A Gentleman and a Scoundrel (The Regency Gentlemen Series) (14 page)

“I see,” murmured his lordship.

Mr King raised his eyes from his contemplation of the floor and fixed the Earl with a knowing look. “Don’t rise to it, Louisa. He’s roasting you.”

“My dear Ned, I am doing nothing of the sort,” replied the Earl with an amiable smile. “It is the Lady Louisa who is fixated with the Duke of Malvern.”

“I am not!” said that young lady, bosom heaving. “I care not if I never see him again.”

“The rate you are going, you may well have your wish,” responded her father.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Why merely that Malvern is shopping for a wife. He tells Mr Ashworth here that he is taken with a Miss Thomas.”

“A Miss Thomas? And who, pray, is she?” demanded Louisa, turning her eyes upon Marcus Ashworth.

“Dark haired chit,” responded Nicholas promptly, before his brother had time to respond. “Swimming in blunt, squints like a ferret. And built like a―well, let’s just say that he wouldn’t need a pillow at any rate if he were to marry
her
.”

“Nicky, please do strive for some manners,” said his brother in pained exasperation.

“Does he mean to have her then?” asked Louisa, ignoring this, her voice brittle.

“I have no idea. You will have to ask Jasper,” replied the elder Mr Ashworth.

“Does he love her?” asked Emma, lowering her embroidery.

“Who knows?”

“Well, I wish him happy,” said Emma, dropping her eyes back to her needlework. “He once told me that he loved a young lady but was honour bound to wed a Munsford instead. Well, as that is not now going to happen he is free to pursue the dearest wish of his heart.”

“Do you think a gentleman should pursue the wish of his heart then?” Mr Marcus Ashworth enquired from the other side of the room where he had appeared to have lost interest in his book.

“If he is able to and it causes no harm to others…yes.”

“And if the wish of his heart is distasteful to the object of his desire?”

“He should at least tell the object of his desire of his feelings.”

“I see. And if those feelings are not returned?” asked Mr Ashworth. “Surely the gentleman is open to a certain degree of humiliation at the lady’s hands?”

Emma briefly met his eyes once again. “Certainly there is that risk. But then she would at least know how he feels and would be able to act upon the knowledge if she returns his regard. If he does not tell her then she may pass through life thinking that he does not care.”

“Can we
stop
talking about Malvern?” cried Louisa.

“We
weren’t
talking about Malvern,” said Nicholas, examining the candlelight playing on the claret in his wineglass.

“Weren’t we?”

“No,” said Nicholas. “And if you would stop thinking that the only subject of conversation in this house is you and Malvern, we would all be eternally grateful.”

Louisa gasped. “I do not!”

“You do too. Every conversation we have ends up with you leading it back to your damned Duke,” he insisted.

“Oh Nicky, hush,” said Emma gently.

“Well she does and it’s getting on my nerves.”

“He is not my Duke!” said Louisa hotly.

“More’s the pity. You’d do us all a favour if you would just throw yourself at his chest and have done with it.”

“Throw myself at him? I will not. I would rather marry Marcham!” she declared.

“Good,” said her father with promptitude. “Then can I write and tell Marcham that he is most welcome here next Friday?”

Louisa’s lip trembled and she fled and the door slammed behind her.

“Oh Lord,” groaned Nicholas, staring at the door through which she had departed. “How much longer do we have to put up with this?”

“Patience Nick,” said Mr Ashworth softly.

“But she’s starting to irritate me.”

Emma smiled as she selected a length of pink embroidery silk. “Then it’s a good job that you and she didn’t make a match of it.”

“Lord yes, I should have murdered her within a week. If I hear Malvern’s name one more time I swear I’ll…well, it would be un-gentlemanly of me to say what I’ll do.”

Mr Ashworth met Emma’s amused gaze across the room. “Poor Nicky,” he soothed.

“Don’t you ‘Poor Nicky’ me! You aren’t the one who has to put up with her moping around all the time.”

