Anne Barbour (29 page)

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Ashindon.”

Lynton nodded. “Nice meeting you, Ashindon.” He rose and smiled painfully. “Let us hope our faith in Old Hookey is not misplaced. I have rather a lot riding on the outcome.” So saying, he moved away, and Ash noted that he walked with a slight limp.

Ash smiled wryly. Whatever Lynton had riding on the outcome of Wellington’s battle, it could not compare with his own hopes.

Ash remained in the bar for another several minutes, sipping absently at the drink brought to him by a passing waiter. At last, wondering what the devil had prompted him to come here in the first place, he rose to make his way from the room. He had just passed into the club’s reception hall with its graceful staircase when he became aware of a buzz of excitement rising from the subscription room.

Following the sound, he observed Lord Lynton standing at the forefront of a crowd that had surged to the window. Lynton was slapping the shoulder of the elderly gentleman next to him, and in a moment he had moved toward the door.

“What is it?” asked Ash, intercepting him. “What has happened?”

“A carriage,” said Lynton in an odd voice, “trundling up the street toward Piccadilly, and there are three French Eagles thrust out of the window.” Breaking into a wide grin, he gripped Ash’s hand in a crushing handshake, and a moment later, had left the room.

Ash leaned against the doorjamb, suddenly dizzy. Wellington had won! He listened to the huzzahs that rose about him like banners, and thought he might explode from sheer exultation. He had done it! The Park was safe, and he was no longer dependent on the patronizing whims of Jeremiah Bridge! He could marry Amanda with a clear conscience and live his life according to his own plans. He could ... He shook his head, overwhelmed by the sense of release and joy that swept over him.

For a few more minutes, he listened to the hubbub around him, exchanging shouts of triumph and expressions of jubilation. Then, quietly, he left the club. The only company he wanted in the world right now was Amanda, but he had vowed he would not see her until he could give her a concrete estimate of his profit, which he would not know until sometime tomorrow. Once more, he turned his feet toward the solitude of his lodgings, but in this he was thwarted. Men poured out of the door behind him, as did many others from White’s and Boodle’s, farther up the street, and in a few minutes the thoroughfare was thronged with men exchanging bits of news as they filtered up from the palace. It was not until he had almost reached Piccadilly that Ash caught the word, “Waterloo.”

* * * *

When he reached his lodgings, his thoughts were in such a muddle he felt himself no longer capable of coherent thought. He refused Minchin’s offer of “a little something to eat” and proceeding directly to his room, he drew off his boots and undressed, flinging his clothes to the four corners of his bedchamber. He envisioned another sleepless night, for he had even more to think about than the night before. Not only had he seen the lame horse on which he’d wagered his last farthing come round the bend to finish first, but despite all rational thought to the contrary it appeared Amanda had told him the truth about her fantastic journey through time.

He climbed into bed and closed his eyes, prepared for yet another onslaught on his sanity by thinking the unthinkable thoughts that swarmed in his brain. He opened them again, seemingly a few moments later, to observe the late morning sun slanting through a crack in his window hangings. An unfamiliar sense of well-being swept over him, and after the several moments it took to identify its source, he threw back his covers, calling loudly to Minchin.

In little more than an hour later, he presented himself at Mr. Shaffley’s door and was greeted with felicitations and expressions of amazed gratification. Ash was ushered into Shaffley’s office and settled with great ceremony into the chair opposite the huge desk that occupied the greater portion of the room.

“I must confess, my lord,” began Mr. Shaffley, steepling his plump fingers before him, “that I was somewhat dismayed by your order to buy.”

“Were you, indeed?” inquired Ash dryly.

“Yes,” replied the gentleman obliviously, “for it seemed the height of injudiciousness. However, your acumen has certainly proven itself. My lord,” he continued in a hushed whisper, “I believe you will realize not a penny less than forty thousand pounds when the market settles down again.”

“Forty thousand pounds,” echoed Ash dazedly. “My God.” His expression grew beatific, for it seemed he heard the words repeated by a heavenly choir.

“I cannot believe that the money I invested should bring such a staggering return,” he continued.

