Belle's Beau (8 page)

The early-morning mists lifted, revealing another verdant green. A lone rider was cantering toward him. Lord Ashdon was astonished to discover another early riser such as himself, and even more astonished when he saw that the rider was a young female without an accompanying groom.

As he began to come abreast of the solitary rider, hearing the clip of the other horse's hoofbeats clearly, Ashdon suffered a shock. He recognized the lady's face as she passed him. "My God!"

Instantly he pulled up his horse, setting it almost on its haunches. Within seconds he had the animal turned, and he whipped it to speed. His mount stretched quickly into full gallop. It was a powerful beast, with good bottom, yet the viscount was anxious that he would not be able to catch the rider.

As though she had heard the thundering hoofbeats coming up from behind her, the rider glanced back. A merry look passed over her face, and she bent low in the saddle, encouraging her own horse to a gallop.

Lord Ashdon grimly chased his quarry. Bit by bit, his stallion gained ground, until he suddenly cut across the rider's path. The lady reined in her gelding, laughter bubbling from her lips.

"Well done, sir!" she called. Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold, gleamed with excitement. Her cheeks were rosy from the wind, and her generous mouth flashed a quick smile.

Lord Ashdon felt his heart thumping in his chest. He was almost as affected as he was on the eve before a battle. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins furiously, and he took a deep, steadying breath. "Forgive me for pursuing you in such a relentless fashion," he said diffidently. "I am Ashdon, you know."

Recognition lit the lady's eyes. "Lord Ashdon! I am an acquaintance of your cousin Mr. Roland White. He informed me that you had returned to London. I had hoped that we would meet at some function or other. I am Belle Weatherstone."

Miss Weatherstone extended her hand to the viscount. He hardly comprehended what she had said. It was enough that she had spoken. He took her fingers, slightly dazed. Perhaps he had a right to be, he thought incoherently, for certainly chance had played a huge part in this meeting.

Belle was quite surprised that the viscount had accosted her so boldly. She knew well enough now that good ton required a formal introduction. She was not one to cavil, however. The informality of their setting and the suddenness of their meeting must provide excuse enough to perform their own introductions. She would not allow the unorthodox to spoil the moment.

Belle studied Lord Ashdon's countenance, taking quick note of the scar that descended into his brow. It had been he whom she had seen at Almack's, then. She felt a thrill of satisfaction that was not lessened as she gazed at the laugh lines at the corners of his wide-set blue eyes, his straight, regular nose, the thin-lipped firm mouth and strong jaw. Belle liked very much what she saw. Lord Ashdon was quite the handsome fellow. Mr. White had not exaggerated.

"Miss Weatherstone." Lord Ashdon cleared his throat. A grin suddenly lit his tanned face. "It appears that I am struck dumb in your presence. Pray forgive my clumsy attempt to bring myself to your regard. I am usually much more polished upon making myself known to a young lady."

"Do you not always make a practice of running the ladies down on your horse, then?" asked Belle teasingly. She slid a laughing glance in the viscount's direction as she turned her stolid mount and set it walking toward the park entrance.

Lord Ashdon's keen eyes flared wide, as though in surprise. "You take me aback, ma'am."

At once, Belle was dismayed. She had put her foot in it again. Her aunt's gentle voice rang reprovingly in her thoughts. She shook her head ruefully. "It is the curse of my too-freely-spoken mind, my lord. I am constantly reminded that I am in London and must harbor such humor to myself, for it is considered to be too forward by some."

"No, do not apologize. I do not mind in the least being roasted," said Ashdon hastily.

Belle smiled at him, grateful for his forbearance. "I can see that we are destined to be good friends, my lord."

"So I hope," said Lord Ashdon with emphasis, dazzled by his good fortune. He turned his horse about also and rode beside her, admiring her excellent seat and handling of her mount. They had not had occasion to ride together in Bath, of course. He had been too unsteady even to think of straddling a horse. He was glad to see that Miss Weatherstone was an accomplished horsewoman, for he himself enjoyed riding. He nodded at the gelding. "Is he yours?"

Belle nodded and reached down to pat her chestnut's glistening neck. "This is my Rolly. I brought him with me when I came up to London with my aunt and uncle, for I could not bear to be parted from him."