“But you do it so well, Nicky,” said Emma, her eyes dancing.

“Oh quiet the pair of you.” He stood up abruptly. “Hang it all, I suppose I had better go after her or she’ll be in a fit of the blue devils until breakfast. And have you actually thought what will happen when Marcham does not turn up next Friday?”

Mr Ashworth smiled faintly. “It won’t come to that.”

“Oh won’t it? How do you know it won’t?” demanded Nicholas.

“Trust me, Nick.”

“Hmm. That’s what you said that time when I took your advice over Annette Ellis. She gave me a black eye that lasted a whole week. No, Marcus, I do not trust you one little bit! Right, I’m off to bed and I’ll look in on Miss Misery Mumps on the way. Goodnight all.”

* * *

Nicholas Ashworth sent his eyes heavenward, pleading for divine intervention. He was standing in the door of the Lady Louisa’s bedchamber watching her packing at alarming speed and with no degree of skill. “You can’t leave now, it’s the middle of the night,” he said, exasperated beyond measure.

“Oh no?” cried Louisa with a hard triumphant smile as she flung her unmentionables into a bandbox. “Just watch me.”

“Louisa, be reasonable.”

“
Me?
” she repeated. “I am not the one who has invited Marcham here against my wishes to view me as if I were a mare in a stud farm.”

“Well hardly that. Look, for God’s sake, you don’t have to marry the man.”

“No…you’re right, I
don’t
and will
not
.”

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“London.”

“
London?
Why?”

“Because there is work to be had there. I can find a post as a governess and support myself and then I need not marry anyone I don’t wish to,” she said, picking up her hairbrush and adding it to the pile.

Nicholas banged his head against the doorframe in exasperation. “And who do you think is going to employ you as a governess? Only twenty and an expert on the novels of Mrs Radcliffe.”

Louisa poked her tongue out at him. “Twenty-one and I am good with Sophie’s children. I have taught them their sums.”

“That does not make you governess material. You don’t want to be a governess, do you?”

She sniffed. “No, but I do like children.”

“And I like horses but I don’t want to be a stable hand,” he said, goaded. “Lou, you ninnyhammer, why don’t you go and marry Malvern and have your own children?”

“I don’t want to marry Malvern,” she said crossly, folding a nightdress.

“The hell you don’t. You have been miserable ever since he left.”

“I have not!”

“You’re in love with the man. Admit it. Go to Stoneacre and get him.”

“I? Go and get him? Why should I?” she demanded.

“Because if you don’t, he will marry Miss Whatshername in a fit of pique.”

“Miss Thomas.”

“Yes precisely.”

“Swimming in blunt you said.”

“Well, perhaps not
swimming
―”

“And big bosoms.”

Nicholas ran a finger around the collar of his shirt as if his neckcloth was too tight. “I say, Lou, it is not modest of you to talk of such things―”

“You men talk of it, so why should I not talk of it?” Louisa demanded, flinging the badly folded nightdress into her box.

“Because it ain’t ladylike.”

“Oh pooh. I care not for being ladylike,” she said and examined herself in the tall looking glass. “Do you think I have nice bosoms?”

He coloured scarlet. “
Louisa
!”

“Well, do you? Do you think Malvern would like them?”

Nicholas put his head in his hands. “God help me.”

“Do you? I want to know.”

“Yes,” he said exasperated. “I think Malvern has an eye for a prettily turned ankle the same as any other man.”

“Does Miss Thomas have pretty ankles?”

“No, calves like table legs.”

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? Don’t you understand? Malvern does not want Miss Thomas, he wants
you
. He only says such fustian to Marcus in the hopes that you will hear of it and go after him.”

Louisa paused in the act of arranging a gown on the bed, ready to be folded. “Do you really think so?”

“YES!”

Louisa swallowed and sank back onto the bed, sitting on her gown and creasing it beneath her. “But he’s too old for me,” she said, staring at the wall.

“Oh what rubbish!”

