He saw now that had been a fool’s dream. He would never be able to escape who he was or where he came from.
Then Lady Brindle went in for the kill.
“But you mentioned His Grace’s wards, did you not? Three young girls, if I’ve heard correctly. Where are the dear things?”
“Indisposed,” was Ash’s curt answer.
“Such a pity,” she replied. “I had so hoped to meet them. It is so very generous of His Grace to take on their care. It is not often someone of his station takes children not related to him into his own home to care for them.”
Ash’s blood turned to ice in his veins. She could not know. It was obvious from the contemplative look in her eyes that she was grasping at straws.
Yet gossip and speculation did not require verified proof, did they? And, left to their devices, they spread like wildfire.
Dammit, he was a fool, a bloody fool. He should have hidden the girls, set them up in a quiet little cottage far away from him. It would have been better for them, after all, if they had never known him.
But in his selfishness he had kept them close, that last link to his mother and all she had tried to do to right those wrongs she had not had the power to stop.
“My mother’s childhood nurse was very dear to my family; it is the least I could do to watch over her grandchildren now that she is gone. Any person worth their salt would do the same. Now,” he continued, standing abruptly, “I’m sure you will want to get your rest before continuing your journey. It was so kind of you to make the time to visit us while you were on Synne.”
Mrs. Pickering appeared dismayed. “Oh, I am certain they could stay for a bit longer. Isn’t that so, Lady Brindle?”
That woman did not bother giving Bronwyn’s mother even a glance. She rose, her eyes narrowed on Ash. “How kind of you to consider us, Your Grace. I do so look forward to seeing you and your dear wife when next we visit London.” Smiling, dipping into a curtsy, she sailed out of the room. The Pickerings, dragging Bronwyn with them, followed her. Leaving Ash alone with Owens.
He turned to the man, all effort to remain even remotely civil having disappeared once Bronwyn was safely out of the room.
“If I ever see you near my wife or wards again, I shall not hesitate to make you regret it.”
But the man appeared unfazed. If anything, he looked as if what Ash had said pleased him greatly.
“Oh, you’ve no worry on that score. I had my chance with your wife and found she wasn’t to my taste. And a good thing I did, too, as she made such a spectacle of herself when I ended things. We were kind enough to keep it quiet at the time, but it can be so difficult to subdue unsavory tales.” His smile widened. “I shall see you at Brimstone, Buckley.”
“You were banned from Brimstone,” Ash ground out.
The man, in the process of heading for the door, turned and laughed. “Oh, I’m certain you shall reconsider such an ill-advised decision.”
With that he sauntered from the room. Ash, glaring after him in impotent rage, found he could only blame himself. He had wanted too much, and had forgotten that the walls he had built up about himself had been built for a very good reason.
He thought back to the night before, how desperately he had wanted to stay with Bronwyn, his realization that he had come to love her. And his foolish hopes that she might care for him in return and they might have a marriage in truth. How could he have ever even dreamed he could claim that blessing for himself?
He stalked from the room, doing his best to ignore the sounds of the Pickerings as they said their farewells to their daughter, making his way out a side door and heading for the stables. Yes, he had been a fool, he told himself brutally as he saddled a horse for a punishing ride, needing to put some distance between himself and Caulnedy. But he would be a fool no longer.
Chapter 18
Bronwyn tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, that her parents forcing Lord Owens and Lady Brindle on her had not changed anything, that life could continue as it had been for the past week and a half.
Yet everything had changed. How had she forgotten the horrible lesson that Lord Owens had taught her? And how could she have ever believed that she was anything but that same odd, awkward girl who had spent a lifetime trying and failing to fit in? Especially as Ash’s attitude since their unexpected visitors’ departure was back to the cold distance from before.
No, she told herself, that was not true. It was not back to what it had been before. It was so much worse. At least then there had been a consideration about him. Now there was none at all. Instead, there were solemn glances before his eyes fell away altogether, monotone replies to increasingly hesitant attempts to draw him into conversation, and a distance she could see no way across. All the while the girls looked on with troubled eyes, proof that whatever was happening with Ash, it was not just in her head.
By the time Ash followed her into her room after an unimaginably tense evening, Bronwyn felt she would shatter from the strain between them.
“Bronwyn,” he murmured as he closed the door behind him, “we need to discuss our situation.”
Why did those words sound like a death knell? Though her insides were churning, she schooled her features to the same neutral unconcern she used to wear like armor.
“Of course. But before we begin, allow me to apologize. By now you will have guessed that Lord Owens was the man I told you of, the one who led me to believe he was courting me.”
For the first time that evening she saw a crack in the distant look in his eyes. There was almost tenderness in his expression. “You’ve no need to apologize,” he murmured. “I know how Owens manipulates people. Whatever happened with him is in the past.”