A Gentleman and a Scoundrel (The Regency Gentlemen Series) (5 page)

“Perhaps not. But he has money, a family that can be traced back for hundreds of years and a large profitable estate. As well as a good figure, he is in possession of all his own hair and a modicum of good sense. He is considered a very eligible bachelor by every family in his neighbourhood except―” Malvern broke off.

“Except mine? That is what you were about to say, is it not? Well, I will speak plainly sir, since you will have it so. Much as I blush to admit it to you, my family will not countenance a match with Mr Ashworth, even if I were disposed to accept him and he was disposed to ask me. Father wishes for a title. Now that it seems that you and Louisa are at an end, you can count on it that next he will be hoping that you and I might make a match of it instead.”

“Save your blushes, my lady. I know very well what your father wishes for. But you will forgive me if I speak plainly now…but you don’t
wish
to marry me, do you?”

Emma blushed despite herself. “I…I like you very well…but I do not wish to marry you, sir. No more than you wish to marry me.”

“No,” he agreed, spreading open her fan again. “Which in some ways is a shame; for I think we would deal together tolerably well. Our temperaments are well suited, we both have a sense of humour, a respect and admiration for the other, and a similar outlook on the world…and yet, there is something missing.”

“Love,” she said quickly and without giving herself permission to voice her thought aloud. He gave her a curious glance and Emma regretted her unruly tongue.

“Yes…love. You have felt it, ma’am? I feel sure you must have done to speak so.”

She blushed and looked away. “I believe one may do very well without it. I know many couples who wed for convenience and seem to be happy enough. You will laugh at me, your grace, but I am a romantic. My parents married for love; and I wish, if I possibly can, to do the same.”

“Good for you. For myself, were I not the Duke of Malvern I might hold out for love too. But I
am
a Duke and it is my duty to marry and to marry well. My family had settled upon a young lady for me…your sister Sophie. But as she is now unavailable, they wished for me to marry your sister instead.”

“And now that has fallen through and you are to be encumbered with me instead.”

He smiled. “Not at all.”

“But you, sir? Who do you wish to marry?”

He paused a moment, turning the fan over in his fingers. “There is a young lady for whom I have the deepest regard.”

“And your choice is not suitable?”

“Oh she is very suitable.” He paused and sighed. “But she won’t have me. Marrying a Duke carries with it a burden of expectation and responsibility and I do not think that the young lady wishes for that. She is well born but wilful.”

“Who is the young lady, sir?”

Malvern gave her back her fan, his eye carefully falling on no particular female before he looked away. “You should take this before I break it.”

Emma mechanically took the fan from his hand. “Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.”

He smiled. “No matter.”

“Am I to make my sister jealous, Malvern?”

He looked at her with a rueful smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Anyone who sees the way you look at her may know it.”

He looked away at the dance floor. “Shall we?”

She smiled brightly. “But of course, your grace. And I shall take your arm thus and look up at you adoringly―how’s that?”

“Perfect,” he replied smiling down into her eyes as he led her to the floor.

* * *

“Enjoy your dance?” muttered Mr Ashworth, throwing down his cards on the table in the card room later that evening.

Malvern smiled. “Losing again, Marcus?”

“Yes, damn you. But nothing to signify.”

“I notice that you did not stay long to watch the dancing,” observed the Duke, picking up his friend’s cards and shaking his head over such a bad hand.

“Why would I watch something in which I have no interest?”

“Because you might spy a lady with whom you wish to dance.”

“And why would I want to do that when I am perfectly bored out of my mind with this room and everyone in it?”

“Because you would have the opportunity of a woman’s undivided attention for half an hour―that’s why.”

Mr Ashworth grunted and picked up his meagre winnings. “Can we go now?”

“You haven’t yet asked anyone to dance.”

“How observant you are. And nor am I likely to.”

“Lady Emma is unattended and is suffering under the ignominy of Yarlett having broken off their betrothal. You might do the gallant thing and show the world that we care not for their opinion.”

“I think she is doing just fine without me,” replied his friend as the lady in question was led out into the dance.

“See? You are too slow. You might ask her for the next set instead.”

“And have her refuse me with great glee in front of everyone here? No, I thank you.”

The Duke all but rolled his eyes. “Very well then, if you won’t then I might.”

Mr Ashworth’s head snapped around. “
Three
dances, Jasper?”

His grace smiled. “I find her company very pleasant. And I am sure that you would too, if you were but to make yourself agreeable.”

“I
am
agreeable. Every other woman of my acquaintances is perfectly happy in my company. It is just the Lady Emma and her dreadful family who find me decidedly beneath their touch.”

“You imagine it.”

“Do I? Then why does the eldest sister look at me as if I were something she had trodden in?” demanded Mr Ashworth.

The Duke grinned. “Sophie always has been…how shall I phrase it―?”

“A snob?”

“A woman aware of her own status.”

“A snob,” confirmed Mr Ashworth. “Can we go now?”

