Elisabeth Kidd (18 page)

Alicia put on her diplomatic smile. “You may depend on me, Randolph, dear.”

Chapter 12

Captain Ashton reached Northampton just before dark, having left London that afternoon. He drove himself in the same light curricle he had left Ashtonbury Abbey in, a minimum of baggage piled beside him, after deciding on the spur of the moment to take up Lady Northrup’s written invitation—no doubt instigated by Lavinia and her mother, but generously worded just the same—to stop with them in town for as long as he liked. He still had no desire to go to London, but he was desperate enough to hope a change of scene might at least clear his mind.

It had turned out to be less of an ordeal that he supposed, and he had stayed nearly a fortnight, but the tug of home—and the more acute desire to see Sabina, for any reason—was more powerful than any attractions of the capital.

It would have been more sensible, he supposed, to delay his departure until first light the next morning, but he had had his fill of visiting and sightseeing and even the friendships he had made or renewed, and once having made up his mind, he did not stay five minutes longer than he needed to throw his belongings into his curricle and harness the horses.

He drove several teams hard and now, at last, had exhausted himself. He handed the reins to an ostler and went into the inn. He did not care if they no longer had any rooms available; he could sleep under the stars perfectly well. But he was hungry enough to fix his own supper if the cook could not be aroused.

Had it been only ten days since he left Leicestershire? It seemed forever, although now that he had put some distance between himself and the metropolis, that time seemed at last to be fading into insignificance. It had seemed an eternity while it lasted.

It had been Lavinia’s persistent hints, suggestions, and unvoiced disappointment in him which had driven him to depart for London after a particularly trying breakfast, although it was nearer the truth that he had simply been unable to come up with any other plan. Even Dulcie Bromley had admitted that it would not hurt to try absenting himself for a short time in the hope that it would make Sabina’s heart grow fonder.

On his journey down, Robert had mulled over the advice he had received from various quarters and found it all wise but somehow impossible to follow.

I should counsel patience
, Richard had said. This was eminently sensible, given that there was little fear of Sabina’s falling in love with someone else—so long as patience did not stretch to years. Time was notoriously debilitating to all passions. In any case, Robert’s patience was not boundless.

Plan your campaign
, Nicky had advised,
make her jealous
. But Robert did not know how to make Sabina believe he was interested in another woman without taking unfair advantage of another woman just for the sake of the charade. As for making Sabina envious of him in some other way—what did he have that she might covet? His freedom, perhaps. But despite the restrictions of her father’s will, she doubtless commanded as large a fortune as he did, more than enough to make her independent. He had never believed that money was all it took; one needed a certain indifference to convention. Sabina admittedly lacked that; she would not be so committed to The Quarrel if she could easily set tradition aside.

Make her see what she fears more than loving you
, Rose had said. He did not believe that Sabina feared anything else. Yet, he had left—temporarily at least—in the hope that losing him, if not the worst fate that might befall her, might at least make Sabina think again about what she really felt for him.

Not that she would ever lose him. He could never leave her. He would always need to be near her.

* * * *

Robert’s Aunt and Uncle Northrup had welcomed him warmly to their mansion in Brook Street and, forewarned by her sister, the Countess of Kimborough, Lady Northrup had secured invitations to more events than Robert could possibly attend in two weeks—the time he had told Dulcie he would stay away and assured Lavinia was more than enough to make his presence felt among those people she felt deserved to be gratified by the attentions of an Ashton. He did not promise to dance with any debutantes; apart from the awkwardness resulting from his wounded leg, he knew better than to raise any hopes where none could possibly be fulfilled.

“It is a pity,” said Lady Northrup, “that the Season will not begin properly for at least another month. London is distressingly thin of company just now—except for those of us who are too indolent to travel to the country or abroad for the summer, that is. But I daresay you would much prefer not to be overwhelmed by dinners and balls, Robert dear. A few soirées and a card party or two will be much less taxing.”

