The Chaperon Bride. Nicola Cornick
smile on his lips, and Annis took the opportunity to study him whilst his attention was diverted.
At first glance, she did not consider him to be a good-looking man in the conventional sense, for his face was too swarthy, and its hard angles were too stern and uncompromising to be considered handsome. His eyes were wide set and a cool grey beneath straight black brows. Although he could only be in his early thirties, his thick, dark hair was turning silver, which added a certain distinction to his looks. He was above average height and had a sportsman’s physique, but he was dressed with what appeared to be deliberate understatement, in tight dove-grey riding breeches and a pristine black coat that made his linen seem a very pure white indeed. Instead of Hessians he was wearing a fine pair of leather riding boots with turned-down cuffs. He had the appearance of a man of action rather than the dissipated aristocrat Annis had been imagining, and he exuded latent power. Annis could feel the effect. It was different from the confidence that Charles possessed as a successful professional man; Ashwick’s authority was instinctive, unquestioned.
His cool grey gaze switched to her and Annis hastily lowered her eyes. She did not wish him to think that she had been staring. Adam Ashwick bowed again, with scrupulous courtesy this time.
‘Madam.’
‘My cousin, Annis, Lady Wycherley,’ Charles said, with such obvious unwillingness that Annis felt her lips twitch. She was not sure if Charles’s reluctance to introduce her sprang from disapproval of Ashwick’s reputation or a more personal dislike. A split second later, she realised that Adam Ashwick was also considering the reasons for Charles’s protective concern. As their eyes met he raised a quizzical brow and they were drawn into a moment of shared amusement. Annis broke the contact hastily, feeling a little disloyal.
She held out her hand politely. ‘How do you do, my lord.’
‘Your servant, Lady Wycherley.’ Adam took her hand. She felt compelled to look at him again, then wished she had not. He was studying her thoughtfully, his gaze moving over her features with deliberation. There was a definite masculine interest in that appraisal and Annis recognised it with a shock. She felt a little shiver go through her and withdrew her hand from his.
Ashwick’s beautiful companion was getting restive at the lack of attention. She pulled on his arm.
‘Are you not to introduce me, Ashy, darling?’ Her French accent was slight and very pretty. She peeked up at him under the brim of the dashing hat with the charm of a wilful child.
Ashy! Annis thought, trying not to laugh at the diminutive. She caught Ashwick’s eye again and looked quickly away, for fear that he might read her mind again. She did not seek such affinity with him.
‘Margot, may I present Annis, Lady Wycherley, and her cousin Mr Charles Lafoy?’ Ashwick sounded pleasantly indifferent now as though the moment of enmity with Charles had never occurred. The lady nodded to Annis and batted her eyelashes at Charles in exaggerated fashion. Annis felt slightly amused and rather more irritated. The whole inn yard seemed to have stopped in order to stare at the Beauty and Annis wondered, as she had on many previous occasions, just why people were always drawn to the obvious. She had lost count of the times that débutantes with charm and fine looks were overlooked when something flashier came along. It was the same here. The ostlers were gaping, the other travellers were staring in admiration and some of the guests were even peering from the inn window to admire Ashwick’s fair companion.
‘I am Margot Mardyn,’ the lady said, with the air of one making an important announcement. ‘You have heard of me, non?’
‘Of course,’ Annis said hastily, as Charles looked blank. ‘I hear that we are will be privileged to have you perform at the Theatre Royal this summer season, Miss Mardyn. My cousin and I shall be sure to attend.’
Margot Mardyn nodded, whilst smiling bewitchingly at Charles. ‘I shall hope to see you after the show,’ she said graciously to him.
She squeezed Ashwick’s arm. ‘Viens, Ashy, I am cold. This “north” of yours is a shockingly barbaric place. Why, do you know…’ she turned back to Charles confidingly ‘…at some of the inns along the way we were obliged to drink in the common tap? Alors! Along with all the hoi polloi! Come along, Ashy!’
Annis looked at Lord Ashwick and was taken aback to see that he was still watching her. He inclined his head and gave her a faint smile, which Annis found even more disturbing. She fidgeted with the seam of her gloves and hoped that her colour had not risen. Famously impervious to the good looks of eligible young gentlemen, she found it very odd that she should be drawn in this curious manner to a man whose style of life was so far removed from her own. Yet she could not deny it; the air between them was sharp with awareness. It was extremely disconcerting.
‘I shall look forward to meeting you again, Lady Wycherley,’ Ashwick said politely. ‘I hope that you enjoy your stay in Harrogate.’
‘Who was that?’ Charles asked in a bemused tone as Ashwick steered his fair companion through the inn door and the excitement in the yard subsided. Annis, observing the rapt expression on his face as he watched Miss Mardyn’s departure, sighed to herself.
‘That was Lord Ashwick,’ she said drily. ‘I collect that you are acquainted with him?’
‘Of course I know Ashwick.’ Charles turned to her impatiently. ‘His family have owned property around here for hundreds of years.’
‘Of course.’ Annis remembered this herself now. The Ashwicks had been part of the long and turbulent history of the Yorkshire moors for centuries, from the time that the first baron had served at the court of Charles II and had been given an estate in the back of beyond for his pains. Presumably Lord Ashwick was in Yorkshire to visit that very estate. Annis found herself wondering if she would see him again.
Charles was still looking over his shoulder in the direction that the couple had gone.
‘Annis? Are your wits wandering? I meant the lady—’
‘Ah, the lovely Miss Mardyn. She is a dancer and singer who has recently graced the stage at Drury Lane.’ Annis looked at him sardonically. ‘Charles, I should be obliged if you would help me up into the carriage. We have been standing here these ten minutes past and, as Miss Mardyn so succinctly observed, it is rather chilly.’
She waited until they were settled back on the fat red squabs of the Lafoy carriage, then added, ‘I heard on the journey up that Miss Mardyn is to entertain us with Harlequin’s Metamorphoses, Escapes and Leaps. Mr Fairlie was telling me about it and he was most excited. I believe the show will sell out, so you had better hurry to get your ticket.’
‘That…child, a dancer?’ Charles’s mouth seemed permanently propped open. ‘She cannot be above seventeen, surely?’
‘Thirty-five if she’s a day,’ Annis said cheerfully, reflecting ruefully that men were always distracted by a pretty face and could never see what was under their nose, ‘and hailing from the Portsmouth Docks rather than Paris, I hear.’
Charles looked appalled and fascinated all at the same time. ‘Good God! And her connection with Ashwick?’
Annis gave him a speaking look.
‘Oh!’ Charles said.
‘Well, it is entirely possible that Lord Ashwick was escorting Miss Mardyn as a favour for a friend,’ Annis said fairly. ‘When I left London the on dit was that she was the Duke of Fleet’s inamorata. Who would have thought that such a bird of paradise would alight in Harrogate, of all places?’
‘You are very free in your conversation, Annis,’ Charles said, his mouth turning down at the corners. ‘It must be the effect of London living. I hope you do not encourage your charges to listen to gossip.’
Annis laughed aloud. ‘I am sorry if I offend your sensibilities, Charles. I had no idea you had turned into such a puritan!’
The coach trundled out of the inn yard and turned on to Silver Street. It was only a step to the house that Charles had hired for Annis in Church Row, but