Belle's Beau (6 page)

"Well, I like that!" exclaimed Clarice with a pretty pout, flipping open her painted fan and plying it rapidly.

Roland pretended not to notice Clarice's exaggerated displeasure. "Everywhere one hears of your beauty, your refreshing frankness, your friendliness—shall I go on, Miss Weatherstone?" he asked with a wide grin.

"Pray spare my blushes, Mr. White," said Belle, laughing.

Roland bowed in grinning acknowledgment. "As you wish, of course."

"Well, I think it fits you, Belle," said Clarice loyally, laying aside her fan. "You truly are an original."

"Do you know, Clarice, I have yet to discover a mean bone in your body," said Roland, finally glancing at her, with approval in his expression.

"You haven't had her for a sister," said Angus, flashing a quick grin.

Clarice had blushed prettily at Roland's compliment. At her brother's declaration, red flags suddenly flew into her cheeks. She looked up over her shoulder at her sibling with flashing eyes. "Angus Moorehead, if it weren't for Roland's being here, I would do something drastic to you."

"Which is why I'm glad that Roland is here," said Angus.

Clarice drew a deep breath, her color still high. Roland stepped swiftly into the breach. "Have I told you, Clarice? My cousin Ashdon is back in town. He set foot in England scarcely a week past."

Belle smiled as Clarice was instantly diverted from skirmishing with her brother. She knew that there was great affection between the Mooreheads. It showed in their easy manners with one another and even in their mild disagreements. Belle wondered what it would have been like to have been raised in a large family, and she almost envied her friend.

"Oh, is that the one that you have always liked, Roland? The one that went to war?" asked Clarice.

Roland nodded. His expression mirrored the enthusiasm that was suddenly present in his voice as he said, "Exactly so. What tales my cousin could tell us if only he would! He was mentioned in the dispatches more than once, you know."

"Who is your cousin?" asked Belle curiously.

Roland glanced at her in surprise, as though she should have known. "Why, my cousin Adam, of course! Viscount Ashdon, you know."

Belle recalled a certain imperious lady of that name to whom she had recently been introduced. She had not wished to further her acquaintance. "I have met a Lady Ashdon," she said cautiously, not wishing to give offense.

Roland grimaced. "My aunt. I daresay you didn't care for her."

"Oh, no! I—I thought her very polite," said Belle hastily.

With a crooked grin, Roland nodded his understanding. "Yes, she can be freezingly polite. I don't like her much. I don't know anyone who does, really."

"His lordship must. After all, his own mother," said Angus.

Roland considered it, then shook his head. "I don't care to wager on it, Angus."

"A pity. Not liking your own mother, you know," said Angus.

Roland shrugged. "Ashdon doesn't take after her ladyship. My cousin is a right'un, true to the bone. You always know where you stand with him, for he'll tell you."

"I should like to meet the viscount," said Clarice musingly, "I do not know very many eligible gentlemen with titles yet."

"Don't think Lord Ashdon will come dangling after you, Clarice," warned Angus. "He's not like a lot of these other fellows that cluster around you. The man has been to war. He's likely a hero, to boot. He probably thinks about more important things than making up to chits like you."

Clarice was not interested in her brother's observation. Ignoring him, she cocked her head and asked the question most important to her. "Does his lordship have a wife?"

"Clarice!" exclaimed Belle. "My aunt is forever scolding me for my forwardness, and here you are setting such a bad example for me!"

Clarice smiled, her eyes dancing. "Oh, I know one shouldn't display undue curiosity, Belle. But it is only Roland that I am asking, after all."

Roland's eyebrows rose. "No, he does not possess a wife." Still looking thoughtfully at Clarice, he added, "He's a handsome devil, though."

“Then I should like very much to meet him, I think," murmured Clarice.

Belle glanced quickly at Roland's face and thought she saw some hurt reflected in his eyes. "Well, and so should I, naturally. You have made your cousin out to be something of a paragon, Mr. White."

Roland's expression cleared and he smiled slightly. "I don't know about that. What I do know is that my aunt has wished him to wed for years. But my uncle bought his colors for him, and he went to war instead. There was quite a family row over that, my father says." Light suddenly flashed in his gray eyes. "How I envy Ashdon. He saw every campaign of the war. He was even wounded. Twice." Roland seemed particularly affected by this fact, and Angus patted him on the shoulder in commiseration.

