Belle's Beau (15 page)

Mrs. Weatherstone rounded on her niece. Her blue eyes sparkled with worry and anger. "Let us hope that Lord Ashdon will be able to enforce silence upon his cousin, Mr. White, as well! Really, Belle, how could you have behaved so thoughtlessly, so reprehensibly? I don't know how I am to trust you again."

"I have learned my lesson, Aunt Margaret," said Belle in a tense voice, her hands tightly clasped.

"So I should hope! I don't know what your uncle will say when I inform him of this. We have never been faced with this sort of contretemps before," said Mrs. Weatherstone. She looked over at Belle as though she had never really seen her before. "Perhaps it was a mistake to bring you to London so soon. Perhaps we should have waited until you had spent more time with us, until we had grown to know one another better."

Belle felt that her already wounded heart could bear no more. She knew that her aunt was not only expressing regret for ever accepting responsibility for her but also comparing her to her sister, Cassandra. Belle's throat closed tight as she fought back tears. In a choked voice, she said, "I am sorry, Aunt. May I be excused now? I should like to go up to my room."

Mrs. Weatherstone gestured her helplessness. "Yes, we shall do better to discuss this matter in the morning," she said in a tired, resigned voice. She walked over to her niece and kissed her. Without looking at Belle's face, she turned away. "Sleep well, Belle."

Belle fled, the hot tears beginning to course down her face. Fear was a knot in her stomach. She didn't know what the final outcome of her folly would be. Her aunt seemed to have come to a place where she questioned the wisdom of continuing with the Season and actually seemed to be on the verge of washing her hands of her.

Belle's thoughts tumbled on as she gained the sanctuary of her bedroom. Perhaps her aunt and uncle would decide to send her packing back to the Hall and her grandfather. That would be humiliation indeed, for she had been determined to make a successful come-out. Now, through her own thoughtlessness and rebellion, her entire status had been placed in question.

Lord Ashdon would not miss her, thought Belle. His lordship had been noncommittal toward her once he had finished lecturing her. No doubt he would be relieved to hear that she had been sent home. The viscount detested her, and she had no one but herself to blame.

Belle threw herself across the bed, fully clothed, and wept miserably.

Chapter 13

Lord Ashdon was not surprised when his cousin came to call on him the following morning. Since he was an early riser and did not spend a great deal of time on his wardrobe, he was nearly fully attired, in a white shirt, waistcoat, and pantaloons, before Roland sent in his card. The viscount was in the process of pulling on his gleaming Hessians when his guest was shown in.

Lord Ashdon stood up, stamping his stockinged feet firmly into his boots, and looked unsmilingly at his cousin. "Well, Roland? You surprise me."

Roland blinked at the trim, well-muscled figure before him. "My word, Adam. You would display to advantage at Jackson's."

Lord Ashdon took the blue frock coat that his valet was holding out and shrugged into it. "No doubt. You have not stirred yourself at such an early hour to discuss pugilistics with me, though, have you?"

"No, I—" Roland was so appalled by his cousin's ability to get into his coat without assistance that his thoughts were entirely diverted from his purpose. "I say, Adam, you really should have your coats cut by Weston."

"Spare me, Roland. Your aunt has been telling me ever since I set foot in the house that I should stop using Schultz," said Lord Ashdon with a small smile. He gestured for the valet to leave them.

Roland showed a tinge of alarm. "I had hoped not to disturb my dear aunt with my visit," he said hastily, throwing a glance at the retreating valet.

"Rest easy, cousin. I am not sending word of your arrival to her ladyship. My mother is still abed and will be until noon," said Lord Ashdon. His smile grew a little wider. "Now that I think about it, Roland, you are very much like her."

Roland was momentarily bereft of speech. He cleared his throat. "I see what it is, Ashdon. You are punishing me a little with these barbs. Well, I deserve it, and probably worse."

Lord Ashdon leaned a shoulder against one of the massive bedposts and crossed his arms over his wide chest. He was no longer smiling as he looked steadily at his cousin. "I am delighted that you are aware of that fact," he said.

Under that unblinking, considering regard, Roland felt that his neckcloth was becoming too tight and put up one finger to loosen its folds. "You must be aware why I have come, Ashdon."

"Why don't you tell me?" invited Lord Ashdon without change of expression.