“
You
said he was,” she pointed out reasonably.

“Yes, but only because I was jealous at the time. But now I realise that we wouldn’t have suited at all and I’m not jealous in the least. But what I
do
want is for you to stop moping around.”

Tears clouded her eyes. “Oh Nicky, I’m so unhappy.”

“Confound it, she’s crying again. For God’s sake pull yourself together and make a plan to get him back.”

“But he doesn’t want me anymore,” she sobbed. “He told Papa that hell will freeze over before he willingly sees me again.”

“Said that did he?” mused Nicholas. “Well, he was angry. And no doubt you said something stupid and insulting and the poor man was heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken?” she repeated. “Truly? Do you think so?”

He rolled his eyes. “Trust to a female to make such a mull of it. Tomorrow Malvern leaves for his estate in Worcestershire. I will have a word with him when I get back to Stoneacre this evening and ten to one, he will come to you.”

“Oh do you really think so?” she breathed.

“Now stop blubbing and put your clothes back where you found them.”

“Yes…Nicky…thank you.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving his hand impatiently in the air. “Let’s not get maudlin about it.” She threw herself onto his chest and he clumsily patted her back.

“Oh dearest, dearest Nicky,” she cried into his shoulder.

“Come now, chin up. Marcham won’t have you, I’ll see to that. I’d rather marry you myself than see you hitched to
that
wagon.”

Mary O’Donnell, the Munsford family nurse, coming up the hallway at that moment, heard this last sentence with a little surprise and observing that Mr Nicholas was in Lady Louisa’s bedroom and had his arms around her and her ladyship’s face was turned into his coat and a half packed band box upon the bed, she drew her own conclusions. Nicholas hastily sprang apart from the lady red faced and bid her a hurried goodnight.

Nicholas did his best.

Against his brother’s advice, he cornered Malvern in the library at Stoneacre just as the Duke was about to retire to bed. He came swiftly to the point and tried to convince Malvern that it was all a misunderstanding and that were he to show his face at Foxhill the following morning, he would find the Lady Louisa eager to accept him.

The Duke heard him out in silence, politely waited for his last sentence to end and set down his glass. Then he bid Nicholas a calm goodnight and quietly left the room almost as if he had not spoken.

Mr Ashworth smiled into his brandy and crossed his booted ankles as the door closed behind his noble friend. “I warned you to leave him be, didn’t I?”

“Oh go to the devil, Marcus!” snapped Nicholas, pouring himself a liberal brandy.

Mr Ashworth grinned. “Not so easy playing cupid, is it?”

“They are both of them stubborn as hell.”

“Yes.”

“And destined to spend the rest of their lives in misery rather than admit that they have feelings for each other,” said Nicholas, flinging himself into a chair.

“That’s love, little brother,” said Mr Ashworth, smiling.

“Oh what would you suggest then? Being the expert in our midst?”

“He’s going to Worcestershire tomorrow. Follow him there. Go to Lansdowne and corner the lion in his den.”

“Go to
Lansdowne?”

“Yes. Take Louisa, take my carriage too, if you like. She’s going to have to eat some humble pie if she wants him back,” replied Mr Ashworth. “I’ve known Jasper for twenty years and more, and I’ve never seen him so angry or so hurt. She’s going to have to go to Worcestershire and convince him to have her back.”

* * *

Lady Sophie Trent having summarily dispensed with her children into the charge of their nanny early Thursday morning, entered Foxhill Manor house with every expectation of an enjoyable day spent shopping with her sisters. However, it did not take her long to discover that the master of the house was out and that three other family members were also absent from it and had been up with the lark and that the whole household could be said to have been in an uproar.

She was at the outset greeted by the housekeeper who informed her that Lady Emma was indisposed.

“Indisposed?” cried Sophie. “Emmy? My good woman, she is never indisposed. We are going shopping for I saw the prettiest little hat in the milliners last week and I quite made up my mind to have it. You shall not mind if I go up to her, ma’am? I know my way.”

