Page 34 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘I’m no good at this.’

‘You are.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not. You are good at this. You will make an excellent mother, but I am not a fit guardian for Edward.’

‘You’re talking nonsense,’ Miss Ashworth said, and Tom couldn’t help but smile even though he still felt morose. Miss Ashworth, the woman dismissed by most of society as a quiet little mouse, didn’t tiptoe around but instead said exactly what she was thought. Everyone else’s opinion of her was so wrong, it was laughable.

‘If you did these things—upset him and then didn’t worry about it—then you would be entitled to question if you were a fit guardian. The very fact that you are out here, feeling awful and wanting to do better, shows you are exactly the right person to be looking after him.’

‘Hmm.’

‘When is the nanny due to arrive?’

‘Ten more days.’

‘That is no time at all.’

‘He’s so distant much of the time. I feel awkward around him.’

‘Most people do around children other than their own,’ she said with a shrug.

‘Do they?’

‘Think about it. Your own child, you know from a little baby. You learn what they like and what they don’t like, how they respond to you, how to handle them, through every stage of childhood. Edward has just appeared in your life. You need to give it time.’ She smiled at him, and Tom felt some of the self-doubt ebbing away.

‘I would love to see him again,’ she said. ‘I know we were keeping our distance so society doesn’t suspect we were in that glasshouse, but I haven’t heard our names attached to any of the rumours circulating. I think we are safe.’

For an instant she glanced up at him and he saw a flicker of remembrance in her eyes. As she bit her lower lip, he knew in a flash that she had felt that same pull he had, that same flare of attraction. The same thing he was trying to deny every time he looked at her.

Clearing his throat, he nodded. ‘Of course. I was going to take him riding, or at least introduce him to some horses. Perhaps you would like to accompany us tomorrow?’

‘That would be lovely.’ She smiled at him again and her eye held his just a fraction too long before she looked away quickly. He knew he had flustered her but he was too preoccupied with his own interest in this serious young woman to try and put her at ease.

‘I will take you back to Lady Mountjoy. No doubt she is getting cold sitting for so long in this weather.’

They walked in silence back to the countess, Tom quickly taking his leave and heading out of the park.

It was late and Tom knew he had consumed far too much alcohol for one night. He gambled like most men in his social circle, but had a hard rule that he never did so after more than five drinks. He had seen too many men ruined from their lack of self-control at the gaming tables, forced to sell their homes or go begging to wealthier relatives to cover their debt.

Tonight, though, he had been close to breaking his rule. He’d thrown back whisky after whisky and had then been tempted to linger at the tables.

‘Leaving so soon, Stewart?’ Lord Rowlinson called as he pushed back his chair and bid the people at the table good night.

‘My skill is no match for yours but I do at least have the good sense to know when I am beaten,’ Tom said, reaching for his coat.

He was drinking to forget, gambling to forget, and that could be dangerous. Stepping out into the cold night air, he hesitated, first turning left and then shaking his head and reversing his decision. A month ago he had made the acquaintance of a beautiful young actress who had given him a key and an open invitation to join her in her rooms any night he desired company. It would be another way to forget the thoughts that plagued him, to lose himself in carnal pleasure, but he knew it was the wrong decision tonight, so instead he slowly made his way over the river to Southwark.

Even the streets here made him think of Miss Ashworth, of following her into the dark alleyway and being punched in the jaw, and then her desperate attempts to find the long-dead publisher. He quickened his pace, as if trying to outrun his own thoughts, and almost burst through the door of The Hangman’s Noose.

‘You being chased or just eager to see me?’ a tall, slim woman called out to him from behind the bar.

‘You know I can’t keep away, Mrs Western.’

‘Come on over and pull up a chair. He’s changing the barrel but he’ll be up in a minute.’

She poured him a beer, the liquid a deep amber and the top frothing, setting it down carefully on the bar in front of him.

‘You look awful, Tom.’