Roland felt a spurt of irritation. "I've come to apologize, as you very well know! I should never have taken Belle— Miss Weatherstone—to that blasted masquerade. I know that. I am heartily sorry for it!"

"You knew it was wrong yesterday, Roland." Lord Ashdon straightened and took a slow step forward, and another. "You even asked for my advice, which I freely gave."

Roland eyed his cousin's advance with unease. "Quite right." He threw back his shoulders. "All right, then! Hit me, Adam. Go on, get it over with! I know that I deserve it!"

Lord Ashdon stared at him in astonishment, then burst out laughing. "What?! I have no intention of hitting you, Roland."

"You don't?" Roland drew a breath. "Well, that's a relief, at least."

"Why would you think that I would take a swing at you?" asked Lord Ashdon, his smile still lingering about his mouth.

"Well, knowing how you feel about Miss Weatherstone, I just thought. . ." Roland trailed off as the viscount's smile disappeared and a shuttered expression entered his lordship's eyes. "I am sorry, Ashdon. I did not intend—

Lord Ashdon forced a smile back onto his face. "I haven't taken offense, Roland. I was simply taken aback for an instant. So, you believe me to be smitten with Miss Weatherstone."

"I-I thought you were, but if you say you aren't, then of course I believe you," said Roland quickly.

Lord Ashdon chuckled. He stepped forward to clap a hand onto his cousin's shoulder and shook the younger man slightly back and forth. "No, you did not misread the signs, cousin. I was very much smitten by Miss Weatherstone. The Belle of London!" He dropped his hand and turned away, to stare abstractedly at the small fire on the hearth.

"Er, if you don't mind my asking, Ashdon, what happened to change things?" asked Roland with delicacy.

Lord Ashdon turned to look at his cousin. His firm mouth had thinned. A kaleidoscope of memories flooded his mind, of vivacious conversations and a lovely, laughing face. The time that he had spent with her in London made his recollection of their acquaintance in Bath pale by comparison. He had hoped she felt the same; yet when she had asked him about Bath, implying that she placed no significance on their previous acquaintance by announcing that she had forgotten everything about it, he had been surprised and wounded. "Why, nothing happened, Roland. I merely discovered that a pleasant memory was merely a figment of my imagination."

"I don't understand," said his cousin, frowning.

Lord Ashdon sighed and shook his head. He was in no mood to explain. "It is unimportant. Let us simply say I have decided that I and Miss Weatherstone would not suit."

Roland's mouth dropped open and he stared in open dismay. "Adam! I had no notion that the affair had gone so far with you! I
am
sorry! Did Miss Weatherstone refuse you?" Before Lord Ashdon could reply, his cousin's eyes narrowed. "No, for everyone would have known if you had offered for her. If Mrs. Weatherstone had not seen to it, my aunt certainly would have!"

"Roland—" Lord Ashdon threw up his hand. But Roland could not he stopped.

"You were about to offer for her, weren't you, Adam? But then something happened, something—" Roland sucked in his breath sharply. "Never say it was because of my taking Belle to the masquerade, Adam! You must know that I would never have let her reputation suffer for it, I assure you!"

"It has nothing to do with you, Roland. It is Miss Weatherstone. I... fear that I was greatly mistaken in her," said Lord Ashdon.

Roland flushed and his mouth set. "I'll not let you say anything against Belle, Ashdon. She is a dear friend, to me and to others. She may be spirited and hardheaded at times, but there's no harm in her."

"I am certain of that. Roland, I truly have nothing against Miss Weatherstone. I don't think her fast or disreputable, as you seem to have assumed." Lord Ashdon hesitated, choosing his words carefully, for he had no desire to expose Miss Weatherstone to any censure, nor to uncover the extent of his disillusionment. "I said that Miss Weatherstone and I would not suit because we are too different. I am a disciplined soldier. I do not tolerate shallowness or the frivolous very easily."

Roland stared almost in incomprehension. "You are saying that Belle is shallow and frivolous?"

"Perhaps not that so much as spoiled," amended Lord Ashdon. He was recalling again the unsubtle way she had hinted him away during the riding outing to Gunther's and also the curt manner in which she had rejected him at Vauxhall Gardens. Miss Weatherstone had made it abundantly clear that she felt he had become too possessive of her and that she did not welcome his attentions. "Yes, I suppose that is more what I am trying to say. She is used to having her way. And she is not anxious to form a closer connection."

