A Gentleman and a Scoundrel (The Regency Gentlemen Series) (8 page)

“
A Mr Strauss of Netherby
?” repeated his brother scandalised. “And to think I introduced you to Weston himself!”

“Yes and a pretty penny it would have cost me too. Mr Strauss has made me five new coats for a fraction of the cost. And I fancy that the fact you had to ask me who made it informs me you could not yourself tell the difference.”

“Well as to that, I noticed a
slight
difference in the cut and the finish is not
quite
up to standard, you know, one’s eye becomes attuned to it―” Nicholas broke off as he encountered the amused stare of his brother. “Oh rot you Marcus! You have enough blunt to float the Royal Navy and you choose Mr Strauss in Netherby to dress you?”

His brother smiled. “I know, trying is it not?”

“It’s obscene, that’s what it is. I am sure Lady Emma would like to see you rigged out in the first stare of fashion.”

Mr Ashworth pulled a face at that. “In primrose yellow pantaloons? I think she would laugh herself silly. And what’s more I shouldn’t blame her.”

Nicholas coloured faintly. “Those pantaloons are―”

“All the crack, yes I know Nick, thank you,” replied his brother with a weary smile. “You have told me so any number of times.”

There was a sniff. “Well I think Emma sees more than you think.”

The smiled became a little strained. “Lady Emma wouldn’t notice if I turned up for dinner wearing doublet and hose with a two foot log cod piece and a ruff around my neck. She pays little enough attention to me, I assure you.”

Nicholas shook his head, grinning. “Two foot long? I think anyone would notice
that
. But you are wrong, Marcus. She has an eye for a well turned out gentleman as much as any other female.”

“Well, we disagree upon this point. What brings you all the way down here? London too flat for you?”

Nicholas laughed. “Hardly.”

“In dire straits again, are we?”

“Why is it that whenever I come and see you, your first thought is that I am after a handout?”

“Because you usually are, dear boy,” replied Mr Ashworth.

“Well I’m not,” scowled his brother.

“Very well. So why then are you here?”

“To see you, of course.”

Mr Ashworth gave up on his cravat and stuffed the loose ends of it into his waistcoat. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” Nicholas said throwing himself back upon the pillows.

“Would you have the goodness to take your boots off my bed?”

“Sorry…you are dressing for dinner at home, Marcus? That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?”

“I’m a reformed character,” replied Mr Ashworth reaching for his signet ring.

“Lord, what a thought.”

“Isn’t it?” agreed his brother, turning at last to see him. “So, are you going to tell me what brings you here? And in such a fit of the sullens?”

“Louisa tells me Malvern is to stay with you,” said Nicholas, not mincing matters.

There was a slight pause before Mr Ashworth answered. His grey eyes flickered for a moment thoughtfully over his brother’s figure. “He is. What of it?”

“She is not happy about it. Come to think of it, I ain’t happy about it either.”

Mr Ashworth tugged the sleeves of his shirt at his wrists. “With all due respect to the Lady Louisa and to you, Nicky, whomsoever I invite to my own home has nothing at all to do with either of you.”

“But you must understand, things are very awkward for her just now.”

“Are they? How so?”

Nicholas could not stop the colour that tinged his cheeks. “Damn it, you know Malvern…”

“Well, yes,” said his brother gently, “we have known each other since we were children. For God’s sake, Nick, come to the point! What is so awkward?”

Nicholas kicked at the rug on the floor at his feet. “You don’t understand…he…I mean, I…oh if you must have it, I kissed her! And I’m not ashamed of it either, so don’t think that you can make me! And if you’re wondering what the devil this had to do with Malvern, well I’ll tell you. He saw us.”

“Ah.”

“And the cursed fellow threw me through a hedge,” blurted Nicky, his eyes flashing with anger at the thought of it. His pride was still wounded and for all he had tried to brush it off, he still felt humiliated. “And you can wipe that smile off your face, Marc, it ain’t funny.”

“No, of course not. And did you deserve…ah…being thrown through a hedge?” asked Mr Ashworth, schooling his face into a neutral expression.

“No! Well…no, dash it, I didn’t. But it’s the hypocrisy of the thing! Don’t tell me Malvern has never kissed a girl before because I won’t believe it! And he came and found me at my lodgings the next day and read me such a lecture that he had no right to do. You Marc, yes, that I can stomach, but
him
? Telling me to stay away from her? I won’t put up with it!”

