Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

Chapter Eleven

The lake was still as a reflecting mirror under the August sunshine as Ashe tooled the team through the gates and up the long curving sweep of carriage drive towards the old house.

Home. And by some miracle he was approaching it unscathed, with all his limbs intact and not even a romantic scar for his sisters to exclaim over. No scars that showed on the outside at least and those that were hidden were far from romantic. But the nightmares were fewer now and he no longer woke confused about where he was, worrying that he had fallen asleep on duty. Bel had helped, he realised. He did not have to talk about it to her, but whenever the subject had come up, her empathy soothed him.

Ashe rolled stiff shoulders to ease them, finding the very thought of Bel relaxed him, even if it provoked an uncomfortable physical reaction. He was going to miss her in so many ways. The curricle rounded a stand of ancient beech trees and there was the house, low, rambling and—thanks to Mr Copper’s original design and Ashe’s ancestors’ numerous additions—without any outstanding architectural merit whatsoever. But he loved it, even if he found it hard to stay there for long.

The front door opened as his wheels crunched to a halt on the gravel and there was a flash of white fabric. For a moment he saw Bel standing there, her arms held out to him. Then the vision shifted and blurred and it was Katy, his youngest sister, running down the steps to meet him, her blonde curls flying, skirts hiked up. ‘Ashe! You are home!’

‘As you see.’ He grinned at her, jumping down from the curricle to return her enthusiastic hug. That image of Bel was disconcerting, but he did not want to explore why his mind was playing such tricks on him.

The sound of footsteps behind him made him turn, his arm still round Katy’s shoulders, everything else forgotten as his mother, Frederica and Anna came to join the reunion. ‘You know I’m all right,’ he protested, as they patted and stroked him, trying to make himself heard over the babble of excited voices. ‘You got all my letters, I know you did, for you answered them all.’

‘Yes, dearest.’ Lady Dereham smiled happily. ‘You are such a good correspondent; we heard that you were safe almost as soon as the newspapers were reporting the outcome of the battle, so our minds were set at rest much earlier than many families, I am sure. And so many thoughtful letters telling us where you were and when you would be home.’

‘Why didn’t you come at once?’ Katy demanded as they walked up the steps, his two elder sisters still inclined to stroke his sleeves as he walked, as though to reassure themselves he really was there in the flesh.

‘Because Ashe had business to attend to, you know he explained that,’ Frederica reproved her. ‘And he probably needed a rest before you start bombarding him with questions. Look at poor Philip Carr over at Longmere Hall—the wretched man has had to escape back to town under the pretext of consulting a physician, just because his family would not stop talking at him.’

‘Carr’s hurt?’ Ashe stopped on the top step. Not another one, not another friend maimed. ‘I had not heard.’

‘Only a flesh wound in his thigh, apparently.’ Lady Dereham urged him into the hallway. ‘He should have stayed in London on his way through, but his mama descended and bore him off and then wondered why he was so taciturn. It has healed cleanly, although he is still limping very badly.’

‘My lord, may I say on behalf of the entire staff how happy we are at your safe return?’ It was Wrighton, the butler, allowing himself a rare smile as he took Ashe’s hat and gloves. ‘The household feels the honour of serving a Waterloo hero most keenly, my lord.’

Ashe bit back the retort that he was no damned hero, he was just fortunate to be alive to be fawned over, unlike many men far more worthy of that title. There was no way to say it without upsetting people. He would simply have to adopt an air of manly reticence and hope they would take the hint and stop talking about the damned battle.

‘Thank you, Wrighton. I am delighted to be back.’

The arrival of Race and the carriage with his baggage effectively distracted Wrighton and his footmen and allowed Ashe to escape into the drawing room. Behind him he heard his mother ordering tea and Cook’s special lemon drop scones his lordship likes so much. ‘I will be pounds overweight,’ he grumbled affectionately as his sisters pressed him down into his usual chair, fussing as though he, and not the unfortunate Mr Carr, was wounded.

‘We want to make a fuss of you.’ Anna, the elder and most level-headed of his sisters, smiled affectionately as she sat down. ‘You must allow us that indulgence, you know. In return, we promise not to plague you with questions about the army.’

‘Very well, I consent to being spoiled.’ It seemed strange to be spending so much time with women. First the attention he and the other returning officers received from society ladies, then the time with Bel and now he was the focus of four women’s world. ‘You will have to civilise me again, I expect—I have been in rough male company for too long.’

