Belle's Beau (21 page)

"Indeed," said Belle demurely. She felt a happy glow, for she had read a flicker of regret in his lordship's eyes when her aunt had entered the room.

Lord Ashdon smiled at the two ladies. "Well! I must be going. I had not intended to call, as you must know, Miss Weatherstone. However, your sister's persuasions were difficult to resist."

"Cassandra?" asked Mrs. Weatherstone, her surprise obvious. "Why, how do you mean, my lord?"

"I chanced to encounter Miss Cassandra while she was out shopping, and she requested that I escort her home," said Lord Ashdon.

"I see," said Mrs. Weatherstone, her tone thoughtful.

Belle wished very much that her aunt had not come in when she had. Her heart was still thumping at the memory of the expression in the viscount's eyes. She was filled with disappointment that she would not now be able to hear what it was he had meant to say to her.

Lord Ashdon made his good-byes, hesitating for the barest second over Belle's hand, pressing her fingers between his with unusual strength. His eyes lingered on her face. "Until we meet again, Miss Weatherstone," he murmured.

When the viscount was gone, Mrs. Weatherstone turned to her niece angrily. "Well, Belle, I believe that there is some explanation due me for your outrageous behavior. It is not seemly for a young lady to receive a gentleman alone, as you know."

Belle was startled by her aunt's attack. "I was not alone. At least, not at first. Cassandra brought Lord Ashdon in with her, and she only recently left his lordship with me."

Mrs. Weatherstone stared. "I cannot believe that Cassandra would ever do anything so thoughtless and unconventional!"

"I do not fib, Aunt," said Belle tightly. All the pleasure of Lord Ashdon's unexpected appearance was somehow tinged by the accusing air of her aunt.

"I am sorry for it, Belle, but I shall have to report to your uncle this latest scandalous behavior," said Mrs. Weatherstone, shaking her head. Her glance was almost pitying. "I fear that I cannot trust you, after what has already gone before."

Belle tossed her head, her temper suddenly flaring. "No, you wouldn't, of course! For Cassandra would never do anything wrong, would she? Not like me, whom you constantly compare to my wonderful, perfect sister!" She rushed out of the drawing room, almost blinded by tears.

Mrs. Weatherstone was horrified. "Belle!"

Chapter 20

As the music played, Lord Ashdon surveyed the company. Most particularly, his eyes sought and followed a certain young damsel. Miss Belle Weatherstone had not had a single opening left on her dance card that evening. His own signature was on two of the lines, and he had already enjoyed the first dance with her. Their second, and last, dance of the evening was a waltz. He had made certain of that, for he wanted to hold Miss Weatherstone in his arms and not share her with all the other gentlemen, as was inevitable in a country set.

His waltz was some minutes away, however, so Lord Ashdon filled the time by making leisurely conversation with others at the ball. Even as he smiled and conversed on a number of polite topics, his eyes strayed often to the dance floor. He found that the sight of Miss Belle Weatherstone dancing with her other admirers grated on him. He was not a man of hasty temper, but there were some things, he had discovered, that did have the capacity to annoy him.

Lord Ashdon reflected that he had very nearly scuttled his own chances with Miss Belle Weatherstone because of his mistaking her identity. As he watched her, he reflected that he might still lose her to any one of a score of admirers.

If only Mrs. Weatherstone had not come into the drawing room just when she had, he thought with regret. He had been on the point of revealing the depth of his interest to Miss Weatherstone. If he had been able to do so, he would not now be wondering just exactly where he stood in her affections. He felt she cared something for him, and he harbored hopes that she would favor his suit.

Lord Ashdon smiled as he thought how circumstances had conspired to bring him to the point of declaring himself to be in love with the wrong woman. How disastrous it would have been to have actually become betrothed to the one sister and, later, to meet the other.

He had liked Miss Cassandra Weatherstone and had been drawn by her undeniable beauty as well as her empathy toward him while he was recovering from his wound. However, he had fallen in love with Miss Belle Weatherstone. He could not truly say why, for in appearance the two young ladies were identical. All that he could say for certain was that Miss Belle Weatherstone had somehow stolen his heart.