“Well,” said Mr. Shaffley thoughtfully, “fortunately, you had some resources left to you, and with the money you were able to borrow.” He hesitated for a moment. “Then, there was the other...”

“Other? What other?”

Mr. Shaffley shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think I am supposed to tell you this, my lord, but it is you who are my client, not—” He paused again. “Tell me, are you acquainted with a Mr. James Wincanon?”

Chapter Twenty-one

Amanda felt as though she might, at any moment, simply fly apart in all directions, scattering arms and legs and other body parts in gory profusion all over the expensive Brussels carpet in her bedchamber. It was Thursday morning and she had not heard a word from Ash since their conversation the previous Sunday. What the hell was he doing? The household had been filled with nothing but chatter of Wellington’s victory ever since Jeremiah had come banging into the house the night before, big with news.

Was Ash even now crouching in his lodgings, suicidally depressed because he had sold all his holdings and was facing ruin? Or was he roistering in some club somewhere, celebrating his newfound wealth because he had taken her advice? She was torn between fury at his inconsiderateness in not notifying her one way or the other and profound desolation that he did not think enough of her to share either in his despair over his misfortune or his joy over his windfall.

In was not until luncheon, when Serena proposed a shopping expedition in Bond Street, that Amanda bethought herself of a promise she had made two days earlier to visit Grandmama Ashindon that afternoon. She had never felt less like exchanging mindless bits of gossip over tepid cups of tea, but she did look forward to seeing Grandmama. She felt very much in need of the old lady’s astringent company, and, besides, she could not possibly sit around chewing her nails for another interminable day.

Thus, fortified by an almost painfully smart ensemble of twilled Italian silk, trimmed with three tiers of rouleaux around the hem, she bundled herself into the Bridge town carriage for the short journey to Grosvenor Square. She had just alighted before Grandmama’s house when she was hailed by a melodious masculine voice.

“Cosmo!” she said in surprise, turning to greet the slender figure that hurried toward her.

“Yes, it is I. No, you need not turn away,” he continued with great dignity as Amanda pulled her hand away from his. “I shall not importune you. Indeed”—his full lips turned up in a smile of smug satisfaction— “you must allow me to inform you that there will soon be an interesting announcement made concerning myself and a certain Miss Hester Olddlesham.”

“Ah.” Amanda grinned. “Another heiress, Cosmo?”

Mr. Satterleigh flushed, but said nothing.

“And one with a less perspicacious father than mine, I take it. Never mind,” she added as her erstwhile swain opened his mouth indignantly. “You have my heartiest congratulations and best wishes for your future prosperity. Now, if you’ll excuse me ...”

She smiled and continued on her way toward the dowager’s house. Once inside, she discovered to her surprise that, besides Cousin Emily Wexford, Lianne was among those present. Amanda had not seen the young countess since the house party at Ashindon, and she was additionally surprised at the cat-in-the-cream-pot expression that spread over her lovely face as she greeted Amanda.

An unpleasant twinge made itself felt in Amanda’s interior. Lianne could look this pleased for only one reason. No wonder Ash had not put in an appearance at the Bridge home. He had been visiting his love!

Of course, she thought bitterly. To whom else would Ash turn in his hour of need—or of bliss—whichever the case might be?

“Well, come in and sit, gel,” barked Grandmama from her chair. “And I hope to God you have something else to talk of besides Wellington. I’m heartily sick of the man’s name already, and I know it will be a great deal worse in the days to come.”

Amanda pinned a smile to her face. “But he is a hero, Grandmama.”

“Yes,” echoed Lianne. “He has vanquished the Corsican Monster!”

“Well, let’s hope they keep a better watch on him than they did last time,” said the dowager with a grunt. She turned to Amanda.

“How do the wedding preparations progress? I spoke to Serena the other day and it seems your father’s plans grow more grandiose every day. I expect to hear that by now he has decided you must be married in Westminster Abbey.”

“No,” replied Amanda calmly. “St. George’s will do for Papa.” She seemed unable to keep the rigidity from her voice as she continued. “It is natural that he would wish for everything to be perfect for his only daughter.”

