The Transformation Of Miss Ashworth

‘How good it is to see you again, and looking so well,’ he said softly.

All the time he was peering down intently at each delicate feature in turn, as though to assure himself that the boy-girl who had trailed about after him over the estate like some adoring puppy all those many years ago and this self- assured young woman now standing before him were indeed one and the same person.

Their years apart had undoubtedly been good to her. There was no sign now of the pretty plumpness of youth. Bright blue eyes considered him levelly above high cheekbones. The small, straight nose and the contours of her perfectly moulded mouth had not changed as far as he could tell. Only the firmness of the jawline seemed more marked, and there was a suspicion now of determination in the set of the slightly pointed little chin.

‘You look very well, Beth, my dear. Very well indeed,’ he assured her, releasing her hands the instant he felt her attempting to withdraw them.

‘And so do you, Philip,’ she returned, bestowing a smile upon him that emphasised wonderfully well those beneficial changes in her appearance…

When I first began to write historical romances for Mills & Boon I did so by writing six books, all of which were linked by one or more characters. I have once again returned to a linking theme with my next two novels.

In each story one of the main characters—one male, one female—has been involved in the Peninsular Campaign. Their reasons for going out to Portugal and Spain are vastly contrasting, and both are changed by their experiences.

Both stories begin in September 1814, after our hero and heroine have returned to England, at a time when Napoleon is still in exile on the Isle of Elba and people believe the conflict with France is finally over.

Observing the courtesies practised during the Regency period—ladies first—THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH centres on Miss Bethany Ashworth’s story.

I hope you enjoy it.

Anne Ashley was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a time in Scotland, but now makes her home in the West Country, with two cats, her two sons, and a husband who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humour. When not pounding away at the keys of her word processor, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.

Recent novels by the same author:

A NOBLE MAN*

LORD EXMOUTH’S INTENTIONS*

THE RELUCTANT MARCHIONESS

TAVERN WENCH

BELOVED VIRAGO

LORD HAWKRIDGE’S SECRET

BETRAYED AND BETROTHED

A LADY OF RARE QUALITY

LADY GWENDOLEN INVESTIGATES

*part of the Regency mini-series The Steepwood Scandal

THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH

Anne Ashley

Chapter One

September 1814

With a heartfelt sigh Miss Bethany Ashworth transferred her gaze from what had once been very familiar countryside indeed, and focused her attention on her sole travelling companion.

‘I’m so weary, Ann,’ she revealed softly, ‘so very tired, now, of it all.’

The admission was instantly acknowledged by a soft smile, which managed to combine both affection and sympathy. ‘Hardly surprising, my dear. We’ve both done more than our fair share of jaunting about Europe during these past five years or so. And speaking for myself, I’ve found this last journey from Paris particularly trying.’

‘It isn’t the travelling I find irksome,’ Beth revealed, once again turning her attention to the view beyond the window. ‘It’s my own indecisiveness, not knowing my own mind, that I find so confoundedly bothersome.’ She gave vent to a shout of self-deprecating laughter. ‘I’ve frequently deplored the lack of resolution displayed by so many of our sex. Yet here I am now, indulging in just such a weakness myself! I shall have to take myself roundly to task, and do some very hard thinking in the not-too-distant future.’

Brown eyes betrayed a degree of concern. ‘Are you trying to say you now regret your decision to return, here, to your childhood home? I remember, after your dear papa passed away, you were quite undecided.’

‘No, I don’t regret that,’ Beth answered, before a faintly enigmatic smile curled what more than one gentleman in recent years had considered a perfectly shaped feminine mouth. ‘It might yet prove a means to an end. But whether I shall choose to remain indefinitely is quite another matter. Thankfully, we shan’t be forced to stay should we become restless. Which should come as no great surprise to either of us, considering the life we’ve led in recent years. And Papa, bless him, has ensured I’m no pauper. I could reside permanently in the capital should I choose to do so. Perhaps not in one of the most favoured locations, but at least at an address that is not frowned upon. But, no, Ann, I don’t regret returning to the house I grew up in,’ she reiterated, her mind turning to more mundane, practical matters. ‘And providing the indispensable Rudge has done his job, it will provide us both with a very comfortable abode for as long as we choose to stay.’

