Page 24
“Are you truly so despondent about missing out on the dancing?” he asked, stopping to regard her. “I’ve already overheard my sister considering another ball this summer. You will certainly be recovered by then.”
She shook her head. “No. Though I am certain you will come to regret promising to sit with me. And if not you, then all the ladies who I am sure long for your name on their card.”
“They will survive their disappointment. For I assure you, I have no regrets in my promises this evening.”
“And will you not dance with your sisters? Lady Cecilia, and er, Lady Elizabeth?”
“Lizzie is in bed, having disgraced herself with Lady Summersby over throwing pudding at Cavendish and ruining her dress in the ensuing fracas. And Cecilia’s card is all but full.”
“Lady Elizabeth’s dress, or Lady Summersby’s?”
Asherton’s brow wrinkled into a pained grimace. “Elizabeth’s. I’m afraid Cavendish retaliated with mustard. Then Evelina nearly fainted. I am thankful you missed the ensuing blood sport. Our illustrious ancestors must be thoroughly disgusted with us all. Certainly, Summersby’s tallying up his lost table linen and seeking a Scottish regiment that would take Elizabeth along with Cavendish as recruits.”
“Truly, that sounds … adorable, from a safe distance.”
“I shall not pass that verdict along to Evelina. She’s still fuming.”
“I … am sorry to hear that.” Elinor wished she could revel in the familiarity of his address and the comfort of their companionship. But Henry’s revelations echoed too loud in her mind. Asherton must’ve sensed something amiss in her tone because his steps slowed even more.
“Miss Harcourt? Something more than dancing must be amiss to have you so withdrawn. What’s happened?”
She glanced around, making sure they were not too close to anyone else. A few other couples and loose groups had wandered into the grounds and along the path but nobody stood near enough to eavesdrop. “I—I would be lying to say I am not feeling troubled.”
“Surely you and Miss Weston didn’t quarrel today?”
“No. Arabella and I… No. It was, er, something else.” She got a breath, aware of his brow wrinkling in the beginning of a frown and hating herself. “I hesitate to even bring it up, but I have too much respect for you to keep silent.” She lowered her voice, leaning closer to him. “I have heard some rumors regarding you and your family, my lord. I detected at least one that could not be true. At least based upon what you’ve told me in confidence. But still…”
“My family’s been subject to so many rumors that I cannot begin to guess which one has risen from the grave for the occasion.” He raised a brow, his frown becoming a look of vague amusement. “You may relate to me what you’ve heard, if you wish.”
The bitterness of her cousin’s words stained the back of her mouth and she grimaced but forced herself to speak. “I hate to even repeat it.”
“Miss Harcourt.” He said her name so gently, she practically felt the words stroke her cheek. “You won’t discomfort me. I suspect whatever you’ve heard, I’ve already caught wind of more times than I can count.”
“They’ve much to do with your parents, alleged affairs, and—” She caught herself, unable to bring up the word ‘murder.’ Instead, she cleared her throat. “There was some reference to your brothers and their rakish behavior.”
“Well, they were both fond of duels.”
“And that you brought a—a natural daughter back with you from Spain. But I know that one to be false.” The last spilled from her lips in a rush, and she became aware of a strange and alien emotion she didn’t have a name for, though it burned low in her belly like anger. “I apologize, my lord. I … I suppose I am angry that such lies are being spread.”
Asherton sighed heavily and patted her arm in reassurance. “The Ton must be very bored without Napoleon to fear, to drag up such tired skeletons from their graves. But you deserve some clarity.”
“I…” Do I?
He didn’t seem to hear her. “My parents’ divorce left a mire of gossip, but their affairs are hardly unique, save Mother’s untimely end—but it was pneumonia not whatever nonsense the wagging tongues concoct. As for my brothers…” he trailed off with a shrug. “They were young, wealthy, unwed and unattached. Trouble tends to follow that combination.”
That should have been the end of it. But her relief was overwhelmed by her confusion. “Their affairs weren’t unique?”
He gave such a bemused, almost pitying expression she fought the urge to shrink like a child. “Surely your cousin Lady Dalton’s had some acquaintance with the ways of the Ton, being a viscountess in London these three years. Does she not write of the gossip?”
“Well, certainly. But I do not go to London, and her letters speak mostly of her son and fashion.” God, it sounded so prim even to her own ears. Elinor’s cheeks warmed as Lord Asherton laughed.
“Perhaps she’s doing her best to shelter you and Miss Weston. I wager if you ventured there for the Season, you would learn a great many more interesting things than your cousin allows.”
Her spine straightened, and she shook her head. “That all but reaffirms my belief that it is best avoided. We were meant to go before we received the invitation from Lady Summersby. It would have been the first time in almost four years since I’d been back… Truly it is not long enough.”
“Is it the round of balls and dressmakers that you dread? Or the train of adoring beaux you would acquire?”
Was he making fun of her? “It has more to do with the violence, the blood, and not knowing if those I care for were one of the unlucky victims.”
