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‘Clere should marry you,’ he said stubbornly. ‘For your sake and…’
‘Why? You making a good marriage is one thing, but it simply isn’t an option for me. And I do not need to—the Millingtons are being understanding, are they not?’
Gregory shifted uncomfortably and then unfolded the letter he was holding in his hand. ‘This came from Harriet first thing. She says her father was difficult at breakfast time. Apparently he mentioned our own parents’ scandal and then made some remark about Clere’s family, the fact that his mother was not born in wedlock and is half-Indian. He seems to think that makes Clere likely to be a bit lax about propriety.’
‘He will withdraw his consent?’ Phyllida dropped her gloves in agitation.
‘He hasn’t gone that far. I think if you stay in London and scotch the rumours of pregnancy and Clere continues to pay court to you in a respectable manner, that might set his mind at rest.’ Gregory’s normally cheerful countenance was set in an unfamiliar expression of resolve. ‘If he does forbid it, then Harriet and I will elope.’
‘What? Gregory, no! Her father will cut her off, you’d be penniless.’
‘I’d manage and Harriet is willing, she says so in this note. We love each other.’
‘Gregory, no, you must not do anything so rash. I will lay this scandal to rest, I swear. Now promise me you will do nothing irregular.’
He shrugged. ‘Not unless I have to.’
To Phyllida’s relief Ashe was prompt, although she was too agitated to admire the handsome curricle he was driving.
‘We must talk,’ he said as he drove up the hill of St James’s Street towards Piccadilly.
‘We are talking.’ Her stomach dipped in apprehension.
‘I do not mean social chit-chat. Where can we avoid the crowds?’
‘Cross the Serpentine. I will point out the less-frequented routes where we will still be visible. And I agree, we need to talk. Urgently.’
He did not reply and she glanced sideways at his profile, very aware of the groom perched up behind them.
‘Harris, you may get down here and wait.’ Ashe drew up just inside the gate, waited for the man to descend from his perch and then urged the pair into a smart trot. ‘Now then, how are you feeling?’
‘Confused,’ Phyllida said with a snap. ‘Anxious.’
‘I mean in the aftermath of the fish.’
‘Perfectly fine, thank you. And my nerves have just about recovered from that outrageous play-acting at Mrs Lawrence’s party. I have persuaded my brother not to call you out, but I am worried—his future in-laws are taking this very seriously. Mr Millington has dredged up the scandal with our parents and, forgive me, has even referred to your own family’s unconventional background.’
‘Hell.’ She glanced sideways and saw his mouth was a thin line. Then he smiled at her. ‘I am delighted that Lord Fransham is prepared to stay his hand. One hardly wishes to meet one’s future brother-in-law in a cold field at the crack of dawn.’
‘What?’ Phyllida almost dropped her furled parasol. ‘We need to behave like indifferent acquaintances until people believe there is nothing between us and I must stay very visible until it is obvious that there is no question of my being with child, but there is absolutely no need for you to marry me.’
‘Smile,’ Ashe said, reining the pair back to a walk. ‘Someone you know is approaching, I think.’
‘Lady Hoskins.’ Phyllida produced an amiable expression and kept it steady under the stares of Lady Hoskins, her son and daughter. ‘What a lovely day, is it not?’ Once they were out of earshot she said, ‘This is so embarrassing.’
‘They will all get used to me courting you,’ Ashe said calmly, looping his reins as they turned to cross the bridge.
‘My lord… Ashe, stop this.’ He reined in and turned to her, one eyebrow raised.
‘I do not mean the carriage! I mean this nonsense about marriage. You know perfectly well that I am a completely unsuitable wife for you.’
‘I compromised you. You know it, I know it and Lady Castlebridge knows it.’
‘And the fact that I do not wish to marry you, you do not wish to marry me and your father must be tearing his hair out at the thought of me as a daughter-in-law means nothing to you?’
‘It is a matter of honour. My family is in absolute agreement with me. And nothing would calm the Millingtons’ nerves more than the assurance their daughter will be related by marriage to a marquess.’ He sounded quite calm about the whole thing.
Phyllida wondered distractedly if this was actually a nightmare, one of those frustration dreams where the dreamer is thwarted at every turn and with the added torment of wanting to do exactly what he said and knowing she should not.
