Louise Allen - Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

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.