Chapter Eight

Demonstrating both the Delights of an Evening Garden Soirée, and how Gossip—no matter whether Right or Completely Wrong—can turn Pleasure into Confusion, and Enlightenment into Action …

Ashe set out alone for his evening's obligations in a state of mind that was less than tranquil. Thankful his mama and sister were engaged elsewhere, he had chance to think.

And, given that he was a young gentleman with all the attributes that go along with that description, much of his focus was on a certain young lady and how it had felt to have her beneath him, all heat, and silk, and soft skin…

He cursed once again and shifted on the seat of the carriage, convinced his footman had shrunk his breeches and not mentioned it.

Wondering if Florinda would be there, he also wondered how she would greet him, and if she would dance with him. Or perhaps she was regretting their interlude. And of course the horrid interruption that had ended what was heading toward a most improper but thrilling entanglement.

Damn his damned breeches.

He squirmed himself into a degree of comfort and turned his thoughts to another pressing matter—the appearance of Lady Filwarde.

Florinda had said she was the biggest gossip in London, but that title had some pretty serious competition, up to and including the Patronesses of Almack's.

However, any sort of gossip tended to take on a life of its own, so he had no idea if he would be tarred and feathered as a despoiler of young women, or if Florinda would now be shunned as a fallen woman. Either alternative would be unpleasant at least and disastrous at worst.

Sighing, Ashe was quite ready to curse the whole notion of coming to London, but then realised that had his mother not dragged him here, albeit unwillingly, he'd never have met Florinda.

She had changed his life, without question. Up to this time, he'd vaguely accepted that someday he would wed and continue the Trease line by fathering sons. And perhaps a daughter or two.

But that had been in the far distant future. Until now. Until Florinda had turned his world (and his breeches) upside down and inside out.

There was an obvious answer to this particular train of thought, but it was one he couldn't quite say he was ready to sit down with and examine in detail.

Which was probably a good thing, since the carriage was drawing up at the heavily over-flowered entrance to Beswick House, and the carriages and servants told the story of a very busy evening greeting attendees at the garden soirée.

Gambling that the weather wouldn't dare dampen their bold plans, Lord and Lady Beswick had decided to hold their party in their magnificent gardens. In the daylight they were indeed beyond compare, and now, with the clear skies revealing the rising moon, the entire scene could have been lifted from the pages of a children's fairy tale.

Thousands of candles fluttered in the gentle breeze, illuminating walks lined with blooms that appeared magical in the soft light.

Ashe found no butler solemnly intoning his name, just a smiling couple welcoming him with delight.

"Mr Trease. We're so glad you could join us," Lord Beswick introduced his wife. "This is the young man I mentioned, Anne. He has ideas. Always good to have members of the younger generation with ideas." He beamed at Ashe.

Since his ‘ideas' had consisted of a brief discussion with his Lordship about crop rotation over a tray of biscuits at a recent ball, Ashe was unsure whether to be sceptical or flattered. "I'm honoured you recall our conversation, my Lord. I know I will benefit from the wisdom you so kindly shared."

"Good lad. Go on then, enjoy yourself." His genial host grinned and motioned with his hands. "Oh, and pay no attention to the mutters. One gets used to ‘em in town."

"Er, yes. Of course. Thank you." He bowed and tried to ignore the creeping sensation of what could only be called the icy fingers of doom that tickled the back of his neck.

His arrival had coincided with that of several renowned beauties, so he was able to escape mostly unnoticed and dart quickly down a path lined with something that smelled nice. Had there been gossip? What else could the murmurs be that Lord Beswick had warned him about?

He passed an assortment of guests, most of whom just gave him a polite nod or ignored him. But one or two (the mutterers, he supposed), stared at him as they walked by, then turned to each other and engaged in a whispered conversation.

An oath trembled on his lips. Something was up, and he was indeed going to be caught in the center of it, dammit. And if he was, then so was Florinda.

"Ashe. Thank God. I didn't know if you would be here or not."

"Hullo North." Ashe blinked, his mind somewhat distracted as a familiar face appeared in front of him.

"Come with me." Northwick Barlow grabbed his friend's arm, and all but dragged him through a fuchsia bush, onto a less-travelled path.

"What the…" Ashe brushed off bits of pollen and petals from his coat.

"I need to talk to you." North punched him in the shoulder. "I need to know what the bloody hell you were doing getting caught with Delphine Haverling down by the Thames? In flagrante delicto , I've heard."

Ashe nearly choked. " What ? You heard wrong," he shot back. "And keep your voice down, for God's sake." He frowned. "Wait. Who the hell is Delphine Haverling?"

"Only one of the most lascivious women in London this season. She's announced she's sleeping her way through all the eligible men and will be reporting on them in a book she's writing."

"Dear God." Ashe stared at North. "I don't even know her. And after what you just said, I don't think I want to."

North shook his head. "Look, it's whispered that you and she were doing…well, something you shouldn't on the banks of the Thames earlier today."

Ashe bit his lip. "Let me guess. That comes from Lady Filwarde's circle?"

"Most of the best gossip does, at the moment. The woman has eyes everywhere."

The urge to curse, fluidly, at length, trembled on Ashe's lips, but he bit down on it. "She's wrong," he began, only to find himself pushed down next to a trellis of honeysuckle as a party walked past in the other aisle.

"Doesn't matter," whispered North, "although I'm glad to hear it. Knew you had better taste than that."

"Yes, well…"

"What?"

"Never mind. We can't talk here." He swatted at an errant moth.

"All right, let's stroll a little."

