visits. Ada would just have to wait to see what tomorrow brought; a growl and a kiss were enough for today.
The rest of the day, after Chas left, had also been a pleasure; Jane had kept to her rooms. So aux anges at the thought of the invitations to come from Lady Ashmead’s house party, Rodney’s widow had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening closeted with her maid, unpacking all of the trunks from the attic to see which gowns could be refashioned in the current modes, which fabric could be unpicked to make new frocks. She’d already been to the Misses Hannefords’ lending library for the latest editions of every ladies’ fashion magazine the sisters carried, and studied them over a meager dinner on a tray in her bedroom. She was not going to look a dowd in front of the viscount’s tonnish guests, whatever it took, including losing a pound, or ten.
Jane had also sent her uncle Filbert off in the carriage to fetch Cousin Algernon home from school. Ada found out when it was too late to recall Mr. Johnstone. What did an education matter, Jane demanded, when so many heiresses would be so close to hand? From the amount of studying the dunderhead ever did, likely nothing, Ada had to agree. Algie was only in school at Ada’s insistence and by Chas’s influence anyway, after he’d wounded a grazing horse, hunting for hares. The clunch needed spectacles, not a wife.
Still, dinner was a delight with Ada and Tess alone for once. Ada had never seen her sister happier, buoyed by Leo Tobin’s interest in her opera. Of course the opera was now a book to be copiously illustrated, whetting the public’s appetite for seeing the story set to music. They’d have twice the sales that way, Tess predicted. Leo, it seemed, agreed, although Ada had hardly heard him utter a word. The ship captain was going to take Tess aboard one of his boats on the morrow so she could sketch the settings, with a maid along for propriety’s sake, Tess added, at Leo’s suggestion.
Did Ada think that Lady Ashmead might like Leo and her to do a reading from the story for her company? Tess wondered. Ada thought Lady Ashmead would rather see her husband’s dead body exhumed and eaten by crows.
Jane might be correct, Ada reflected as she untied her dressing gown, that Leo Tobin had quaffed too much of his cargo. Or else, as Ada supposed, being Chas’s half-brother only gave him half Chas’s intelligence. Either way, the man seemed smitten with Tess. As for Tess, she declared that she would not accept any invitations to the Meadows if Leo were not also invited.
Ada doubted if Lady Ashmead would be devastated by that news. The last time they had attended an evening gathering hosted by Chas’s mother, Tess had danced the waltz. Lady Ashmead had never forgiven her, not because the viscountess was such a high-stickler, and Tess had never received the nod from any of the Almack’s hostesses before performing the daring dance, which was an absurdity, considering Tess’s advanced age. No, what had sent Chas’s mother into paroxysms was that Tess hadn’t waltzed at a ball; she’d danced at a musicale, in front of the hired orchestra and fifty seated guests. Without a partner.
Chas would see that Tess received invitations, nonetheless. Leo might be another matter. Ada yawned. She’d worry about that another day, too.
Before getting into bed, she knelt on the stool alongside, to say her prayers. “Thank you, Lord, for a lovely day,” she began, wondering if it were quite proper to thank the Almighty for Chas’s kiss. She decided to keep that to herself, thanking God for the health and prosperity of her household instead.
“And thank you, lord, and Rodney too, if you made it to Heaven, for letting me have a day’s rest from Jane’s nattering about the money. She feels that since it was found on Westlake property, it belongs to all of us equally, but I cannot agree. Lord, if you meant it as a gift from heaven, I really wish you had sent it on a bolt of lightning or something, so we would be sure, not left it in a tree. Please guide me to do the right thing with it.”
The money was safely locked in her father’s old desk, but it still worried Ada. She simply could not be comfortable claiming someone else’s fortune, or smuggling profits. She was also bothered by the niggling urge to take some of the money and buy pretty gowns for her and Tess to wear at the upcoming social gatherings. She’d get rid of the money tomorrow, before she succumbed to such a base temptation.
“Please keep me from giving in, at least until I reach the Customs office. Oh, and do watch over Emery, Lord, and keep him safe, with all of his friends and fellows in the Army. If it is not too much, can I ask you to look after Chas too? He really shoul
d not be getting into tavern brawls, you know.”
Ada climbed into bed and snuggled under the covers. Then she remembered what old Cobble had said when he handed her a candle to light her way to bed, how Chas’s dog had followed him to Westlake Hall as usual, but the dog hadn’t stayed in the stables. Instead, the hound had gone gamboling, to put it politely, with one of the shepherds’ herd dogs, and not for the first lime, either. Ada did not like dogs, not after inadvertently catching the tail end of a fox hunt, but she knew how much the animal meant to Chas. She sighed, got out of bed, and knelt on the stool again. “Lord, could you please not let Chas find out his dog Tally is a trollop?”
* * * *
The riding officer was a smooth-cheeked, pale-eyed young man, whose nervous stammer made Leo Tobin into a Marc Antony. He was assigned to Lillington because his mother’s bosom bow’s niece by marriage was a second cousin to Lady Ashmead. They wanted a nice, safe place for Lieutenant Quintin Nye to serve his country, at least until an uncle died and named him heir. Lady Ashmead had effortlessly seen the deed done: she’d handed the letter to her son Charles.
The lieutenant was given a horse, a cottage, an office, the occasional invitation to dine when Lady Ashmead’s numbers were not even, and an overall directive: under no circumstances was he to be looking for smugglers. Occasionally a town drunk or a capsized French fisherman would be tossed his way so he could appear competent to his superiors. Otherwise, assured by Lord Ashmead that he was aiding the war effort, Quintin was to be zealous in pursuit of looking busy.
Last evening, however, the viscount had tracked Quintin down at an inn near Dover, where he was checking the excise stamps on the brandy bottles for forgeries. Ashmead had purchased one, to test its authenticity, he said, and beckoned the lieutenant to follow him to a private parlor. There, his orders had been more specific. Quintin was to be on the lookout for a missing French informant named Prelieu, he was to stay away from the coastline next Wednesday night, and he was to refuse to accept money from Miss Ada Westlake.
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