The housekeeper wrung her hands. “No, you don’t understand, my lady. Lady Emma is not here.”

“Oh. Where has she gone? Probably for a walk. It is perfectly stuffy in this hall, isn’t it? Shall I wait in the parlour?”

“My lady, you misunderstand me. She has left Foxhill. Gone. Run away,” said the poor woman, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Nonsense!” said Sophie brusquely.

“Master Nicholas has gone too. And Lady Louisa. And Mr Ashworth.”

There was a pause while her ladyship digested this information. “Good gracious.”

“Yes, my lady. So you see, I don’t think you will be shopping today.”

“No…no, I suppose not.”

The doorbell rang violently at that moment and voices were heard in the hallway. The butler appeared. “A letter, for Mr King.”

Lady Sophie Trent stepped forward, holding out her hand expectantly. “Is it from Emma? Let me see.”

The butler looked affronted. “It is a
private
letter, my lady.”

“If it is from Emma, I wish to see it. Let me look at the direction and see if I can recognise the handwriting.” Sophie snatched the letter out of his hand before he could protest and broke the seal. She read with eyes that devoured the page. “Good heavens!”

“What is it, my lady? Is it the Lady Emma? Is she with friends?”

“Oh no! No, no, no!” she cried, clasping the letter tightly in her hand. “I must go after her immediately! Have my barouche brought around immediately, Brent.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

“Oh but hurry, Brent, hurry!”

The servant half ran from the room and Sophie followed him and walked up to the front door, threw it wide open and walked slap bang into Mr Vincent Deverill, their uncle King’s neighbour and friend, who was at that moment raising his hand to knock upon the door.

The smile of surprise on his face was quickly replaced by concern when he saw the look of distress in her eyes.

“My dear Lady Sophie, whatever is the matter?” he asked, taking off his hat.

“Deverill! Thank God. Read that,” she said, thrusting the letter into his hands, opening her reticule and reaching for her smelling salts.

He stared at her for a moment and then looked down at the letter that she had pushed against his chest. He read the crumpled sheet of paper swiftly, his eyes scanning the pertinent facts and then he raised his eyes once again to her face.

“I am afraid I do not perfectly understand, my lady,” he said, a frown between his brows.

“You do not perfectly understand―? How can you be so dim-witted at this moment? Can you not
see
?” demanded her ladyship, pressing her smelling salts to her nose.

“Er…see what, ma’am?”

“Don’t be so dense, Vincent! Louisa has
eloped
!” she cried, passing her hand over her brow.

Mr Deverill burst out laughing. “Eloped?”

“Yes! Oh I’m sure it is vastly funny to a libertine like you!”

“Indeed ma’am, I am only laughing because it seems so unlikely. I cannot imagine Malvern doing anything so improper―”

“Not Malvern, you fool! She has gone with Nicky, that wretched boy! Oh why do you stand there dawdling? Go after them, man!”

“I am not going anywhere until I fully understand what is going on,” he answered calmly. “Brent, please fetch her ladyship a glass of wine.”

“I do not need wine,” snapped the lady. “Why do you not go after them?”

Mr Deverill led Lady Sophie Trent to a sofa in the hall and sat her down. Her ladyship looked up at the painting above the fireplace and shuddered.

“Because for a start I do not know that they
have
eloped and for another thing, I do not know in which direction they have gone,” he answered reasonably.

Sophie picked up the letter and waved it in the air. “Emma says Papa wanted Louisa to marry Marcham―”

“
Marcham
?” ejaculated Mr Deverill. Then he began to laugh. “Poor little Louisa.”

Her ladyship stiffened in her chair. “I fail to see what is so funny.”

“Yes, I can see that you do…” he said, amused. “Nevermind. Drink your wine, Lady Sophie, and let me read the letter again. Yes, see here, your sister says that Nicky has gone off with Louisa. That does not necessarily mean that they have marriage in mind.”