"Are your aunt and uncle in residence, then? May I have their direction?” asked Lord Ashdon in a casual fashion, even though inside he was taut as wire. "I should like to call on Mr. and Mrs. Weatherstone one day, if you have no objection."

Belle looked at him, surprise in her eyes. His lordship was moving swiftly indeed. "Why, certainly, my lord. What possible objection could I have?" She relayed the address to him and then pulled up her mount so that she could offer her gloved hand. She nodded toward the entrance to the park and then smiled up at the viscount. "I must go now. I am already late for breakfast, I suspect."

Lord Ashdon held her fine-boned hand for an instant. There was warmth in his gaze. "I hope to further my acquaintance with you and your aunt and uncle very soon, Miss Weatherstone."

"Pray do so," said Belle cordially. "Good-bye, my lord."

Lord Ashdon watched her ride out of the park and merge into the early-morning traffic. The dispersing mists and rising sunlight created a strange effect, so that her silhouetted form appeared to be more phantasm than bone-and-blood woman. It was almost as though she was not real.

But, no, she existed. His chance meeting with Miss Weatherstone was not a figment of his imagination. He had spoken with her, and she had recalled him with cordiality.

Lord Ashdon felt much more like himself than when he had first come into the park. A smile curved his lips as he thought about their unexpected race across the green verge and their brief conversation.

He reflected that if he had to wed, he would far rather marry someone whom he liked. He had hoped that his memory would not play him false, and it had not. Miss Weatherstone was just as lovely as he had remembered. In fact, his recollections had not done her justice. He had forgotten the liveliness of her countenance, the vivaciousness in her expressive eyes. Her eyes had actually sparkled with the joy of the moment. Her high, healthy color, whipped up by the wind, had lent a rosy tint to her beautiful oval face.

Lord Ashdon turned out of the park and headed home to his own breakfast, his thoughts still lingering on his encounter with Miss Weatherstone. He was struck by the sudden realization that she had not been in the company of a groom. He recalled that at the Pump Room in Bath she had always been chaperoned either by her aunt or by a maid. But perhaps since coming to London, Mrs. Weatherstone had relaxed her vigilance slightly. London society was, after all, more permissive than the more insular society of Bath. In that popular watering place, one could scarcely nod to an acquaintance without the fact being observed and commented upon by a dozen people.

How odd. He had quite thought that Miss Weatherstone's name was something other than "Belle." Perhaps it was a diminutive or a pet name. Lord Ashdon shrugged. No doubt he had simply been mistaken. They had not been on a first-name basis, after all. One's memory could play tricks, and certainly he had had more excuse than many others for memory lapses during the recovery from his head wound.

Chapter 7

Lord Ashdon waited three days before he presented himself at the Weatherstone residence in Albemarle Street. He sent in his card, requesting to see Mrs. Weatherstone and her niece, Miss Weatherstone.

The butler returned to usher him into the drawing room, where he was cordially greeted by Mrs. Weatherstone. Lord Ashdon glanced quickly around, noting with disappointment that the lady of the house was alone. He bowed over Mrs. Weatherstone's hand, saying, "When I learned that you were in town, and recalling with pleasant memories our former acquaintance in Bath, I decided to call on you."

"I am very glad that you did, Lord Ashdon. Pray be seated, my lord," said Mrs. Weatherstone, graciously gesturing to a wingback. She seated herself on the settee opposite, as Lord Ashdon murmured his thanks and sat down.

"I was just about to take tea. Will you join me?" asked Mrs. Weatherstone.

"I would be delighted, ma'am," responded Lord Ashdon. He had deliberately chosen teatime for his visit, in hopes of catching the ladies at home. He wondered where Miss Weatherstone was, if she had been momentarily detained abovestairs, but civility barred him from inquiring at once.

Mrs. Weatherstone seemed to read his mind. "Unfortunately, my niece is not at home. She has gone to visit some young friends this afternoon," she said, beginning to pour the tea.

"I am disappointed to have missed her," said Lord Ashdon, feeling somewhat deflated. He had anticipated seeing Miss Weatherstone again, especially to test whether he would feel that same rush of adrenaline that had bespoken hope in his breast.

