Regency Rebels: Scandalous Lord, Rebellious Miss / An Improper Aristocrat. Deb Marlowe

watch and Charles had been lucky to escape.

      ‘It took me all day to put together that cursed shoe.’ He dropped his hand and returned Sir Harold’s smile. ‘Do you know I still have it?

      The man laughed. ‘I dare say there’s not one among us who couldn’t rake up a hairy tale or two from our youth. I just wanted you to know you have your defenders. The energy and dedication you’ve shown since you inherited has done you good.’

      Sir Harold had gestured toward the dance floor then. ‘Good gracious, not since that dreadful Fitzherbert woman has anyone’s courtship been so closely examined. But you are doing well. A steady girl of good family and reputation will prove your sound judgment and lay your past to rest.’

      Charles had been thrilled at the reassurance. His instincts had been correct, his gambit had worked. He had, in fact, felt completely vindicated in his course of action.

      Until he had almost kissed Sophie.

      ‘What do you think, my lord?’

      Even her interruptions were timed perfectly, Charles thought, mentally noting the addition of another ‘Reason to Marry Miss Ashford’. More than happy to be distracted, he fixed his attention on the young lady. ‘I beg your pardon, my attention was drawn elsewhere for a moment.’

      ‘I asked,’ she said again, allowing the smallest hint of exasperation to colour her question, ‘how you think I might best approach Miss Westby. You seem to know her well, so I thought you could advise me.’

      ‘Approach Miss Westby?’

      ‘I think she might benefit from my influence. I shall take her under my wing, as they say. With my help I dare say she shall go on very well here in town.’

      Charles shrugged. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I think she’s doing well enough on her own. I can see no need for you to so trouble yourself.’

      Miss Ashford threw Charles a significant glance and favoured him with a very small, tight smile. ‘Naturally a busy gentleman such as yourself would not encounter the same sort of small talk that a lady would. Normally I would not deign to pass on such, well—let us call it what it is—petty gossip. But a few things have been brought to my attention, since I am known to also be an acquaintance of your family’s.’ She paused and this time her speaking look was even more pointed. Charles would have been amused if he hadn’t had a sudden chilling vision of the thousands of such arch glances the lady’s husband would be subjected to, day in and day out. Chalk one up for the ‘Reasons to Consider Someone Else’.

      ‘Fortunately there is nothing that cannot be overcome with my help. The incidents are mostly small and insignificant, in the manner of what we saw this morning, when Miss Westby engaged that beggar man in conversation.’

      Charles knew, without a doubt, that he should be grateful to Miss Ashford. She only sought to please him. She only echoed his own doubts about Sophie’s behaviour. She only offered to help Sophie in exactly the manner that he wished for himself, if on a larger scale. There was no earthly reason for him to feel such indignation on Sophie’s behalf. Yet feel it he did. Indignation and irritation flashed through him at the thought of Miss Ashford’s forcing Sophie into a mould fashioned after herself.

      ‘That military man, and all his like, deserves our condescension and compassion, Miss Ashford. God knows they have obtained precious little from the government they risked all to defend.’

      ‘I agree. Yet for a lady to be seen in conversation with them in the street is not at all the thing. If Miss Westby has a charitable bent, I have a far better notion of how she may proceed.’

      Charles’s interest was piqued. Perhaps Miss Ashford had more bottom than he had suspected. He hadn’t had an inkling that she participated in charity work. He couldn’t help but approve. ‘How so?’ he asked.

      ‘I, and a few of my peers, have organised our own charitable society. I mean to ask Miss Westby if she would like to join us.’

      ‘I dare say she would,’ Charles said warmly. ‘I’m very interested myself. Tell me about your works, perhaps I could help in some way.’

      ‘Oh, it is nothing you would be interested in. We are a small group, and new.’

      ‘Nonsense. I would be glad to help in any way I can. What have you accomplished so far? Have you a board? A charter? Perhaps I could serve as financial advisor and take that burden from you?’

      Miss Ashford was looking more and more discomfited. ‘I am afraid you have surpassed me already, my lord. As I said, it is a group of ladies. We meet every week or so over tea to discuss society’s ills. We have not progressed so far as you imagine.’

      Charles did his best to hide his disappointment. For a moment he had thought … but no, it was clear that Miss Ashford’s society would never progress as far as he imagined. Oh, she might throw a charity ball, but she would never truly interest herself in the plight of the less fortunate. The ‘Not Miss Ashford’ column was coming on rather stronger than he was comfortable with.

      ‘I fear I must warn you,’ he said, ‘Miss Westby was never a fan of discussion. If she sees a wrong being committed, she is far more likely to intervene herself than to sit and talk about it.’

      ‘Yes,’ agreed Miss Ashford, ‘and that is precisely the character flaw I hope to eradicate. Do you know what she said to the Duchess of Charmouth?’

      Charles did not know, but he could well imagine. ‘No, but I would wager that she criticised that cold and draughty ballroom that her Grace is for ever entertaining in.’ The ton had suffered, silently shivering, through year after year of the popular event. He almost laughed at the picture of Sophie haranguing the old termagant.

      ‘Worse,’ Miss Ashford declared, ‘she pointed out everything architecturally wrong with the room, then she came right out and told her Grace that she knew of a builder who could repair it.’ and she lowered her voice to a dreadful whisper ‘at a good price!’

      Unexpected laughter burst out at the mental image, but Charles tried hard to contain himself when he noticed Miss Ashford’s shocked countenance.

      ‘It is no laughing matter, my lord. Such pretension on Miss Westby’s part must not be encouraged.’

      ‘And was the duchess insulted?’ he asked.

      ‘No, she was not.’ Clearly Miss Ashford was puzzled by this. ‘But she very easily could have been.’

      ‘What, exactly, was her reply to Miss Westby’s advice?’

      ‘She said she was glad indeed to meet someone who would talk sense to her despite her title, and would be gladder still to hear of a man who would not cheat her because of it.’

      Charles chuckled, but he could see Miss Ashford’s point. Yet even though his head conjured images of Sophie suffering a scathing set-down and social disgrace, urging him again to distance himself from the girl, he knew in his gut that he would not.

      She very likely would get herself in some sort of trouble this Season. With Sophie, it just seemed inevitable. But she was the closest friend of his childhood. He would stand by her, come what may.

       It is a shameful thing, some deeply buried part of himself whispered, that you won’t trust her enough to allow her to return the favour.

      The party made good time on the roads and arrived in Sevenoaks just past mid-morning. Everyone welcomed a stop in the village centre to stretch weary limbs and to admire the stand of trees that bestowed on the little town its name.

      After a brief respite they climbed back aboard and travelled the short distance to Lord Dayle’s dilapidated house. For a few moments chaos reigned as the house servants came out to greet them, the stable hands swarmed to take charge of horses and vehicles, and those servants who had accompanied them from town set about unloading and locating the best spot to set up the picnic.

      For Sophie, their arrival came not a