Mr Ashworth sat down on the edge of the dressing table and crossed his ankles, his hands resting on the edge by his hips. “But perhaps,” observed he softly, “Malvern was protecting his own.”

Nicholas’s head shot up. “His own? She’s promised to me―hang on, has she accepted him then?”

“My dear Nicky, how should I know?”

“Who else should know but you? You’ve been as thick as thieves with him since you were both knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“If I
did
know, and I am not by any means saying that I
do
, would you expect me to betray a friend’s confidence by blabbing all to you? Would you like me to treat you in such a fashion?”

Nicholas flushed faintly and dropped his gaze from his brother’s.

“No, I thought not,” said Mr Ashworth. “I merely offer an explanation for Malvern’s uncharacteristic show of temper, that’s all.”

“Louisa won’t have him, she is promised to me,” said Nicky.

“Then if she is promised to you, nothing Malvern can say will make any difference. But if Lady Louisa had led Jasper into thinking that she had accepted him…you see what I am thinking. I do not mean to imply that the lady has played fast and loose with anyone’s affections., merely that she is confused.”

Nicholas stood up abruptly. “I don’t understand you Marcus; you promised you would help me.”

“Aye and so I did.”

“Forgive me, but how is inviting my rival to stay helping?” demanded Nicholas.

Mr Ashworth smiled as he pocketed his snuffbox. “All will be revealed in the fullness of time. Shall we go down to dinner? I am famished.”

“But―”

“Have you changed your mind about this girl, Nicky? Do you wish to marry her?” Mr Ashworth demanded, stopping with one hand on the door handle but making no move to open it.

Nicholas looked rather taken aback. “Wish to marry her?”

“Yes. You appear to be more willing now than when we spoke of it before.”

“Of course I wish to marry her! Have you not been listening?”

Mr Ashworth sighed heavily and shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t keep up with you; one minute you are begging me to help you get out of the engagement and now you want me to help you to do what exactly? Persuade Crowborough into it, is that it? Well, I’ll tell you this, Nick, it had better be marriage. Louisa is not one of your Cyprians. Crowborough won’t stand for anything else, you know. Come to think of it,
I
won’t stand for anything else,” added Mr Ashworth reflectively. “Ashworths do not molest innocent females, for all our father did his best to break that rule. But I will not have Emma railing at me because she is upset by your dalliance with her sister. Do I make myself clear?”

“Oho! Big brother puts his foot down!” said Nicholas half annoyed, half laughing.

“Quite. Louisa is a gently bred female. She also happens to be related to one of the most disagreeable women of my acquaintance. You would do well not to press your attentions in that direction unless you mean to see them through. Or you will have me to answer to.”

Nicholas ran a finger around his collar as if it was too tight. “I mean to see them through.”

Mr Ashworth directed his penetrating stare at his brother for a moment, nodded and then smiled. “Come then, let us go down. Good Lord, how you can wear those ridiculous shirt points for any length of time beats me. I should more than likely have my own eye out with them.”

“He’s here,” Louisa announced.

She was standing by the open window of the drawing room at Foxhill gazing out at the park and the hills beyond, her hands leaning on the sill, her blonde curls at her temples stirring in the breathless heat of the afternoon.

It was four o’clock and every window had been flung wide open to let in what cool air might be had. Sunlight streamed in between the curtains, illuminating the dust motes in a swirl of glitter and the fine sheen of sweat on Louisa’s brow; then it fell in a white hot wedge across the pale blue carpet. The parkland quivered with rising heat, the grass was dry and brown, the trees rustled in the warm breeze.

“Who is here?” enquired Emma as she set another crooked stitch in her embroidery.

“Good gracious, what magnificent horses!” cried Louisa, ignoring this. “And he’s driving himself and Mr Ashworth in his curricle with two of the most beautiful grey horses I have ever seen―and one, two, three, four, five…oh at least five capes on his greatcoat. How very elegant he is, Aunt.”

“Very.”

“Who’s here?” asked Emma again, having not received an answer to her question at the first time of asking.

“Malvern, silly, who else?”

“Oh…Malvern, yes,” said Emma absently. “I had quite forgotten he was coming.”

“Forgotten?” repeated Louisa scornfully turning around from the window. “
Forgotten
the Duke of Malvern?”

“Well we are not all fixated with the movements of the Duke as you are, my love, however agreeable he may be,” replied Emma with a faint smile.