They sat around him in an attentive semi-circle and he made himself concentrate, think what would please them to talk about. But first he wanted to find out about them. ‘Tell me what you have all been up to.’

‘I have a new governess.’ Katy, predictably, was first to speak. At twelve years old—going on twenty, as her older sisters were known to remark in exasperation—she had no reticence and complete self-confidence. Worryingly she also looked like being the prettiest of the three with hair as blonde and eyes as blue as her brother’s. Ashe shuddered at the thought of policing her come-out. ‘Her name is Miss Lucas and she is very nice.’ That presumably meant she let Katy do what she wanted. ‘And I need a new pony, I have quite outgrown dear Bunting, so Mama is driving him in the dog cart.’

‘I have been taking dancing lessons with the Rector’s daughters.’ That was Frederica, seventeen, with a face that everyone described as sweet and mouse-brown hair. ‘And helping Mr Barrington with the estate books. It is very interesting and he says my arithmetic is exemplary.’

Barrington was the new estate manager, appointed by Ashe on his last furlough. Young, keen, well favoured and hardworking, he had seemed just the man to leave in charge of the estate. He was also the younger son of a respectable gentry family. Now Ashe caught a glimpse of a frown between his mother’s brows and glanced sharply at Frederica. Too young and good looking to have introduced into a household of susceptible young ladies?

‘And I am coming out next Season,’ Anna pronounced. ‘But you knew that, of course.’ She was calm, elegant and usually described as handsome, with honey-blonde hair and blue eyes. She smiled at her mother conspiratorially. ‘And I expect I am going to be a great expense to you, Ashe dearest, for Mama and I have very long shopping lists.’

‘I suppose that means we need to set the town house in order,’ he said, teasing her by looking solemn when all along he had known it was going to be needed. ‘Did I tell you I sold the Half Moon Street property?’ It was like touching a sore tooth with his tongue; he wanted them to ask who had bought it so he could have the pleasure of talking about Bel.

‘Yes dear, you did. Are your chambers comfortable at the Albany?’ Mama was giving him no opportunity to indulge.

‘Perfectly, thank you. When will you need the town house ready?’

‘There is no need for you to do anything, dear.’ Lady Dereham lifted the teapot and began to pour. ‘We will come up in January and start ordering gowns and planning parties then. I will bring most of the staff from here, if you would not dislike that.’

‘Whatever suits.’ Ashe accepted a cup of tea. He had no intention of rusticating in the country any longer than he had to, so he had no need for the servants. ‘But the place is sadly in need of a new touch; I think we should not leave it until you come up after Christmas. I will write to Grimball and have him make a complete survey and do any repairs, then if you come up to town later this month before you go down to Brighton you can decide what redecoration you would like and he can have that done over the winter.’

‘Redecoration? Are you sure? Is that not rather extravagant?’

‘With three sisters to come out?’ Ashe smiled. ‘I am sure it will be an investment.’

He was rewarded by a trio of grateful smiles. Even Anna clapped her hands in delight.

‘It is the first week of August now,’ Frederica calculated. ‘Only two or three weeks and we will be in London!’ Watching her, Ashe saw the pleasure falter and she became sombre. Damnation, she was thinking she would be parted from Barrington. Just how far had this gone?

‘Think of the ballroom done out in blue silk to match my eyes.’ Katy sighed. Her sisters rolled theirs in unison. ‘And my bedroom needs new curtains.’

‘Shh!’ Frederica ordered. ‘Stop plaguing Ashe with such nonsense. Blue silk will have faded long before you get your come out, you precocious child!’

Katy subsided mutinously.

‘Only, I did wonder…’Lady Dereham completely ignored her bickering daughters, fiddled with the cake slice, then made rather a business of cutting the almond tart.

‘Yes, Mama?’ Ashe found he was reaching for a third lemon scone and put his plate down firmly.

‘I thought perhaps I should be putting the Dower House to rights.’

‘Why now? Are any of the elderly aunts in need of it?’ But she was right, it did not do to let a house stand empty and neglected and it must be all of three years since Grandmama had died. ‘I suppose we could bring it back into use and invite some of them to stay there.’

‘No, not the aunts, I think they are all quite content where they are. It was just that I did wonder—now you are back and out of the army and settled—if next Season you would be looking for a wife?’

‘A wife?’ Ashe regarded his mother blankly. Throughout his childhood she had exhibited the maternal witchcraft of knowing exactly what was on his conscience. It seemed the knack had not deserted her. ‘How did you kn…I mean, what on earth would I want a wife for?’

