The Transformation Of Miss Ashworth

Ann stared intently at the figure still standing at the window. ‘And do you still feel resentment now?’

Beth turned to stare out at the slightly neglected garden once more. ‘Not towards my Aunt Hetta, no,’ she at last revealed. ‘Perhaps a little towards Philip, still. But I hope I didn’t allow it to show.’

‘I could detect nothing of the kind,’ Ann assured her.

‘Good—because we have been invited to dine at the Court on Friday, and it would be the height of bad manners to reveal the least animosity towards one’s host, don’t you agree? Besides which, I am determined to put such youthful grievances behind me!’

Ann offered no response. She merely turned her attention to her sewing once more, her brow furrowed by a thoughtful frown.

Philip arrived back at the Court to discover his sister seated close to the parlour fire, also plying a needle. Unlike the lean yet shapely women with whom he had conversed a short time earlier, Lady Chalford was not given to indulging in any form of strenuous exercise, if she could possibly avoid it. And it showed!

‘Ahh, busily occupied again, I see!’ he quipped, making a beeline for the table on which recently refilled decanters stood. ‘Can I tempt you to join me in a glass of madeira before luncheon, m’dear?’

‘Yes, I rather think you can, Brother. I’m quite fatigued after all the embroidering I’ve been doing during your absence.’

Living up to his reputation for gentlemanly conduct, he refrained from comment, and merely apologised for deserting her for the entire morning. ‘But as the business with my steward was accomplished swiftly, I took the opportunity to call in at the Grange in order to welcome Beth home personally.’

Happily abandoning her sewing, Lady Chalford accepted the glass of madeira, while favouring her brother with her full attention. ‘Well…?’ she prompted, after he had quietly settled himself in the chair opposite. ‘What is she like? Did you find her much altered?’

Philip took a few moments to contemplate the contents of his glass, his mind’s eye conjuring up a clear image of a pair of clear, azure eyes, set in a finely boned face. ‘Yes, some…and the changes are not merely physical, either. I detected a certain reserve in her now that might almost be taken for aloofness.’

Although not known for being particularly perceptive, Lady Chalford on this occasion could easily see something was troubling him. ‘Do you mean she didn’t seem pleased to see you?’

‘Oh, no. No, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, exactly.’ Frowning more deeply, he shook his head. ‘Perhaps I just imagined it, or am being too sensitive. After all, she’s a woman grown, not the lively girl she once was, given to displays of adoration. And, of course, she was bound to have changed after what she’s experienced during these past years.’

Lady Chalford uttered a sound that was suspiciously like a snort. ‘Well, if she did suffer hardship, she has only her late father to blame. What on earth possessed Colonel Ashworth to send for his daughter, do you suppose? If he had placed her in his sister’s care, I’m sure Lady Henrietta would have been only too happy to chaperon her for a Season. It would have been the ideal time to bring Bethany out. Once the event to celebrate your engagement was over, that is.’

As always, she cast her brother a searching look in an attempt to gauge his reaction. On this occasion, however, his expression gave absolutely nothing away. It was almost as if he had not heard. ‘Bethany might well have been married by now had she remained in England.’ A thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Or is she married?’

‘No, she isn’t,’ he eventually revealed, frowning more deeply than before. ‘Which is most surprising, because there’s no denying she’s become a most attractive young woman, quite strikingly so. But what puzzles me even more is why she took it into her head to join her father in the Peninsula in the first place. Beth’s companion inadvertently revealed something that has given me every reason to suppose that Augustus Ashworth didn’t plan for his daughter to join him out there.’

He shrugged, straining the material of his impeccably tailored jacket across much-admired shoulders. ‘No doubt we’ll discover the truth in time, possibly even this coming Friday, as I’ve invited Beth and her charming companion, Mrs Stride, to join our small dinner party.’

Philip favoured his sister with a prolonged stare. ‘And have a care, Connie,’ he warned. ‘Unless I much mistake the matter, Beth looks upon this woman as rather more than a companion. I know you are far too well bred to make any guest of mine feel ill at ease, but you do not always put a guard on that tongue of yours.’

