Anne Barbour (26 page)

Amanda sighed. It was going to be a very long twelve months.

Chapter Eighteen

Neither Ash nor Amanda referred to the incident in the little salon again. Upon returning to the city, they plunged into what was left of the social season, though London in the middle of June was growing thin of company. In addition, Ash capitulated, not without protest, to Amanda’s requests to be taken sight-seeing in the city and its environs.

Of Lianne, little was seen. She seemed to have retired from the haunts of the
ton,
at least temporarily, for she did not attend Lady Danton’s musicale, or the soiree given by Lord and Lady Hammerford, or any of the other functions still dotting the social landscape.

The threat of Napoleon’s plans for the reconquest of Europe scarcely caused a ripple in the lives of the
beau monde,
but from time to time word of his activities drifted in from the Continent to cloud the horizon. The news, apparently, was not good. Jeremiah spent an increasing amount of time closeted in his study with various men of business. When not thus occupied, he made hasty trips into the City, returning tight-lipped and grim.

Amanda, of course, received the scraps of information that filtered down to her female ears with complete equanimity.

One afternoon Ash arrived at the Bridge home for a proposed visit to Gloucester House to visit the Grecian marbles brought recently to England by Lord Elgin. As Ash handed his fiancée into his curricle, Jeremiah pulled up in his small, closed carriage and, disembarking hastily, he called out, “My lord! Ashindon! I must speak with you!” Ignoring his daughter, he grasped Ash’s arm. Amanda caught the words, “Boney,” and “Quatre Bras” as Jeremiah pulled Ash bodily into the house. More than an hour passed before they emerged from Jeremiah’s study, at which time Ash apologized to Amanda before once more assisting her into the curricle.

“What on earth was that all about?” asked Amanda as they swung into North Audley Street.

“Nothing,” replied Ash, his face impassive. “Merely a business matter.”

“But what was he saying about Napoleon?” persisted Amanda.

Ash turned to her with a smile. “I keep forgetting I am betrothed to a bluestocking. You used not to be interested in any but the most inconsequential matters.”

Amanda bristled. “If choosing to use my brain for something beyond my embroidery and the latest gossip makes me a bluestocking, so be it.”

Ash laughed. “Very well, then. Apparently, Napoleon left Paris a few days ago and is headed for Belgium. He is rumored to have over a hundred thousand men, and more arriving daily to swell his ranks. Wellington seems to be doing nothing, and the allies are still miles away from the projected battle area.”

“Yes, but—” Amanda halted.

“The feeling is growing in the City that the allied forces are going to be very badly defeated.”

“Oh, no,” said Amanda quickly. “Napoleon’s renewed dreams of glory are doomed to failure.”

“I must say I, too, am more sanguine of Wellington’s chances. However, your father is greatly concerned about the effect of a British defeat on my financial status. You see, when Napoleon escaped from Elba, there was a slight dip in the Consols—government stocks,” Ash explained.

Amanda nodded impatiently. “Yes, I know. But what—?”

“Your father advised me to buy up some of the stock—in moderation. I took his advice, for it coincided with my own inclination, but I invested rather more heavily than he thought prudent. In doing so, I depleted my already meager supply of available cash, and now your father is advising me to sell.”

“Oh, you mustn’t!” Amanda began, but she stopped suddenly, her jaw dropping. A great light had just burst over her—and about time, she thought with a grimace. Good Lord, how could she have been so stupid? She had been racking her brains for a get-rich-quick investment scheme and it had been waiting for her all along in her memory. Quickly, she rummaged in her mind for every bit of information she possessed on one of the greatest battles in English history. Wasn’t it Rothschild, the financier, who had made a killing at the time? All she had to do was to convince Ash to sink every penny he could get his hands on in the funds.

Hmmm. This might not be so easy. She would be asking him to fly in the face of prevailing counsel, all on the advice of a mere female. Ash, she thought, seemed a trifle more enlightened on the subject of women in general—at least, he seemed to regard her as a real person and not a prospective piece of property. However, advice of this magnitude might very well be received with a pat on the head and the suggestion that she not worry her pretty head over matters of which she could not possibly have any comprehension.