Even well-behaved Anna giggled at that. ‘For all the usual reasons Dereham,’ his mother said tartly. Lord, he was in trouble if she was using his title.

What did I almost say? How did you know? Is that what just came out of my mouth without apparently passing through my brain? Ashe closed his eyes. An image of Bel sitting by the fireplace, just where his mother was now, filled his imagination. The apparition lifted the teapot, smiled at him and began to pour. He opened his eyes hastily. No! I do not want to get married. Bel does not want to get married to me, or to anyone else, come to that. I am not in love with her. She is my mistress; a man does not marry his mistress.

‘I meant,’ he said, getting his tongue and his brain lined up again, ‘I meant, what would I need a wife for now?’ Damn it, he could command a company of soldiers, he could fight the French, he could manage a great estate—when he felt like it. Why did he feel completely helpless and at bay when confronted by the women of his own family with that look in their eyes?

‘You need an heir, unless you want Cousin Adrian—who has the wits of a gnat—in your shoes,’ Lady Dereham retorted. ‘I need to be able to concentrate on launching your three sisters into society—and I would welcome some mature feminine assistance with that, let me tell you—and finally it is about time you took an interest in this house and this estate and put your own mark upon it. And a wife will help you do that.’ She wagged the cake slice at him. ‘You are not getting any younger, Reynard.’

‘I am thirty,’ Ashe said, stung.

‘Exactly my point.’

The words came out again, apparently bypassing the conscious part of his brain, apparently from some well of certainty deep inside his mind. ‘I will marry when I fall in love, and not before.’

‘In love?’ Lady Dereham regarded her son with well-bred horror. ‘In love? That is no criterion for a good marriage, Reynard. Heaven knows who you might fall in love with! Men fall in love with dairymaids, but they do not marry them—not men in your position, at least.’

‘I consider it a perfectly reasonable criterion,’ Ashe said firmly, deciding that a protest that he had never so much looked at a dairymaid in that, or any other, light was a waste of time. Marrying for love had never occurred to him until a minute ago; up until then he would have agreed with his mother.

Marriage demanded a well-dowered young woman of suitable family, modest habits, intelligence and good health. One assessed which of the available ladies on the Marriage Mart fulfilled these requirements, selected from amongst them the one for whom one felt the greatest liking and respect, and proposed. Short of a Royal princess, there were few females who would consider the Viscount Dereham anything short of a brilliant catch, and he knew it.

‘And what will you say if your sisters come to you with some unsuitable man in tow and demand to marry for love, might I ask?’ his outraged parent demanded.

‘I will trust their judgement.’ Ashe was conscious of three wide-eyed, open-mouthed faces staring at him.

‘Oh,’ breathed Frederica softly. ‘Oh, Ashe.’

Oh, Ashe, indeed! She is in love with Barrington and I have just walked straight into that!

‘As soon as they reach the age of twenty-one,’ Ashe added hastily. ‘Unless the man they love also meets the usual criteria of acceptability.’

‘Oh,’ Frederica said again, flatly.

‘That’s all right,’ Katy announced smugly. ‘I intend falling in love with a duke. You will have to approve of him, Ashe, won’t you?’

‘Which duke?’ Ashe asked, diverted and rapidly running the available candidates under review. ‘I do not think there are any available.’

‘I have six years,’ his baby sister informed him smugly. ‘One is sure to die and have a young heir, or be widowed or something in that time.’

‘Why a duke?’

Katy proceeded to count off points on her fingers. ‘They are all rich. I would like being called your Grace and I would outrank Lucy Thorage.’

‘She might marry one too,’ Ashe pointed out, fascinated and alarmed in equal measure.

‘I am prettier,’ his sister pointed out, incontrovertibly.

‘If you do not wish to go to bed now without your dinner, Katherine Henrietta Reynard,’ said her mother awfully, ‘you will be quiet and behave like a lady.’

‘Yes, Mama.’ Katy subsided, leaving Ashe the uncomfortable focus of attention again.

‘And what are you going to do to find this paragon?’ Lady Dereham enquired. ‘Wait for her to appear like a princess in a fairy tale?’

A princess on a white bear who will carry me off to Paradise…But that was Bel. I am not going to have that sort of luck twice.

‘I shall do my duty escorting you and Anna next Season. Perhaps I will find her there.’