Lord Ashdon thought that if he was to make a lasting impression on the Belle of London, he had to make an effort to become her foremost and favorite suitor.

Lady Ashdon came up to the viscount, holding out her hand to him. "Adam, you do not dance."

He bowed over his mother's bejeweled fingers. "I have reserved a later dance, ma'am."

"I noticed that you danced earlier with Miss Weatherstone," remarked Lady Ashdon. "A very good family, I believe. I have remembered that my father knew the girl's grandfather, Sir Marcus Weatherstone. He dabbled in scholarly pursuits, as I recall. I do not believe that Miss Weatherstone has followed in her grandfather's footsteps."

"No, perhaps not," said Lord Ashdon noncommittally, though he felt quite sure of it. He could not imagine anyone being less of a bluestocking than Miss Belle Weatherstone. He was glad of it, for though his own education had been the best, and certainly he knew the value of a good education, he was not himself the least bit bookish or retiring in nature.

Lady Ashdon regarded her son for a long moment. "I quite thought that you meant to go to Bath long before now, Adam."

"I have changed my mind. I believe that I shall remain in London for the rest of the Season," said Lord Ashdon, his gaze straying once more to the dance floor.

Lady Ashdon noticed the direction of her son's eyes, and a little smile crossed her face when she saw that he was watching Miss Weatherstone. "Ah, I am so glad. Such a short visit as we have had could not possibly make up for the time that you were away from England. Perhaps you will at last be able to take your rightful place in Society this Season."

Lord Ashdon turned his head and looked squarely at his mother, his brows drawing together in a frown. "I trust that you do not still harbor hopes of making me into a court-card, ma'am."

"It would do your reputation good if you were to spruce up your wardrobe a bit. Look at your cousin Roland. Or better yet, Sylvan Darlington. I have never liked our new marquis, but one cannot help but admire his social acumen," said Lady Ashdon, gesturing with her fan in the direction of the gentleman.

"My ambitions run in different roads, my lady," said Lord Ashdon with a sigh. "If you recall, I intend to take my seat in Parliament one day."

"Yes, so you have told me. Your father was vastly interested in politics, of course. We scarcely agreed on anything of any importance," said Lady Ashdon in a bored voice.

Lord Ashdon felt the disappointment that he always did when it was brought home to him that his surviving parent had no interest in who he really was or what ambitions he held close. Lady Ashdon's world revolved around the
ton.
As he had known for many, many years, her sole ambition for him had been that he make of himself a social icon. In her ladyship's estimation, that would be the epitome of power and prestige.

The viscount knew that he had always been a grave disappointment to his mother. Not for the first time, he felt the loss of his father more keenly than perhaps he should after the years gone by.

Though he had been brought up mainly by tutors, Lord Ashdon felt that he had enjoyed an unusually close relationship with his father. His sire had taught him independence and had expected him to make a mark in the world. When he had declared himself mad for the army, his father had bought for him, over his mother's strong and vigorous objections, his first pair of colors.

Though the viscount hoped he was as fond of his mother as any son might be, he had long ago felt the need to distance himself emotionally from her. At a young age he had recognized that her ladyship could be overbearing. Lady Ashdon had never wanted him to become a soldier, and that was why he had not disclosed to her that he was not permanently settled in England. It was difficult enough to bear her questions and suggestions about whom he should choose for his bride. He knew that he would have had no peace at all if her ladyship had known that he had not left the army but, on the contrary, fully intended to return to active duty as soon as possible. The timing depended largely on what Napoleon Bonaparte might do. Otherwise, it would be dictated by his wedding dale.

His original intention, of course, had been to wed and then leave his new bride at home in England while he went off to war again. Since coming to know Miss Belle Weatherstone, however, he increasingly had visions of taking her, as his wife, along with him.

Lord Ashdon was confident that Belle Weatherstone would not have the least difficulty in following in the tail of the army. He felt that she was up to anything that might be asked of her.

A smile touched his face. Indeed, he rather thought that she would revel in the experience.

"Adam, where have you gone? I am speaking to you."

Lord Ashdon started. He glanced apologetically at his mother. "I am sorry, Mother. I was wool-gathering. What were you saying?"