Belle could not imagine anyone as sartorially splendid as Roland ever going off to war, unless he wore a hussar's brilliant uniform, but she did not voice that observation. Her thoughts were on the viscount. What little that Mr. White had said, quite apart from his obvious hero worship of his cousin, had certainly aroused her curiosity.

"I hope that we shall all have the pleasure of meeting Lord Ashdon this Season, Mr. White," she said.

"Oh, there can be no doubt of that," said Roland confidently. "If I know my aunt, and I do, her ladyship will do her level best to puff Adam off. She dotes on him, you see. Why shouldn't she? He was the only issue, after all."

"Do you mean that the viscount is the only heir?" asked Clarice with an interested expression.

Angus rolled his eyes. "Dear sister, you positively embarrass me. Pay her no heed, Roland."

Roland smiled. "But that would be intolerably rude of me, Angus." He turned back to Clarice and nodded, adding ruefully, "I am the next in line, worse luck."

"Why, how is this? Why is that bad fortune?" asked Belle, highly amused by the gentleman's expression.

"Lady Ashdon dislikes Roland," said Angus helpfully.

"Oh, I see," said Belle politely. She and Clarice exchanged glances, then she shook her head. "No, I don't understand. Not really."

"It's this way. Lady Ashdon didn't want my cousin to become a soldier and go off to war. She wished him to take his place in society. Now, I wished to be a soldier, but m'mother begged me to reconsider on account of being next in line to the viscountcy. She said, and my father agreed, that there was a good chance of Adam's being killed. So I took my place in society," explained Roland with a shrug.

"Then Lady Ashdon dislikes you because she wanted the viscount to stay at home and she had only you instead?" asked Belle. "What an idiotic reason for dislike!"

"Lady Ashdon must be a veritable dragon," said Clarice in a low voice, her eyes wide.

"No one likes my aunt much," said Roland, nodding.

"I begin to pity the poor viscount," said Belle.

Chapter 5

At that very moment, the gentleman in question entered the ballroom. He paused to survey the company. Lord Ashdon felt uncomfortable, but his feelings did not affect his amiable expression.

He had submitted to his mother's wish that he attend Almack's Assembly rooms that evening for one purpose and one purpose only. Lady Ashdon had begged her son to look over the newest crop of young misses, in order that he might choose a candidate or two who might make a suitable wife. Rather than enter into an argument that he knew from past experience would be lengthy and futile, for Lady Ashdon rarely could be moved from a position that she had taken, his lordship had attired himself in the required evening dress and presented himself at Almacks. He intended to stay no more than a quarter hour, considering that to be ample time in which to discharge his duty.

It was not that the viscount was particularly malleable. He could be quite obstinate in his own right. In this instance, however, he had been dealing from a position of weakness, which he had known would be his undoing. He had agreed with Lady Ashdon that it was past time that he get himself a wife so that the family line could be secured. Since he had not yet set out for Bath, he had no excuse to forgo the pleasure of a look-in at Almack's. Surprisingly enough, the viscount was immediately hailed. "Ashdon!"

Lord Ashdon turned. Recognizing who was coming up to him, he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He met the gentleman with a firm handshake of his wide, square hand. "Peter Crocker! It is good to see you again, Peter."

Still shaking hands, Mr. Crocker grasped the viscount's arm with his other hand, too. He was a short, stocky gentleman, dressed respectably but unremarkably. There was nothing of the fop, either in his frank, open gaze or in his speech. "I had heard that you were back in England. Sold out, I suppose?"

Lord Ashdon shook his head. "No. I am on extended leave from my duties. I shall be going back to the Continent in a matter of months."

Crocker looked at him curiously. "What holds you to it, Ashdon? Too much the soldier to want any other life?"

Lord Ashdon threw back his head and laughed. "Scarcely that, Peter. No; it is Bonaparte. I don't think that we have seen the last of him. He gave in too easily, and I wish to be in on the kill when he comes plunging onto the stage again."

Crocker shook his head. "There aren't many that would share in your opinion, my lord. The Congress of Vienna is even now deciding the fate of Europe."

The viscount smiled again. "I truly hope that they may do it. But enough of politics, Peter. I haven't seen you since I was last in England, a year ago. How have you been keeping yourself?"