“I am not fixated with him at all,” said Louisa loftily, turning back to the window again to press her forehead against the painted window frame. “And he is dressed in a smart blue coat with silver buttons and a very rakish hat and quite the glossiest pair of Hessian boots I have ever seen…one never sees Malvern looking shabby, does one? He always looks just the thing.”

“And that is why he requires three carriages for his baggage,” murmured Emma.

“Come away from the window, Louisa,” said Lady Garbey, turning a page of her book. “His grace will see you.”

“No he won’t, for I am hidden behind the curtain. Not that he is so
very
fashionable, not like Mr Nicholas Ashworth, nor so handsome, but he does have a certain air about him. Do you not think so Aunt?”

“Very elegant,” agreed her ladyship without looking up from her book.

“You do not appear to be very interested,” remarked her youngest niece reproachfully.

“I hope I am always interested in Malvern, for he is a very creditable young man,” said her ladyship, fixing her niece with a penetrating stare over the top of her book. “But as you and he are now not going to make a match of it, I don’t see why I should pay him any more or less attention than any other gentlemen of my acquaintance.”

“But he is a
Duke
, Aunt,” said Louisa.

“So he is.”

“And he has been excessively kind to us.”

“So he has,” agreed her ladyship, “and he has been very attentive to you, Louisa, although I am sure you do not deserve such notice from him.”

Her youngest niece turned back to the window in stony silence.

“Have you quite given it up then, ma’am?” Emma asked her aunt quietly.

Lady Garbey lowered her book. “Louisa has told me in no uncertain terms that she does not care for Malvern. I hope that I am not so unfeeling as to force her into a marriage she does not want.”

“And Papa?” asked Emma doubtfully, snipping the pink silk thread neatly at the back of her tambour frame.

“Your father is still coming around to my way of thinking.”

Emma smiled, pointed her needle safely through the canvas and set aside her embroidery. “You mean you are still persuading him that he should.”

“Precisely,” said her ladyship. “And if your sister can have such disregard for her own future, then I do not see why your Papa, Mama and I should send ourselves to an early grave worrying over it.”

“You needn’t talk about me as if I were not here. I am not deaf, you know,” said Louisa pointedly from the window.

“I won’t say anything behind your back that I am not prepared to say to your face,” said her ladyship. “You have taken Malvern in dislike without giving the poor man a chance. And in throwing away such an advantageous match, Louisa, I am afraid that I lose my interest. I wash my hands of you. As far as I am concerned, you may marry whom you wish, whether they be rich or poor, handsome or not. I care not.”

“I have
not
taken against Malvern…” Louisa said defensively, her colour mounting. “Indeed, I like him very well. It is just that I do not wish to be his wife.”

“This is old and tedious ground, Louisa. Do let us speak of something else.”

The young lady’s bosom heaved. “You care not whom I marry? Aren’t you going to tell me what is due my name, what I owe to my father? That is what you usually say.”

“I have said all that and more any number of times. For all the good it did me I should have held my breath,” replied Lady Garbey.

“And now that Malvern is not to be my husband you wish him at Jericho? Such fine treatment, Aunt! I say that he is lucky not to be associated with a family such as mine.”

“So do I say it, for he would be ill served to take you as his wife. I would not wish such unhappiness upon a man I like so well.”

Louisa gasped as if she had been slapped. “How can you speak to me so?
You
who married for love! You who waited for Uncle John for all those years. Yet you would have me enter a loveless marriage.”

“I would have you enter a marriage that would be the making of you. But you wish to throw it all away. And for what? A mere
Mister
Ashworth?”

Emma felt the colour rush into her cheeks; she put out her hands in a placating gesture that was lost upon the other two. “Aunt, Louisa…pray don’t―”

Louisa drew herself up to her full height. “The Ashworths may not be your idea of the perfect match but I can assure you, in these parts they are considered quite a catch.”

“To squire’s daughters and penniless widows, I am sure they may be,” muttered the Lady Garbey.

“Mr Ashworth is a gentleman,” Louisa flashed.

“A gentlemen? Oh yes, he’s a gentlemen. All the Mr Ashworths are gentlemen, every last one of them.” She broke off with a bitter laugh.

“Please Aunt,” whispered Emma.

“Their father was as handsome as they come and rich to boot. He stole the heart of every young female of my acquaintance; me included. Oh yes, you may well stare, but I too fell for a mister Ashworth. Much good did it do me.” Lady Garbey paused and flung her book down upon the settle beside her. “He all but ruined me. Do you think me happy to see you throw yourself away on William Ashworth’s son? Do you think I would not cry to see you ally yourself with such a man?”