“
What?
” shrieked Sophie. “Oh where is my vinaigrette? How can you say so? They
must
be married. Her reputation will be ruined if they are not. Oh my poor nerves!”

“If you will
listen
ma’am, I will read it again. See here she says: ’
Nicky has gone off with Louisa. They left early this morning. I have spoken to my maid and she knew something of the plan last night.
’ Who is Lady Emma’s maid?”

“Mary,” replied Lady Sophie faintly.

“Brent, bring her ladyship’s maid Mary to see me.”

“Very good, sir.”

Mr Deverill returned to the letter. ’
I know it seemed to us that we were doing the right thing but it seems that the Earl of Marcham was the straw which broke the camel’s back. Our game backfired, I think.’
What game?”

“I don’t know,” wailed her ladyship.

“’
I aim to find them and return them to Foxhill before any harm can be done to her reputation. Trust in me
…etc etc,” he read, frowning. “Interesting sign off.”

“Eh?”

“Emma says that Marcus Ashworth has gone with her. I’ll bet he has, the dog…”

“But never mind that now. Where have they gone?” demanded Sophie, slugging a great mouthful of wine.

Deverill folded his arms across his chest. “Emma sounds calm. I think that if she truly thought they had eloped she would have written it in a blind panic. Which leads me to think that she is not much concerned.”

“Then why has she chased after them?”

“That is an extremely good question…ah…Mary is it?”

The maid bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, sir.”

“You appear to have information about the Lady Louisa’s whereabouts?” asked Mr Deverill with his most charming smile.

Mary Beth O’Donnell was not impressed. She glared frostily at the handsome gentleman and folded her arms across her bosom. “I don’t speak of my lady to anyone.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, long used to her old nanny’s ways. “Oh come down off your high ropes Mary and tell him, do. We do not have time for your hoity toity airs.”

The maid sniffed. “I didn’t see anything, your ladyship.”

“Mary…
tell
him!” said Sophie with a quelling look.

“All I seen was a bandbox on the bed with Lady Louisa’s things in it and some such talk of going to Malvern.”

“Malvern, Derbyshire? Or the Duke of Malvern?” asked Sophie sharply.

“I don’t know as I can say, my lady, she was all upset and Master Nicholas had her in his arms and they spoke of some fellow called Marcham who Master Nicky said was having to marry Lady Louisa and that he would marry her himself if such a thing were to come to pass.”

Mr Deverill exchanged glances with Sophie before returning his attention to the maid. “And did you speak of what you had heard to your mistress?” he asked.

“To be sure I did. Lady Louisa has always been a headstrong girl ever since she were a babe. I knew that if I did not tell Lady Emmy, it would all be too late to stop her.”

“I told you!” cried Lady Sophie triumphantly.

“And Lady Emmy…er, I mean, Lady Emma, went after them?”

“Yes sir. She’s left with Mr Ashworth. Indecent if you ask me.”

There was a silence.

“By that you mean left
alone
with Mr Ashworth?” Sophie repeated, thunderstruck.

“Aye, my lady. The gentleman said he wouldn’t let her go alone,” said Mary, shuddering at the thought.

“But he can’t…I mean, the scandal,” said Sophie, fanning herself vigorously. “Oh the shame of it. I shall end up in an asylum!”

Mr Deverill turned once again to the maid. “Are you quite sure your mistress left with Ashworth?”

“Oh yes! I seen them with me own eyes. Didn’t say as where they were headed. Some place as I don’t know as civilised people even live there.”

“Probably Bath,” put in Mr Deverill with a shudder. “Enough card parties to drive any man to drink.”

“Will you be serious, Vincent?” said her ladyship. “Now, Mary, are you telling us that Emmy has gone to this hideous place alone with him?”

“Not a bit of it, my lady. Lady Garbey would have none of it. She went after them, much to Mr Ashworth’s annoyance, I might add.”

Mr Deverill gave a shout of laughter. “Did she by God?”