The older woman appeared a good deal easier having learned this. ‘Well, I for one am very much looking forward to residing in your childhood home, and putting down roots. I’m seven years your senior, remember, and rather weary now of the nomadic life, even if you are not.’

‘In that case, my dear Ann, I shall do my utmost to speed up our arrival,’ and, so saying, Beth pulled down the window to instruct the post-boys to turn off the road directly ahead.

The chaise then drew to a halt before a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates. One of the post-boys gave a blast on his horn to alert the gatekeeper to their presence, and a few moments later a small, stocky figure emerged from the lodge, looking anything but pleased at being summoned so summarily.

‘And what be your business ’ere at Staveley Court, may I ask?’ he demanded to know, the sight of a post-chaise-and-four seemingly having made no impression upon him whatsoever.

‘My business is my own affair,’ Beth called, half-smiling, thereby alerting the gatekeeper to her presence. ‘So just you look lively, and unlock those gates and let me pass, George Dodd, otherwise I might well be tempted to play the talebearer and have a word with your master when next I see him.’

For a full half-minute the gatekeeper peered between the iron bars at the hatless young lady staring back at him from the chaise window, before his craggy, weather-beaten face eventually broke into a near-toothless grin.

‘God bless my soul! As I live and breathe, if it ain’t you, Miss Bethany! And after all these years an’ all!’ he exclaimed, throwing wide the gates without further ado, and then moving as swiftly as his arthritic, bow legs would carry him to the side of the vehicle.

‘Never thought to see you back ’ere again,’ he declared, his beady-brown eyes betraying a suspicion of tears as he stared up at a face he well remembered.’

‘How are you, Dodd? she asked gently. ‘Still suffering with the old joints, I see.’

‘I do well enough, miss. All the better for seeing you. And I fancy I won’t be the only one, neither. The master be up at the ’ouse. Come back from Lunnon weeks back.’

All at once Beth’s radiant and unforgettable smile began to fade. ‘Truth to tell, Dodd, I’m not here to see your master. I’ve been travelling for the best part of three weeks, and thought to make use of the short cut across Sir Philip’s land. But I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

‘Bless you, Miss Beth, you go right on ahead. Master wouldn’t mind you crossing ’is land, that I do know.’

Staveley Court was not so much distinguished by its size as by its architectural splendour, and the magnificence of its surrounding park, which could be viewed unrestricted from most every room in the house. Consequently Lady Chalford had had little difficulty in following the progress of the post-chaise-and-four from her brother’s west-facing library window.

‘You didn’t mention at luncheon that you were expecting visitors, Philip. I wouldn’t have taken my customary afternoon nap had I known. You may as well make use of me during the time I’m here. At the very least I could have made your visitors welcome.’

The shapely hand moving back and forth across the page did not falter even for an instant, as the recipient of this disclosure confirmed his only caller that day had been his steward in the forenoon.

Lady Chalford’s brows came together in rare show of disapproval. ‘In that case, dear brother, someone is once again taking advantage of your good nature. I’ve told you before, Philip, you are far too tolerant in many respects, too complaisant by half! It’s common knowledge that, since the war, pockets of unrest have sprung up all over the country. Why, look what happened to you earlier this summer. Someone tried to take a pot-shot at you. And it’s of no use your pretending otherwise! You simply cannot afford to let strangers trespass on your property, even if they are travelling in a post-chaise-and-four.’

