Tarnished Amongst the Ton. Louise Allen
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It was not a lack of intellectual capacity to cope with all those things that she heard in his voice, but the irritation of a man who did not want to be bothered by them, yet was making himself care. How interesting. Most of London society assumed that there was no greater delight and privilege than to be part of it and absorbed in every petty detail.
‘The only one for whom England is back is my father. For my mother and sister it is as strange as it is for me. But I offended you and I apologise.’
‘You are forgiven.’ And he was, she realised. It had not just been good manners that made her say it. Why? Because you have beautiful green eyes? Because you have been honest with me? Because I am deluding myself? ‘So, what do you intend to do with yourself now, Lord Clere?’
‘We will stay in London for the Season and see my sister launched. We all need to outfit ourselves, the town house must be resurrected from fifteen years of neglect. I must learn to be a viscount, the heir and an English gentleman. Dancing lessons,’ he added grimly, surprising a laugh from her.
At some point they had veered from the path towards the Queen’s House. Phyllida looked round and found they had reached the edge of the park close to the point where Constitution Hill met the Knightsbridge Road. ‘You cross here to Hyde Park.’ She pointed. ‘That is the Knightsbridge Turnpike.’
‘Then Tattersalls is near here. I was intending to find it after I had ridden.’ He whistled. The big crow flapped up and perched on the fence, eyeing her bonnet trimmings with malevolent intent.
‘That is not something a young lady knows about, my lord.’ She attempted to look demure. ‘But, yes, it is just around the corner behind St George’s Hospital.’
‘Thank you.’ Ashe swung himself up into the saddle, all long legs, tight breeches, exquisite control. ‘I hope we will meet again, Miss Hurst. Now we know each other better.’
The stuff of every maiden’s dreams. Phyllida suppressed a wince at her choice of words and lifted a hand in farewell as he took the horse out into the traffic and across to the other park. Ashe had been surprised and taken aback at what he had discovered about her and confessed as much, she thought as she made her way back to Anna. It was honest of him to admit it so freely.
And yet, thinking about it without his distracting presence looming over her, she had the uneasy feeling there was more than that in the blank look he had sent her last night, if only she could put her finger on it. He had apologised with disarming frankness, but he had not told her the whole truth. It would be as well to be wary of Lord Clere, however decorative and amusing he might be. Now we know each other better.
That had been a stroke of luck. Ashe turned his hired hack’s head towards what he guessed was the famous Rotten Row and pressed the horse into a canter. He had not wanted to enquire about the Hursts’ address and risk drawing attention to his interest in Phyllida, nor had he wanted to disconcert her by turning up in her shop. This encounter had been ideal, without even a passer-by as witness if she had done what he deserved and cut him dead in her turn.
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