Page 11 of A Countess Never Tells

“Where do we meet Lord Ashbrook’s party, Kitty?” Judith gathered her shawl around her as they stopped just at the huge gate.

“He sent a message this afternoon that the party would be meeting at the bandstand at nine o’clock. It’s something after that now, isn’t it, John?” They were late indeed, due to Anna’s rescue. The thought she might’ve missed Lord Ashwood’s company—after so much effort—filled Kitty with sadness.

“Yes, it’s almost half-past nine.” John consulted his pocket watch and shook his head. “Still, it couldn’t be helped.” He paid their admission and pointed down the Grand Walk. “The bandstand’s this way. Then off to the right.”

They struck off down the wide path of crushed gravel, alongside huge throngs of elegantly clad ladies and gentlemen laughing and chatting together. The magic of the Pleasure Gardens washed over Kitty, taking away some of her apprehension and building an excitement she’d not experienced here before.

She followed John and Judith, craning her neck as she tried to look at everything at once. The little lights hanging all over the trees and structures, the delicious smells coming from some of the supper-boxes, and the spritely music that they followed toward their destination all created the enchanted atmosphere for which Vauxhall was famous. Kitty’s eyes widened, taking in all these delights to the senses. She could never get enough of this kind of magic.

A group of gentlemen standing in front of the towering orchestra moved off, and there stood Lord Ashwood, dressed in an elegant light gray silk, cut excellently and showing off his strong physique. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders, tapering in to emphasize his small waist, and the pantaloons accentuated his long legs. He smiled broadly and bowed.

Kitty’s mouth dried in an instant. Her heart gave a lurch then took off beating like horses’ hooves on a cobbled street. Lord, but he was a handsome devil. Disreputable gentlemen should not be allowed to look so good and be so bad.

“Good evening, my lord, my lady.” He raised his head and gazed straight at Kitty. “Miss Tate.”

Kitty curtsied, unable to say more than a weak, “Good evening.”

“The party has moved on to the supper-boxes just beyond the Turkish Tent.” He offered his arm to Kitty, which she took with some trepidation, hoping he couldn’t feel her trembling. Or the warmth that streaked up her arm, seeming to emanate from his. “I offered to remain behind to lead you to them.”

“Thank you, Lord Ashbrook. That was most kind of you.” Judith returned his smile and gave Kitty a knowing look. “We were delighted to join your party here tonight. You are a most attentive and amiable host.”

Oh, lord. What would Judith do when she discovered Lord Ashwood’s true identity? Kitty smiled automatically then gazed about at the merry throng of patrons surrounding them. “Vauxhall is such an exciting place.” Kitty wished to get away from the topic of Lord Ashbrook as quickly as possible. “I’ve been here three times now, but there is always so much to see.”

“Have the others sat down to dinner yet, Ashbrook?” John sounded jovial, however Kitty knew he could be difficult if not fed dinner by eight o’clock. “I’m more than a bit peckish.”

“I believe everyone was ordering when I left them, my lord.” Lord Ashwood indicated the supper-boxes straight ahead. They were good-sized rooms furnished with linen-covered tables and backless benches enough for ten people. Each supper-box boasted an original painting on the back wall, usually of some pleasant bucolic scene. “Would you like to go ahead so you and Lady Haxby can order as well? I wish no one to be discomforted by pangs of hunger.” He turned to Kitty and gave her a hand a quick squeeze, and she held her breath. “I thought Miss Tate might like to visit the Turkish Tent since we are so near it.”

Lord, this must be the beginning of a rakish campaign to get her alone. By the end of the evening, she expected to have achieved her goal of receiving at least one kiss from someone other than Lord Quatford.

“I think my sister should stay with our party, my lord.” John gazed down at Lord Ashwood with narrowed eyes. “She can view the tent when we are all able to do so.”

Lord Ashwood smiled up at John, nodding. “I understand your need to protect Miss Tate, my lord. But our supper-box is just here.” He pointed to the row of wooden structures behind the orchestra. “The Turkish Tent is there.” Swinging his arm around to the left, he indicated the tall blue structure closer to the supper-boxes. “We will be in your sight the whole time.” He turned to Kitty. “Have you seen it before, Miss Tate? It is quite remarkable.”

Without a doubt, this was her chance. If she wished to engage in a flirtation with Lord Ashwood, let him kiss her and make a memory to cherish the rest of her life, this was the moment when she needed the courage to act. That was why she’d come tonight, wasn’t it?

“No, I have not seen that particular pavilion on my previous visits here, my lord.” Kitty could scarcely believe she was saying this. “Does it truly look like something from a Turkish palace?”

“Let us go and see what you make of it, Miss Tate.” Lord Ashwood’s voice purred with satisfaction, and Kitty’s heart beat frantically.

“May I, John?” She peered up at her brother, holding her breath.

He shrugged. “I suppose so, if you stay in front of the supper-boxes.”

The die had truly been cast now.

“Shall I order your dinner as well, Kitty?” Judith asked as John pulled her toward the row of supper-boxes.

“Yes, please. And some wine perhaps?” Kitty called as Lord Ashwood started them in the opposite direction. She had the feeling she’d be in need of some sort of libation shortly.

“Come this way, Miss Tate.” Lord Ashwood patted her hand and led her to the left, toward the brightly colored blue pavilion built to resemble a Turkish tent, although it was made of wood. “Delights await us.”

A shiver shot down her spine. She sent him a look meant to convey that she was onto his tricks.

He replied with a wide-eyed, innocent look that fooled her not a bit. The gentleman was incorrigible.

With slow, deliberate steps, he led her toward the tent, the smells of delicious food wafting into her nose, making Kitty pray her stomach did not rumble. That would be mortifying. They stayed along the right side of the tent, in view of the supper-boxes as Lord Ashwood had promised. She was able to get a good look at the tent, with a dozen or more carved Greek columns supporting it, hung about with festoons of flowers. Inside was a great glass chandelier suspended from the center of the dome ceiling, underneath which a large number of patrons were making a ruckus, laughing and chatting and eating.

“What do you think, Miss Tate? Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” Lord Ashwood gave her a sideways glance.