Despite his hostess’s assurances, it seemed to Robert that there were a great many people still resident in the metropolis even during the sultriest weather, and he found himself invited to any number of events to which he could not put a name but which involved walking, riding, eating, or playing cards, in some combination. He also found himself smiled at by hopeful mamas, glared at by resentful younger men, and surrounded by variously pretty females who were by turns demure, daring, and doting. He could not remember any of their faces even the next day, although he dutifully followed Lady Northrup’s lead in leaving his card at their residences.

Occasionally, he would catch sight of a taller, darker girl on the other side of a room or a dining table, and for a moment his heart leapt. But it was never her.

“My dear boy,” Lady Northrup said to him one night when they had just come home from an evening at the opera, “you are breaking hearts all over town. You could have any one of those charming young things to hold in your palm and make it whole again, if you will only choose. What about Miss Hutchings?”

“Too short.”

“They are all too short for you, my dear, gigantic Robert. Surely it cannot be your only requirement in a wife, that she be tall?”

Never having considered what his requirements for a wife were, he could think only of those qualities, good and bad, which were Sabina Bromley’s. Never having considered what he wanted, he had known exactly what it was when he first laid eyes on the right woman. And any substitute must be a poor one.

“I’m sorry, Aunt. I fear I am doomed to remain a bachelor. But I thank you for the opera. I enjoyed that immensely.”

“Yes,” remarked Lady Northrup dryly, “I noticed that you actually watched the stage and listened to the music. Poor Lady Haversham was madly signaling to you from her box the entire time, and you never noticed.”

“I
am
sorry. Ah…who is Lady Haversham?”

Lady Northrup had to laugh at that, and Robert was glad to know that she was, after all, very little like her sister. She could at least accept his feelings, if not understand them, and she was never offended by his lack of social graces or interest in what everyone else in London seemed obsessed by.

“Very well, Robert. I wash my hands of you. I should say, I hereby cease taking any responsibility for your entertainment, although of course you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like if you find amusement which is more to your liking in town. I shall not, needless to say, confess my failure to Lavinia or your brother.”

Robert smiled, then rose when she excused herself to seek her bed and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Aunt. I
am
sorry to be such a poor prospect.”

“Do stop apologizing in that exasperating way, Robert. But do not forget to say good-bye when you decide you have had enough.”

“I won’t.”

Nonetheless, Robert unexpectedly found a reason to linger when he decided to look up some of his army fellows. It occurred to him that dining with them at their clubs or inspecting the horseflesh at Tattersall’s with some former cavalrymen might prove pastime much more to his liking than sitting about in cramped drawing rooms. And so it transpired. For a few blessed days, he felt as if he were on leave and would be called back to duty at any time, but in the meanwhile he intended to enjoy himself with no thought of the coming campaign.

One morning, however, the future intruded on him again. He had presented himself at White’s Club, early for a luncheon appointment, and found Mr. Augustus Gerard, late of the 12th Light Dragoons, lounging at his ease in the library. He looked up when Robert came in and greeted him cheerfully.

“Robin, old man, I know just the girl for you!”

“No, you don’t, Ger. Take my word for it.”

Robert was about to sink into a chair, but stayed his descent momentarily, hoping to escape another foray into this tiresome topic. Augustus waved at him to sit down.

“Hear me out, old fellow. Besides, you Union Brigade fellows still owe the 12th for services rendered.”

“And never let us forget it.”

Augustus grinned, having raised the reminder to his satisfaction. “Here’s the thing, Robin. Jane’s a great gun, not looking for a beau, but she’s in desperate need of a man like you. You would be doing her a great favor by living in her pocket for a week or two.”

Intrigued in spite of himself, Robert seated himself and said, “Very well, tell me the whole, for I cannot imagine what you are thinking.”

Captain Gerard explained that his cousin, Lady Jane Portman, had been in Paris after the surrender, where she fell in love with a French émigré who had just returned from exile and was attempting to reclaim his estates.

