“Only a few hours ago,” he said. “You’ve wondrous good ears if you heard it already. I hardly knew it myself.”
“You’ve returned without the future Duchess of Ashmont,” said Uncle Fred.
“Erm . . . yes. As to that.” Ashmont glanced at the letter. “A trifle complicated. Comedy of errors, as Lady Charles said.”
For an instant, Lord Frederick’s customary composure disintegrated and a haunted look came into his blue eyes. But it was gone almost as soon as it had come, and he reverted to his usual unflappable self.
“You have been to Camberley Place,” he said. He picked a bit of fluff from his coat sleeve.
Once Uncle Fred was there, he wasn’t to be got rid of by any means until he was good and ready to go. Since he wouldn’t be good and ready until he’d scraped Ashmont’s brain clean, the duke briefly described the previous day’s search for Ripley and Lady Olympia as well as today’s visit to Lady Charles Ancaster.
As Ashmont came to the end of that part of the tale, he saw his uncle’s attention shift to the dressing table, where the letter lay, its pages spread out, in plain view of all the world—or rather, of busybody, all-seeing, all-knowing uncles.
The duke moved casually to the dressing table to block his relative’s view of the missive.
Too late.
“That looks like Lady Olympia’s hand,” his uncle said.
“Does it?”
“I should know it anywhere,” Lord Frederick said. “Quite distinctive. We corresponded regarding a fifteenth-century volume. Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiae, I believe it was. It would appear that she is speaking or, rather, writing to you. I take that as a promising sign.”
“Erm, yes. The thing is, she’s still at Camberley Place.”
“So I deduced when I learned you’d received two letters, express, from Surrey,” Lord Frederick said.
Ashmont didn’t ask how or where his uncle learned it. Obviously, he had spies everywhere. More than likely, a few resided under Ashmont’s roof. His uncle had been his guardian. Furthermore, the servants were afraid of him. Few outsiders would understand how this could be, for a milder-looking older gentleman with a more innocent countenance was not to be found in all of London or, possibly, all of Great Britain.
“Yes, it’s rather complicated,” Ashmont said. “You see . . .” He frowned. “That is, I think I’ve got the gist of it, but bless the girl, she uses a deuced lot of words.”
“And, if it is not too private a matter, the gist of it is . . . ?”
“She was drunk,” Ashmont said. “She’d taken brandy for her bridal nerves, you see. Only it didn’t calm her, and so she bolted.”
Lord Frederick’s lip twitched. “Ah.”
“Ripley tried to bring her back, but when she wouldn’t be brought back, he made himself her bodyguard. Eventually he got her safe with his aunt, but because of her—Olympia, that is—he had an accident, and she feels—” He picked up the letter, turned over a page and read, tracing the lines with his finger, “‘obliged to stay at Camberley Place, to prevent his making his injury worse, his being a male and possessing a morbid aversion to good sense.’ But don’t you know, sir, Lady Charles didn’t mention the accident. Odd, isn’t it?”
The haunted look flickered briefly in his lordship’s face, then vanished. “Not at all,” he said. “Her ladyship can be inscrutable. A useful quality in managing her spouse, among others.”
“Not the least use to me,” Ashmont said. “But never mind all that. She—Olympia, I mean, offers to let me off the hook.”
“Hmm.”
“She says, ‘No reasonable person would expect you to marry me now.’ But I’m not reasonable, dammit!” Being unreasonable, he found himself too baffled and upset to care whether Lord Frederick stayed until Doomsday.
Ashmont marched to the decanter, filled two glasses, and handed one to his uncle.
“I don’t mind telling you, I don’t understand,” the duke said. “Of all the damned things. If only we’d arrived later, or stayed longer, cold welcome or not, Olympia and I could have settled matters then and there.” He drank. “Now I’ve got to go back to Camberley Place because Olympia thinks I care what anybody says. I said I’d marry her, didn’t I? Does she think I’d go back on my word, because she had a fit of the blue devils or megrims or some such and ran?”
“In brief, it wasn’t Ripley’s joke, after all,” said Uncle Fred thoughtfully.
“No, he only meant to unload her on a female relative, then come back and tell me where to collect her. But things kept going wrong. Then he went and broke his arm or something.” He glanced down at the letter. “No, it was to do with his foot, but she uses words of twenty syllables to explain it. ‘Incapacitated,’ she says. And he says—”
“What Ripley says doesn’t signify,” said Lord Frederick. “You are not going to Camberley Place. This is a more delicate situation than you seem to recognize, which does not surprise me, considering the kinds of women with whom you usually associate. I cannot be surprised at your failing to know how to behave with a respectable girl.”
“You said she’d never have me, but she said yes.”
“And you didn’t have the sense to hold on to her.”
“I didn’t let her go. She—”
“Have you any idea what you’ve got? Do you imagine women like that are everywhere, only waiting patiently for you to come to your senses? That young lady possesses the intelligence and strength of character to become a settling influence, which you badly need.”
“Yes, I know she—”
“You think you know, but you don’t. You are throwing away what promises to be your one and only chance of true happiness. Your father couldn’t help what happened to your mother. But at least he had those years with her. You’ll have nothing. You’ll look back, years hence, and regret.”
If this was the voice of experience speaking, Ashmont failed to hear it, in the same way he failed to notice the untypical emotion in that voice.
“Why does everybody blame me?” he said. “I wooed her, didn’t I? You said I’d be wasting my time. She’d never have me, you said. She was too intelligent, you said. But—”
“You couldn’t get her to say ‘I will,’ could you?” said his uncle. “And if you think you’re in no wise to blame, I invite you to take a look at yourself. Even bathed, shaved, and dressed in fresh clothes, you look villainous. Worse than a sailor after three days’ shore leave. No, I do sailors a disservice.”
“I was in a fight!”
“You’re always in a fight. This time it shows. You can’t simply explode upon a young woman who is, I don’t doubt, in a highly agitated and confused state.”
“I wasn’t going to explode!”
“Take a long, hard look in the mirror, Lucius,” said his uncle. “If she shied before, if she had doubts about your character or anxiety about your behavior, do you think she’ll throw herself in your arms now?”
Ashmont clenched his hands.
“Do you mean to hit me?” his uncle said mildly.