Never Love a Lord, page 10
part #4 of The Wedding Vow Series
That, Ash could believe. “But others in England are invested in these mines. That much is true.”
“I believe some may have been so foolhardy as to invest,” Wellmanton agreed. “But that has nothing to do with the problem. Württemberg has been managing the lands that once composed Batavaria for ten years. The citizens there are content. We should not disrupt their lives with selfish politics and posturing.”
“On that, we quite agree,” Ash said.
Wellmanton beamed. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear you are thinking matters through. By the by, I heard a rumor that a fellow from Italy may be in possession of the Ashforde rubies. I could look into the matter, once this issue is settled.”
Ash cocked his head. “Are you attempting to bribe me, Wellmanton?”
The viscount heaved himself to his feet. “Certainly not. Merely attempting to do a favor for an old friend. Let me know when you have made your decision. I have a feeling we will have much to celebrate.”
^^^
By Thursday evening, Tuny was ready for dinner with Ash. She wore her ice blue lustring dinner dress with the silver braid running from the high waist in two swags down to the hem. The pearls Ivy had given her for Christmas adorned her neck, with a bracelet around her white silk evening gloves. Belle would likely have added an ostrich plume, but Tuny had never been particularly pleased with plumage, so she crimped her hair in tight curls around her face and piled the rest at the top and back.
She glanced at the coronet, sitting on her dressing table because it was entirely too large to fit in her jewelry box. Charlotte had said it was only worn on state occasions, which meant it would likely never be worn again. It wasn’t as if the king would invite her to dine.
Although Ash had.
Remaining calm and cool was easier with Charlotte beside her in the coach and Matty across, next to Roth, who was on duty that evening. Her sister-in-law had borrowed the Worthington coach again, so they rode the mile or so from Covent Garden to the northern edge of Mayfair, where Lord Ashforde had a townhouse.
A very tall, stately townhouse without a smudge of soot to mar the white stone or grey trim. Of course.
A footman in navy livery with silver buttons pressed with a crest that must belong to the Ashforde family was standing outside. He hurried to open the door for them as the coach drew to a stop. Roth eyed him as if suspecting treachery. The footman’s pristine cravat was so starched it didn’t bob, but Tuny would have wagered he’d swallowed.
Another footman held wide the silvery-grey front door. He didn’t wilt under the guard’s scrutiny. But inside, a butler in an impeccable black tailcoat stood with his nose in the air, as if he’d smelled something he shouldn’t.
“Lady Moselle, Sir Matthew Bateman, and Lady Bateman have come to dine with Lord Ashforde,” Roth informed him. “Is this house secure?”
It certainly looked secure. The black-and-white marble floor—again spotless—ran from the door down the corridor. The walls were paneled in lacquered white with a few tasteful gold sconces for lighting. The stairs, with white curved balusters and a newel post topped with mahogany, marched smartly up the wall to the landing.
The butler sent Roth a dark look. “Lord Ashforde would never stand for anything less than the utmost security and propriety, I assure you.”
Of course not.
“This is Mr. Roth, of the Batavarian Imperial Guard,” Matty told the butler. “He’s with us. You’ll get used to it.”
Charlotte smiled apologetically. She’d dressed in silver grey that looked right at home in this house. And she had an ostrich plume.
“A guard was expected,” the butler acknowledged. “He will be served dinner in the servants’ hall.”
Roth’s jaw tightened, and Tuny thought he might argue. Instead, he inclined his head. “Very well.”
The butler’s shoulders came down just the slightest.
“Once I have assured myself of the security of this house,” he finished.
The butler drew in a sharp breath, but he stepped aside. “Do what you must. In the meantime, your ladyships, Sir Matthew, allow me to show you to the withdrawing room.”
Roth followed right behind him as the butler led them up the stairs.
Lord Ashforde’s townhouse was larger than most, with four rooms on each floor. The withdrawing room was off the landing on the next floor up. It was done in shades of tan and grey. Though all the materials were fine, Tuny could only feel it a bit colorless.