Completely unruffled, Sir Philip Staveley signed his name with a flourish, before rising to his feet and joining his sister at the window. ‘I would be extremely surprised, Connie, if that shooting accident was anything other than just that. Remember, it took place on my land. In all probability the culprit was one of my neighbours’ over-enthusiastic sons discharging his gun without due care. And as for that carriage… I very much doubt all the occupants can be total strangers, otherwise entry would have been barred, most especially by Dodd on the east gate. Furthermore, that conveyance, unless I much mistake the matter, has travelled some distance, possibly from London.’

Lady Chalford turned her head to stare up at her much taller brother, thereby instantly revealing a similarity or two in their profiles. Both had inherited certain Staveley facial characteristics—the long, thin aristocratic nose, not to mention clear, grey eyes.

Unlike his sister’s, however, Sir Philip’s orbs had once betrayed a disarming twinkle that a great many members of the fair sex had found most winning. His hair, a shade or two darker than his more mature sibling’s, swept back in soft waves from a high, intelligent forehead. A firm jaw-line, a shapely yet not overgenerous mouth, and a pair of gracefully arching brows above those thickly lashed eyes were all features worthy of note; and although he might not have been considered strictly handsome by the more fastidious among his class, a great many discerning female members considered him most attractive.

Which was more than could be said for his sister, whose youthful bloom had long since faded, and whose thickening figure betrayed the fact that she had presented her spouse with several pledges of her affection during fourteen years of marriage. Notwithstanding, even her fiercest critics would never have stigmatised Lady Chalford as an ill-favoured woman. In fact, when animated, as now, she still held an appeal to a certain number of the more mature members of the opposite sex.

‘You’re bamming me, Philip!’ she chided gently. ‘How can you possibly deduce that?’

‘By using my eyes and brain, Constance,’ he returned, slanting a mocking glance down at her. ‘Firstly, not many can afford the luxury of travelling in a post-chaise-and-four. Those in these parts with funds enough to do so, like myself, own their own carriages. Secondly, the majority of the larger houses in the locale lie to the north and east of my property. Furthermore, there is only one house situated on the western boundary whose owner has been absent for any length of time, and whose return might well be undertaken in a hired carriage.’

Lady Chalford’s jaw dropped perceptively, a clear indication that her mind had woken up to a startling possibility. ‘You don’t suppose, do you, that young Bethany Ashworth has returned home after all these years?’

Unlike his sister, Sir Philip betrayed no emotion whatsoever as he said, ‘Naturally, I shan’t know for sure, until I’ve consulted with Dodd. All the same, it’s a distinct possibility. Augustus Ashworth, together with his associates and members of his family, was among the favoured few who attained permission from our sire to take a short cut across the park in order to reach the village more quickly.’

As the post-chaise at last disappeared from view behind a screen of stately elms, Sir Philip moved across the room in the direction of a small table upon which several decanters stood. ‘Common report would have me believe the shutters have been removed from the Grange’s windows these past three weeks or more, and that a couple of village girls have been hired to work in the house. Seemingly someone, I know not who, has been buying in supplies of food, and making use of several local tradesmen in order to make the house ready for habitation.’

‘It stands to reason, then, that Bethany must be returning home,’ Lady Chalford concluded, after having accepted the glass of ratafia her brother held out to her. ‘What other explanation could there possibly be?’ she asked, rearranging her skirts as she made herself comfortable in one of the chairs.

Seating himself opposite, Sir Philip gazed across at his sister with lazy affection. Fond of her though he had always been, he had never rated her capacity for understanding very highly. At the same time he did appreciate her finer qualities. For instance, she was, basically, a very kind person, never one to bear a grudge or utter a deliberately unkind remark. Moreover, as she had never attempted to make unreasonable demands on his time, he was able to ignore for the most part her less favourable traits when she did choose to inflict her company upon him for a prolonged stay.

‘Several, my dear,’ he responded, after fortifying himself from his glass. ‘Dodd, as I mentioned before, must have recognised at least one occupant of that vehicle, otherwise he would not have allowed entry. It might have been Beth, of course. Or it might easily have been the late Colonel Ashworth’s man of business, who could well have received instructions to ensure the house is in good order for a new occupant.’

