And so Lord Ashworth swept her up, as he had on the fateful night he’d rescued them both from the clutches of Mr. Shine. They weaved through the garden and the hedges and crossed over the bridge and into Hampton Court once more. Though, far different than when they had left it.
There may have been some who stared at Lord Ashworth carrying Miss Farnsworth down the corridor. Only some, though, as news of their latest bet had run through the ball like a housefire.
Miss Farnsworth had finally been defeated by Lord Ashworth. Unlike Lord Ashworth’s earlier experiences, she seemed to take the loss with all good humor.
*
While it wastrue that Mrs. Hemming had encouraged Lily to think better of Lord Ashworth, she was rather staggered to hear that her niece had engaged herself to the man.
Lord Ashworth’s wound did open again, and his butler and valet could not imagine what had gone on at a ball to cause it. He’d only ordered it bound up and rode for Surrey hours later. He’d gone on Horus, which was the height of carelessness. However, being young and strong, the wound healed up in less than a fortnight, despite his egregious lack of care.
Permission to wed was easily granted once Mr. Farnsworth was assured of Ashworth’s circumstances, as well as Lily’s own intentions by a letter from her that he’d carried with him. Not only would Ashworth make his daughter a duchess someday, but on further acquaintance it was discovered he was a man who understood the business of an estate. There was nothing else more important to Mr. Farnsworth, save his family. The estate had been the driving force of his life and it pleased him to discuss various strategies with another likeminded gentleman.
The contract was easily done, though there had been some wrangling over the inclusion of dowries for Mr. Farnsworth’s two youngest daughters. He did not like to discuss the idea that those dowries did not yet exist. Lord Ashworth pressed hard on the subject, pointing out that if the girls were to come to him and Lily when they were of age, they must be suitably situated. He eventually won the debate, as Mr. Farnsworth had always been a man of good sense.
Letters went out to both the duke and the duchess. Hayes knew his father would be delighted, as he could crow about it to his friends. He’d written his mother’s letter more carefully and in stronger language. It was his mother who might take issue with the idea that Lily Farnsworth was neither titled nor an heiress. He wished to convey the finality of his decision.
The duchess had not answered his letter. On the one hand, that might be viewed positive—she had not written against it. On the other, he could not be certain she was not silently fuming. No matter, whether she was for or against, it would be done. The duchess was sure to come round eventually. Or, if she did not, she could hold her peace.
A fortnight later,Lord Dalton raged in his library. Lord Cabot came into the room and found a letter thrown at him. “They’ll never give it up now,” Dalton said. “We’re as good as defeated. Resign yourself to poverty, my friend. There has been another traitor in our midst.”
Lord Cabot picked up the letter and smoothed it out.
Dalton, Cabot and Grayson—
I address you all together as you are living under the same roof and I am too busy to write you separately. I have married Miss Farnsworth under special license this fine morning in Surrey. Burke acted as my best man, as of course none of you could be trusted to do it. It was a small affair as that was what we both preferred. As well, I had no wish of you discovering it before the deed was done. I have not forgotten that Lockwood was once jailed in that house.
I am fairly certain Dalton is gone through the roof just now and you other two are in a sulk. Especially you, Grayson—though, really, your compliments never had the slightest chance with my wife. I will see you when I return from my wedding trip. One hopes you might have regained your equanimity by then.
Though you will not wish to hear my advice, I give it anyway. You will all marry, whether there is a pact between your fathers or not. When you meet the lady you are destined for, no amount of struggle will free you from the net. You ought to resign yourselves to it. It is a very pleasant defeat.
Ashworth
“It is a jest, certainly,” Lord Cabot said. “Ashworth positively dislikes the lady.”
Lord Dalton’s fingers wrapped themselves around a marble paperweight. “Do you really think Ashworth would joke on this subject? With me?”
In fact, Lord Cabot did not, and slowly backed from the room before something heavier than a letter was flung at him.
*
As things wentalong happily in England, so they did in New Orleans too. Nancy Manton had decided to cloak herself in another name once more so that there could be no danger of encountering someone who knew her past. Especially Mr. Shine. She could not know what had happened when he’d discovered she’d made off with the bank, but she shuddered to think of it.
She had refashioned herself as Rose Mendeby—spinster daughter of Viscount Kelberston. Her parents had both perished long ago and left her little. She’d been forced to make her way in the world. Her American friends approved of her accent and her refined manners and thought her brave to open a gambling establishment. They had been under the impression that ladies like herself, in such a situation, would resort to becoming a governess or companion.
Rose Mendeby would go on happily enough in that swampy town. The only circumstance that would ever disturb her peace was the tale told her by Mr. Jarvis, a gentleman returning from Venezuela. The man owned a mine of some sort and spoke of the eccentric exiles one might encounter in that country.
He told of a particularly gruesome circumstance involving a one-legged fellow who had dogged him for a job. It was ludicrous, of course—the man used a crutch and could barely get around. One day, the fellow actually turned up at the mine. As he hobbled along after Mr. Jarvis, hurling both pleadings and insults, his crutch slipped at the edge of an old and deep shaft. He tumbled in and his shouts could be heard for some seconds before he hit the bottom. Naturally, it was silence after that.
Nancy had listened with complacence to the story, well used to Mr. Jarvis’ habit of telling tales that no lady wished to hear.
Then he’d said, “We couldn’t get him out, you see. We had to leave him there. I suppose he was dead in any case. He was English, somebody told me. Lost his leg on the way over, rotten luck. Reginald Shine was his name.”
Nancy never knew if her expression had given her away. That she’d gone white was evident, as Mr. Jarvis said he supposed that he ought not tell a lady such a fright.
Her horror did not stay with her long, though. After all, Mr. Shine was dead.
*
