Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“ H e must be in love with someone else. How else could you explain it?” Scarlett said.

She had had every intention of keeping hold of her pride and dismissing her adoration of Worthe with nary a thought more. However, the quantity of sodden, wadded-up handkerchiefs that littered Bess’s bed linen spoke to her failure in that endeavour.

“Well then he is a fool,” Adelaide said. “A raging idiot, and you would not wish to be married to an idiot, would you?”

“If the idiot was him, then yes, I might,” Scarlett added with a little hiccup of a sob. “Oh, but it is no use, no use at all. I need to accustom myself to it and continue on with my life. Heaven knows I have troubles enough already without adding heartbreak to them.”

Bess reached over and gently rubbed Scarlett’s shoulder. “What will you do when you see him next? ”

“Be friendly,” Adelaide advised. “Nonchalant and amiable, like you never cared two straws for him and never will.”

“I am not sure I am equal to that,” Scarlett admitted. “Though I shall surely try.”

“Will he be there tonight?” Bess asked tentatively.

“Tonight?”

“Our aunt’s dinner,” Adelaide supplied.

Scarlett groaned. “Oh, blast it to hell, he is sure to be there!”

There was a shocked silence in the room for a moment and then Adelaide began to laugh uproariously. Bess joined a fraction of a second later, and Scarlett realised then what she had said.

“Well done, Sister,” Adelaide said finally, wiping a tear from her eye. “Now we are truly twins.”

“The reverend is going to spin in his grave!” Bess exclaimed with a giggle.

“Except he is not yet in a grave,” Scarlett replied, the statement accompanied by an indelicate blowing of her nose into yet another handkerchief.

“Hearing you say ‘blast it to hell’ would surely put him there. Fie on him and Worthe. We are going to find you ten more gentlemen more handsome than he is.”

“Higher than him!” Adelaide added. “A duke perhaps, with a massive fortune.”

“Or a marquess, if all the dukes are ugly,” Bess added with a giggle.

“I beg you would save your efforts in that quarter,” Scarlett said with a sigh. “For now, no matter what you might find, I fear I only want Worthe.”

As promised, Lady Tipton’s dinner party was intended to be a small affair, which—as Worthe had teased what seemed like a century ago—meant nearly a hundred people were planned to attend. Scarlett stood with her aunt and uncle and Adelaide in the vestibule, waiting to receive the guests.

“Not one invitation was refused,” Lady Tipton announced proudly.

“Who would dare to refuse you?” was Lord Tipton’s rejoinder.

“Oh, well I thought some might. I arranged it all somewhat at the last minute, you know.” Lady Tipton smiled at Scarlett. “I daresay it is a compliment to you, my dear, for everyone is mad to know you.”

Scarlett smiled as sincerely as she could against the anxiety that made her trembly and chilled. Worthe was sure to be present, and she could not imagine how it might be between them. She could not avoid him entirely, but she had managed to confirm that she would not be seated next to him at dinner.

How she longed to return to the way things once were between them! Then his arrival would have been anticipated happily. Sitting next to him would have still made her tremble but for different reasons. But it is not to be, so no use thinking of it .

He arrived amid a great gaggle of guests, such that he was nearly upon her before she had time to prepare herself. She felt a jolt as their eyes met and then a bit of shock; as he had in the park, he looked perfectly dreadful.

Well, not perfectly dreadful. He would always be handsome to her even when, as now, he looked as if he had not slept, with hollows around his eyes and a downturn to his mouth. Against everything she felt, she wished she might comfort him, to understand what ailed him.

An older lady walked just ahead of him, a well-dressed matron who wore her consequence in a natural, elegant manner, and they were both followed by Worthe’s brother. “Miss Scarlett,” said Worthe formally, “might I present to you Lady Worthe. And of course you will remember my brother, Mr Edward Ashley.”

His mother! Scarlett felt herself blushing deeply even as she greeted his brother and then asked Lady Worthe, “How do you do?”

“How do you do?” Lady Worthe smiled kindly. “I have longed to meet you, Miss Scarlett. I was quite put out that my sister got to meet you first, but that is what I get for missing her ball, I had to hear about you from her. It seems you have quite the extraordinary tale to tell.”

“I do,” Scarlett acknowledged with a faint smile. “I confess I am not quite accustomed to it all yet.”

“You could not find yourself connected to a finer family,” Lady Worthe proclaimed, looking to Scarlett’s aunt. “Lady Tipton, I am very jealous of you. What agreeable days you must have with so many young ladies about to keep company with you!”

“I confess, I am enjoying it a great deal,” Lady Tipton said. “I have always wished for daughters, you know, but nieces are just as charming.”

“The trouble with daughters,” said Lady Worthe, “is that they marry and leave you. Now daughters-in-law, provided they are the agreeable sort, are another matter altogether! Those you always have.”

“Mother,” Worthe said, and Scarlett noticed he had flushed. Mr Ashley gave his mother a reproving look.

“I am speaking in general terms, of course!” Lady Worthe cried out. “Oh, dear! I had better move along before I get myself in trouble.”

“It was wonderful to meet you,” Scarlett told her. “I hope to be able to speak to you more later.”

She was careful with her gaze until Worthe had successfully guided his mother into another room. His embarrassment at what she had said was evident; was it because he did not want Scarlett to get ideas?

Too late , she thought. I have my dreams and wishes enough already, even if they seem to break into pieces a little more each day .

