though that sort of thing couldn’t be managed on the wedding night. She could name a score of women who had lost their maidenheads before the wedding.
“I do not see that young lady giving away the prize lightly,” she said. “As I said, it’s most likely she’s allowed a few favors in token of future marital rewards. At the very worst, she is simply another Magdalen. A man of conscience would wish to save her and bring her back to decency.”
She watched him wrestle with himself. Lust struggled with male vanity. He couldn’t bear for Ashmont to be the first . . . but Owsley wanted her. Oh, he wanted her badly. He was as lovesick as Humphrey, stupid boy.
No matter. Whatever else happened, that bold, self-willed girl would not become a duchess.
“Never mind,” the countess said. “I’ll get to the truth myself. What was the number of the hackney coach? And what, precisely, was she wearing?”
Early that afternoon
Ashmont frowned at his reflection in the horse dressing glass.
Sommers had selected a single-breasted black wool tailcoat, worn with a single-breasted, white striped silk waistcoat, white trousers, and black ankle boots. The neckcloth was white. “I should have thought one of the blue tailcoats or the green frock coat the right thing. This is rather . . . black and white.”
“Subdued, Your Grace,” Sommers said.
“Right. Want to impress him with my sobriety. As though he’d believe it.”
The pronouns referred to Lord deGriffith, with whom Ashmont intended to meet today.
But first, the rendezvous. Ashmont glanced at the clock on the chimneypiece. Plenty of time yet to get to St. James’s Park. There he was to meet Cassandra and whatever entourage she’d been able to arrange this morning.
His gaze shifted to the window, beyond which hung a grey day. “I don’t like the looks of that. If it rains, we’ll have to put it off. Can’t have ladies walking in the rain. We didn’t plan for it, though it’s as likely as not. We hadn’t time last night to think of everything.”
Ye gods, last night, last night.
Ashmont still half believed it was a dream. That she’d taken so great a risk to tell him she loved him . . . her willingness and openness . . . her trust. His throat tightened.
“Not sure I measure up,” he said.
“I daresay Lord deGriffith will think not, Your Grace. However, as I understand, fathers of daughters tend to regard all suitors with suspicion, if not outright loathing.”
“You were heroic last night, Sommers. I’ll have to raise your wages again. A pity I can’t bestow a title.”
Sommers cleared his throat. “The staff have seen it before, Your Grace. A fit of despair. A threat to leave without notice—or better yet, to cut my throat.”
“Audience in tears.”
“Audible sobbing. At last I am recalled to a sense of duty. I had four footmen hovering over me in the greatest anxiety. I am, as you know, something of a mentor to the staff, keeping them up to the sartorial mark on their half-day-off excursions. Most of us like to cut a fine figure, and I am deemed a Delphic oracle in that regard.”
“You are a Delphic oracle, in that and other regards.”
Sommers was no Keeffe, certainly. Not a mentor or bodyguard. But he was as much of a confidant as Ashmont had, and beyond a doubt had been, at times, all that stood between Ashmont and utter chaos. There was something settling to the mind about wearing the right neckcloth, properly tied, and a suit of clothes suited to the occasion. Sommers was the ballast in the whirlwind of Ashmont’s life.
But a man needed a wife, the right wife, to be the sun, and keep him in a steady orbit. There would be explosions, meteors, and sun storms, he didn’t doubt. He and Cassandra were strong-willed people. But as long as she was the center of his universe, he could weather any upheaval.
At last the final smoothing and fussing was done, and Ashmont was at leisure to pace the dressing room, waiting for the agreed-upon time, an hour hence.
He waited five minutes before anxiety overcame him. “She might arrive early. She’s dealing with others. No predicting when they’ll set out, and it’s hardly ten minutes’ walk from deGriffith House to St. James’s Park. They might arrive and be gone by the time I get there. Better go now.”
He grabbed his hat and walking stick and hurried out.
Despite the gloomy day, Cassandra easily persuaded her mother to accompany her and Hyacinth on