Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

‘Lady Wallace, Lady Maude Templeton, Miss Ravenhurst, the Reverend Makepeace, my lady.’

How Ashe and Aunt Louisa were going to explain his presence in her drawing room in his shirtsleeves she had no idea, and, she told herself furiously as she wrenched open the back door that led into her tiny garden, she did not care either.

It was not so much a garden, more of a court, the width of the house and a few yards deep, paved and with tubs of shrubs and flowering plants set about it. But, despite its modest size, in the afternoon it caught the sun and was a pleasant place to sit. Bel remembered too late as she ran down the six steps into it that she had urged her loft-full of soldiers to take the air there whenever they chose: today it seemed they had taken advantage of the offer.

She stood and regarded them, five of the eight who now occupied the loft, brought in over several days by Brown whom she had sent out in a hackney to scour the streets. He had recovered quickly with good food and medical attention, but his friend Lewin was still very poorly and confined to his bed.

They got to their feet with varying degrees of ease and stared at her mutely. Then Brown took a step forward. ‘What’s the matter, ma’am?’ His big fists clenched. ‘Who’s touched you? You tell me, I’ll sort them out.’ The group at his back growled agreement.

Bel pushed pins back into her hair with hands that shook. ‘No one. I…I had a stupid argument with a friend. I am upset…I am sorry, I forgot you might be here.’

‘We’ll go, ma’am, let you have your garden back for a quiet sit, don’t you fret.’ The others began to shift towards the gate, uneasy, she realised, that she was less than poised, less than completely in control. Probably, she thought with a flash of desperate humour, they were afraid she was going to weep.

‘No, please, don’t go. Stay and I will sit out here too. Tell me how everyone is doing.’ Bel forced a smile and saw them begin to relax.

‘Well, ma’am, Lewin’s sitting up and seems to be getting his appetite back, leastways, for Mrs Hedges’s soup. And Jock here…’ he tipped his head towards the taciturn Scot with an eye patch who seemed to be resigned to never being addressed by his real name ‘…his foot’s a lot better. And I found two more lads this morning, the doctor’s looking at them now.’ He talked on, marshalling and presenting his facts efficiently. Bel found herself wondering why he had not become a sergeant, he seemed to have the requisite qualities. She must ask Ashe about how that worked. If they ever spoke to each other again.

Ashe shot one glance down the length of the room to where his coat lay crumpled on a chair where he had thrown it. The door was already opening—he could never make it in time, and besides, the marks of Bel’s hand on his face must be crimson.

This entire ghastly episode was like a farce, he thought, despairing for a second before military training kicked in. Think, improvise, survive. If this was a farce, then salvation might lay in making it even more of one.

‘Scream,’ he ordered brusquely, lifting Lady James bodily and standing her on top of a side chair. ‘And stay there.’ She gave a muffled shriek and waved her arms for balance. As the sound of the entering guests’ chatting reached him, Ashe dived under the chaise, the poker snatched from the hearth in his hand.

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