“I must ask you to stop this,” said Emma, her face pale. “The gentlemen will be upon as at any moment.”

Their aunt folded her hands in her lap. “Ask his mother what married life was like with a Mr Ashworth if you don’t believe me.”

“Aunt, enough,” said Emma sharply, rising to her feet.

But the lady was too incensed to heed the pleas of her niece. “William Ashworth was a scoundrel and a rake and led his wife a merry dance. His sons are no doubt the same. Do you aspire to such a life?”

“How can you say such things?” cried Louisa. “Do you have no feelings at all?”

“I would not see you unhappy for all the world,” said her ladyship, her bosom heaving, her eyes crackling with anger. “Do you not see what Nicholas Ashworth is? Do you wish to end up married to a penniless younger son? The elder at least has Stoneacre but
you
will have nothing.”

“I don’t
want
anything,” said Louisa.

“No? And what will you live on? Where will you make your home? Do you expect your father to set you up with an establishment of your own? Well, I will tell you now, young lady, he cannot afford it.”

“I love him, something you seem to have forgotten!”

“Love! Why is it the young think they were the only generation ever to be in love?” cried Lady Garbey throwing up her hands.

“You laugh at my feelings. I never thought that you could be so cruel.”

“You do not know your own heart. You have been bewitched by a handsome face, that’s all. I am glad you have not taken Malvern for he is a good deal better off without someone so fickle.”

Louisa moved into the middle of the room, her bright blue eyes spitting fire. “I don’t want Malvern! He cannot feel love or emotion or passion. You may tell him that I have the headache for I do not wish to see him,” she declared hotly.

There was a silence, for the Duke of Malvern was standing in the open doorway, a tight smile pinned to his lips, his hands clasped behind his back, and a scowling Mr Ashworth at his side. Mr King stood smiling behind them, apparently oblivious to the awkward atmosphere. How much any of them had heard, Emma knew not. She could not raise her eyes from the carpet.

Louisa looked in confusion from her aunt to her sister and then spun around. Colour flew into her cheeks as she met the cool gaze of the Duke. Tears started in her eyes and she fled from the room.

* * *

Louisa dreaded the arrival of the gentlemen after dinner that evening. They lingered long over their port and cigars, and her nerves were torn to shreds waiting for them to appear. She was mid way through her third cup of coffee by the time they came in. She kept her eyes on her book as Malvern came close; he looked as if he might approach her and then appeared to change his mind. He settled himself eventually by her sister and was soon chatting away to her as he would a close confidante.

Louisa strained to catch every word he uttered, was jealous of every smile he gave Emma and wished that he might look at her just once. She felt such a cloud of dejection settle upon her that her book held no interest and the words before her swam and blurred together on the page.

He was ignoring her. He was punishing her. She had never thought that she would ever be in a situation as to lose his friendship; it had seemed impossible. And yet here it was.

And he really was the most agreeable man, she thought wistfully as she watched him through her lashes. So kind and gentle, she had never known him lose his temper in all the years that she had known him until that fateful night at Vauxhall Gardens.

She saw that he was elegantly dressed, that his coat fitted his shoulders to perfection, and that he had a dimple when he smiled on the left side of his face but not the right, that his dark hair shone under the candlelight and that he used his hands to express himself when talking. His hands were large and well shaped and masculine.

Why had she never noticed that before? She had seen him any number of times, and if anyone had asked her what his hands were like she would have stared at them blankly. But now here she was, observing that his hands were strong and gentle, and she wondered what it might feel like to be touched by them…

Her face flooded with a sudden rush of colour; what was she thinking of? Her mind traitorously conjured up the vision of her father’s stable hand and the milkmaid she had seen embracing in the stables. She remembered the sight of pale flesh and hastily torn off clothing, she remembered the haste with which she had left the scene, the image of Jem’s rounded buttocks going up and down forever branded in her memory. She began to feel hot.

Malvern was ten years her senior and he liked to visit ruins―yes, this was better! This was safer territory! He was too old for her, too tame and dull. He collected sculpture and went to art galleries and read dry dull books such as the one she was trying to read at that moment, just to impress him. No, she amended hastily, not to impress him, merely to
improve
herself. Nicholas, by contrast, was young and handsome and was never happier than when riding hell for leather across the fields, jumping fences and risking his neck in the pursuit of pleasure. Really, there could be no comparison for any romantically minded young woman.