Sattler, Veronica (31 page)

Whereas
with Ashleigh, what? Just exactly what
were
his feelings in that regard?
Briefly Brett reviewed his acquaintance with Ashleigh Sinclair, finishing with
a close mental scrutiny of the past twenty-four hours. Slowly—for he was loathe
to probe too deeply—he found himself admitting that a change had begun to take
place in his regard for the girl. But what did that mean? That he was attracted
to her physically? This he had no trouble accepting; lust was a familiar
companion in his life by now. But his lustful pursuits had never demanded
exclusivity in the women he used before now. And besides, he himself had put
Ashleigh off-limits; she was not to be touched by him again. So why was it that
he suddenly felt himself gripped by—
Good God in Heaven!
he thought; I
cannot possibly be
jealous!

But
even as he denied it, a peal of merriment from Ashleigh Sinclair, in response
to something Christopher was sharing with her, sent a hot flush of rage through
Brett's body. Knowing he'd never before experienced such emotions, he chose to
give them a form he did recognize. Ashleigh Sinclair was a female, wasn't she?
And all females practiced to deceive, regardless of the innocence they
presented on the surface. Well, this was one female that wouldn't get to
him!

Brett
relaxed in his chair. There, he'd found the problem and neatly handled it. Now
he could be himself again and enjoy his guests, even enjoy his birthday.

But
as he glanced again across the terrace and saw Ashleigh bestow her dazzling
smile on Ranleagh, a small voice mocked,
Can you?

Once
luncheon was concluded, Brett, with Elizabeth clinging to his arm, moved among
the guests to make suggestions as to how they might wish to spend their time
until the formal dinner, which would be served at eight and be followed by
dancing in the Hall's ballroom upstairs. Some of the guests merely opted to
retire to their chambers—which by now had been aired and made ready, to
Chauncey Jameson's utter relief—some chose to avail themselves of the duke's
excellent choice of mounts in the stables and go riding, while yet others
decided to remain downstairs and chat in one of the drawing rooms or to wander
casually through the gardens leading down from the terrace.

It
was this last that Christopher Edwards suggested to Ashleigh as a means of
passing the time, and as it was such a perfect day for being out of doors, she
agreed. They strolled along a pebbled path flanked by hedgerows of boxwood and
yew, chatting about subjects ranging from the unusual spell of fair weather
Kent was enjoying to the beauty of the gardens, but all the while Ashleigh had
the distinct impression it was not the weather or the gardens that piqued the
handsome nobleman's interest, but she herself. Frequently she would look up to
find Christopher's eyes on her, their green depths lit by a glimmer she could
by no stretch of her wits attribute to the mundane topics on which they
conversed.

As
for Ashleigh, she found this attention flattering and the earl a comfortable
companion, but that was the extent of it; no pulses fluttered in her breast and
no sighs escaped her lips. The earl was obviously a man many considered a
charmer, but he left her feeling singularly uncharmed. Still, he was good
company in a social setting where she knew almost no one, and for that she was
grateful.

They
were approaching a place where the path widened and then gave way to a cleared,
grassy space where a few garden benches rested, and here they heard several
voices. Looking up, Ashleigh spied a small group of unfamiliar people who sat
and conversed while two she did recognize stood nearby.

The
latter were Lady Pamela Marlowe and the marquis of Wright—who, halfway through
luncheon had insisted she call him Will—and as she and the earl approached, the
marquis merely smiled a greeting to them.

The
reason for the marquis's silence seemed to be his reluctance to interrupt the
discourse of a serious-looking young man who was seated near them and talking
in animated fashion to an equally serious-looking young woman on the opposite
bench.

"And
so you see, Mary," the young man was saying, "in the end we may view
history as nothing more than the ongoing struggle between liberty and tyranny,
with sometimes one in the ascendency, and sometimes the other. In the periods
of democratic ascendency—for example, the Golden Age of ancient Greece—culture
and literature flourish, while in the ages of tyranny—for instance, during the
decline and fall of Rome—they stagnate and die."

The
young woman addressed as Mary nodded. "History is cyclical, then? Oh,
Percy, how depressing! If that were true, we might now merely view the great
advances of liberty in the American and French revolutions as being subject to
a decline with the first strong countermovement—"

"No,
no, my dear—not cyclical, but spiral!" her companion exclaimed. "The
forces of freedom and progress, I feel certain, are now in so secure a position
that no oppression, however bitter, can detain them from a relentless and
inevitable climb to a higher social order."

Mary
smiled. "An egalitarian social order such as my father envisioned in his
Political
Justice,
of course."

Christopher
bent to whisper in Ashleigh's ear, very softly, so as not to interrupt the
serious discussion they were witnessing. "That would be the 1793
publication of the social philosopher, William Godwin. Mary Godwin is his
daughter."

"I
see," Ashleigh returned as she nodded.

"Not
completely," Christopher told her with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"For while Miss Godwin is aptly known as the daughter of two famous—or
perhaps I should say infamous?—people—Mary Wollstonecraft, the bluestocking is
her mother—she is more readily identified at the moment as the love interest of
young Percy Shelley here, and, unless I miss my guess, one of the major figures
of a scandal in the making."

"Ohh."
Ashleigh nodded, remembering Brett's mention of the name Shelley... what had
been the reference...? Ah, yes, he was a poet or philosopher of some sort...
but what did the earl mean by "a scandal in the making"? She glanced
up at Christopher and was about to question him on this when the raised voice
of Percy Shelley intervened.

"Brett!
I was wondering where you'd gone to!"

All
heads turned to see their host walking toward them on the path, Lady Elizabeth
possessively holding his arm.

"Shelley,
you scamp!" accused Brett with no small hint of amusement in his turquoise
eyes. "I might have known you'd slip in unannounced. When did you
arrive?"

