Belmary House Book One (8 page)

As she opened the heavy library door, she nearly collided with Ashford, who took her shoulders to keep her from stumbling. Duncan stood behind him looking as if he’d just eaten something incredibly unsavory.

“I’ve had a little chat with Duncan, just now,” Ashford said, an almost maniacal gleam in his silvery eyes. “I’ve sent someone out for a better gown. Hurry and eat, because you won’t want to later.”

That sounded ominous, but her spirits perked up at the mention of a better gown. “Am I going to the ball with you?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. You’re going to the ball.”

Duncan, who still stood in the hallway, groaned.

She could almost put her hands completely around her waist, and she could barely take a breath. But she looked fantastic in her flowing gown. Her hair was artistically piled on top of her head with a garden of crystal flowers and gemstone pins. They’d powdered her until she looked like a ghost, and wrangled her cleavage into a fine display, pasting some tiny gems along the deeply scooped neckline of her dress. If she could take a full breath, her breasts would have popped completely out, so she stood stock still, gasping delicately through her ruby red lips as she waited for Ashford’s approval.

“Oh, that’s perfect. Good show, you two.” He all but high fived the maids and stood beaming at her. “You look just as I hoped, Miss Jacobs.”

It was an odd compliment, but he was an odd man, so she took it. She ducked into what she hoped looked like a curtsy, nearly tumbling out of her bodice.

“Oh, dear,” he said, taking her elbow and helping her upright. He glanced quickly at her chest and frowned, then shook his head. “It’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself, and she was distracted by Duncan showing himself at the door.

“My word,” he said, his jaw near his collarbone. “If I may say, sir—”

“You may not,” Ashford interrupted. “Tell the lady how fine she looks, instead.”

“But, sir—”

“Cork it, Duncan.” He took her hand and led her toward the door.

She bobbed her head, wishing she had a shawl to shield herself from Duncan’s discombobulated gaze. The dress was more low cut than anything she’d ever worn and even though it flowed all the way to her ankles, she felt uncovered.

“Is it too much?” she asked, looking down at her flamboyant dress. She should have paid better attention to period dramas. For all she knew, this wasn’t right at all. “It’s not too revealing? Too shiny? Or, too... red?”

“For the fete tonight, it’s perfect,” Ashford assured her as he dragged her from the room.

“Did Duncan look more sour than usual?” she asked when she was settled in the carriage, her acres of satin pooling around her like a princess dream. She stroked the crisp fabric and sighed, then coughed. Ah, well, if the price of beauty was too little oxygen, she’d pay it, because she felt like Cinderella with a really awesome boob job.

“Oh, our Duncan’s a veritable pickled vegetable platter with his range of sour looks. The only time I ever saw the man really smile, I was around ten, and I couldn’t sleep for a week afterwards. Downright fearsome, his smile.” He continued to ramble on, assuring her she’d be fine. “Just don’t make eye contact, and by all that is holy, don’t speak to anyone. If your accent doesn’t stir someone’s interest, your forward nature will.”

“Do you think I’m forward?”

She paused to think about it. She might have been a little clingy, but she was terrified he was going to disappear, her only lifeline back to normalcy. His inability to give her any concrete answers had caused her to want to scream a couple times, but she’d barely raised her voice once. She imagined being forward wasn’t exactly a desirable trait for a lady in this time. Had he been insulting her? Again? She thought of all the times her mother tried to get her to be more assertive and almost laughed at his assessment of her.

“I’m actually pretty shy and reserved. I haven’t even had a date in almost a year. This is a weird situation so I’m probably overcompensating.”

He studied her with such intensity his eyebrows nearly touched in the middle. “Perhaps this is a mistake,” he muttered, then shook his head. “No, it will be fine. Just do as I tell you and no one will pay you any mind.”

He was wrong of course. The moment they got there, it seemed like all eyes were on her, though they cut away quickly whenever she tried to engage anyone with a smile or nod. Only a few people spoke to her, and none of them were ladies. Ashford refused to let her dance, saying it would cause too much attention to fall on her.