“Her father heard about it and made her come home, intending to put a stop to the affair.”

“Why? He sounds eligible enough to me.”

“But he’s French, you see. It don’t matter to my Uncle if he’s as rich as Croesus or as high-born as the Prince Regent or that he fought
against
Boney. He won’t have his girl married to a frog.”

“I take it Lady Jane thinks differently?”

“Of course—you’ll understand when you meet her. In fact—and I tell you this in strictest confidence, Robin—they are already married. Did the thing secretly in Calais before she came home. She thinks that as soon as Marius settles his affairs and she can present him to her papa, all will be well. And if my uncle still don’t approve—well, she’s prepared to do without his approval. Personally, I think she should tell the prosy old bore that she don’t need his approval, because she don’t, but she says she sees no reason to make an enemy of her own father—”

Robert interrupted what looked like developing into familial complaints of the kind he was all too familiar with.

“And how do I fit into this romantic tale?” he asked.

“Jane’s mother is after her to go out in society and be squired about by some eligible fellows and as soon as can be to get herself betrothed to some Englishman—preferably one who can trace his line back to the Conquest. The Season’s not even started, and Jane’s already having a time of it to fend off the fortune hunters.”

“An heiress, is she?”

“Came into the world hosed and shod, as they say.”

“Pretty?”

Captain Gerald hesitated at this, but cousinly honesty prevailed. “Well, she ain’t bad looking, and I’ll go bail she won’t go to fat or get horse-faced when she’s older. A long meg, she is, but nice eyes, if I do say so, and not stupid.”

“And when does
Monsieur le époux
arrive to claim his English bride?”

“That’s it, you see. He should be here by now. Jane’s hoping it won’t be more than another sennight—certainly before the Season starts, or she’ll really be in the soup then, what with the relations expecting her to be entertaining any number of more suitable offers by that time.”

Sensing he had caught his friend’s interest, Augustus leaned forward to make a last appeal to his chivalry. “What do you say, Robin? The two of you are in the same boat in a way, aren’t you? Neither looking to enter the marriage mart, but you’re stuck here in town for the time being with relatives breathing down your necks. Like I say, you could save each other a deal of botheration.”

Robert considered for a moment. If Lady Jane were willing to go along with this little deception—and it was no means certain that Gerard’s assurances of her agreeability meant that she had even heard of his plan—a mild deception, short of term and innocent in intent, might indeed be to his benefit as well. Besides, he had no other reason to hang about London for another week that was in the least appealing.

“All right, Ger, introduce me to your cousin.”

This was accomplished the same evening at a musical evening sponsored by Lady Jane’s hostess, a Mrs. Callendar, who had apparently once been her governess. Robert was interested to see that her cousin’s description did Lady Jane Portman little justice. True, she was not a diamond of the first water, but she was a willowy creature with fair hair, a fine complexion, and a pair of large, candid hazel eyes that smiled when her lips did. More important, she was intelligent and not hesitant to show it. And she was almost as tall as Sabina Bromley.

“Good evening, Captain Ashton,” she said when he presented himself at Mrs. Callendar’s Mount Street home, an address which indicated that the family had been fond enough of their former employee to set her up in style on her retirement. “Augustus has told me
all
about you.”

She smiled impishly at that, and Robert had to smile back. “Surely not
all
, Lady Jane. He doesn’t
know
all, despite his air of doing so.”

“Yes, he is looking a little smug this evening, isn’t he?” the lady said, taking Robert’s arm to lead him into a large parlor where a dozen guests of varying ages and relationships to one another were gathered. Robert knew none of them other than Lady Jane and her cousin, but he was glad to see there was not even one other eligible young lady present. Furthermore, the tone of the evening appeared to be relaxed in the extreme; introductions were of the most perfunctory nature, several conversations were going on at once, and his hostess gave Robert only the most cursory, if cordial, of greetings before inviting him to help himself from the various refreshments displayed on a sideboard.