Neither of these possibilities sounded like the subdued gentleman who’d bent his head close to hers to share his copy of the contract yesterday.
Cecily cast a wary glance around the circle of ladies hooked on her tale. “I don’t know if I should say it in front of everyone. It might be unpleasant for you to hear, on account of your club.”
“Cecily,pleasetell me. You have me dying of curiosity.” It was quite true, though hopefully she would ascribe Della’s emotion to her own expert storytelling and not any particular concern for the viscount.
“Very well.” Cecily leaned in, dropping her voice to a stage whisper. “He gambled away his family’sentirefortune. The country house, his wife’s dowry,everything. He left the poor woman destitute.”
Twelve
Della didn’t know how to behave after Cecily’s revelation. She had no further word from Lord Ashton, and her bedroom window stood unassailed and lonely. Or at least, she presumed it did. She was always at Bishop’s in the evenings.
How would she face him on Tuesday? She couldn’t look at him the same way now.
Perhaps Cecily was wrong, or at least exaggerating the tale. Perhaps there was something she didn’t know. But after a few well-placed inquiries among her friends, Della couldn’t deny the truth. Lord Ashton was known for precisely two things: his series of guidebooks and losing his country house in a wager to the Earl of Carlisle at White’s nine years ago.
How could the upright, disapproving man she knew have taken such a risk? It seemed entirely out of character. Was it a youthful folly that had taught him a painful lesson? It would explain why he hated gambling so much.
His poor wife, though. She had to live with the consequences of his actions forever. No wonder they’d parted ways.
Maybe I should have listened to Annabelle and stayed well enough away from him.What a depressing thought.
But whatever her feelings for Lord Ashton, Della wasn’t going to abandon her book. She scribbled down passages whenever things were slow at the club and managed to cobble together most of her chapter on shops, even if it took far longer than the day she’d originally planned.
When the fateful Tuesday finally arrived, she was so nervous there was no danger of forgetting to wind the clock and missing the appointed time. She paced the drawing room in wait, too preoccupied to set herself to any other task.
When Lord Ashton finally joined Della and Annabelle, she saw everything about him in another light. If she looked closely, she noticed how the cuffs of his jacket had grown threadbare. Where she’d thought his tendency to repeat certain clothes was an eccentricity, she now understood it was more likely a necessity. He’d gambled away everything, Cecily had said. No wonder that he couldn’t maintain a style of living befitting his station. Was that why he’d given her a card without his address on it? If he’d lost his estate, it was unlikely he could still afford rent in Mayfair. He must live in a low neighborhood. And here she’d thought he was being snobbish.
“Good morning, Miss Danby,” Ashton removed his hat and greeted them with a bow. “Miss Annabelle.”
“Good morning.”
He looked at her hesitantly as he took his seat. Lord Ashton seemed as standoffish as she felt. Hopefully he would attribute any distance in her manners to their recent rupture, and not to the revelation of his secret. As much as she longed to know more, she didn’t dare to broach the subject.
“How is your writing coming along?” he asked.
I should probably have written half the text by now, but all I’vefinished is one chapter, half an introduction you intend to replace with something of your own, and some notes on a lovely day we shared taking in the views before you decided you didn’t like me anymore.
“I finished the chapter on shops recently.” Della put some sunshine into her voice to banish the shadows in her thoughts. “I could share it with you if you like, but it’s mostly about things that will appeal to ladies—modistes and milliners and such.”
“I don’t mind,” Lord Ashton replied. “I’d be looking it over to see how the language flows, not to critique your assessment of a subject on which I have no knowledge. But I wouldn’t want to take up all our time today reading if you have any questions for me. Why don’t you give me your pages? I’ll make some notes at home and bring them back next week.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take more of your time than we agreed to,” Della said quickly. “I’m sure you need to focus on getting your next book out soon.”
He blinked at her. Had that been a strange thing to say? She was normally so preoccupied with her own projects, she hadn’t given much thought to the impact she had on Lord Ashton’s life. Maybe she’d been selfish. She hadn’tmeantto be, but she’d thought his writing was an interesting hobby he might take a break from whenever he pleased. Now Della understood it must be his livelihood.
“Never mind,” she amended, flipping through the pile of papers she’d brought downstairs to set the chapter on shops in some semblance of order. It gave her somewhere else to look. “It’s very kind of you to read them over, if you can afford to spare the time. I mean, of course you can afford to spare the time. You’re a viscount. I’m sure you can do whatever you like.” Della ended her rambling speech in a sudden cough. Goodness, why couldn’t she keep herself from acting this way?
Lord Ashton watched her for a long moment before he spokeagain. When he did, his voice was measured and precise—almost regretful. “Someone told you.”
“Told me what?” The response was instinctive. Della wasn’t trying to deceive him. But she hated to admit to what she’d heard, on the slim chance they weren’t thinking of the same thing.
Lord Ashton saved her the trouble. He dropped his gaze to his teacup as he replied, “That I gambled away my country house.”
“Oh!” Annabelle gasped so loudly she might have been a stage actress discovering a murder in the final act.
Won’t she ever stop making a nuisance of herself?
“Annabelle, could you please give us a moment of privacy?”
