Tarnished Amongst the Ton Read online

  Hardinge chuckled. ‘A diplomat, forsooth.’

  ‘I was, after a fashion. I acted as an aide for several years to my great-uncle, the Raja of Kalatwah, and that involved some diplomacy.’

  ‘In which languages?’ Sir Peter enquired.

  ‘Hindi and Persian. I speak some native dialects with rather less facility,’ Ashe admitted.

  ‘We shall have to enlist you to the Foreign Office.’ How serious he was, Ashe could not tell.

  ‘It would be most interesting, I am sure, but I will be much engaged with our estates for some time. My grandfather was not able to give them the attention they required.’ Which was code for, Spent all his time and money drinking, gaming and wenching while the place crumbled about him. By the look of it the other men understood exactly. They had probably known the old devil, Ashe thought.

  ‘Dinner is served, ma’am.’

  The maid must be their only upstairs servant, Ashe concluded as the party paired up to go through. He was the highest-ranking male guest so Phyllida took his arm and showed him to the seat at her right hand. He was flanked by Lady Hardinge, but with such a small party it was easy to talk to everyone and no one seemed to have any inhibitions about conversing across the dining table.

  ‘You are in town for the Season, Lord Clere?’ Lady Hardinge enquired.

  ‘My mother wished my sister to come out this year and, arriving from India as we have, there is much to arrange as you may imagine. Staying in London for the Season seemed sensible. But I am merely an appendage to the ladies of the household, I can hardly be said to be doing the Season.’

  ‘I think you will find you are, whatever your intentions,’ Lady Blackett said with a chuckle. ‘What a fortunate thing that with the sea voyage and so forth you are out of mourning. I imagine that you too will have matrimonial ambitions, Lord Clere. From what I hear, the gossip is all about the dashing new bachelor who has joined the Marriage Mart.’

  ‘I have certainly not done that, ma’am. It sounds quite alarming.’ He must find himself a wife, true, but he had no intention of making himself a target.

  ‘Terrifying,’ Hardinge agreed in a stage whisper, causing general laughter. ‘Avoid Almack’s like the plague, is my advice,’ he added.

  ‘But have you not read Pride and Prejudice, Lord Clere?’ Phyllida enquired. When he shook his head she quoted, ‘“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” All the matchmaking mamas will have you in their sights already, I fear.’

  ‘That sounds decidedly dangerous and I will have to take evasive action,’ he said. ‘I have been stalked by tigers before now, so hopefully my skills will enable me to escape.’

  ‘You will have to succumb sooner or later, Clere,’ Fransham observed with a grin. ‘I used to be just as skittish myself, but now I am beginning to see the benefits of matrimony.’ He did not glance at Miss Millington as he spoke, but she coloured faintly.

  ‘I expect I shall, too,’ Ashe agreed. ‘But I prefer to make my own choices and not to be hunted down by terrifying matrons in search of a son-in-law with a title and all his own teeth.’

  ‘We must stop teasing poor Lord Clere,’ Phyllida said amid the general laughter. ‘He has come to London expecting stately banquets and refined conversation and finds himself at a small dinner party with frivolous friends.’

  ‘But charming frivolous friends,’ Ashe corrected her. He caught her eye as he spoke and smiled, thinking how warm her brown eyes were and how delightful she looked when she was happy.

  She became serious as he looked at her. Her eyes widened and he had a sudden fantasy of her lying beneath him, looking up with fathomless eyes and parted lips. Oh, yes. Spread on a coverlet of green silk, gasping her pleasure as I lick every inch of those pale curves. The thought of her skin against his, ivory against gold, was an erotic provocation all of its own. Why had he been undecided for a moment about his intentions towards her?

  His thoughts must have heated his gaze, for Phyllida blushed and turned to the maid. ‘That will be all for the moment, Jane. I will ring when I need you.’

  She spoke to Lord Hardinge on her left about an opera he had missed the previous week and conversation turned to the theatre and the arts. Ashe joined in the ebb and flow of talk, but mainly listened, absorbing information with the same focus he had employed when on a mission for his great-uncle.

