Page 10 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

Tom closed his eyes. Lady Mountjoy, consummate match-maker, thought he was a possible suitor for her last remaining debutante. His instinct was to rush in, to put her right immediately, but he was aware he needed to step carefully. As much as he didn’t want to become embroiled in one of Lady Mountjoy’s match-making schemes, equally he knew he couldn’t betray why he had really been outside the house. Miss Ashworth might have been foolish to travel to Southwark for her mystery mission, but it wasn’t his place to tell her temporary guardians.

‘You have it wrong,’ he said quickly. ‘Pleasant as I am sure Miss Ashworth is, it wasn’t her I came to see.’

‘Oh.’

‘I need your help. It is a delicate matter, but I thought you may be able to advise me.’

The older woman sat back in her chair, resting her tea cup in her saucer, and motioned for him to go on.

‘I am sure you remember my sister, Rebecca.’

‘Of course.’

‘The official story my father liked to tell is that she married a foreign count.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘It was nonsense, of course. My sister fell in love with an Italian, but he wasn’t a count, he was a musician.’

‘She married him?’

‘I don’t know. She left with him quietly. My father was not a reasonable man, and if he’d had any notion of what was about to happen he would have locked her up and sent her away.’

Lady Mountjoy nodded thoughtfully. ‘That cannot have been easy for you.’

‘I loved my sister dearly, and missed her terribly, but I do not begrudge her seizing a chance of happiness. She would have been married off to one of my father’s old friends and been under the control of another vindictive old man had she stayed.’ He didn’t speak of the guilt he felt every morning for the decision he had made at eighteen to leave her behind. It still plagued him, how quickly he had signed up to join the army, how quickly he had moved on with his life whilst she’d still been made to endure a thousand tiny psychological tortures every day from their father.

‘You speak of her in the past tense.’

‘I learned recently that she passed away a few months ago.’

‘I am sorry, my dear.’

Tom nodded, feeling the prick of tears in his eyes. Throughout his childhood he had been schooled that gentlemen did not show their emotions and, although over the last few years he had been trying to do exactly the opposite of many of his father’s lessons, showing true emotion was still difficult.

‘I can trust your discretion, Lady Mountjoy?’

‘Of course.’

‘She and her husband left behind a son, my nephew. He has just been delivered into my care and, I have to be honest, I have not the slightest idea what to do with him.’

‘Oh my. What a responsibility,’ Lady Mountjoy said, reaching across the divide between them and touching him briefly on the hand.

‘I know nothing about children. I have never had any desire to father a child of my own. My lifestyle is not conducive to raising a six-year-old.’

‘Yet here you are, with a young boy waiting for you to step up.’

Tom closed his eyes. ‘I do not have any close relatives.’ He grimaced. ‘And my friends are mainly men who live their lives in the same manner I do. I thought...’ He trailed off, looking across at the older woman with anticipation. It might not have been the true reason he had come to the Mountjoy residence today, but he did need help, and Lady Mountjoy was not known as society’s favourite matriarch for nothing.

‘You thought I might be able to offer some advice?’

‘Yes.’

Tom could see the countess was formulating an answer when the door flew open and Miss Ashworth burst into the room. She had changed. Her dress was clean and dry and her hair was pulled into a neat, low bun, although if he looked carefully he could still see some loose damp strands curling at the base of her neck.

‘Mr Stewart,’ Miss Ashworth said, her tone accusatory.

Tom stood. Even though he had spent less than an hour in total in her company, he knew she was going to make assumptions that were not true and likely expose both of them to unnecessary scandal.