Candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow over the white, linen cloth and making the crystal sparkle. James served the fish from a silver platter, the delicate flavors scenting the air. It was good to see his mother at the dinner table again. While she and Sarah talked of what would happen once Hugh and Miss Ashton were married, his mind filled with dread at the thought of it. Seeing his betrothed again hadn’t improved matters, and while he must take some of the blame for that, Miss Ashton did tend to keep him at a distance. It made him wonder why.
“You’re quiet tonight, Hugh,” Mama said.
Hugh raised his eyebrows. “You wish me to join in to your discussion of ladies’ fashion?”
“Yes, do tell what you think of the latest bonnets,” Sarah said with a laugh.
“What I know of such things you could write on the head of a pin.”
“You would be more interested in the lady wearing the gown, I imagine,” Sarah said cheekily.
“Sarah!” her mother admonished.
Hugh laughed. She had him there.
At noon the next day, Hugh rode Chance the six miles to the neighboring property. The Ashtons’ major domo, who had been working for the estate for years, greeted him. Tyndale never seemed to age, his brown hair still without a thread of gray, although his middle had expanded and pushed at his waistcoat buttons.
“Miss Isabel is at the church, my lord.”
“Thank you, Tyndale. I’ll go and see her there.”
It was four miles to the small, stone church on the edge of the village. When Hugh dismounted, he saw the family’s trap waiting outside with the horse tugging at the grass.
He entered the shadowy interior and saw, before the altar, Miss Ashton and Mr. Benson bending over a vase of white roses, their heads close together.
Hugh gave a start. There was something disturbingly intimate about the scene. He couldn’t recall noticing anything unusual between them, but he only saw them at church on Sunday. The youthful vicar, Benson, was a slender fellow, unmarried, with a pleasing, almost poetical face. Should he be paying such close attention to a young single lady in his parish?
Hugh made a lot of noise walking down the aisle.
They both looked up and stepped away.
“My lord?” Mr. Benson said, coming toward him, his face wreathed in smiles. “How good to see you.”
Hugh nodded. “Mr. Benson.”
“Lord Dorchester, Mr. Benson was admiring my roses. I picked them this morning. The dew is still on the petals.” Miss Ashton looked flustered, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. Hugh had never seen her like this in his company. Was there something here he should know about? “Come home to tea? Mama would love to see you.”
“Certainly.” He held out his arm to her and escorted her back down the aisle.
“Shall we see you at church on Sunday, my lord?” Mr. Benson called.
“If I’m not called back to London.” Hugh touched his hat. “Good day, Vicar.”
After a quick glance at the vicar, who remained, watching them leave with a troubled frown, Miss Ashton accompanied Hugh from the church.
“What went on there, Miss Ashton?” he asked, once they were outside and out of earshot.
Her hazel eyes looked worried before she glanced away. “Nothing. Why do you ask? The vicar and I share an interest in plants.”
Hugh nodded and helped her into the trap before untying the reins attached to a post. Had he imagined something between them? Instinct told him it would be unwise to pursue it. He might hurt her or force her to tell him. Whatever Miss Ashton felt for the fellow, the family would never agree to such a marriage. But the time would come, and soon, when Hugh and his prospective bride must address their feelings and settle this between them.
Chapter Five
Mr. Rattray joinedAunt Mary and Lucy at every function they attended. He dined with them at a Mayfair hotel and escorted them to the Theatre Royal to see the famous actor Edmund Kean play Shylock. Lucy was enthralled by the actor’s expressive eyes and convincing performance. While Mr. Rattray seldom addressed Lucy, except for polite inquiries as to her health and whether she enjoyed the play, she often sensed his gaze measuring her. Was he interested in marrying Aunt Mary and feared Lucy would cause him trouble? But why should she? She would take pleasure in seeing her aunt happy again. Aunt Mary disliked widowhood and welcomed a man’s attention. Lucy wished she could approve of Mr. Rattray. Yet the more she saw of him, the less she trusted him, although she admitted to having no reason for the feeling. He had done nothing to deserve her suspicion. However, the impression grew stronger each time she was in his company. To suggest that to her aunt without proof would only upset Aunt Mary and make her rightfully angry, so Lucy kept silent.
The following week, they attended another ball. When she entered the dance floor on Mr. Nash’s arm, Lord Dorchester and a pretty, young woman with light-brown ringlets joined their set. She was not the same lady Lucy had seen with him at the garden party and on the carriage ride. Lucy tried to give her attention to the steps of the quadrille, but inevitably, when the earl took hisplace beside Lucy and her dance partner, she forgot everything but him.
“Miss Kershaw. Mr. Nash.” Lord Dorchester introduced his partner, a Miss Ely, who smiled engagingly.