“That was very promising,” Lady Tipton whispered when she could.

“What was?”

“What Lady Worthe said. Worthe has never looked twice at a girl before you, but if he had, ten to one Lady Worthe would not have approved of her. But you! She was very nearly inviting you to go and shop for your trousseau with her!”

“I think you misunderstood her,” Scarlett said shaking her head. “There is nothing between me and Lord Worthe.”

“What?” Lady Tipton’s look was one of pure disbelief. “No, I am sure you are—Lady Fanning! Why, how lovely you look!”

Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief, as the next round of introductions would surely forestall any more talk about Worthe.

At dinner, she was seated between a Mr Heath Litchfield and Lord Maverly. Lord Maverly, it seemed, was quite enamoured of the young lady seated to the other side of him. They had as brief a conversation as could be had without either feeling uncivil and then turned away from one another.

Mr Litchfield was undeniably the most humorous gentleman she had ever known. “Miss Scarlett,” he said, as they were being served their soup, “have you ever split your trousers at the least opportune moment?”

“I confess, I have never worn trousers, so…no,” she said with a grin.

“I cannot recommend them, for let me tell you about my recent incident at the theatre…” With that, the gentleman was off and running, having a seemingly endless supply of amusing anecdotes to regale her with. It could not be denied that he seemed more interested in te lling her his tales than in learning anything about her; but nevertheless, it was a relief to simply sit and be entertained.

He had her nearly doubled over laughing during the fish course as he described a recent card game at his club. Alas, as she raised her napkin to dab at her eyes, she happened to glance in Worthe’s direction. He, having been placed down the table on the opposite side, was looking directly at her. He quickly looked away, his frown deepening, but even in that instant, all her pleasure vanished. Mr Litchfield continued to be entertaining in the same vein in which he began, but Scarlett could offer no more than a dutiful chuckle to him. Worthe’s clear displeasure had cast a pall over her.

As the evening wore on, Scarlett had to admit it seemed that a great many people, particularly gentlemen, had wished to know her. Even Mr Beamish had flirted with her in the drawing room before dinner, but she had put an end to that as soon as he began. If he believed he could charm her while dear Bess stood with her mother on the other side of the room, he had another think coming.

“You see what I mean?” Bess gave Scarlett a gentle poke with her fan as they stood in the drawing room together after dinner. “He has not even asked me to dance yet.”

Scarlett followed her line of sight and saw Beamish standing amid a gaggle of young ladies. Some were pretty, some were not, but all were decidedly engaged with his banter. He was telling some story with great animation.

“To be fair,” Scarlett said, consolingly, “there is no reason to suppose that there will be dancing.”

“I have heard that Lady Tipton’s dinner parties always end with rolling up the carpets and dancing,” Bess replied glumly. “Beamish surely knows the same.”

“There is no one who can sympathise with you more than I,” Scarlett admitted. “Worthe was plainly disapproving of me at dinner, and it quite cast me down.”

“Where is he now?”

“I suppose still around the table with whichever gentlemen remain in there,” Scarlett replied. “I never saw him come back in. Nor Oakley for that matter.”

“Forgive me, Miss Scarlett, Miss Leighton?”

Scarlett turned, abashed to find that it was Worthe’s brother standing there, an awkward smile on his lips.

“I was going by you to get some coffee,” he said, “and I could not help overhearing you. My brother had to leave, for he had a horrid headache come on during dinner.”

“I am very sorry to hear it, sir,” said Scarlett, feeling that she had likely been the source of that headache. “I do hope you will convey my wishes for his good health when you go home?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr Ashley. He did not continue on, however, and the silence that descended felt onerous .

“Are you enjoying your evening?” Scarlett asked him eventually, when it was apparent he would not leave.

“I am. And you?”

“Yes, I am,” Scarlett said, and Bess echoed the sentiment.

“I do not believe my brother, however, enjoyed it as much as I did.” Mr Ashley gave Scarlett something of a penetrating look when he said it.

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“It can be difficult,” he said, “when one has had such…camaraderie? Yes, I daresay I shall call it that. When one has had such a camaraderie and then just as easily, the camaraderie seems to disappear.”

“I agree completely,” Scarlett replied warmly. “I, too, have found myself despairing of the lost camaraderie. I have found that losing camaraderie is the thing I like least in the world.”

“But loss of camaraderie, particularly from a lady, must be attributed to a change in the lady’s feelings.”

“Why should a lady be supposed to be responsible for some alteration in camaraderie? Cannot a man lose his camaraderie?”

“Not if that man has been perfectly plain about his camaraderie from the beginning. If so, then it is to the lady to either put an end to the camaraderie or continue the camaraderie, in accordance with her own wishes and feelings.”

“I do not agree,” Scarlett replied, rather more heatedly .

“How often does a lady pretend to greater camaraderie than she feels, particularly with a man of position?”

“What do you accuse me of?” Scarlett cried.

Bess, beside her, was looking increasingly stymied. “I cannot make heads or tails of what either of you is speaking about,” she said. “But pray, Mr Ashley, I would not like to see my friend in distress.”

“Nor should I,” said Mr Ashley. “Miss Scarlett, I beg you to forgive me. I did not intend to take this conversation where it happened to go. Pray forgive my boldness.” He bowed to them both and left.

Adelaide, who had been nearby with Kem, came over immediately. “What on earth was all that about?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Scarlett said woefully.