"I see," said Roland slowly. "I don't know what to say, Adam."

Lord Ashdon looked at him with only a hint of his easy smile. It did not reach his eyes. "Why, I don't think there
is
anything to say, Roland."

* * * *

Lady Ashdon was appalled when her son informed her that he had decided that he would not attend the Mooreheads' gala at their estate. "Not attend? Are you mad, Adam? It is touted to be one of the crowning affairs of the Season! Why, everyone who is anyone will be attending."

"I weary of the social rounds, Mother," said Lord Ashdon with a hint of his wide smile. "I am toying with the notion of going down to my estates for a few weeks."

"Leave London? But that is preposterous! You cannot remove yourself now, not when you are expected any day to make an offer for one of the young ladies you have been dancing attendance on!" exclaimed Lady Ashdon.

Lord Ashdon contemplated his mother for a long moment. "And just who is it that expects me to betroth myself, my lady?""

Lady Ashdon raised her eyebrows, not at all intimidated by the question. "Adam, you must realize that in your position you are the subject of generous gossip. Of course you are expected to offer for someone! It would be thought odd if you did not after the way you have made up to Miss Weatherstone, among others."

Lord Ashdon got up and took a turn around the black-and-gold sitting room. "I detest this decorating scheme," he remarked without heat.

Lady Ashdon's mouth dropped open. She closed it with a snap. "Well! It is quite obvious to me that you are laboring under some strong emotion. It is equally obvious that your reluctance to go down to the Mooreheads' weekend party has everything to do with at least one of the young ladies who will be attending. I wish you will tell me the truth, Adam!"

Lord Ashdon swung around, a frown between his blond brows. "The truth, ma'am? Very well! I have discovered in myself a distaste for the matrimonial state. I don't wish to wed."

Lady Ashdon stared at her son. When she spoke, it was a curiously softened voice. "Which one is it, Adam? Who is it that has so tied you in knots that you are afraid to face her?"

"What nonsense! I, afraid!" Lord Ashdon laughed the very notion to scorn. "I have faced bayonets and cannon fire, my lady. There is nothing more to fear."

Lady Ashdon rose from her chair. Her expression was cool. "I am very glad to hear it, Adam. You will not deny me the pleasure of your escort, then, to the Moorehead estate, since there is nothing and no one there for you to fear." She swept out of the sitting room.

Lord Ashdon stood staring after his parent. By and by, a reluctant grin came to his face. "She carried this one, by Jove."

* * * *

Mrs. Weatherstone had her own reservations about the wisdom of attending the Moorehead party. "After this—this
start
of hers, I am not at all certain that I wish to go, Phineas. What if someone saw her and has said something? What if she does something else outrageous? Oh, I could not bear it to have the Season end badly, not when everything seemed to be going so well!"

"You must compose yourself, my dear," said Mr. Weatherstone. "It has been a full day since the masquerade, and we haven't seen any ill effects thus far. Perhaps no one but Lord Ashdon found her out. His lordship is an honorable man. He will not betray our confidence in him. Nor will Mr. White, I hope. He comes from the same honorable stock, after all."

"Yes, but—"

"It will appear very odd if we do not attend, Margaret. The Mooreheads are among our closest acquaintances," said Mr. Weatherstone quietly. "Our absence would inevitably raise unwelcome questions and could very well offend Lord and Lady Moorehead."

Mrs. Weatherstone sighed. "You are right, of course. We have no choice but to go. And if Belle's reputation is made to suffer, I suppose I would rather see the results of it outside of London. There it will be easier to claim that Belle is taken ill and must be sent back home than if she was still in town, where everyone will know differently."

"I agree," said Mr. Moorehead somberly. "But, Margaret, she is to be sent home to the Hall only if her reputation is completely tarnished. My father must be given no good cause to blame us if things do not work out as they should."

* * * *

Though Belle was not privy to her aunt and uncle's conversation, nevertheless she perceived that they had spoken about her between them. It seemed fairly well agreed that nothing else was to be said to her about the masquerade. Mr. Weatherstone did make it quite clear in a little lecture that he and Mrs. Weatherstone would not tolerate any other such clandestine activities in future. "And I believe that I must ask you to forswear Mr. White's sole company," he ended. "The young gentleman appears to be rather more rackity than I had thought."