He couldn’t forbear a smile at his sister’s look of utter bewilderment. ‘Evidently you hadn’t considered the possibility that Beth might have chosen to sell the house in order to live elsewhere, possibly abroad,’ he went on. ‘After all, she’s lived away from these shores long enough. And now I come to think about it, when last I saw Lady Henrietta Barfield during the Season she mentioned something about her niece’s intention to remain in Paris for a while.’

All at once Lady Chalford was silent, clearly in a world of her own, before surprisingly announcing, ‘Do you know, Philip, I always considered her actions most strange.’

Philip paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips again to gaze across indulgently at his sibling. Clearly her thoughts had spun off at a tangent. In which direction, however, was anybody’s guess.

He wisely took the precaution of taking a further fortifying mouthful from the contents of his glass before asking, ‘Are we referring to Beth, now, or Lady Henrietta?’

‘Why, Bethany, of course!’ his sister exclaimed, clearly amazed at having been asked the question in the first place. ‘I never quite understood why she went to live with her mother’s relative in Plymouth. Surely Lady Henrietta Barfield was her favourite aunt?’

‘That I couldn’t say with any conviction,’ Philip responded. ‘After her mother’s demise, she certainly spent time with her father’s sister. And it’s also true to say that Lady Hetta, taking an active role in Beth’s upbringing, was a more frequent visitor to the Grange than any other relation. But you must remember that Colonel Ashworth was summoned urgently to London in the spring of ’08, and soon afterwards set sail with Wellesley for the Peninsula. Poor Beth was hardly granted much time in which to consider where she wished to reside. And who knows, maybe she felt that Lady Henrietta had interfered in her life quite enough. Or maybe she just didn’t wish to be an extra burden on the Barfield family at a time when they were fully occupied with matters relating to Eugenie’s future.’

At mention of his deceased fiancée, Lady Chalford shot her brother an anxious glance from beneath her lashes. It was rare, indeed, for him ever to allude to that period in his life, let alone his engagement to Lord Barfield’s beloved eldest daughter. During the past years, whenever the topic had been raised within her hearing, he had never been slow to change the subject.

Notwithstanding, this knowledge did not deter her from saying, ‘But that is precisely what I find so puzzling. She and Eugenie were so close—more like sisters than cousins, I seem to recall someone remarking once. One would have quite naturally supposed that Beth would have wanted to be with the Barfields at a time of such celebration.’

All at once it seemed as if her brother’s face had been cast into shadow, his lids lowering like shutters, concealing any emotion mirrored in his eyes.

‘As I said before, Constance, I’m sure Beth had her reasons for choosing to live with her late mother’s aunt. You may be lucky enough to satisfy your curiosity if she has, indeed, returned,’ her brother replied, with the all-too-familiar hint of finality in his tone that revealed clearly enough that he considered the topic at an end.

When residing at the Court Sir Philip generally kept country hours, and the following morning proved no exception. As his sister preferred to break her fast in her bedchamber, he enjoyed the leisure of a solitary breakfast, before setting off on horseback for the prearranged meeting with his steward.

It was a common sight to see the master of Staveley Court out and about at an early hour, astride one of his prime horses. From a very young age he had betrayed a keen interest in husbandry, and, since coming into the title, some seven years previously, his love of the land had not diminished in the least.

He concerned himself with every aspect of the day-to-day running of the estate, and the welfare of his tenants, who farmed his many acres of West Country land. His steward knew well enough that he could consult with his master on any problem, no matter how trivial, and made a practice of doing so quite frequently. All the same, as their meeting the day before had been fairly lengthy and involved, their business that morning was soon concluded, leaving Sir Philip with ample time to do as he wished before he need return to the Court for luncheon.

Finding himself close to the eastern boundary of the deer-park jogged his memory. Consequently, he turned his fine gelding in the direction of the gatehouse to discover one of his oldest employees busily working in a small vegetable patch.

