Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,62
in the garden.
It wasn’t a large one. Unlike Ashmont House in Park Lane, deGriffith House was a narrow London town house wedged into a rather cramped lot in St. James’s Square. Still, the garden offered shade and a place to walk among the trees, shrubbery, and flowers. The plantings also created a screen of sorts. Should his lordship thrust a dagger into Ashmont’s neck, eyewitnesses at the windows couldn’t be certain of what they witnessed.
Not that Lord deGriffith was likely to kill him quite yet. And as to that, whatever the gentleman chose to do would be slower and more painful than mere stabbing to death.
“You would not have come in all this state, complete with two seasoned courtiers, had you not news of some importance,” Lord deGriffith said. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you’re going to announce your plans of departing for America. Too much to look forward to your making your way across the wilderness, solo, fighting indignant natives as you go. No, you’re going to murder my charming fantasy, I can tell.”
Ashmont told him what had happened. The truth, but shorn of lurid details.
Lord deGriffith closed his eyes, then opened them. That was the only sign of emotion. “Lady Bartham.”
“Before I go on, sir,” Ashmont said, “I must make one thing as clear as I possibly can. I want to marry your daughter. I’ve wanted to since . . .” Then he realized he couldn’t continue. He couldn’t mention Putney because it had never happened.
“Since when?”
“Well, you know, sir, hard to say exactly in these situations. It feels like always.”
“Hmmm.”
“The point is, my feelings are sincere. However, Miss Pomfret is disinclined to make the marital leap. Fact is, she said the prospect fills her with horror.”
“Sensible girl. To a point.”
“And so she’s made a plan, and I’ve agreed.”
Ashmont described her plan.
Lord deGriffith listened but said nothing.
“However, in the spirit of fair play,” Ashmont said, “I must tell you that I intend to do my utmost to change her mind.”
“You cannot expect me to wish you luck,” Lord deGriffith said. “Cassandra’s scheme, overall, is not an unreasonable one. Nobody but that thorn in my wife’s side saw, and if the Countess of Bartham were not the venomous being she is, I should dismiss her altogether. But I do not like to see my lady upset, and she refuses to cut the acquaintance. She believes it wiser to have one’s foes near at hand, where one can keep an eye on them. I cannot disagree with her reasoning. Since it seems we cannot ignore Lady Bartham, we had better spike her guns.”
“Glad to help,” Ashmont said. “The worst for me was subjecting Miss Pomfret to humiliation. She was in no way at fault, I assure you, sir. I behaved very badly. Should have resisted. Didn’t. No excuse.”
“But she cooperated.”
Careful now. Matters bad enough. Letting him believe you assaulted the daughter not the way to her father’s heart. Not wise, either, to let him believe she leapt eagerly into ruination.
“She was tired, I don’t doubt, after the strenuous effort to kill me with her umbrella,” Ashmont said.
“Too tired to push you through the window, or break your nose.”
“Exactly.”
Lord deGriffith looked about him. “It was wise of me to invite you out of doors. I do feel the need of air. Possibly a brisk walk of twenty miles or so to calm myself. But that will have to wait. I must compose myself as best I can, for my wife’s sake, not to mention my own peace of mind.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, indeed, to have caused so much trouble. I do understand your hating me. I’d hate me, too, in your place.”
His lordship brushed this off. “Over the course of a long career, I have learnt to govern my feelings and look at the facts and what can be achieved. I am not enamored of this plan of Cassandra’s, involving, as it does, my continuing to endure your presence. However, I must admit it’s sound, and a relatively simple solution. You have my permission to proceed with it. You may by no means take this as encouragement of your suit. While you are not the last man on earth I should wish a daughter of mine to marry, you are most decidedly in the general category.”
It was a blow. Ashmont had told himself to expect the worst. All the same, it was a blow. Whatever he accomplished, if anything, would have to be done against a great headwind of parental