The Transformation Of Miss Ashworth. Anne Ashley

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      ‘How good it is to see you again, and looking so well,’ he said softly.

      All the time he was peering down intently at each delicate feature in turn, as though to assure himself that the boy-girl who had trailed about after him over the estate like some adoring puppy all those many years ago and this self- assured young woman now standing before him were indeed one and the same person.

      Their years apart had undoubtedly been good to her. There was no sign now of the pretty plumpness of youth. Bright blue eyes considered him levelly above high cheekbones. The small, straight nose and the contours of her perfectly moulded mouth had not changed as far as he could tell. Only the firmness of the jawline seemed more marked, and there was a suspicion now of determination in the set of the slightly pointed little chin.

      ‘You look very well, Beth, my dear. Very well indeed,’ he assured her, releasing her hands the instant he felt her attempting to withdraw them.

      ‘And so do you, Philip,’ she returned, bestowing a smile upon him that emphasised wonderfully well those beneficial changes in her appearance…

      Author Note

      When I first began to write historical romances for Mills & Boon I did so by writing six books, all of which were linked by one or more characters. I have once again returned to a linking theme with my next two novels.

      In each story one of the main characters—one male, one female—has been involved in the Peninsular Campaign. Their reasons for going out to Portugal and Spain are vastly contrasting, and both are changed by their experiences.

      Both stories begin in September 1814, after our hero and heroine have returned to England, at a time when Napoleon is still in exile on the Isle of Elba and people believe the conflict with France is finally over.

      Observing the courtesies practised during the Regency period—ladies first—THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH centres on Miss Bethany Ashworth’s story.

      I hope you enjoy it.

      Anne Ashley was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a time in Scotland, but now makes her home in the West Country, with two cats, her two sons, and a husband who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humour. When not pounding away at the keys of her word processor, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.

       Recent novels by the same author:

      A NOBLE MAN*

       LORD EXMOUTH’S INTENTIONS*

       THE RELUCTANT MARCHIONESS

       TAVERN WENCH

       BELOVED VIRAGO

       LORD HAWKRIDGE’S SECRET

       BETRAYED AND BETROTHED

       A LADY OF RARE QUALITY

       LADY GWENDOLEN INVESTIGATES

      *part of the Regency mini-series The Steepwood Scandal

      THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH

      Anne Ashley

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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       Chapter One

       September 1814

      With a heartfelt sigh Miss Bethany Ashworth transferred her gaze from what had once been very familiar countryside indeed, and focused her attention on her sole travelling companion.

      ‘I’m so weary, Ann,’ she revealed softly, ‘so very tired, now, of it all.’

      The admission was instantly acknowledged by a soft smile, which managed to combine both affection and sympathy. ‘Hardly surprising, my dear. We’ve both done more than our fair share of jaunting about Europe during these past five years or so. And speaking for myself, I’ve found this last journey from Paris particularly trying.’

      ‘It isn’t the travelling I find irksome,’ Beth revealed, once again turning her attention to the view beyond the window. ‘It’s my own indecisiveness, not knowing my own mind, that I find so confoundedly bothersome.’ She gave vent to a shout of self-deprecating laughter. ‘I’ve frequently deplored the lack of resolution displayed by so many of our sex. Yet here I am now, indulging in just such a weakness myself! I shall have to take myself roundly to task, and do some very hard thinking in the not-too-distant future.’

      Brown eyes betrayed a degree of concern. ‘Are you trying to say you now regret your decision to return, here, to your childhood home? I remember, after your dear papa passed away, you were quite undecided.’

      ‘No, I don’t regret that,’ Beth answered, before a faintly enigmatic smile curled what more than one gentleman in recent years had considered a perfectly shaped feminine mouth. ‘It might yet prove a means to an end. But whether I shall choose to remain indefinitely is quite another matter. Thankfully, we shan’t be forced to stay should we become restless. Which should come as no great surprise to either of us, considering the life we’ve led in recent years. And Papa, bless him, has ensured I’m no pauper. I could reside permanently in the capital should I choose to do so. Perhaps not in one of the most favoured locations, but at least at an address that is not frowned upon. But, no, Ann, I don’t regret returning to the house I grew up in,’ she reiterated, her mind turning to more mundane, practical matters. ‘And providing the indispensable Rudge has done his job, it will provide us both with a very comfortable abode for as long as we choose to stay.’

      The older woman appeared a good deal easier having learned this. ‘Well, I for one am very much looking forward to residing in your childhood home, and putting down roots. I’m seven years your senior, remember, and rather weary now of the nomadic life, even if you are not.’

      ‘In that case, my dear Ann, I shall do my utmost to speed up our arrival,’ and, so saying, Beth pulled down the window to instruct the post-boys to turn off the road directly ahead.

      The chaise then drew to a halt before a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates. One of the post-boys gave a blast on his horn to alert the gatekeeper to their presence, and a few moments later a small, stocky figure emerged from the lodge, looking anything but pleased at being summoned so summarily.

      ‘And what be your business ’ere at Staveley Court, may I ask?’ he demanded to know, the sight of a post-chaise-and-four seemingly having made no impression upon him whatsoever.

      ‘My business is my own affair,’ Beth called, half-smiling, thereby alerting the gatekeeper to her presence. ‘So just you look lively, and unlock those gates and let me pass, George Dodd, otherwise I might well be tempted to play the talebearer