After they made a few turns around the huge, ornately decorated ballroom so she could goggle at the furniture and people’s clothes, he found a secluded spot behind the buffet and told her he’d return once he found his friend.

“Do not stray from this spot,” he said. And only because he looked genuinely concerned for her, she didn’t raise a fuss.

However, after a few minutes passed, her feet began to ache. Staring at everyone helping themselves to the vast array of foods didn’t help. It had been hours since she nervously ate a few bites of the cook’s famous stew and her stomach growled, fighting her stays. If she even took a bite, she was sure it would have nowhere to go and lodge itself somewhere halfway down, causing her to die a slow and painful death. A couple of young ladies stood a few feet away, twittering behind their fans and casting her some rather unpleasant looks.

She smiled at them, and one of them looked aghast, as if she’d given them a nasty hand gesture instead of a shy smile. Her friend put her arm around her and whisked her away, and Tilly decided she’d had enough. No one knew her, and because of the bizarre manners, she couldn’t get to know anyone unless she was first introduced. And that rude Ashford had ditched her. The more she observed everyone, she really started to feel a bit overdressed. All the young girls had on pastel colors, and even though she knew she was meant to be a matronly widow, no one else had on such a shade of crimson as she did.

After a half an hour passed and Ashford still hadn’t returned for her, she got fed up with standing around being stared at, and smelling food she couldn’t eat, and went to look for him. At the sight of wide paned French doors opening out onto a garden, she gasped with relief at the prospect of fresh air and went outside.

There were a few candles but it was mostly dark, and she settled herself by a large potted tree where she could see her old post by the buffet. When Ashford finally returned for her, she’d enjoy watching him freak out for a minute, then go back in. A giggling couple hurried past her into the depths of the garden, not giving her the slightest glance, and she slumped against the wall, fighting self pity.

The ball and the people were so different from what she imagined. At the very least she thought she’d get to have some sparkling conversation with someone. As she’d stood around watching everyone who belonged there dancing and flirting and whispering to each other, she’d felt the worst sort of loneliness.

While she’d never been the sort to stand out or be the star, she’d always had friends and coworkers who included her in things. Here she only had Ashford and he kept disappearing as if he couldn’t stand to be around her.

Of course, while it wasn’t her fault at all that she was here, she still had to be a great burden to him. From what she could make out from the bits she’d gleaned from the tight lipped Duncan, Ashford seemed to jump around in time, trying to help people who’d accidentally slipped through, but by his own admission, he hadn’t had to keep anyone in his house before.

She stopped herself from feeling sorry for him and tried to steer her cart full of pity back to its rightful owner, herself. But, she wasn’t the sort to wallow, and she’d definitely gone through worse things than this and survived. Nothing as weird to be sure, but definitely worse than spending time in a posh mansion with pretty dresses and good food.

If only she could get the Ashford who’d smiled so joyously for those few seconds to stick around longer. Not the dour, rude, pompous— she tugged at her bodice, and calmed her fresh frenzy of anger at him before she hulked out of her dress. A peek through the window showed he still hadn’t returned for her, the fiend.

“I say, you must be Ashford’s girl,” a voice said from behind the potted palm.

She stepped away from the wall as a man rounded the tree, grinning at her. His wavy blond hair caught every tiny flash of light from the candles scattered about, quickly shaded as he made his way closer with his large, muscular frame. She blinked, taking in his perfectly fitting breeches and royal blue frock coat, all frills and brocade. He looked like a rock star. Seriously, the clothes in this time were going to kill her. When he got close enough for her to see the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes, and the dimple in his cheek, she felt fairly light headed.

“Someone so lovely shouldn’t be all alone in the garden,” he said. “Unless you meant to put the flowers to shame?”