Not so the painting over the marble hearth. Charlotte went to it immediately and gazed up at the portrait of a woman with dark hair who was nearly eclipsed by a set of rubies in silver, complete with tiara, pendant, earrings, and cuffs.
“The Ashforde rubies,” Charlotte said as if she’d noticed Tuny looking as well. “Lord Ashforde’s mother managed to carry them off.”
His mother. She could see the resemblance in the high, arched brows and the cool coloring. But where Ash tended to look contemplative, his mother looked resigned, as if she had come to terms with an unpleasant life, despite her wealth and beauty.
“Good evening,” Ash said, and Tuny turned for the door.
He also looked right at home in the space, in a black evening jacket tailored to his lean frame and gold-shot cream-colored waistcoat. “Thank you for joining me,” he said, smiling around at them all.
Roth pushed past him to bow to Tuny. “The house is secure, your ladyship. I will leave you to your dinner.”
“Thank you, Mr. Roth,” Tuny told him. “We’ll send word when we’re ready to return home.”
Ash eyed him as he pressed his fist to his chest and marched out.
“Still under guard, I see,” he mused as his look returned to her.
“It’s nonsense,” Tuny assured him. “I don’t know why Prince Otto Leopold bothers. No one is going to care what I do or where I go. I’m simply not that important.”
“On that opinion,” he said, “we differ.”
She wasn’t sure whether he meant he thought she was in danger, or that she was more important than she expected. Her cheeks heated nonetheless.
He turned smoothly to Charlotte and Matty. “A pleasure to see you again, Lady Bateman, Sir Matthew. How are your daughters, Rose and Daphne?”
Charlotte looked impressed that he would remember. “Bright, active, and incorrigible, much like their father,” she told him.
Matty chuckled. “Handfuls, they are, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I have noticed that forthright ladies run in your family,” Ash observed. “As does beauty.”
Much more of this, and she’d be fanning herself. “Charlotte mentioned your mother, my lord,” she said. “Will she be joining us tonight?”
His face shuttered. “Alas, she passed away some years ago now.” He nodded to Charlotte. “Though I’m certain she would be pleased you remembered her, Lady Bateman.”
“She was a gentle soul,” Charlotte said, gaze returning to the portrait. “And sorely missed, I’m sure.”
“No doubt,” he replied, voice as contained as his look.
Did he think they would judge him if he showed a modicum of sorrow? Because his mother had passed away years ago, he had to have been a child. Her mother had died when she was born, and Ivy had been the one who’d raised her. If anything had happened to her sister, Tuny probably wouldn’t have stopped crying for years.
The butler appeared in the doorway. “Dinner, my lord, is served.”
“Thank you, Peaves.”
Peaves. It suited him. The thought had no sooner crossed her mind then Ash turned to her and offered his arm. Why should he escort her? Tuny glanced to Charlotte.
“Thank you for escorting our new baroness, Lord Ashforde,” Charlotte said with a smile.
Oh, right. For the first time in her life, Tuny outranked her brother and even her illustrious sister-in-law, who was the daughter of a viscount.
And, though she would admit it to no one but herself, she’d have far rather walked in to dinner with Ash than any other man.
Tuny put her hand on his, and he led her forward.
Chapter Eleven
Once again, Tuny had to struggle to keep from gawking as Ash led her into the dining room. All of the walls were paneled in a warm, reddish wood nearly the shade of Charlotte’s hair, and someone must have had a fondness for grapes, for clusters were either etched or carved over each panel and the lintel of the doors.
The table draped in white could have seated more than a dozen, but places had been set near the top with fine white porcelain edged in gold. Ash ushered Tuny to his right, with Charlotte on his left and Matty just beyond her. Footmen began bringing in all manner of delicacies. There was baked sole simmering in butter and spices, stewed tart cucumbers, and a scrumptious meat pie with the flakiest crust.
