‘Oh, good Heavens, look, we are nearly at Great Ryder Street,’ Phyllida said with a brightness that sounded entirely false to her own ears. ‘What on earth has happened to my bonnet?’ She regained her seat with as much dignity as she could muster and found the hat lying on the dusty floor of the cab. ‘Thank you, I am so sorry I allowed my nerves to be so overset.’ She swiped at the dust with enough violence to crumple the bunch of artificial violets tucked under the ribbon.
‘Where do you want the porcelain taken? Here or the shop?’ Ashe asked, as though they had not been entangled in an embrace in a public vehicle, with no window blinds, for the past ten minutes.
‘Here, please.’ She would not be flustered or allow him to guess how she had so nearly allowed her feelings to overcome her good sense just now. The cab drew up at the kerb, Ashe helped her down and took the key to open the door for her before lifting down her package and carrying it into the hallway.
‘You will not go back there.’ He seemed to tower over her in the narrow space and she could feel her resolution not to reach for him weakening again.
‘The warehouse? No.’ She could promise that with heart-felt sincerity.
‘Too much to hope that you will not go into that part of London again, I suppose.’ Ashe touched her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘I have been able to distract Buck twice, I might not be there the third time.’
‘I will be careful.’ Her own hand was over his, although she had no recollection of lifting it.
‘Here, guv’nor! You want to go on, or wot?’
‘My coachman awaits,’ Ashe said. He stopped at the foot of the steps and looked back. ‘Au’voir.’
‘Au’voir,’ she echoed as she pushed the door closed. The box sat in the middle of the hall, something immediate to do. Something real. Phyllida took a deep breath. ‘Gregory! Are you home? I need some help.’
‘This is from Lady Arnold.’ Anusha Herriard looked up from a letter in her hand. ‘She invites us for a few days at the end of the week to their estate near Windsor. I had been speaking to her about Almack’s and the importance of vouchers for Sara and she tells me that two of the patronesses will be there, which is thoughtful of her.’
‘Ashe and I were going down to Eldonstone,’ the marquess said. ‘Are these vouchers so important?’
‘Essential, Papa.’ Sara shook her head at him in mock reproof. ‘You have not been paying attention. If you want to marry me off well, then Almack’s is the main Marriage Mart.’
‘Ghastly expression.’ Ashe put down his own afternoon post and shuddered. ‘Someone asked me if I was taking part, as though it is a sporting event.’ He supposed it might be, if he saw himself as the waterbuck pursued by the hounds.
‘There is no hurry for you,’ his mother said, passing the letter to her husband. ‘Do not look so harassed, Ashe.’
‘There is no denying that a daughter-in-law who knows the ropes would be a help for you,’ Ashe pointed out. It was one of the reasons for marriage that he kept reminding himself about and his mother’s rueful smile only reinforced the point.
‘It sounds as though you would have plenty of choice if you come to this house party,’ his father remarked as he scanned the sheet in his hand. ‘And several of the peers I want to talk to will be there by the look of it. Sooner or later I must sort out my political affiliations and a relaxed country gathering is probably a good a place as any to make a start.’
‘So you want to postpone our trip to Eldonstone?’ Ashe asked him.
‘I would say, yes, but then there is this letter from Perrott.’ He handed it across the luncheon table. ‘It seems my father had no patience with the ornaments and collections of his forebears and the place is stuffed with crates and boxes filled at random with every kind of stuff. Perrott frankly confesses himself at a loss as to know how to begin to sort it out and what is of value and needs special care and what is not.’
‘Poor devil,’ Ashe said with a grin. ‘He sounds thoroughly exasperated. I’ll go by myself, if you like. At least I can sort out Oriental porcelain and ivories for him and have a stab at any gemstones.’ His father was expressionless and Ashe tried to assess how many bad old memories the thought of the family home was stirring up. ‘Of course, if you want to be the first one to return there…’
‘No.’ The marquess shook his head. ‘I only ever saw the place once. My father and grandfather were at odds, as you know. By the time I came along my father was not received. I went there in the hope the old man would stop my father packing me off to India. I got as far as his study and no further.’
‘I’ll go, then,’ Ashe offered. ‘I can manage to postpone my plunge into the Marriage Mart for a few days.’ The feeling of reprieve was a surprise. He had not expected to actually enjoy the experience of finding a wife, but neither, he thought, had he been dreading it. Not that Eldonstone, haunted by his ancestors and heavy with the burden of unwanted responsibility, was likely to be much of a holiday.
‘We’ll have to hire an expert, I suppose,’ his father said. ‘Get it sorted, cleaned up, catalogued and evaluated.’
There was a murmur of agreement from his mother. No one, it seemed, was eager to tackle the chaos of the big house. The gloom of the town residence was bad enough. ‘I have made some progress here,’ she said. ‘Most of the clutter has been stripped out of the main salon and I had that cream silk I brought with us made up into curtains. Come and see what you think.’
They followed her through into the largest reception room, full of admiration for the transformation. ‘This is just the right setting for a present I have for you, Mata.’
Ashe fetched the celadon vases from their packing case and set them on the grey marble of the mantelshelf. The subtle green seemed to glow in the light the cream curtains allowed into the room.
‘Now those are perfect. Thank you, darling. Where did you find them?’
‘A warehouse in the East End,’ Ashe said. ‘Miss Hurst mentioned it at dinner the other evening and I escorted her to look around.’
‘Miss Hurst?’ Sara said. ‘Lord Fransham’s sister? Why was she interested?’
The plan seemed to present itself fully formed in Ashe’s head. ‘Because she is an amateur expert in objets d’art,’ he said. ‘Rather more than an amateur, but you won’t mention that to anyone, I’m sure. They are somewhat short of funds and she buys items that appeal to her and then sells them discreetly. Auctions and so forth.’ He was not going to mention the shop and her other personas. He had promised, and this was qu