"Away from the crowd?"

"Of course." North peered through the shrubbery and nodded, heading along a narrow patch of turf to a spot that had fewer candles and a nicely pruned tree beneath which they could lurk in the shadows.

"Now." North put his hands on his hips. "What the hell's going on?"

Rolling his eyes, Ashe looked at his friend. "You won't believe this…"

*~~*~~*

The Boothe carriage joined the line outside the Beswick's, its occupants waiting patiently as it inched forward to the entrance.

Lady Boothe sneezed.

"Damn flowers," she muttered, searching for a handkerchief.

"Bless you," her daughter responded without thinking. "We didn't have to come, Mama," said Florinda, sighing. "I wouldn't have minded staying home for an evening."

Her mother shook her head. "We had to come, and you know it. If there's one hint, one eyebrow raised, one tiny whisper about Lady Haverling's dress and yours, we have to squash it immediately." She tucked her handkerchief back into her reticule. "I've already passed the word to our friends, so all we need to do tonight is hold our heads high, smile, be polite and make sure we're seen to be quite unconcerned about the modiste's errors."

Florinda managed not to roll her eyes. "The world won't end, Mama," she began.

"Yours might, Florinda. A hint of scandal, your name linked in any way at all with people such as that Haverling woman, and your chances for a good match this season have gone down the drain."

About to respond, Florinda felt the carriage come to a halt. She sighed and helped her mother gather her things.

They made their way amongst a crowd of guests, many of whom they knew, and fortunately, there were no comments at all about dresses and Florinda.

She did catch, however, a whisper or two about Lady Delphine, and her skin chilled as she heard the name Trease in the same conversation. It didn't take a genius to make the connection.

God. The gossips thought it had been Lady Delphine with Ashe on that bank.

They paused on the steps for a moment, as any queue does, and it gave Florinda the chance to lean close to her mother. "Do you know whether Lady Filwarde wears spectacles, Mama?"

Her mother's eyebrows shot skyward. "What the…that is the oddest question, Florinda…"

"I have my reasons for asking," she answered, her voice a low murmur. "Do you know?"

Lady Boothe thought for a few moments. "I…you know, I believe she might. Not in public, mind you, but I attended a small tea a while ago where she was present. Spewing gossip, of course. Never liked the woman very much for that reason, and I certainly didn't go back to that house for tea. Mrs Arthingham's, I think…"

"Spectacles? Lady Filwarde?" Florinda urged her mother to stay on track.

"Oh, yes. Well, as I recall, she was looking at something out of the window, and she had to delve into her monstrous reticule for them. I remember thinking how ugly the bag was, but she was convinced she'd set a new fashion style with it." Lady Boothe snorted. "She didn't."

Florinda barely heard the tail end of her Mama's recollections, only the vital piece of information.

Lady Filwarde needed spectacles . Which meant she could easily have mistaken who she saw on the riverbank. Given the dress fabric business? And Lady Delphine's brunette hair, not dissimilar to her own?

That simple fact might have—in the words of her maid—saved her bacon.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Florinda raised her chin and mounted the rest of the steps into Beswick House beside her Mama, alert for any sounds or murmurs. She was no stranger to the world of the Ton and knew what to look for.

Lady Delphine had been the source of many whispers before, of course, and Florinda was of the opinion that the only reason she was still accepted at events in town was because of exactly that. She gave everyone something to talk about.

It was quite sad, in a way, that so many people with so many advantages in their lives could find no other entertainment so engrossing as gossiping about things they perceived scandalous in others.

Their curtsies made to their hosts, the Boothe ladies crossed the hall and entered the gardens.

As soon as their feet touched grass, what seemed like a swarm of women descended on Lady Boothe. One smaller young lady detached Florinda from her Mama's side.

"I'm so glad you're here. I've been waiting for you." Susan Finchley almost danced with impatience.

"Oh dear." Florinda sighed. "You've something juicy, haven't you? I know the signs."

Susan nodded and tugged on Florinda's arm. "This way. Let's walk a little."

"I was just thinking about how silly gossip can be, Susan. So if you've a juicy on dit, you might wish to save it for someone else."

"I can't," she replied. "Because it's about your Mr Trease ."

"He's not my Mr Trease," lied Florinda, cautious now.

Susan waved that aside. "Still, it's quite shocking." She leaned closer and glanced around before whispering in Florinda's ear.

"He was caught dallying with Lady Haverling on the riverbank this morning." She widened her eyes. "He was touching her leg. Her bare leg."

Florinda's skin shivered at the still-vivid memory of that moment, but she dragged herself away from it, seeking an adequate response to Susan's declaration.

Before she could, though, Susan continued. "So what is he going to do, d'you think? Will he declare his intentions?"

Blinking, Florinda stared at her friend. "What? You think Ashe would offer for her?"

"He's a gentleman, isn't he?"

"Yes, but…" Caught on the horns of a terrible dilemma, Florinda seized Susan's arm. "Do you know where he is? Ashe ?"

"Um…" Susan shook her head. "Last I saw, he was speaking to Mr Barlow, I believe. Somewhere over near the honeysuckle. Why?"

"Confound it all," Florinda swore softly. "We have to rescue him. Come on."

And with no further ado, the two young ladies rushed off in a swirl of lace, ribbons, and fine muslin, on the hunt for one unprepared gentleman who, at this point in time, was confused, irritated, and really hadn't a clue what to do about anything. He certainly hadn't yet realised that he needed rescuing, or that very stylishly dressed help was on the way for that very reason.