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‘Sir. Excuse the intrusion, but I need Mr Edwards’s advice. What are the laws concerning marriage in England?’
His father went very still, then set down the pen he was holding. The secretary pushed his spectacles firmly on to his nose and cleared his throat, his face entirely blank of expression. ‘Banns of marriage must be called in the parishes of both bride and groom over three weeks. This may be avoided, and often is by the Quality, by the provision of a common licence from a bishop. For marriages at very short notice a special licence from the archbishop is required, which in London will involve a personal visit to Doctors’ Commons and a not inconsiderable fee.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘If one is needed, I fear it must now wait until the morrow.’
‘Thank you, Mr Edwards, that is very clear. I was not contemplating matrimony within the week.’ Ashe moved to the empty fireplace and rested one foot on the fender. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment?’
When they were alone he said, without preamble, ‘I have compromised Miss Hurst and therefore I regret that I must marry her.’
‘Regret?’ His father’s brows rose.
‘She is not an eligible bride. She is illegitimate, she is not received at court or accepted at Almack’s and therefore she cannot assist my mother or Sara.’ Ashe made himself continue dispassionately down the list. He was not going to fudge what a disaster this was. ‘Her brother has no political influence, his lands are a significant distance from ours and will bring no benefit to you or to the estate. She has no dowry. She owns a shop and buys and sells for it herself—in other words, she is a trader and if word of that ever gets out it will mean she is received in even fewer places.’
‘Your mother is illegitimate and her father was a trader,’ his father said in the quiet tone that Ashe knew disguised tightly reined emotion.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But she is the daughter of a princess, he was a nabob. You are a marquess. The case is very different in the eyes of society.’
‘How is she compromised? Is she with child?’
‘No!’ Ashe caught up the unravelling ends of his temper. Guilty conscience, he told himself. ‘No, it was all very innocent and damnably unfortunate. She was taken ill as we returned and fainted in the inn. I was loosening her stays in a bedchamber when Lady Castlebridge, who appears to be a voracious scandalmonger, walked in on us.’
The marquess gave a bark of laughter that sounded as though it was wrenched unwillingly from his throat.
‘It is not funny,’ Ashe said mildly. He was inclined to kick something. Someone. Probably himself.
‘It has all the elements of a farce,’ his father countered. ‘But there is nothing to be done about it. You are quite right, you must marry the girl and we’ll make the best of it.’ He narrowed his eyes at Ashe. ‘Do you like her?’
‘Yes.’ Ashe shrugged. ‘As far as that goes it would be no hardship to be married to her.’
And making love to Phyllida would be a perfect pleasure.
‘A special licence would appear to be the best method under the circumstances.’
‘No. I have been thinking about this.’ All the way back from Hertfordshire. ‘I believe less damage will be done if I very publically court Miss Hurst and marry her after a couple of months. There will be no question of her being with child then, which should confound the gossip and retrieve her name somewhat.’
‘There is a question of pregnancy?’
‘She was casting up her accounts after eating bad fish. The innkeeper’s wife assumed she was increasing and said so loudly for all to hear.’
The marquess sat back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair. ‘God! And to think I had assumed we could descend on England and sink quietly into society with hardly a ripple.’ He gave a huff of laughter that sounded more like genuine amusement. ‘We had better go and tell your mother that she is about to acquire a new daughter.’
His father was taking this well. Ashe suspected that his mother, always unconventional, would forgive him, too, and Sara, the romantic chit, would think him in love and happily ignore any snubs that came her way as a result. He would rather they all abused him roundly for allowing this to happen.
And he would be rewarded for not closing a door and impetuously not waiting for a maid by having to marry the woman he desired as his mistress. No, his inconvenient conscience reminded him. If you had not been as intimate with Phyllida as you were, then it would never have occurred to you to stay in the room, let alone loosen her gown and remove her stays, and you know it.
He had always assumed duty and honour went hand in hand. It seemed that in this case his honour demanded that he default on his duty. You reap what you sow, he thought bitterly as he went to find his mother. He would do the honourable thing by Phyllida Hurst—now he had to find a way to do his duty by his family.
As for Miss Hurst, she would be delighted at a marriage beyond her wildest dreams and it should not be too much trouble to put an end to all those hidden elements of her life that proved such a risk. The shop must go, the stock be sold—she could have no objection.
‘Gregory! Oh, you are home, thank goodness!’
He appeared in the doorway of the back parlour in his shirtsleeves, a pen in his hand, his hair on end as though he had been raking his fingers through it. ‘Welcome home, Phyll. I have good news for you.’ She stepped into the light from the open drawing-room door and he saw her face clearly. ‘You are ill! Anna, what is wrong with Miss Phyllida?’ He strode forwards, dropped the pen and took her arm.
‘Anna, please go and ask for tea to be sent up. It is just bad fish, Gregory. I have been sick in the stomach, that is all. Come into the drawing room, we must talk.’
She let him guide her in, seat her on the chaise with her feet up, wrap a shawl over her legs. ‘Give me that bonnet. Can you manage the pelisse? You should be in bed.’
Don’t fuss, she wanted to shout. Don’t make me feel any worse than I already do. ‘Thank you. Gregory, what is your good news?’
‘Harriet has accepted me!’ Despite everything she felt a glow of pleasure at the genuine warmth and happiness on his face. He did care for Harriet.