‘Morning to ’ee, sir. Be ’ee wanting me to give the lads a ’and wi’ the logging again this autumn?’

‘Only if you feel up to it, Dodd,’ Philip answered, thereby betraying the affection in which he held this particularly loyal estate worker. ‘The reason I’m here is to ask you about a certain post-chaise-and-four I spied crossing the park late yesterday afternoon. The occupant made no attempt to come up to the house. Was it from this gate entry was gained?’

‘God bless you, sir, ’twere indeed! And ’twere none other than Miss Bethany ’erself come ’ome after all these years, would you believe!’ The old man removed his hat to run a hand over his balding pate. ‘What a sight for sore eyes she be, too, sir. Didn’t suppose you’d mind ’er taking liberties, not Miss Bethany,’ he added, casting a questioning glance up at the tall figure on horseback.

The assurance was not long in coming. ‘Of course I don’t object. But remain vigilant, Dodd. Miss Ashworth is by no means the only one to have returned from across the Channel in recent times,’ he said, recalling his sister’s fears. Which were not without foundation, as it happened. ‘There’s much unrest about the county at present, many who harbour bitter feelings now the war with France is at an end, and they have come home to find no work.’

Sir Philip took a moment or two to appreciate the picturesque landscape, where no firearm had been discharged in anger, as far as he was aware, since the Civil War, when his ancestors had stood firm against the Roundheads for several days before finally being defeated. Then his mind returned to more recent events, and the arrival home of someone he’d known almost since the day of her birth.

All at once he was consumed with curiosity, a rare experience for him these days. ‘What is she like, Dodd… Miss Ashworth? As you had no trouble recognising her, I can only assume she hasn’t changed much.’

‘Changed some, sir. But not so much that I didn’t know ’er after a second glance. I mind she’s a deal leaner than of yore. Not much flesh on the bone from what I could see. But the smile ain’t changed, sir. I’d know that smile of Miss Beth’s anywhere. Light up the dullest day, so ’twould!’

‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ Philip acknowledged, his mind’s eye conjuring up images from the past. Memories, almost forgotten in recent years, came flooding back of a girl dressed in breeches, galloping, astride her horse, across the estate at his side. She had been more boy than girl in those years before Lady Henrietta Barfield had taken a very necessary hand in her niece’s upbringing. The transformation from sad romp had eventually been achieved. He seemed to remember that before she had left the Grange she bore all the trappings of a young lady; suddenly recalled, too, that he had not altogether approved of the changes that had taken place in her. But that was then, he reminded himself. What was she like now? Might she be a wife and mother?

For some reason that escaped him completely, he found the thought faintly disturbing, and consulted once again with his gatekeeper. ‘Was she travelling alone, Dodd, or with a protector?’

The old man shook his head. ‘That I couldn’t say for sure, sir. Being a mite on the short side, as yer might say, I can’t see into carriages none too well. But, I mind there were someone else in there with ’er, lurking in the shadows.’

Quickly taking his leave, Philip headed back towards the Court. He was halfway along the sweep of the drive when a second surge of curiosity, not untouched by tangled threads of lingering disquiet at the thought of Beth being married, gripped him, and he turned his mount, and headed across the park in a westerly direction.

Nestling just beyond the boundary wall in a picturesque, shallow valley was the thriving community where a good many of his estate workers resided. Neat rows of lime-washed cottages lined the main village street, and led up to the tiny church, where the Staveley family had for generations always worshipped. Beyond the church, several much larger brick dwellings had been erected during the latter half of the previous century. The Grange, the grandest of the newer buildings, was set in a large garden and was shielded from the road by a substantial yew hedge.

It had been a number of years since Sir Philip had had reason to visit the house. He could see at a glance, as he turned his fine bay hack into the driveway, that the property was showing signs of neglect. The garden, although far from overgrown, was nowhere near as neatly contained as he remembered, and the house, too, clearly demanded attention in several areas.