Page 20 of Prince of Scandal

“Now we know what Prussian men truly desire, your betrothal to my daughter is over, Your Highness. Such depraved violence! You’ll never be welcome in London society again...”

“You have shamed us all, Wilhelm Heinrich Ashton. An entire nation. I can no longer call you my son…”

Ashton swallowed hard as he wiped his muddy feet on the grass, then put his stockings and shoes back on. After fetching his greatcoat, which still thankfully had his supply of marzipan inside, and Georgiana’s shoes and stockings, he walked across to the parsonage. The gate had been rebuilt, and now swung sturdily and quietly, but the ramshackle appearance of the parsonage still made his fingers itch.

As the door was open, he knocked briefly and strolled inside, moving in the direction of several raised voices.

“No, Alan! India did it deliberately.”

“I most certainly did not. What a shocking accusation, Phoebe.”

“Damn and blast,” said Sir Alan wearily. “No more nonsense, Indy! Mrs. King has done naught to deserve it. And you’ll be forfeiting the cost of a new gown from your allowance.”

Ashton could agree with that particular sentiment. Georgiana was saucy and certainly required a stern master, but that was not the business of India Dunmore. He should have made it clear she had no claim to him at all. In front of her brother, in the event Sir Alan still thought to transfer responsibility for the woman to someone else.

“I come bearing gifts,” said Ashton, as he walked into the parlor to find Georgiana standing in front of the fireplace holding up her stained hem, while Miss March knelt on a cushion and attempted to scrape off the thick brown mud with a small bit of wood.

“Thank you,” said Georgiana, giving him a brief smile, but her gaze kept returning to the ruined gown. “Phoebe is trying valiantly, but I doubt this can be saved. Even by Mrs. March.”

Miss March grimaced. “I would lend Gigi a gown, but nothing of mine would fit. I’m a tall weed and she is all gorgeously petite and…well, you know.”

Christ, did he know.

Ashton set down Georgiana’s shoes and stockings. “Might I offer my greatcoat, Mrs. King? Then I can escort you back to your carriage. I think the sooner that garment is burned, the better. No one needs a reminder of skullduggery.”

Miss Dunmore swiftly began dabbing at her eyes. “Why, Mr. Latimer!” she sniffled. “Surely you don’t believe the slanderous tale that I caused this?”

He sent her a hard look. “I saw you veer, and the shove, Miss Dunmore. Now, I’m not sure why you might choose such spiteful actions, but I certainly hope it wasn’t provoked by proprietary feelings toward me. I am not a man in any way inclined to marriage, and will not be coerced or tricked by anyone.”

A heavy silence reigned in the parlor for a long minute. Then Miss Dunmore rose to her feet, sent him and Georgiana a look of pure hatred, and hurried from the parlor.

Sir Alan cleared his throat. “Well. Ah…”

“I apologize, Dunmore, for my blunt speech,” said Ashton. “But it has felt for a while now that village expectations are high, and I wanted to halt that. Your sister should wed someone who has tender regard for her. And that man isn’t me.”

“I understand. And I agree, Latimer. She should marry a man who loves her. I want her to find a match like myself and Phoebe,” said Sir Alan irritably. “But then she does silly things like this. Again, I hope you’ll forgive her, Mrs. King. Indy isn’t a bad person. Truly.”

Ashton pressed his lips together at Miss March’s sidelong glance at her betrothed. Obviously, the couple had differing thoughts on that particular matter.

“I would like to depart, if you don’t mind,” said Georgiana. “I agree with Phoebe that this gown cannot be saved; it feels quite dreadful and smells worse. I am a walking, talking bog.”

“Not at all,” said Sir Alan gallantly. “But do accept Latimer’s offer, Mrs. King. It looks like it’s getting cooler out there.”

They all knew that wasn’t the case, but the stain on the back of her gown really was terrible. Like a very unfortunate chamber pot mishap.

“Here,” said Ashton, handing over his greatcoat.

“Thank you,” she replied as she put it on, then gave him an impish grin. “Are you also offering me the marzipan stuffed in this pocket? How gentlemanly of you, sir.”

Miss March burst out laughing. “Naughty Gigi! You have your own. I had it delivered to your carriage.”

Georgiana winked. “Worth a try. Shall we, Mr. Latimer?”

He offered his arm. “Indeed. Good day, Miss March. Dunmore.”

They met Reverend March and his anxious wife on the porch and swiftly explained the situation, reassuring them both that all was well. Then they continued on down the path and out the gate toward the row of carriages beside the church hall.

Abruptly, Georgiana kicked a small stone. “Wretched witch. Surely I deserve great credit for not dragging India into the mud and planting her face in it.”