“Only daughter, indeed,” snapped the old lady. “If this isn’t all to the glory of the one and only Jeremiah Bridge, I’ll eat my best bonnet. The man has the ego the size of one of those balloon things people are riding around in these days.”

Amanda stiffened. “Grandmama, I am sorry that you and Papa have not hit it off very well, but I will not sit here and listen to you insult him.”

Emily gasped and Lianne tittered nervously, but the dowager remained unfazed.

“No need to take a pet, gel. I’m only speaking the truth, after all. But now that I think of it,” she added as Amanda opened her mouth, “he ain’t such a maw-worm as I first saw him,”

With that, Amanda supposed she would have to be satisfied.

The conversation turned once more to the subject of Waterloo and the magnificent victory won by Wellington and his allies.

“Of course,” remarked Amanda, “the casualties were catastrophic—at least, so I’ve heard. The lists will be posted soon, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes,” said Emily, dabbing at her eyes. “I understand the Bellinghams have a son in Belgium, and Mrs. Gellis’s husband, too. You remember him, Lianne. They had only been married a few months when he went off.”

Lianne nodded sadly. “It always infuriates me when men talk of the glory of battle, when it is the women who must stay home and suffer when their men are taken from them.”

Amanda nodded silently, startled at this rare expression of depth from the young countess.

“As to that—” began the dowager, but she was interrupted as a tall figure strode into the room.

“Ash!” Amanda nearly dropped her teacup into her lap, and as she stared at him her heart sank.
He stood in the doorway, stiff and unsmiling, and in his hand he carried a small parcel. His eyes glittered darkly in the pallor of his face.
He did not, in short, look like a man who has just realized a marked improvement in his financial situation. After a mechanical greeting to the other ladies present, his gaze swung to Amanda.

“Ah, Miss Bridge.” His voice was flat and unemotional. “I have been searching for you. When I went to your home, I was told that you had come here. I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.” To the dowager, he said, “Is there a place where Miss Bridge and I might be private for a few moments?”

“Good God, boy, what are you about?” The old lady bristled. “This is most irregular, and I will not—” She stopped abruptly, eyeing her grandson intently. “You may go into the Blue Saloon.”

Dazedly, Amanda followed Ash. He said nothing as they left the room, progressing down the corridor until he turned into another chamber nearby. Ash strode through the door and placed the parcel on a table.

“Ash, for heaven’s sake, what is going on?”

He turned to her and gestured toward the parcel. “This is for you, Miss Bridge.”

“Ash, I don’t understand—”

“Just open it—please.” In the chilled metal of his tone, Amanda caught an undercurrent of barely leashed tension, and without saying more, she picked up the package and tore off the wrappings with trembling fingers. Her jaw dropped as she realized what she held in her hands.

“It’s—they’re—my—”

“Yes, Miss Bridge, your jewels. Please examine them to make sure they are all there.”

Amanda set the jewel box down on the table as though it had bitten her. “Ash, what is this? How did you come by them? For God’s sake, tell me what this is all about?”

“It’s quite simple. I discovered your efforts on my behalf and went round this morning to purchase the jewels back from Howard’s. It was necessary to borrow the funds from my man of business to do so, but that was a trifling thing, surely. You need not consider my embarrassment over the matter, just as you did not consider the humiliation of having my fiancée busy herself in my financial matters—particularly after I had expressly refused your extremely generous offer not three days ago.”

“But, Ash—!” cried Amanda, appalled.

He continued as though she had not spoken, still in that voice of deadly calm. “You see, Miss Bridge, I did take your advice. I sank every penny I could scrape together into government funds and borrowed more besides. As you can imagine, then, I went to the office of my man of business this morning in a high state of anticipation. My hopes did not go unrewarded, for Mr. Shaffley informed me that my returns will be nothing short of munificent.”

“I am so very happy for you, Ash,” said Amanda on a sigh of relief, “but—”

“Mr. Shaffley then pointed out that my good fortune had been augmented by the infusion of an extra spot of cash, donated anonymously. I will admit I had some difficulty in absorbing the fact that apparently my unknown benefactor was none other than a man I considered my best friend. When I went to said friend, he informed me that it was my very busy, very rich fiancée who had, in a spurt of nobility, sold her jewels.”