Luke, he thought. If only he could reach his brother. Luke was a pillar of strength. And Anna. Sweet, warm Anna. And their children, three now. Joy would be seven, George five, and James three. Luke had been almost apologetic in his letter announcing the arrival of George, Marquess of Craydon, his heir to the dukedom. Ashley had been delighted, and even more so when he had read of the birth of James two years later. Luke was secure in his line. There could never be any question now of Ashley’s breathing down his neck.
He longed for Bowden and for Luke and Anna. Almost as if they could make all right for him. Almost as if he were not a man capable of ordering his own life and handling his own emotions and purging his own guilt. Almost as if there were warmth to be had. And peace.
Ashley rolled his head on the cushions as if to find a comfortable position for sleep. But he soon opened his eyes and stared out onto darkness. And inward into deeper darkness.
Peace! He had had the strange notion that it was to be found at Bowden. And only there. Now that he was approaching it—yes, he was sure now they were on Bowden land; they would pass through the village very soon—he stared at the truth. There was no peace to be had anywhere. Not even here. Why had he thought there was? What was it about Bowden that always brought with it the illusory idea of peace? As if it were a place unlike any other on earth. A place of escape, a refuge, a home, a belonging.
What was it about Bowden?
He had come back from India with the desperate idea that if he could but reach home all would be well again. Yet now, even before he had quite reached the house—the carriage was passing along the village street and slowing to make the turn between the massive stone gateposts onto the winding driveway through the park—he knew that he had deceived himself.
There was no home for him. No end to his journey. No end of the rainbow.
Even so he found himself leaning forward in his seat, eager for his first glimpse of the house as the carriage emerged from the trees to cross the bridge at the bottom of the long sloping lawn that led upward to the terraced formal gardens and the upper cobbled terrace and the house beyond.
But he sat back abruptly as the wheels of the carriage rumbled over the stone bridge.
Deuce take it, but they were entertaining. The house was lit up by what had to be a thousand candles. There were carriages outside the carriage house and stables.
Damnation, but what rotten bad fortune.
He should have stayed in London for a few days, he thought. He should have sent word ahead of him. Zounds, but they did not even know he had left India. They did not even know...
He set his head back against the cushions again and closed his eyes once more.
No, they did not even know.
•••
“Well,my dear,” the Duke of Harndon said to his wife, their first duties in the receiving line with his mother and Emily at an end, their secondary duty of leading off the opening set of country dances about to begin, “you may as usual have the satisfaction of knowing yourself by far the loveliest lady at the ball. ’Tis almost shameful with Harry in the nursery for only three months and you already—ah, nine-and-twenty, is it?”
“For the fourth year in succession,” she said, laughing at him. “Luke, you have been shopping in Paris again. Your coat is such a splendid dark shade of blue, and there is so much embroidery on your waistcoat that you put my gown to shame.”
“Ah, but ’tis the woman inside the gown who dazzles the sight, madam,” he said.
She laughed again. “I am glad you remembered your fan,” she said. “It still scandalizes a few people.”
He fanned her face with it. “My cosmetics I have abandoned with the greatest reluctance, my dear,” he said, “in deference to country tastes. But a man must be allowed to retain some of his pride. Without a fan at a ball I would feel quite naked, by my life.”
“’Tis what comes of those ten years you spent in Paris,” she said. “Luke, what will Emmy do?”
“Emily,” he said, “is looking so fine that every other lady’s face, except yours, is tinged with green. And as I told her earlier, if she dressed thus all the time, I would by now be beating back all of His Majesty’s army and navy and the single portion of his civilian male subjects as well from my doors. Perhaps I should be thankful that she is more often the witch of the woods.”
“Oh, Luke,” she said reproachfully.
“If you must quarrel with me, madam,” he said, “let it be later. Much later, in your bedchamber. But I will not play fair, I would warn you.”
“Will she have him?” There was acute anxiety in her voice.
“She would be a fool if she did not,” he said. “Powell has everything to recommend him to a bride below the rank of princess, I believe—looks, breeding, wealth, mildness of manners. And he is remarkably eager to bring the matter to a point. There are Emily’s dowry and her connections to attract him, as well as his openly expressed determination to please his mother and do his duty by taking a wife and setting up his nursery. I believe too he is somewhat captivated by the prospect of a wife who will not prattle. There is the small question of love, of course, and experience has demonstrated to me that in reality it is no small matter at all. But I believe we can trust your sister to order her own destiny, my dear. There is nothing abject about Emily. One can only hope that Powell does not see her as someone who will be passive and biddable, poor man. The musicians and all our guests await my signal to start the ball. Shall I oblige them or would you prefer to indulge in a fit of the vapors?”
“No one else will understand Emmy as you and I do,” she said. “What if he does not like her when he learns more about her? As you say—”
“’Tis what marriage is all about, madam,” he said. “Have you not realized it? ’Tis about discovering unknown facets of the character and experience and tastes of one’s spouse and learning to adjust one’s life accordingly. ’Tis learning to hope that one’s spouse is doing the same thing. ’Tis something only the two persons concerned can deal with. Let us dance.” He looked toward the leader of the orchestra, raised his eyebrows, and lifted one finger.
The music began.
•••