"I was commenting on the insipid entertainment this evening," said Lady Ashdon in an annoyed tone, waving her gilded fan slowly to and fro.

"I fear that I cannot agree with you, ma'am. I have enjoyed myself," said Lord Ashdon briefly. He had heard the familiar strains of the waltz strike up. "Pray excuse me, Mother. I have solicited this dance." With a bow and a smile, he escaped from his mother and made his way toward Miss Belle Weatherstone.

As always since the clearing up of the misunderstanding that had come between them, Miss Weatherstone greeted him with a brilliant smile and an outstretched hand. "Lord Ashdon! I have been waiting this age for the waltz."

Lord Ashdon laughed, at once feeling a lightening of his own heart in her enthusiasm. "Then let us not delay, Miss Weatherstone." He bowed to Mrs. Weatherstone, who smiled her approval at him, and held out his hand to his partner.

Belle placed her gloved hand in his and looked up at him, her eyes roguish in expression. "I warn you, my lord, I have been practicing. You will not find me wanting, I think."

"Practicing, Miss Weatherstone?" Lord Ashdon felt a spurt of jealousy. He glanced down at her as he escorted her onto the floor. "With whom, if I may make so bold to ask?"

"Oh, with Philip Raven, my sister's betrothed. Cassandra has been so good as to play for me while Philip spins me about the room," said Belle. She chuckled. "Poor Philip! I fear that I have been very demanding of his time, when he would far rather spend all of his hours with Cassandra. But he has always been excessively good-natured. As a boy, he endured my most bullying tactics."

"Then you have known Philip Raven since you were a child?" asked Lord Ashdon, leading her off with his arm laid snugly around her slim waist and holding her hand lightly in his.

"Oh, yes! He is my grandfather's godson and lived with us at the Hall until he went up to school. I missed him, of course, for he was my only playmate," said Belle.

"Ah, yes! I vaguely recall something he said once about his godfather," said Lord Ashdon.

"Then you are well acquainted with Philip?" asked Belle.

"I know Philip Raven from the war in Spain. It was he who carried me out of harm's way when I was wounded," said Lord Ashdon.

"Then I am very, very grateful to him, indeed," said Belle softly, glancing up at the viscount's scarred brow through her lashes.

"I do not see Raven or your sister this evening," commented Lord Ashdon. "Indeed, now that you have put me in mind of it, I have seen nothing of them. Do they not intend to go out in Society while they are in London?"

Belle shook her head. "Cassandra is refusing to go out into Society because she does not wish to get caught up in a round of entertainments when she is so busy preparing for the wedding and the trip abroad. Cassandra and Philip are dining with my uncle this evening." She smiled, a little wistfully, and shook her head again. "I am very happy for them, of course. I do wish, however, that they could remain in England a while longer. It will be difficult to let them go off to Vienna."

"The Congress of Vienna?" asked Lord Ashdon quickly.

"Why, yes. Philip has accepted a diplomatic post," said Belle, pleased by his lordship's quick understanding. "I envy Cassandra and Philip. It will no doubt be very exciting to be involved in such heady stuff as deciding the terms of the peace now that we don't have to worry about Napoleon Bonaparte any longer."

"Quite! However, I do not believe that everything will be decided over a table," said Lord Ashdon with a sudden frown.

"Why, what can you mean?" asked Belle, curious. She had assumed that with the forming of the international congress all threat of war breaking out must he gone. It had relieved her to think so, for she had not liked the thought of Lord Ashdon returning to the army.

He laughed and shrugged. "You must forgive me, Miss Weatherstone. I was but thinking aloud. It is still my unfortunate opinion that we have not seen the last of Bonaparte."

"Do you mean . . . despite the Congress, there will be war again?" asked Belle, surprised and dismayed.

Lord Ashdon hesitated, then nodded. Very seriously, he said, "Quite possibly, Belle. It is not a popular opinion, believe me, but it is what I suspect will happen."

"But...what will you or Philip or the rest do if there is war again?" asked Belle, a sinking feeling somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach.

"Why, we shall be off to earn another day of glory for England," said Lord Ashdon flippantly.

Belle shook her head. "My lord, pray do not shrug off my question. The answer is of vital concern to me."