Tarnished Amongst the Ton

‘And last year, when Gregory and I seemed to be arguing about his gambling and parties the whole time, they made a peaceful refuge,’ she admitted.

‘He has settled down now, with a vengeance.’

‘I know. I hardly believed it at first. He said he looked in the mirror, realised he wasn’t getting any younger and began to think about what he was doing with his life. He met Harriet at just the right moment and what is so wonderful is that they truly seem to be in love.’

‘You had no hopes of that when you were looking for a rich wife for him, though. Why are you so pleased about it now?’ A group of young bucks, more than a trifle top-heavy after an evening at their club, were weaving along the pavement towards them. Ashe moved Phyllida into a doorway and stood in front of her.

One of them stopped. ‘Hey, look, it’s Clere! Come and join us, we’re off to find some company, if you know what I mean!’ He roared with laughter at his feeble sally, then peered past Ashe into the shadowed alcove. ‘Ah, see you’ve got your own. Good man!’

‘Another night, perhaps, Grover,’ Ashe said, forcing joviality into his voice.

They reeled off down the road, waving and shouting advice as they went.

‘I am sorry about that.’ He handed Phyllida down the step again.

‘Perhaps every lady should be taken out to the Haymarket at night at least once to see what gentlemen are truly like.’ There was an edge to her voice that puzzled him.

‘I am not given to rampaging drunkenly through the streets seeking out cheap whores, if that is what you mean.’

‘I am sure you are far subtler and have much more expensive tastes,’ she responded politely.

‘That was not what I meant. I do not court a lady I am not faithful to, nor would I marry one and keep a mistress.’

‘Oh.’ Then, more softly, ‘Oh.’

Ashe looked sharply at Phyllida, but her face was unreadable in the shadows. Surely that little exclamation had not been one of dismay? Surely no woman wanted her husband to take a mistress?

‘Down here,’ she said, turning into an alleyway before he could put the question into words. She led him into a yard and up to what must be the back door of the shop. ‘Wait while I get the key.’ She bent, there was a scrape of brick on stone, then she straightened with the key in her hand. ‘Ugh. I hide the spare behind a loose brick and I encourage a nice slimy puddle just in front of it to help keep it safe.’

She let him in, shaking her fingers fastidiously as she did so, but turned before the inner doorway and led the way up a narrow flight of stairs and into a room that covered, Ashe estimated, the whole area of the shop below.

‘There is a tinderbox on that table. Can you light the candle? I always fumble for ages with it and end up breaking a nail.’ Phyllida went to close the curtains and then fidgeted about the room, her jewellery and the golden embroidery on her clothing making her look like an exotic moth in the gloom.

Lord, but she is nervous, Ashe thought as he struck a spark and nursed the wick into flame. He must be very, very careful, gentle, this first time for her.

The wick flared up and he touched it to the other candles around the room. It was not the bleak storeroom he had feared it might be, but a strangely practical, very feminine den. The walls were hung with tapestries, tattered and worn, but rich with shades of old rose and blue and gold. The curtains at the window were deep-red velvet, obviously salvaged from some grand suite of bed hangings. His feet sank into carpets, spread to overlap and cover the wear and holes.

There was a desk and chair, a deep armchair, a daybed and a bookcase overflowing with books. ‘This is a beautiful room,’ he said. ‘It reminds me of chambers in my great-uncle’s palace, snug, private little caves of luxury.’

‘The luxury is threadbare and not all it seems. Few things are what they seem.’ There was that bitter note in her voice again, as though she was mocking herself.

‘Phyllida, what is wrong? You know I would never force you. It would make me very happy to make love to you here, but if you want to leave, I understand.’ Ashe pulled out the desk chair and sat down. Not a gentlemanly thing to do when a lady was still standing, but he did not want to loom over her.

‘I need to tell you something.’ She sat down on the end of the daybed with an inelegant thump as though her legs would not hold her up any longer. ‘You will not wish to marry me once you hear what it is.’

‘That I very much doubt,’ Ashe said robustly, even as he tried to ignore the stab of apprehension in his gut. Debts, that was all, nothing to worry about there.

Phyllida stood up again and this time he rose too, something in her face warning him that she was serious. Whatever this was, she was not exaggerating its importance to her.

‘I am not a virgin,’ she said, as though pleading guilty in a court of law.

Ashe blinked. That was not so bad. ‘Neither am I, oddly enough.’

Her lips thinned. ‘Men appear to set much value on virginity.’

‘Are you still involved with him? Am I likely to meet him?’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘Then, if you can refrain from comparisons which would wound my pride, I do not see it as a problem.’ As soon as he said it, he saw the attempt to introduce some humour into the exchange was a mistake.

‘Hardly! You do not understand, and I am not explaining it properly.’