“And I you.” He smiled, then turned to maneuver around a cart piled high with furniture. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. It has,” Miss Ashton said thoughtfully.
“I planned to visit. We could have gone riding. But here we are. Tell me all the news from the country.”
She looked startled. “News?” Her laugh sounded strained. “What news of interest is there worth discussing from the depths of the Kentish countryside?”
He smiled sympathetically. “Little, I imagine.” He studied her. “Have you been terribly bored?”
She shook her head. “I am always busy. Dining with neighbors and filling my days with attending dance lessons, French tutors, sketching, and embroidery. The only time I have to myself is when I ride, stroll in the gardens, or visit the church. I’ve taken to arranging the flowers, which I quite like.”
“It’s a difficult period waiting for your life to begin, Miss Ashton. I remember Cousin Avery complaining that life was passing her by. And now she is happily married with two children. Once you attend the Season, everything will change, will it not?”
“I shouldn’t complain. I did attend an assembly dance in Canterbury. And I’m to be presented to the queen at one of her drawing rooms in July.”
The prospect didn’t seem to please her. He would have expected meeting the queen to excite any young woman, and that troubled him. She seemed too unhappy, and he wanted to know why. While he wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of their union, he had anticipated at least one of them would look forward to it. Did their ten-year age gap matter? Or was it because she’d led such a cloistered life that she found it all overwhelming? He covered her gloved hand with his own. “After the wedding, life will become more to your taste. Married ladies lead interesting, busy social lives.”While men, discontented with their marriages, seek love elsewhere, he thought. Something he’d been determined never to do.
She nodded, her smile small.
“You do want to be married, don’t you, Miss Ashton?” he inquired gently.
Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, yes. Of course I do.”
Panic was neither the emotion he expected to find in her eyes, nor what he wished for. Hugh decided not to pursue it further and turned his attention back to his horses, but he would escort her to the Kemps’ garden party, which was sure to be acceptable to her mother. The Kemp’s always put on a good show. Perhaps that might brighten Miss Ashton’s outlook on London.
That evening, he joined Ross for dinner at their club.
Ross studied him across the table as he cut into his beef. “You seem a little subdued tonight, Hugh.”
“Am I dull company? Forgive me.”
“Might it have something to do with Miss Kershaw?”
Hugh stared at him. “Miss Kershaw? Lord, no. Why would you think that?”
“Her presence in London seemed to affect you.”
“We met in Bath. I needed to ask her something about what happened there.”
“Oh? Are you going to tell me what it was?”
“No. I can’t. Sorry. Shall we call for another bottle? Have dessert? Or go to the card room?”
“Or,” Ross said with a grin, “I have two ladies in mind. Sisters, and very obliging.”
Hugh shook his head. “Not for me.”
“No, perhaps not,” Ross said with regret. “Have you heard that William Darby has set up a mistress on Jermyn Street?”
Hugh answered vaguely, disliking where this conversation was leading, and called for another bottle of claret. He had parted ways with his last mistress some months ago, wishing to be unencumbered when his wedding approached. He and the lovely widow Roslyn Enfield had enjoyed each other’s company while it had lasted, but he’d hardly given her a thought since. And he suspected it was the same for Roslyn, now enjoying the company of Lord Wallace. Hugh wondered why, when he’d barely met Miss Kershaw, she still entered his mind at unexpected moments. Unaccountably annoying, when she appeared to be making the most of her situation, riding out with young Nash. But as Nash was an inveterate gambler, Hugh prayed it would go no further.
Chapter Four
After Mr. Nashhad left her at her and the trembling maid at her aunt’s door, Lucy watched him ride away before going inside. He had been quite warm toward her and made another arrangement for next week. She didn’t want to see him again. Not after catching sight of a gossip sheet some lady held at a ball with the heading screaming:Who is the mystery heiress?It must have referred to her. And it was indisputable that a solid wall, caused by her foolish lie, stood between her and any prospective husband. Was there a way to convince them she really wasn’t an heiress? But how to manage it without reflecting poorly on her family and angering her aunt? She thought of Lord Dorchester’s warning. Would her family be shunned? What else could she do? She could only continue to deny it, should the matter be mentioned.
On the following Tuesday at a rout, she searched the crush of guests for the earl, but he did not attend. He was the only person with whom she could discuss her problem. But he wouldn’t want anything more to do with her. And after all, what could he do to assist her?
Gentlemen wishing an introduction always sought her for dances. Many called at the house for morning tea. Lucy searched their faces but found few looked at her with any interest in her as a person, and the one who blatantly ogled her made her neck prickle. Some gentlemen were nervous and fiddled with their cravats, and one looked down his nose as if she were toofar beneath him to be bothered with. Then why was he here? Another, she thought, was too brash when he spoke at length of his prowess with the reins and how he’d won a carriage race to Brighton. While her aunt presided over the tea tray and engaged the men in conversation, Lucy counted the minutes until they took their leave.