“You aren’t going to take Papa’s advice, are you?” she asked at last. “You’re not going to sell your government stock?”

“No. At least not yet. I fought with Wellington in Portugal and Spain for four years, and I have a great deal more confidence in him than the self-styled military experts who are spouting their ill-formed opinions all over town. On the other hand, Wellington’s army is not the same as it was in the Peninsula. Many of his seasoned troops are now elsewhere—America and India, leaving him with raw recruits and ill-trained foreigners. Still, I believe I’ll keep my money on Wellington. Literally,” he said with a laugh.

Amanda settled back into the curricle. She would have said more, but Ash continued, on another tack. “You and my grandmother are growing wondrous thick of late.” He turned to smile into her eyes, which produced, Amanda noted irritably, the usual result of turning her knees to soup. “I’m pleased she has taken such a liking to you.”

Amanda tore her gaze from his. “I like her, too,” she replied thoughtfully. Almost to herself, she continued, “She’s a truly remarkable woman. Did you know she has created schools for young girls of the slums—to teach them to read, and to learn useful skills in the hope that they might escape the grinding poverty that so enslaves them?”

“No,” replied Ash, startled. “I did not—but I am not surprised. She has always been strong-minded and independent—to put it mildly,” he said dryly. “She is the scourge of the family, and has never been bound by the restraints of custom.”

“That is what I so much admire in her,” said Amanda enthusiastically. “She has managed to overcome many of the stereotypes that prevail here and she has maintained her own identity. She told me,” Amanda continued, “of her contributions to the efforts of Elizabeth Fry.”

“Fry?” Ash’s brows lifted. “You mean the woman that’s agitating for prison reform? Good God!” he said suddenly. “Don’t tell me Grandmama has been visiting Newgate.”

Amanda giggled. “No, she is quite incensed that Mrs. Fry will not take her.”

“Good God,” murmured Ash again. He cast a sidelong glance at Amanda. “Uh—do you have any plans to attach yourself to Mrs. Fry and her movement?”

“Would you object if I did?” asked Amanda with a smile that was tinged with sadness. The question was purely academic. If all went as she planned, Ash would soon be marrying a woman who would no more consider espousing an unpopular cause than she would walk naked down Piccadilly. To Amanda’s surprise, Ash appeared to consider her words seriously.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “God knows our prisons are a national shame. Not that we don’t need to do something about our other inequities. I’ve always thought that if and when I get things squared away at the Park, I’d become more active in the House of Lords.”

Amanda stared at him, listening to her heart break into great, jagged pieces. She had not realized how empty her life was in the twentieth century until she had come to know a man who would have filled it with joy and love. Unfortunately, that man had been born almost two hundred years too soon, not to mention the fact that he was in love with another woman.

“That’s very commendable,” she said shakily. She turned away, swallowing the tears she thought would choke her. It took all the self-control at her command to chatter brightly until they reached Gloucester House, where the marbles were currently being displayed.

Amanda had visited the British Museum on the first day of her arrival in that fair April of 1996. The Elgin Marbles were among the first items on her prioritized list of “things to see in England.” She had dutifully admired them, trying as she always did with such objects to visualize them as they had originally glowed in the sunlight of Athens over two thousand years ago. She had as little success at this as she did now, standing next to Ash.

“They’re very large, aren’t they?” she said at last,

“Mmp,” grunted Ash in agreement. “The women look as though they could wrestle bears.”

“Still, they are quite magnificent, are they not?”

“Quite. Or at least they would be if they still retained all their body parts. That fellow shaking his spear over there would be much more threatening if he weren’t missing his head. How long do we have to stay here?” he asked plaintively.

Amanda laughed. “I shall take pity on you. If you will take me to Gunter’s for an ice, we may leave right now.”

“Done!” said Ash with alacrity, propelling her toward the exit.

Later, at the famous pastry shop, Ash having gone inside to procure ices for himself and his lady, the two sat in the curricle, companionably nibbling the famous delicacy under the trees that shaded Berkeley Square.

“Thank you for taking me to see the marbles,” said Amanda at last. “You have truly performed above and beyond the call of a fiancé this last week.”