  Anything about this new world was useful, but he found himself listening more and more to Phyllida as the meal progressed. She was an excellent hostess, keeping conversation flowing and drawing everyone in with the skill of an accomplished matron. Her own contributions revealed an interest in cultural matters that seemed far reaching and well informed. One would not be bored after the lovemaking. She would not be a mistress from whose bed one hurried.

  There, he had thought the word. Mistress. A long-term relationship, not the brief liaisons he had been making do with since Reshmi died. And this time he was forewarned not to become emotionally involved, nor to let his partner in passion become so, either. Reshmi had been his first, his only, love and that had hit him hard. Now he was more experienced, was on his guard against that kind of devastation to his heart, and it would not happen again.

  ‘They say there is a consignment of remarkable Chinese porcelain just arrived,’ Sir Peter said, cutting into his musings. ‘But whether that is rumour or fact I cannot establish. Perhaps it will be offered at auction, but as far as I can tell none of the big houses are handling it.’

  ‘It does exist and is very fine, but the shippers are intending to sell direct to dealers from the warehouse,’ Phyllida said. Everyone looked at her with polite astonishment. ‘That is… I heard someone discussing it at the Trenshaws’ musicale the other day and complaining that by the time the public sees the items they will have increased in price considerably.’

  ‘Just for a moment I had visions of you inspecting the goods in some ghastly warehouse down at the docks, Phyllida dear,’ Lady Blackett said with a chuckle. ‘I know how much you like fine porcelain, but wouldn’t that be a scandal!’ She laughed and everyone joined in. Ashe thought Phyllida’s amusement was forced and her brother’s smile was tight, but no one else seemed to notice.

  ‘And dangerous,’ Ashe said. ‘From what little I saw of the docks area, it is no place for a lady.’

  This time the look Phyllida directed at him aroused no fantasies of lovemaking. She looked as if she wished she had a hatpin to apply to his anatomy. ‘Some unfortunate women must carry on their business in that area, Lord Clere. If it is dangerous for them, it is because they are at the mercy of the men who lurk there and who try to take advantage of them.’

  ‘Yes, but working women,’ Sir Peter said. ‘Many of them no better than…’ He seemed to recollect that he was in mixed company and not making a speech in the House. ‘Not refined ladies, is what I meant. What a scandal it would be, to find a gentlewoman in such an area.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement before, to Ashe’s surprise, Miss Millington said, ‘I believe many ladies support charities in the East End of London and go there themselves to give succour, even to the unfortunate women to whom Sir Peter referred.’

  That turned the conversation to a discussion of charities and the best way to support the deserving poor. Ashe aroused considerable interest by describing the sadhus who, clad only in a sacred thread and a thick smearing of ashes, lived on the offerings of passers-by.

  ‘Naked? But surely ladies cannot avoid encountering such men? Is it not a public outrage?’ Lady Hardinge asked.

  ‘In India nudity may be considered shocking, erotic, aesthetic, practical or religious, depending entirely on context,’ Ashe explained. ‘My mother or sister would think nothing of dropping a few coins into the begging bowl of a naked sadhu, but they would be shocked to find a member of the household walking about without a shirt, for example.’ They still looked dubious. ‘Have the ladies here never viewed naked Classical
statuary and admired it for its aesthetic qualities?’

  That made them laugh in rueful acknowledgement that he had scored a point. ‘But cold white marble is quite another thing from real live flesh,’ Phyllida objected. ‘If I came upon the figures from Lord Elgin’s marbles walking in Green Park, coloured as in life, as I believe they once were, I would be shocked.’ Ashe caught her glance at Miss Millington who was obviously suppressing a smile at some secret joke they shared.

  The unmarried ladies were not as uncurious about men as they were supposed to be, he concluded. Ashe imagined Phyllida viewing the erotic carvings that decorated some of the rooms in the palace at Kalatwah. She would be shy, perhaps, but also intrigued and aroused. He found the thought more than arousing himself, his intent hardening along with his body.