"Oh,"
replied Shelley, "in the midst of the decadent luncheon you and your
millions were setting forth. But, truth to tell, Mary and I had dined en route,
so we begged your majordomo's leave to take a stroll in your well-manicured
gardens and await your pleasure here until the feasting was done."

Ashleigh
had no doubt that by his intonation of "well-manicured gardens" Percy
Shelley was being as critical as he'd been with the term "decadent
luncheon." The man was obviously a reformer, if not a political radical,
and she wondered at the strangeness of his obvious friendship with one of
England's foremost members of the aristocratic peerage.

"Really,
though, Percy," Brett was saying, "knowing you as I do, I should have
thought the natural beauty of the greenery would count for something in your
aesthetic ideal. But, come now, we can pursue that argument later. For now, there
are acquaintances to be made. Have you met my fiancée? Allow me to
introduce..."

Brett
proceeded to make introductions all around, although, in the case of the earl
of Ranleagh, it was only Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin he presented, as
Christopher and Percy were already acquainted. Ashleigh smiled politely at the
poet and his lady friend when it was her turn, then found herself blushing
under young Shelley's appreciative gaze, which seemed to linger a few seconds
more than might be deemed proper before he bowed over her outstretched hand and
murmured, "Enchanting... and lovely... yes, so lovely...."

The
final introductions involved the marquis of Wright and Lady Pamela Marlowe, and
no sooner had Shelley released Pamela's hand than the honey-haired beauty
turned from the poet and fixed her cold amber gaze on Elizabeth Hastings.

"Lady
Elizabeth," she drawled, "when we met earlier, in the drawing room, I
hadn't the opportunity to tell you how beautiful I find your dress." Her
glance filled a pause in her speech and coolly traversed the length of the
powder-blue silk afternoon gown Elizabeth wore with a matching shawl trimmed in
white lace. "Of course," she continued, "it is a pity, isn't it,
that it's a bit overdone for afternoon wear?" A brittle laugh punctuated
her speech here. "But of course, how silly of me! You're probably far more
clever than the rest of us. This way you won't have to bother changing for
tonight's festivities. You're already dressed for the evening."

Elizabeth
Hastings's eyes flashed silver fire, and she visibly stiffened on Brett's arm.
"But of course I shall change for dinner, Lady Pamela," she countered.
"After all, I have an abundant selection in my private chamber upstairs.
You see," she intoned as her eyes narrowed on the honey blonde, "I've
already been in residence here for some weeks—it makes planning our wedding so
much easier, you know." She finished with a sugary smile at Brett as she
gazed up at him with a possessive look in her eyes.

As
Ashleigh felt the sparks fly between these two, she wondered, as official
hostess, what she might say to halt the conflagration that was surely coming.
Notwithstanding Christopher's anticipation of difficulties, Lady Pamela had
been surprisingly quiet during the luncheon, although her glares in the
affianced couple's direction had told their story; but now it seemed she'd
merely been biding her time until a direct confrontation might allow her the
proper opportunity to vent her spleen, and judging by the look in those amber
eyes, she had only begun!

But
it was Percy Shelley who saved Ashleigh the necessity of a prudent
interruption, although later Ashleigh was to wonder at exactly how prudent it
had been.

"So,
you are to succumb to matrimony at last!" He grinned at Brett. "Well,
I suppose, for one with such extensive holdings as yours, it was inevitable.
Your kind will affix its stamp of ownership where it can."

"Why,
whatever do you mean, sir?" inquired Elizabeth with an air of growing
indignation.

"Yes,
Percy, do elucidate," added Brett, his grin matching Shelley's.

"Why,
Your Grace, simply this: From its earliest inception, marriage has been an
institution set forth by men to signify their ownership of women. Women, in
ruder ages and countries, were considered the property of men because they were
the materials of usefulness or pleasure. They were valuable to them in the same
manner as their flocks and herds were valuable, and it was important to men's
interests that they should retain undisturbed possession. The same dread of
insecurity that gave birth to those laws or opinions that defend the security
of property suggested also the institution of marriage; that is, a contrivance
for keeping property that others might try to take away.

"Now,
of course, we are all aware that much has occurred to modify the nature of this
institution between then and now, but I wonder... Has the basic premise, that
is, of male ownership, really altered?" He finished this speech with a
questioning smile as he looked at the engaged couple.

If
Elizabeth was indignant before his lengthy explanation, she was fairly
bristling now. "I suppose you are entitled to your opinions, sir, but I
can assure you, your pretty speech was spoken only as one who has never entered
the bonds of wedlock himself."

"Ah!
But you are mistaken, my lady!" It was Mary Godwin who spoke now.
"Percy
is
married and has been for three years!"

"What?"
exclaimed Elizabeth. "But I thought that—that is, didn't I hear your name
to be Godwin?"

Mary
laughed. "And truly, it is! Percy is wed, but not to
me!
Mrs.
Shelley's name is Harriet. I am Percy's mistress!"

Elizabeth
blanched, and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence as all looked on,
watching her digest this news. At last she straightened and said, quite
woodenly, to the poet and his companion, "Yes... I see... I do,
indeed." Margaret's lecture in her chamber had gone home.

But
Elizabeth wasn't the only one to be shocked by Mary's admission. Ashleigh found
herself in quite a quandary over what she was witnessing. Despite her
reservations about the revolutionary thinking of Shelley and his companion, she
had found herself liking them somehow. Not only were their views given forth
with a great deal of idealistic enthusiasm, but it was clear they were
committed to being honest and forthright about who and what they were and what
they believed in. And they both seemed utterly pleasant and likable besides,
each with a ready smile and open countenance. What a world of difference
between these two and the hidden snipes and barbs that had flown between the
ladies Elizabeth and Pamela!