“You may go. I, for one, am going to ask the winsome Lady Emma to dance.”

“Pray, when am I to wish you joy?”

Malvern raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Three dances with the same female, is what is known as putting your cards on the table. Expect Crowborough to come after you with a parson’s noose without delay.”

“Then
you
ask her.”

“Not I. Make sure you step on her toes at least once for me,” said his friend savagely. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The Duke sighed as he watched his friend leave the ballroom. He could not help but notice Lady Emma’s blue eyes following the tall figure of Mr Ashworth until he was out of sight.

Then his eyes slid to Lady Louisa. His amiable smile hardened as she hastily looked away.

“Marcus, well met!” exclaimed Nicholas as he ran into his brother in St James’s the following afternoon. “This is famous―my, but what a brown study you are in! You walked right past me and did not even know me.”

Mr Marcus Ashworth raised his eyes from the pavement to his brother’s face and forced a smile to his lips. “Sorry Nick, I’m a little distracted.”

“A little? I should rather think that if Aphrodite herself were naked before you, you would have stepped over her and continued in your contemplation of the flagstones. Well, what brings you to London? You didn’t tell me you had business in town.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh…well, what the devil are you doing here then?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

The younger man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re alright, old boy? You look a little out of spirits. What you need is dinner. Are you engaged to dine this evening? Come to my lodgings. I have a capital cook. I thought about coming up to the house to see if a room might be had, but then it occurred to me you might not wish to be disturbed.”

“You may come and stay at the house any time that suits you, as I have told you on many occasions,” replied his brother.

“Come and dine with me,” said Nick impatiently, waving him aside. “I have found the best brandy I have tasted in a long while―almost as good as that bottle we had at Christmas. You never did tell me how you came by it; hot from the excise men, no doubt.”

He took his brother’s arm and led him back up St James’s Street in the direction of the younger man’s lodgings.

Some while later, his rooms were reached, the table was laid for dinner and the wine was poured. The gentlemen seated themselves before the cold unlit fireplace.

Mr Nicholas Ashworth kept up a run of conversation, telling his brother the latest stories, the gossip and the scrapes their young cousin had gotten himself into up at Oxford; none of these stories failed to raise more than the barest hint of a smile.

“The thing is…I’m in the devil of a coil,” said Nicholas, frowning into his wineglass.

Mr Ashworth looked up suddenly at that.

Nicholas regarded his brother with irritation. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I have said?”

“Of course I have.”

“You have been lost in your own thoughts since I saw you ambling along the street in no particular direction. If I asked you to name what you ordered for dinner I would imagine that you could not remember.”

Mr Ashworth coloured faintly. “I have a lot on my mind. So who is she?”

“Why do you automatically assume it is a woman?”

“Well, isn’t it?”

Nicholas sighed. “Well yes…”

“And?”

“She’s exquisite.”

“They always are at the beginning, before they start spending all your money―well, never mind,” observed his brother cynically. “So who is she?”

The younger Ashworth rolled his eyes. “I already told you. Her name is Louisa. What is wrong with you today?”

“Who the devil is Louisa?”

“You
know
her. She was at Henry Trent’s wedding, for God’s sake. Don’t you pay attention to anything?”

Mr Ashworth gave him a blank look. “Louisa who?”

“Munsford. Lady Sophie’s sister.”

“What?”

“Don’t bark at me! You
did
ask.”

“Hell and damnation. What the devil do you want to go and fall in love with her for?”

“I’m not in love,” replied Nicholas crossly.

“You fall in love once a month. I could set my watch by you.”

“Well not this time.”

“That’s what you said the last time,” muttered his brother. “Oh the devil fly away with you, Nick.”

Nicholas stiffened and adjusted the arrangement of his nicely fitting coat, with its large brass buttons. “I fail to see why the mention of Louisa Munsford should have you muttering into your burgundy.”

“Because her father is on the hunt for a title, that’s why. And another Mister Nobody, rich or not, ain’t going to appease him this time.”

“Speaking from experience, Marc?”

Mr Ashworth grunted into his wine.

Nicholas brought his finely shaped eyebrows together in a frown. “But I don’t want to marry her…at least not yet. Too young for marriage, you know, want to see a bit of the world first.”

Mr Ashworth gave him a blank stare. “Then I fail to see your problem.”

“I’m engaged to her,” blurted Nicholas.

There was a moment’s pause. Mr Ashworth shook his head as if trying to shake cobwebs from around his brain. “So if you don’t want to get married, and you’re not in love, why on earth did you offer for her?”

“I didn’t.”

Mr Ashworth blinked. “Either I have drunk too much or not enough. What are you talking about, Nick?”

“I am engaged to Louisa Munsford and only you and Malvern know about it and it had better stay that way or I’ll have the Earl on my back. And Malvern…well, I know he is your friend Marc, but really, I never thought him so rag-mannered.”

Mr Ashworth put up one dark brow in surprise. “Jasper? Ill-mannered? You
are
acquainted with the Duke of Malvern, are you not?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Of course I do…I just think it sounds a little…unlikely, that’s all.”