Oh, now this was more like it. She blushed at his cheesy line and half curtsied, watching his eyes drop to her chest. He was absolutely right, she shouldn’t be left alone. At least someone recognized that.

“Did Lord Ashford send you looking for me?” she asked, not sure if she was hopeful or not. This man was blazing hot and she was going to flirt with him so when she finally returned she could tell Dex something other than the varieties of stew she ate. If Ashford came around and got mad about it, that would be his own fault.

“Certainly not. He wouldn’t want me within a mile of you,” the man said, then bowed. “Nicholas Kerr, but I beg you to call me Nick.”

“I’m sure that’s very improper, sir,” she said, surprising herself with her coquettish voice. Oh, hell yes. This was what the ball was supposed to be like.

“I’m very good at keeping secrets,” he said, stepping closer. “What shall I call you, my dear?”

“Tilly,” she squeaked, backing into the wall.

“That’s so very charming,” he breathed, leaning over her as if to smell her hair.

Her nerves flared up, and she cleared her throat. “Now, Nick, you haven’t even asked me to dance.” She planted her hands on his very firm chest and pushed him away.

He only took both her hands in his and pulled her into him, smiling down at her intently. “Then, let’s dance,” he said, beginning to sway. He slid his hands to her waist and gripped tightly, pulling her flush with his hard body.

This was too much. She thought men from this time were supposed to be chivalrous. She’d wanted to flirt and chat, not be groped.

“Don’t you think we should go back inside where we can hear the music better?” she asked, getting her arms free. “I really think we should.”

He backed her up against the wall again, leaning down to breathe near her ear, “Let’s not. It’s so much cozier out here.”

She tried one more time, twisting her head away to keep him from kissing her neck. “I want to go back inside now,” she said firmly.

He chuckled and continued to try to kiss her. With a sigh, she slammed the heel of her hand upward into his nose, then swiped her foot behind his ankle while pushing backwards. As he howled in pain and flailed to keep his balance, she prayed she wouldn’t lose her bosoms while she grabbed his hand and wrenched his arm behind his back. Pressing his thumb into a painfully awkward position, she flung all her body weight forward, forcing his face into the wall.

He grunted an obscenity, and she turned to the open door to see if anyone had noticed the commotion. All she needed was a bunch of judgy nineteenth century fancypants’ gathering around to gawk at this. She pushed harder against the arm she had pinioned behind his back, making him yelp.

“Come now,” she said, trying not to reveal how difficult it was to hold him while her corset strangled her. “I thought you were good at keeping secrets.”

There was the sound of stamping feet behind her and she closed her eyes.

“Miss Jacobs, is that you?”

She gave Nicholas Kerr’s thumb one last ruthless twist before shoving away from him and whirling on Ashford.

“About time,” she said, rushing to his side. “This pervert assaulted me.”

Ashford pressed his lips together in a thin line and perused Nicholas, whose nose bled freely, cheek scratched from being slammed against the brick.

“I assaulted you?” he said indignantly, pressing a handkerchief to his face. “Madam, I think you broke my nose.”

“Good,” she spat.

He frowned and took a step toward her, but before she could jump away, Ashford thrust out his hand and held him back by the shoulder.

“What happened.” His voice was low and calm, but his eyes were full of murder.

“He groped me and kept trying to kiss me. I only wanted to go inside and dance, but he wouldn’t let me.” Tilly didn’t think Ashford could get any scarier looking, but he did, turning a terrifying look to Nicholas.

“Did you touch her?” he asked.

Tilly shivered, never thinking such a quiet, calm question could ever send chills up her spine. She edged closer to him as the wretched Nicholas looked like he might try to lie. Ashford made a sound in his throat, almost a growl, and repeated his question.

Flustered at Ashford’s anger, he whined, “I didn’t know she was exclusive, or that she was so violent.”

Tilly couldn’t believe his audacity and jumped forward to punch him again. Ashford grabbed her around the waist and held her back, her fist swiping uselessly half a foot from his face.