The Transformation Of Miss Ashworth. Anne Ashley

myself like a simpering idiot, while ignoring the blood bath that was each and every battle? Do you suppose I remained oblivious to all those whom the surgeons considered too badly injured to warrant attention? Do you suppose I gave a damn about my reputation when a life might be saved…? How little you know me!’

      He felt hurt, and not just a little annoyed as well, by the derision so clearly discernible in her voice. Yet before he could formulate a response, Beth’s attention had already been captured by another man, hailing her from the forecourt of the While Hart Inn. He then found himself on the receiving end of a prolonged stare that was no less insultingly assessing, though a deal less sinisterly threatening, than the one he’d received a few minutes earlier from the tallest of the loiterers in the street.

      ‘Ah, Rudge! Were you successful in your endeavours? Please tell me you were.’

      ‘Aye, Miss Beth,’ he answered, his expression softening noticeably. ‘Half-a-dozen prime layers, if I’m any judge. The farmer’s going to drop ’em off on ’is way ’ome from market later today, with a couple o’ geese. Not that I don’t think you’d be better off with a cur.’

      Blue eyes began to twinkle with an impish gleam of bygone years. ‘It might surprise you to know, Rudge, that you and Sir Philip, here, are as one in that belief.’

      ‘Well, I never! Who’d ’ave thought I’d ever ’ave something in common with a nob,’ Rudge responded, appearing anything but gratified.

      Neither, it had to be said, was Sir Philip, who considered the servant insolent in the extreme, and in urgent need of being reminded of his place. All the same, he was in no danger of losing his temper, and when in the next moment Charles Bathurst captured his attention by inviting him and the ladies to dine at his home the following week, his annoyance was quickly forgotten.

      That evening, however, while mulling over what had turned out to be on the whole a most unsatisfactory day, Philip could only wonder at himself for becoming so irritated over such a trivial matter as a servant’s lack of deference. Finally, after quietly considering the matter, he was obliged to acknowledge what had truly annoyed him. It hadn’t been Rudge’s lack of respect so much as his mistress’s behaviour a matter of moments before that had really stirred his ire.

      He sought solace in the contents of the glass by his elbow, finishing half of it before forcing himself to acknowledge, too, that Beth’s attitude towards him since her return was increasingly beginning to both hurt and annoy him in equal measures.

      Yet how on earth did he expect her to behave? She was no longer the adoring little companion, willing to cling to his every word in the staunch belief that he could say and do no wrong. She was a young woman with a mind of her own. Moreover, unless he was much mistaken, she was a young woman who had witnessed, first hand, the very worst traits of mankind. Little wonder, then, that her time out in the Peninsula had changed her, made her perhaps a deal more cynical in her outlook, he reasoned.

      But that still didn’t account for her attitude towards him now. He had already gained the distinct impression that she was determined to keep him at a distance whenever possible. What was worse, he could almost feel a resentment in her towards him that bordered on dislike… But why? What had he ever done to engender these almost hostile emotions in her? And why should he suddenly feel so determined to eradicate those negative feelings completely, and regain that special place he had once held in her affections?

      The door opening brought a temporary cessation to his troubled musings, and he raised his eyes to see his sister framed in the doorway. One glance was sufficient to convince him that she was doubtful about entering his private sanctum and disturbing him on an evening when he had not been the best of company, leaving her entirely to her own devices once dinner had ended.

      Prompted by a guilty conscience, he bade her enter and join him by the hearth, even though he would have much preferred to be left alone with his troubling thoughts.

      ‘I’ve been poor company today, neglecting you so. Can I tempt you to join me in a night-cap…? A glass of wine, perhaps?’

      ‘No, I thank you, Brother,’ she answered, though readily accepting his invitation to seat herself opposite. ‘I merely wished to ask if there’s anyone else you wish to invite to the party? I’ve already sent out most all the invitations, and have received quite a number of replies already. But I was just wondering if there was perhaps someone else you might have forgotten?’

      ‘No, I don’t think so. I did glance through your list, remember?’ He checked for a moment before raising his glass once again to his lips. ‘You haven’t forgotten to send Beth and her companion a formal invitation, I trust?’

      ‘No, and I feel quite annoyed with myself. As it happens, I could have taken it over with me the other day when I paid a visit. But it quite slipped my mind. I must remember to send it tomorrow.’

      ‘You didn’t mention you’d paid a visit to the Grange, Connie,’ he remarked casually, and saw at a glance that for some reason she didn’t seem able to meet his gaze.

      ‘Didn’t I?’ she returned, plucking at the folds of her skirt. ‘Must have slipped my mind. You know what a scatterbrain I can be on occasions.’

      He knew nothing of the sort. Although his sister could never have been described as a bluestocking, she was neither downright hen-witted nor forgetful. All the same he decided not to pursue the topic as it was evidently causing her some embarrassment, and asked, instead, if she considered Beth had altered very much over the years.

      ‘Why, yes! I do, as it happens,’ she answered. ‘In looks she’s much improved, a most attractive young woman, I should say, if a trifle on the slender side.’ All at once she looked primly disapproving. ‘I do think she’s grown quite hard, though, Philip. Quite unbecomingly so, in my opinion! I asked her to do me the tiniest little favour, and she virtually snapped my nose off.’

      Intrigued though he was, he had to delve deep into his reserves of self-control to stop himself laughing at his sister’s rare show of pique. ‘Don’t worry, Connie, I shall take her roundly to task the very next time I see her for daring to ruffle your feathers so.’

      ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Philip, please don’t do that!’ she implored, having clearly taken her brother’s mock-threat quite seriously. ‘I could see on the night of the dinner party, when you returned after your stroll in the garden, how well you two still get on. You appeared so blissfully content in each other’s company after your walk round the garden. I should hate to be the one to cause a rift between you. Besides, which,’ she added, little realising that an arresting look had flickered briefly in her brother’s eyes at mention of that particular interlude with Bethany, ‘she had every right to refuse to invite her aunt and cousin to stay with her.’

      After forcing his mind back to the present in order to digest everything his sister was revealing, Philip suddenly experienced the gravest misgivings. ‘Pray enlighten me, Sister, as to why you should have wished Beth to invite her aunt and cousin to stay?’

      No explanation was forthcoming. Furthermore, Constance seemed unwilling to meet his gaze once again, which only succeeded in arousing his suspicions even further. ‘You would not, by any chance, be so foolish as to attempt to indulge in a spot of matchmaking where the youngest Miss Barfield is concerned?’

      ‘Oh, but, Philip, you cannot pretend you don’t like her. You paid her such attention during the Season,’ she reminded him, meeting his gaze, if only briefly. ‘She’s such a sweet child, and so like Eugenie.’

      Only by exerting a deal of control did Philip stop himself from indulging in a rare show of ill humour. But even so his sister was left in no doubt that he would brook any interference in his personal concerns.

      ‘Even if Phoebe Barfield was the very image of her dead sister, which she most certainly is not, I would still never consider making an offer for her hand. And I sincerely trust, Constance, that you have never given the child, or her mother, for that matter, any reason to suppose that I might.’

      The softness of his tone was a threat