The Duke was famed for his calm, his unflappable poise in any situation and his elegant manners. In all the years Mr Ashworth had known him, he had never seen him lose his famous tranquillity.

“Oh the devil take
Malvern
,” said Nicholas impatiently. “What am I to do about my engagement?”

“Forgive me if I am being dense, but how did you manage to get yourself engaged without asking the chit to marry you?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I thought it might be,” murmured Mr Ashworth.

Nicholas drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It arose from a moment of chivalry, Marcus. An emotion that I know you are unfamiliar with.”

“And how is hurling insults at me likely to win my assistance in this matter?” asked his brother with a raised brow.

“The lady was in a compromised situation,” said Nicholas, doing his level best to sound dignified. “I felt honour bound to come to the rescue.”

“What sort of compromised situation?” demanded Mr Ashworth with a frown. “Have you insulted the lady?”

Nicholas shook his head. “Oh Lord no, it wasn’t as bad as that! When I say
compromised
, it wasn’t anything that needed―oh devil take it, then I really
would
have to marry the chit! No, it was merely a compromising situation brought about by moonlight and champagne and roses and the admiration of a very pretty girl looking at me as if I were her hero.”

“Lord,” muttered Mr Ashworth reflectively. “There
must
have been a lot of champagne.”

“And,” continued Nicholas, glaring at his brother for his interruption, “that is as much detail as you will get out of me. The how or why is not important. What I want to know is: how do I get myself out of it? Louisa thinks we are betrothed.”

“Then you are.”

“But, confound it, you don’t wish me married at the age of two and twenty do you?” asked Nicholas aghast.

“Not in an ideal world, no. But as you have been foolish enough to offer her your hand, however gallantly it may have been intended, you cannot now withdraw it. There are laws about that, you know. Breach of promise.”

“Then I will go to India and make my fortune as you did.”

Mr Ashworth stared at him. “And abandon her? No you will not. I’ll not have our family name dragged through the mire in such a fashion.”

“Again. Our family name bears the stains of many generations of Ashworths dragging it through the mud. You included. Nothing I could possibly do could compete with the damage you have done over the years.”

Mr Ashworth compressed his lips. “The Earl of Crowborough is courting the Duke of Malvern for Louisa’s hand now that Sophie has married Trent. He will not take news of this engagement of yours lightly. Let us hope he manages to find a way to break it and does our dirty work for us.
Us
? What do I mean
us
? Why am I involving myself in this? I must be insane.”

“Because you are my brother and you promised you would help me.”

“Did I? How remiss of me.”

“Marcus, you said―”

“Yes, I know what I said,” snapped Mr Ashworth. “But you’re a damn fool, Nick. How could you be so utterly stupid? Did you not listen to anything I said to you last time? I warned you that if you were not careful you would be caught by some scheming female sooner or later. And I was right.”

“She’s not a scheming female,” replied Nicholas, bridling. “She’s an angel.”

“Then go and marry her.”

Nicholas swore under his breath. There was a silence as the servant came in and supervised the arrival of dinner. The food was arranged on the table and when they were once more alone, the two brothers moved with their wine from their chairs by the fire to sit at the table.

Mr Ashworth thoughtfully picked up a knife and began to carve.

“Look, the family will never agree to it. They’re as ambitious as they come. All the money in the world won’t mollify them. And if I know Crowborough, he will move heaven and earth to stop this match.”

“It’s not that I’m not
fond
of her, you understand, just that I’m not sure I want to be married…at least not yet.”

“Do yourself a favour, Nick, and cool it off. Let her see that she was mistaken in your feelings for her and she may call the whole thing off herself―if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

Mr Ashworth laughed. “I think we all know what you
want
Nick, but what you have failed to grasp is that ladies of quality don’t give up the goods until they have your wedding band upon their finger.”

Nicholas flushed. “Well, she is the most delectable piece I ever saw…”

“Then I put it to you that there is more lust than love in any of this.”

Nicholas fired up at that. “That’s all you think I care about. Just because that is all
you
care about. Just because you were so embittered by your experience of love, does not mean that the rest of us feel the same way. And just because you fell for the wrong woman does not mean that I am foolish enough to do the same.”

There was a long silence. “Who says I fell for the wrong woman?”

Nicholas paused in the act of raising the glass to his lips. “Why you have said so any number of times.”

He frowned. “I have? When?”

“Are you telling me now that you don’t regret it? Do you honestly think she was the right woman for you?”

Mr Ashworth set a piece of beef on his brother’s plate. “I think she was made for me.”

“Well, I am frankly astonished. You vowed in front of half the membership of Whites never to offer for a woman again after what she did to you. How you can sit there and―”

“Who are you speaking of?” demanded his brother suddenly.

“Maria Dewksbury, as she was then, however many years ago it was when you made a cake of yourself…” Nicholas paused and frowned. “Who were
you
speaking of?”

“Never mind.”