Page 24 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘Or perhaps not,’ Jane murmured as Mr Stewart walked into the room. All eyes were drawn to him as he greeted their host and hostess and then made his way directly to her. He was attractive, Jane couldn’t deny it, and he had a presence that commanded attention.

‘Miss Ashworth, it is a pleasure to see you again.’ His eyes flicked over Mr and Mrs Farthington, and he nodded in greeting, but Jane was glad to see he did not seem inclined to stay and talk.

‘Please excuse us,’ he said with a blinding smile. ‘I have the urge to speak to Miss Ashworth alone for a moment.’

Without waiting for their answer, he whisked Jane away.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured as they paused on the other side of the room.

‘You looked uncomfortable.’

‘Mrs Farthington is not a pleasant person. She was one of the debutantes Lady Mountjoy brought from Somerset. The other three were absolutely lovely, but she has always been cruel.’

‘What did she say to you?’

‘She was curious as to why you would suddenly be interested in me.’

Mr Stewart frowned, glancing over at the young woman and her husband on the other side of the room.

‘Apparently you could have your pick of women, debutante, married or widowed. She does not see what would ever induce you to pick me.’

‘I am sorry, Miss Ashworth,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Some people baffle me in how they come out with such rude things. I particularly dislike bullies, and Mrs Farthington is a bully.’

‘I suppose she is right, in a way, but there is no need to say it.’

‘She’s not right,’ he said quietly, waiting for Jane to look up at him. ‘Believe that. You are not worth less than I am—if anything I think you are probably worth more. It is just some people judge by the wrong standards.’

‘I know.’ Jane thought back a few years, to the time when her twin sister had been alive. Harriet had been beautiful, with dark-brown eyes and blonde hair. Her lips had been full and rosy and her skin soft and clear. They’d not been identical twins, and when they’d been young Jane had often wondered how two sisters born minutes apart could be so dissimilar.

They had done everything together, but even from a young age Jane had seen how they had been treated so differently. Things had been easier for Harriet—people had wanted to help her more, wanted to give her more. Not once had Jane begrudge her sister the benefits of being attractive, but Jane had learned as a child she was going to have to work twice as hard to achieve the same, being the plain sister.

She often wondered if it was this that had encouraged her to pursue her writing and illustrating, this need to stand out in some way against Harriet’s superior looks and grace. Then her desire to write and paint had only intensified after Harriet’s death as Jane had looked to find something to focus on outside her own deep grief.

As always when she thought about Harriet, she felt the sadness threatening to pull her down and she quickly supressed it, grasping instead for one of the happy memories of her sister.

‘Everyone is going through to dinner. Shall we?’ He offered her his arm and together they walked through the double doors to the resplendently decorated dining room.

Tom was actually enjoying himself. Dinner was delicious, and he reminded himself to accept more invitations when he was in want of a fancy meal. Now the sweet course was being served, and the steamed pears with cinnamon smelled divine.

He had been seated in between Lady Mountjoy and Miss Ashworth, but at the beginning of the meal Lady Mountjoy had leaned in to him and whispered that she was going to break all the rules of dinner party etiquette and focus on talking to the man on her left so Tom need not worry about conversing with her. Instead, he could focus on Miss Ashworth. He had to applaud Lady Mountjoy’s commitment to her cause as she was sitting next to Lord Willoughby, a notoriously dull man who only liked to talk about his time in the army forty years earlier.

Miss Ashworth was a delightful dinner companion, especially after a little coaxing and few glasses of wine. They had spent much of the meal with their heads bent together, discussing the other guests. Her observations were sharp and witty, and he was surprised that underneath her meek and mild exterior there was a woman who would be able to run rings around most of the other distinguished guests here tonight.

‘That is incredible,’ Miss Ashworth said, tasting a mouthful of the steamed pears.

Tom had been around far too many women who were so preoccupied with their figure that they would have refused pudding along with half the meal. Miss Ashworth had committed to enjoying every bite. She was slender but not skinny, although it was hard to tell under the loose dresses she wore. He got the impression she was trying to hide her figure, trying to stay as invisible as possible, and he wondered why. Now was not the right time to ask. They did not know each other well enough for a question like that, but perhaps one day he would work it out.

‘Thank you for joining us, Mr Stewart,’ Lady Parson said from the head of the table, catching his attention with a wave of her hand. ‘It is wonderful to see you at an event such as this. I wonder, with you attending more society events, are we to assume you are looking to find a wife and settle down?’

Tom cleared his throat, having to resist the urge to glance at Miss Ashworth. He needed to tread carefully. He couldn’t laugh at the notion and destroy the carefully curated picture he and Miss Ashworth were trying to build, but equally he didn’t want to confirm the rumours and be besieged by debutantes thinking they might be the right match for him.

He gave his most charming smile. ‘Who amongst us knows what the future holds, Lady Parson?’

‘Indeed.’ Sensing she wasn’t going to get the answer she wanted, Lady Parson moved on, dropping the subject.

‘Very diplomatic,’ Miss Ashworth murmured as he turned back to her.

‘I didn’t think the truth would help our deception,’ he whispered.