At Mrs. Weatherstone's inquiry, he indicated that he took his tea while and sweet. As he accepted the cup from her, he said with a smile, "I learned to like it this way while in Spain. When we had nothing else, strong, sweet tea meant the difference sometimes between life and death."

"It must have been a very difficult time," said Mrs. Weatherstone sympathetically. "I cannot fathom how you, or indeed, any of our young men, were able to survive. I must say that you appear to be in much better health than when we met in Bath."

"Yes," agreed Lord Ashdon. He touched the scar above his eye with a light hand. “This was very nearly the end of me. It made me an invalid, to my grave embarrassment. My stay in Bath proved to be entirely beneficial, however. I have suffered no ill effects since."

"That is very good to hear, my lord," said Mrs. Weatherstone with a smile, sipping her tea.

"Did Miss Weatherstone relate to you how we met the other morning in the park?" asked Lord Ashdon, as though it were a mere conversational gambit, but in fact he was keenly interested in the answer.

"Yes, she did." Mrs. Weatherstone shook her head, a small frown crossing her face. "I scolded her handsomely for going out without a groom, I assure you. I am only grateful that it was you, my lord, who accosted her and not some scoundrel."

Lord Ashdon made a short bow from his chair. "Thank you, ma'am. I am honored by the trust you have implied that you have in my character. I hope that I may be favored with your permission to call again in future."

"Of course, Lord Ashdon. You may call on us at any time. We will be delighted to receive you," said Mrs. Weatherstone, giving a gracious nod.

"I hope that you did not scold Miss Weatherstone too stringently, Mrs. Weatherstone, for I thoroughly enjoyed being in her company. She is a delightful young lady," said Lord Ashdon.

'Thank you, my lord. Belle is such a vivacious, lovely girt, and she is extremely good-natured," said Mrs. Weatherstone.

"Quite. Your niece possesses a natural liveliness that is charming," said Lord Ashdon. He was once more struck by Miss Weatherstone's given name. Surely his memory could not be so faulty, not when he had recalled everything else about her. He was completely taken aback that he had forgotten such an important detail as that.

"Indeed." Mrs. Weatherstone looked at him over the rim of her cup and shook her head. "I shall not pretend to you, my lord, that I have not been concerned from time to time about her. Why, I am told that she is now called the 'Belle of London.' Such nonsense! Pray do not mistake me. I know that Belle would not deliberately put herself in an awkward position. Because of her sheltered upbringing, however, she is perhaps not aware of all the nuances of her actions. For instance, this business of riding off to the park without an escort."

"I am persuaded that your own example must hold sway, for Miss Weatherstone will surely not abandon all of the good sense that you have undoubtedly instilled into her," said Lord Ashdon politely. He was remembering how easily he had brushed aside Crocker's offer to introduce him to the Belle of London. What a fool he had been! It was pure chance that he had subsequently discovered Miss Weatherstone at the park. A few minutes one way or the other, he would have missed her altogether, and he would have left London for Bath without ever having met her. He smiled at his hostess without giving away his shaken thoughts. "As for society, London is certainly a far cry from Bath, or indeed, any other city that I know. I suspect Miss Weatherstone will discover tolerance for any small steps that she unwillingly takes beyond the most rigid boundaries."

Mrs. Weatherstone smiled at her visitor. "I am happy that Belle's unwitting flout of convention did not make you think ill of her, my lord."

"I could not think ill of someone whom I hold in utmost regard, ma'am," said Lord Ashdon.

Mrs. Weatherstone smiled again, and her manner became increasingly friendly. "My lord, I shall not stand on ceremony with you since we are already acquainted. I am also acquainted with your lady mother, Lady Ashdon, and your cousin Mr. White. Though I have already sent out the invitations, I should personally like to invite you to attend the ball that we are holding." She named a date. "It will be my niece's official coming-out, and I am certain that she would be delighted if you were able to come. Naturally, I will look for Lady Ashdon's presence as well, for I included her name on my list."

"I can think of little that would please me more," said Lord Ashdon quite truthfully. He gave an easy smile. "I shall certainly mark the date on my calendar."

He glanced casually toward the door. He had hoped that Miss Weatherstone would return to the house during his visit, but it did not seem likely that she would now make an appearance. He knew that the conventional fifteen minutes deemed proper for a social call had passed, and so he began to make his good-byes.