“I should rather think so!” exclaimed Ash, much struck. “I cannot think of another man of my acquaintance who has made such a cake of himself—swanning about London like the veriest gapeseed. First there was the menagerie at the Tower, then the Egyptian Hall, and Westminster Abbey after that. I almost drew the line at Hampton Court Palace, only my staunch sense of duty—”

“All right, all right,” said Amanda, lifting a hand in protest. “You have my profound thanks for so lowering yourself.”

At that moment, Ash reached to brush a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. “It has been my pleasure, my dear,” he said in all seriousness. “For I like the bluestocking much better than the empty-headed butterfly I used to think you. I wonder now how I could have been so mistaken. Or were you going about in disguise?”

Amanda, shaken, took refuge in a bantering tone. “It was simply that you never took the time to know the real me, sir. I have always been as you see me.”

Which was perfectly true, of course, in a manner of speaking, but mostly it was decidedly untrue, a fact of which Amanda was only too aware.

The news from Belgium continued unpromising, and two days later on a quiet Sunday afternoon, a grim Jeremiah once again summoned Ash to the Bridge home. Amanda greeted him at the door and stood by his side as Jeremiah, hurrying from his study, spoke harshly, without preamble. “Wellington has gone down to defeat.”

“What?” exclaimed Ash.

“The news has been pouring in all day. The Prussians were routed at the outset of the confrontation between Boney and Wellington, and Boney followed up with one of his lightening strikes. Wellington had to fall back beyond the River Sambre.”

“Are you saying that Wellington has retreated?”

“No, you idiot, I’m saying that your precious Wellington has been beat, foot, horse, and artillery. We might have known,” he concluded bitterly, “that he could not win in a face-to-face confrontation with Napoleon.”

“But, how do you know all this?”

“It’s common knowledge in the City. Bonaparte is in Brussels right now, dictating terms.”

Amanda, watching Ash’s white-faced reaction to Jeremiah’s words, slipped her hand in his. She felt his fingers tighten around hers.

“There’s complete panic in the City,” continued Jeremiah. “Every jobber in the place is rushing around trying to sell, and that’s what I’ve done, too. Took a gawd-awful loss, but I’ve got my fingers in a lot of pies and I can stand the blunt. My advice to you, young feller,” he continued, jabbing a finger into Ash’s cravat, “is to sell your stock as well. We’ll use Gliddings, my man of business. He’ll get you the best possible price.” He pulled Ash toward the door. “We must go now. If we leave it any longer you’ll have a disaster on your hands.”

Carefully removing Jeremiah’s hand from his sleeve, Ash shook his head. “I have not yet decided to sell, Mr. Bridge. Should I do so, I’ll get my own man to handle the transactions.”

“You fool!” shouted Jeremiah. “Don’t you understand what’s going on?”

“I think perhaps it is you who does not understand,” replied Ash coolly. “However, I promise I shall give serious thought to your advice.”

He turned to go, and Jeremiah, after one or two incomprehensible utterances, bellowed after him, “Just don’t count on me to save your groats on this, Ashindon!” Then, throwing up his hands, he swung about and stumped back to his study.

Amanda followed Ash, still clasping his hand.

“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.

He smiled somewhat painfully. “Despite what I just said to your father, I think I shall have to sell. I still believe in Wellington, but I cannot afford to lose everything. Your father has promised to restore my—our home, but I’m determined to get back on my feet on my own. The thought of being eternally beholden to that man—I’m sorry, Amanda, I know he’s your father, but...”

His mouth tightened and Amanda longed to lay her fingers along the rigid line of his jaw.

“But you mustn’t sell, Ash,” she whispered, her voice rough with intensity. “Wellington is winning. I tell you, within two days Napoleon will be skulking back to Paris with his tail between his legs.”

Ash’s expression relaxed a fraction. “Your patriotism is commendable, my dear, but in this instance you are delving into matters of which you have no knowledge.” He placed his curly brimmed beaver hat atop his head, pushing it into a jaunty angle. “I must be off to, er, save my groats,” he said, with an effort at lightness that was painful to behold.

“No!” Almost dizzy with the conflicting thoughts that raced through her brain, Amanda clung to his sleeve. Dear God, if only she had more time to think! Pausing for the merest instant to collect herself, she came to a decision.