  There was that amused, appreciative look in Lord Clere’s eyes that made her want to blush. Phyllida felt as though he could read her mind and see her memory of telling Harriet Millington that she wished his tight evening breeches would split. Provoking man, he was able to flirt without a word spoken.

  She caught the attention of her female guests. ‘Ladies, shall we?’

  When they reached the drawing room the door was hardly closed behind them when Lucy Blackett exclaimed, ‘What an attractive man! So exotic with those golden good looks. You are a dark horse, Cousin Phyllida, keeping him a secret.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she protested. ‘He is Gregory’s friend. He met him at Tattersalls the other day and invited him. I feel sorry for the whole family, don’t you? It must be so strange finding themselves in England for the first time with such a vast, neglected inheritance and everything so strange.’

  The other women looked disappointed that she was not admitting to an ulterior motive in inviting Ashe, but Phyllida turned the conversation and they were discussing Harriet’s plans to visit the Lake District with her parents in the summer when the men rejoined them.

  The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. At length Jane came in to announce that the carriages had arrived and there was a general move to depart before the three equipages completely jammed the narrow street.

  Harriet’s maid came up from the kitchen and Gregory offered to escort Miss Millington home. ‘I can get a hackney back,’ he explained, running down the steps, hat and gloves in hand.

  ‘Am I right in assuming your brother wishes to fix his interest with Miss Millington?’

  Phyllida turned to find Ashe right behind her in the hallway. ‘I hope so,’ she admitted. Jane was holding his hat, cane and gloves, but he made no move to take them. ‘I like her very much.’

  ‘I wonder if I could have a word with you before I go, Miss Hurst?’

  Phyllida realised she was alone in the house except for the servants. She should ask Jane to sit in the corner of the room, or ring for Anna, but it seemed priggish to insist on the proprieties and no one was there to wag a disapproving finger at her.

  She went back into the drawing room and noticed that he left the door open behind him which was, she supposed, a relief. Ashe Herriard seemed to take all the air out of the room. Or perhaps it was just that there was none left in her lungs. She sat down and gestured to a chair, but he remained standing.

  ‘You are going to that warehouse by yourself to buy some of the porcelain, aren’t you?’ he asked without preamble.

  She was, of course. If it was half as good as they were saying, she would buy all she could afford and turn a healthy profit on it. But she had no intention of revealing her plans to anyone, let alone autocratic gentlemen. ‘I have not decided, Lord Clere.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you have, I saw it in your face. But you must not go, it is not safe in that area.’

  Phyllida got to her feet in a swirl of rose-pink muslin. ‘Lord Clere, you have no right to dictate my actions.’

  ‘A gentleman is duty-bound to protect a lady.’

  ‘I have a brother, sir.’

  ‘He seems either unwilling, or unable, to control your activities.’ Ashe leaned against a chair, apparently unshaken by either her tone or her frowns.

  ‘As we are alone, my lord, allow me to remind you that I have a business to run. I am twenty-six years old and I do not need controlling. But I do need stock of the highest quality and this porcelain promises to be just that.’

  ‘I will buy it on your behalf.’

  She sat down again with an undignified thump. ‘You? What do you know of porcelain?’

  ‘At least as much as you, I would wager.’ Now she was sitting again he dropped into the chair he had been leaning against with considerably more elegance than she had just displayed. ‘I was brought up in one of the great trading cities of the East with a grandfather high in the East India Company and I have spent the last three years in the court of an immensely wealthy prince with a taste for collecting.’

  ‘I need to make my own judgement. I know what will sell in my shop, what my limits on price are.’

  ‘Then I will come with you.’ He was pleasant, he smiled, he might as well have been made of granite.

  ‘And buy the best pieces from under my nose?’

  ‘Now I know about the collection it will not take me long to discover where it is. I do not need to accompany you, I could cream off the best items tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh…!’ Phyllida was not used to being thwarted in her own world. She was limited by her birth, her secrets and the need, endlessly, to make money, but within those constraints, she was in control. This infuriating man who just sat there patiently waiting for her to finish fulminating and give in to him was completely outside her experience.