“All your favorites,” her brother joked to her.
But he was right. The only item missing was her sister Ivy’s famous cinnamon buns, and Ash could hardly have sent to Surrey for them, if he had even known to do so.
She turned to Ash. “What made you choose these dishes?”
He took a sip from his goblet before answering. He’d chosen a lovely mulled cider rather than wine. “Some, like the sole, are personal favorites,” he said. “But I have noticed at events you tend to prefer the pies and cucumbers.”
He’d watched her eat? It was both gratifying and a little disconcerting. “Very kind of you,” she said before applying herself to the pie before something more incriminating popped out of her mouth.
Charlotte must have noticed, or at least expected, Tuny’s state of nerves, for she steered the conversation back to Ash and his family.
“I couldn’t help noticing the Ashforde rubies on the portrait of your mother,” she said. “They have a particularly romantic origin, if memory serves.”
“My mother found the story charming,” he said in a way that implied he didn’t. When Charlotte raised a brow and Tuny looked at him askance, he set down his fork and continued.
“In the twelfth century, a knight vowed to win a certain lady of noble birth. Her father did not favor the match, but he agreed to allow them to wed if the knight could prove he was capable of caring for her in the style her father expected.”
“Bit high-handed,” Tuny said.
“Not at all,” Matty insisted. “A fellow wants to know those he loves will be well cared for.” He sent Ash a considering look.
Ash returned to his story undaunted. “He certainly tried. Valiant deeds won him acclaim, recognition, even a more exalted title and his own lands, but still the father refused.”
“I hope his sweetheart had some say in the matter,” Tuny put in.
Ash smiled. “She did. You see, the knight had the stones set in silver stones and presented them to her, claiming each ruby a piece of his heart he wanted only her to have, whatever her father’s decision. She told her father her own heart would be shattered in as many pieces if he did not allow them to wed. Seeing her love, her father consented.”
Tuny clapped her hands. “Oh, well done.”
“A shame he didn’t just ride up on a prancing steed and carry her off to Gretna Green,” Matty said. “Might have saved him time and money.”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Matty,” Tuny scolded before turning to Ash. “That’s a wonderful story about true love triumphing. Thank you for sharing it.”
“Then you appreciate true love, Lady Moselle,” he said.
He’d asked to use her first name, but perhaps he didn’t want to set expectations again by using it in front of her family.
“I do, Lord Ashforde,” she said, just as formally. “Mind you, I know true love doesn’t blossom overnight for many people. It’s more likely to grow from acquaintance. But that doesn’t mean it’s as rare as your rubies.”
“Mine no longer, alas,” he said, retrieving his fork. “They were sold before I reached my majority. I’ve tried to determine who holds them now, with little luck.”
How sad. Yet how odd that they had been sold. From what she’d seen, the aristocracy prized its possessions and generally tried to add more.
Charlotte, however, perked up. “Sir Matthew and I might be able to help you there, my lord. You may have heard that we occasionally investigate mysteries.”
“I had not heard that,” he allowed, pushing his fork into the pie with considerably more care than the movement required. “But if you’d like, I can show you the information I’ve gathered so far.”
Matty stuck out his lower lip. “Sounds like an interesting problem to solve. Count us in, my lord.”
“They’re very good,” Tuny confessed to Ash. “If anyone can locate the rubies, they can.”
Charlotte blushed. “Thank you, Tuny, but I wouldn’t want to raise Lord Ashforde’s hopes. After we’ve looked at the information, we may be able to suggest next steps.”
“I’d appreciate any help you can provide,” he said, inclining his head. He lifted his glass and held it up in toast. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” they all chorused.
His gaze brushed hers, and her spirits rose higher than their glasses.
^^^
It was going well. Better than he’d feared. He had only to look at the light in Petunia’s eyes to know. He couldn’t remember feeling so pleased.