"Yes, you were on wounded leave then," said Crocker, his gaze tracing the scar that cut through the viscount's right brow and into his hairline. "That was a wicked cut, Ashdon. You should have been killed."

"It was divine intervention that preserved my life," said Lord Ashdon with an easy smile. "Now, satisfy my curiosity. What has brought you to Almacks this evening? Your lovely wife?"

Crocker grinned and shook his head. "No, not precisely. It is family duty. My wife is sponsoring her younger sister this Season, Miss Abigail Fairchilde. I never suspected that Melissa's chaperoning her sister would mean that I would be enlisted, too. Come, let me take you over. Melissa will be delighted to see you again."

Lord Ashdon threw up a broad palm. "A moment, Peter. Pray tell me that you are not leading me into a web of marital hopes."

Crocker laughed. His eyes full of mirth he said, "I admit that it crossed my mind. My sister-in-law is a good girl, a quiet miss who can boast all of the ladylike accomplishments."

The viscount groaned. "It is just as I suspected. This is precisely why my mother insisted that I attend this evening." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "I am to be put on the strut, Peter."

Crocker cracked a laugh. "That is good, Ashdon! Put on the strut! You don't care for it by half, I know!"

Lord Ashdon shook his blond head. "No, I do not, but I could not deny the core of my mother's argument. I have been away at war for years. It is only God's providence that has kept me whole, when all around me others were falling mortally wounded. Believe me, it has weighed ever heavier on my mind that I am the last of my line." He chuckled, his easy smile flashing again. "I could scarcely forget, for each of my mother's letters made reference to it! And so, friend Peter, I am dutifully, though somewhat reluctantly, in search of a wife."

Crocker eyed the viscount thoughtfully for a moment. "Yet you believe that Bonaparte will return."

Lord Ashdon's expression at once sobered, the smile fading from his firm, thin-lipped mouth. "I do, Peter. And I suspect that it will be the gravest, most desperate battle of all. That is why I must find a suitable wife. I am not at all reassured that I will return alive in the end."

Crocker whistled. His eyes widened as he stared at the viscount. "You are completely serious, aren't you, Ashdon?"

"Deadly serious," said Lord Ashdon somberly. "I need an heir to carry on my name, in the event of my demise."

Crocker shook his head. "Lord, what a depressing topic to bring into Almack's. War and death! I am glad now that I did not buy my colors. So many, so many that we went to school with are gone, Ashdon."

"Well I know it," said Lord Ashdon. He clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder. "But let us leave these morbid reflections, Peter. You are to deliver me into Mrs. Crocker's dainty hands, are you not? A title, no less! She will thank you a thousand times for bringing her sister to my notice. You see, Peter, I am fully cognizant of my worth on the market."

Crocker laughed as he led the way toward a small knot of people seated next to the dance floor. He slid a glance of amusement at the viscount, who paced beside him. "You haven't changed, my lord. You are as full of fun as ever."

"I hope I am as much as the next man," said Lord Ashdon, smiling.

A peal of feminine laughter rang out, and both gentlemen turned their heads. Two young ladies, seated beside the dance floor, were conversing animatedly with a couple of their admirers.

Lord Ashdon could not see the ladies entirely, his line of vision being partially blocked by the gentlemen who stood with the ladies, but Mr. Crocker apparently had little difficulty in recognizing them despite the limited view. He pointed with his chin. "The one seated on the left is Miss Clarice Moorehead, Lord Moorehead's daughter. Perhaps you know them?"

"I recall Lord and Lady Moorehead, yes. His lordship was a friend of my father's," said Lord Ashdon. "Who is Miss Moorehead's companion?"

Crocker smiled. "Ah! That is the 'Belle of London.' Like Miss Moorehead, she is just come out this season and is fast becoming all the rage. Perhaps you should solicit an introduction, Ashdon, for no doubt the lady would make a fine viscountess."

"For shame, Peter! What would Mrs. Crocker say if she were to hear such treason?" admonished Lord Ashdon.

Crocker laughed. "Yes, you are no doubt right. However, I am perfectly serious. From all that I have heard, the Belle of London would be a fitting bride for you, or for anyone else, for that matter. She is ravishingly beautiful, which poor Abigail is not, I fear, and she has a considerable portion to her name."