  ‘You, sir, are no gentleman,’ she said with an icy determination to put him in his place.

  ‘Oh, yes, I am.’ Ashe Herriard got to his feet, making her clench her teeth because she could not help but note the ease with which he stood. Some wretched feminine instinct was clamouring at her to look at him, to admire him, to exert herself to make him like her.

  He came over and held out his hands to her. Puzzled, she put her own in his. Was this some way of admitting defeat in Indian society? Even as she thought it he pulled, bringing her to her feet. ‘It is just that I am not an English gentleman,’ he said and drew her close, as close as a waltz hold, as close as a kiss…

  If he tries, I will slap him, she resolved. And yet the resolution did not make her twist her fingers free of his hold. Phyllida looked up into the deep-green eyes that always seemed a little amused, at the firm mouth and the chin that hinted at determination, and swallowed.

  ‘I have been brought up to understand the jungle and its dangers. Your East End is a jungle without tigers or cobras, but a jungle none the less. I do not allow women to wander unprotected into such a place. That is not negotiable. But we can negotiate a truce,’ Ashe said. ‘You will promise me that you will not visit the warehouse without my escort. I promise you that I will not attempt to buy any item until you have made your selection.’

  ‘We cannot go in some smart carriage with a crest on the door.’ Phyllida knew she had admitted defeat. ‘We must take a hackney.’

  ‘Of course. It would not do to arrive flaunting wealth,’ he agreed. ‘You know this is sensible and you are a sensible woman, so why are you still unhappy about it?’

  Of all the flattering things he might have said to her, sensible was not one of them. Phyllida tried to accept it as Ashe doubtless meant it. His fingers were still wrapped warmly around hers, he was so close she would smell sandalwood and linen and man if she was so foolish as to inhale deeply. Her sensible brain appeared to have taken a holiday somewhere. ‘Because it means going with you,’ she blurted out.

  Ashe did not appear offended, although his dark brows arched up. ‘You dislike me so much?’

  ‘You know I do not. But I do not know what you want from me, why you persist in pursuing our acquaintance. You seek a wife and I am totally ineligible, as we both know. An acquaintance of my brother, a gentleman who dines with us, has no reason to be escorting me in this way.
What does that leave?’

  ‘Friendship?’ he suggested after just the merest pause. Why did she suspect he had almost said something else?

  Phyllida stared at him. ‘Men and women are not friends in English society. Not unless they are of mature years or closely related.’

  ‘It is the same in European society in India. And as for Indian society—a man risks death for the slightest intimacy with a woman. But why shouldn’t we be unconventional? I enjoy novel experiences.’

  There did not seem to be anything she could say. The truth—that she found him far too disturbing to be around—was hardly something she could admit. ‘Very well. Can you call for me tomorrow at about ten? And please wear something inconspicuous.’

  ‘Ten it is. And I promise not to look like a rich and over-eager English collector with more money than judgement.’

  ‘Until tomorrow then, my lord.’ She gave her hands, that had rested in his for a quite scandalous length of time, a little tug.

  ‘Ashe, Phyllida. Friends, remember?’ And he bowed his head as he lifted his hands, bringing his lips to her knuckles. The shock, even though she was wearing thin kid evening gloves, shot up her arm as she felt the heat. Her lips parted as though he had kissed them instead of the unyielding ridge of her knuckles. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Thank you for a delightful dinner party. I can see myself out.’

  My friend Ashe. Phyllida sat as the front door closed behind him and wondered what on earth she had let herself in for. She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap, then slowly raised the one he had kissed to her lips.

  Friends sounded safe. Do I want to be safe? Or have I just agreed to befriends with a tiger?

  Chapter Seven

  It was ‘Mrs Drummond’ who was waiting for Ashe when he arrived promptly at ten. She wore a brown wool gown, darker-brown pelisse with braid trim that had rather obviously been re-used from another garment, a plain straw bonnet retrimmed with a bunch of artificial flowers, darned gloves and sturdy shoes. Under the gloves, if one looked hard enough, was the shape of a thin wedding band.