They adjourned to the withdrawing room together after dinner. Peaves looked the slightest bit concerned about the matter. Very likely he had expected Ash to entertain Sir Matthew while the ladies withdrew, but it seemed rather rude to exclude Petunia and her sister-in-law. And he was eager to see what they would make of his search for the rubies.
Lady Bateman and Sir Matthew sat on the sofa, and Ash had Peaves bring in the portfolio of information.
“It’s arranged chronologically,” he explained as he spread the leather case open on Sir Matthew’s lap. “There never was a bill of sale, but you can see a copy of the notation from the page from White’s where it mentions that my father’s debt to a Lord P. was discharged in full. We found the rubies missing shortly afterward, so I assume that was what he used.”
He waited for someone to question why a peer of the realm with wealth at his fingertips would be so in debt he needed to offer one of his family’s most cherished possessions, but Sir Matthew and his wife merely bowed their heads over the materials as if they found them fascinating.
All at once, watching them dig into his father’s indiscretions wasn’t nearly as fascinating. Indeed, he rather felt as if a noose had tightened around his neck.
He turned to Petunia. “Perhaps a walk about the house while we wait for their verdict, Lady Moselle?”
“Delighted,” she said, and he made sure his steps out of the room were no more than a stroll.
“They won’t surface for some time,” she predicted as he led her back down the stairs. “They’re very dedicated to their work.”
He ought to take comfort in that. Putting aside the frustration that always rose at the thought of his father’s actions, he focused on the present. What would she make of the library? He hadn’t been sure what to think when Peaves had first suggested the idea that Ash show it to her. Once more, emotions threatened. Why was he so jittery? He hardly needed her approval.
He opened the door and let her in.
She took two steps on the carpet, then stopped and stared. “Oh, my.”
Those two breathless words couldn’t help but inflate his chest. He would have sworn Peaves had lit an extra lamp or two, so bright did the room appear.
She turned in a circle as if taking it all in, then looked to him, eyes shining. “I’ll ask you the same question I asked the duke when I first saw his library. Have you read them all?”
He grinned. “Yes.”
Her eyes widened, until he could see the candlelight reflected in them. “Which is your favorite?”
He chuckled. “Oh, there are too many to count. I’ve always enjoyed works of philosophy, and any of the bard’s comedies is sure to leave me smiling.”
“The stories published by a lady?” she pressed. “Pride and Prejudice? Sense and Sensibility? And what of the Scotch novels?”
“Every book, in first edition.”
“Horace Walpole?”
He glanced out the door before taking a step closer and lowering his voice. “I didn’t sleep well for a week after reading The Castle of Otranto. And I have a copy from the first printing of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.”
She shivered. “I’ve heard that one can be chilling.”
“Would you care to borrow it?”
She nodded so quickly the enchanting curls beside her face danced. “Love to! Oh, and do you have anything on Greek mythology? Ever since Lady Belle had me play Athena in her tableau of the Judgement of Paris at the house party, I’ve wanted to know more about that whole story.”
And ever since, he’d kept remembering how she’d looked in that tableau. He’d arrived late to the house party, just as the three groups had set up their tableau vivants, scenes staged of famous allegorical, mythical, or historical events. The duchess and some of the guests had enacted King Alfred defeating the Norsemen. The duke and other guests had portrayed the legend of Robin Hood. Lady Belle, Lady Bateman, Owen Canady, and Petunia had presented the judgment of Paris, a mortal choosing the most beautiful of the Greek goddesses. The sight of Petunia draped in white silk, face aglow, had stopped him in his tracks.
“You made a very good Athena,” he said, “goddess of wisdom.”
She snorted. “Better than the alternative. Belle wanted me to play Aphrodite. Who would have believed me as the goddess of love and beauty?”
“I would.”
The words were out before he could think better of them.
She cocked her head as if trying to see his point. “Next to Belle?”
“Next to any lady of my acquaintance.”
What was wrong with him tonight? Where was his composure, his poise? His heart jerked in his chest, and the desire to kiss her would not be denied.