‘I sincerely hope so.’ His mother regarded him anxiously. ‘I worry about you. You do seem different somehow, dear.’

‘Poor Ashe has been through a terrible experience.’ Anna leapt to his defence. ‘Of course he seems a little altered. Several weeks here at Coppergate with us and he will be his old self again.’

Several weeks in the country? No, ten days at most, and then back to London, back to Bel. Back to uncomplicated bliss.

Ashe spent the next day riding around the estate with Barrington, trying to size up the man, not as an estate manager, for he had already done that and was satisfied, but as a husband for his sister. He would do, he thought grudgingly. A far from brilliant match, but a kind, decent, loving husband was more important for sensitive Frederica than some cold and suitable society marriage.

She would be well dowered. An intelligent, hard-working man like Barrington could build on that foundation to give them a good life. There were a few years before he need worry too much—more than enough time to see if this attachment of his sister’s lasted and whether it was returned.

‘What do you think of the Wilstone estate?’ he asked, an idea coming to him as they reined in to inspect the effects of liming on a stubbornly sour field.

‘That was a good purchase, my lord,’ Barrington said judiciously. ‘Needs work, of course, it had been neglected, but in time it could be very productive. There are fine stands of timber and it borders the new canal—I think you could build wharfs there, a timber yard. It would repay the investment with all the building going on in London. But I had thought you were intending to sell it on.’

‘No. I think we will keep it.’ The idea was taking more concrete shape as the estate manager talked. ‘Make it a special project, Barrington; give it, say, three years and see what you can make of it.’

‘What about the house?’ Barrington looked interested. ‘Sell and just keep the land? The last owner neglected it badly, what with all his debts and so forth. But it is quite sound—just shabby.’

‘No, don’t sell it. Get it into order. I’ll give you a free hand—think what you’d like if it was yours, but stay within the income from the lands.’ They moved off, satisfied with the state of the field, the expression on the steward’s face showing he was already thinking about the prospect of reviving the rundown estate that Ashe had bought as a speculation the year before. Ashe waited a few minutes, then added, as if the idea had just come to him, ‘See if my sister would like to help with the house.’

‘Miss Frederica?’

‘Yes,’ Ashe agreed. ‘Frederica.’

If things worked out, then he would give Frederica the estate as part of her dowry and if Barrington couldn’t manage to found his fortune from there, then he was not the man Ashe thought him.

‘Thank you, my lord, I will get right on to it.’

‘Reynard,’ Ashe corrected, a warm feeling blossoming inside as he contemplated the possible outcome of his matchmaking. All this talk of love—he must be getting soft. ‘But don’t neglect everything else,’ he added severely, wiping the grin off the younger man’s face.

‘No, of course not, my…Reynard.’

Hopefully that would take care of Frederica. Anna, he had no doubt, would sail serenely into society and find herself an eminently suitable beau without his help, and as for Katy—well, there were at least four years before he had to face that nightmare, and perhaps one could hire Bow Street Runners as chaperons.

Bel could advise him; he would enjoy talking to her about his sisters. She would take an interest. He could imagine her grey eyes lighting up at the thought of all the alarming things women appeared to find so fascinating: shopping, gossip, matchmaking. But he was trying to matchmake now himself—what had come over him?

‘…coppicing?’

‘Hmm?’ Damn, he was daydreaming. His hack was standing next to Barrington’s and the man had apparently been holding forth for some time about the overgrown woodland in front of them.

‘Absolutely,’ Ashe said firmly. ‘I quite agree it is the best thing.’

‘Which? Clear felling and replanting or coppicing?’

Damn again, the man must think him quite buffleheaded. ‘Coppice,’ he decided at random, finding he was staring into the dense thicket and assessing it as cover for marksmen. Or you could put a field gun just there and cover the whole of the little valley, sweep it with grapeshot. He shivered. No. No more fighting, no more violence, no more gripping a sweaty palm around the butt of a pistol and waiting for death. Peace, growing things, love. That must be it, he was feeling dynastic as a result of seeing all that death and destruction.

Chapter Twelve

‘Where to next?’ Ashe stretched, standing in the stirrups, suddenly aware of the warmth of the sun on his back, the scent of flowers and hay, the sheer delight of the English countryside in summer. For the first time in a very long time—other than when he was making love to Bel—he was aware of his body and of feeling pleasure in it and its reaction to everyday things.

‘The Home Farm?’ Barrington suggested. ‘I need to talk to you about reroofing the long barn.’