Lady Chalford clearly bridled at the accusation, yet possessed sense enough not to refute it, and merely said, ‘Well, if I’m being forced to play hostess to a man of Bathurst’s stamp, I’m sure I can be civil to a hired companion.’ Her grey eyes were suddenly lit by a catlike gleam. ‘In fact, the companion might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. I was wondering who to place next to Mr Charles Bathurst at table, as you will insist on inviting the fellow to dine.’

‘An excellent notion!’ Philip announced, completely impervious to his sister’s attempts to provoke him. ‘And it might not be such a bad notion to place Bethany on my affluent new neighbour’s other side, for unless her character has changed out of all recognition, and I don’t suppose for a moment it has, she wouldn’t care a jot if she was seated next to someone who for the first twenty years of his life was considered a bastard!’

Although having had the advantage of becoming reacquainted with Bethany, and therefore having already appreciated the quite apparent physical changes in her, even Philip found himself almost gaping when she entered his drawing room with her companion early on Friday evening.

A gentleman of no little experience in such matters, it was evident to him that both ladies were dressed in creations clearly fashioned by a leading modiste, and possibly purchased during their recent and quite lengthy sojourn in the French capital. Bethany’s gown of kingfisher-blue silk clung to her slender figure in gently flowing folds. Long evening gloves, satin slippers and the ribbon entwined through a coiffeur of intricately arranged dark-brown curls were all dyed the exact same shade as the stylish dress. Only the simple string of pearls adorning her throat and the pearl-drop earrings provided some contrast. From head to toe she was the epitome of serene elegance, and her companion’s appearance, too, left nothing to be desired.

Leaving his sister still staring slightly open-mouthed, he set about playing the gracious host until dinner was announced by introducing the new arrivals to his other guests, some of whom were known to at least one of the ladies.

Although he had left most of the organising in his sister’s very capable hands, Philip had specified which of his female guests he wished placed next to him at the head of the table. For reasons which escaped him still, he had refrained from choosing Beth as one of his close dinner companions. Nevertheless, throughout the meal he found himself frequently casting surreptitious glances in her direction in an attempt to assess her social skills.

No one could ever have accused her of being in the least shy when a child. She had simply oozed confidence in those early years of her life. Yet surprisingly enough when she had returned home after her final year at the seminary, he at least had detected tiny cracks of insecurity in her character. She had certainly been more at home on the hunting field in those days than in a fashionable drawing room. Now, however, there wasn’t a sign of diffidence or awkwardness in her demeanour. She conversed easily with those sitting nearest to her, and paid particular attention to the wealthy newcomer to the locale.

Interested to discover what she thought of Charles Bathurst, he didn’t encourage the gentlemen to linger over their port, and surprised the ladies by returning to the drawing room before the tea things had even been removed.

‘Can I tempt you to take a stroll with me in the garden, Beth?’ he asked her, easily prising her away from the other female guests. ‘It’s a fine evening, and there’ll not be too many more to enjoy before autumn sets in.’

If she was surprised to be singled out for particular attention, she betrayed no sign of it, and appeared quite relaxed and content as she accompanied him across the terrace and down the steps to the formal gardens at the rear of the mansion.

‘I’d quite forgotten how splendid the grounds are here,’ she admitted, her expression openly admiring. ‘Or maybe it’s that I never fully appreciated the beauty of English gardens until I was denied the pleasure of being in one for so many years. The roses here in the summer must have been breathtaking! I’m determined the garden at the Grange will be as lovely as it once was when Mama was alive. Papa frequently remarked on how wonderful it looked during those few short years before he became a widower.’

Had it been any other female of Philip’s acquaintance, he wouldn’t have considered the remarks in the least trite, merely a well-bred young woman’s attempts to maintain a conversation that was lacking any hint of contention and, in consequence, could offend no one.

Yet, because it was Beth, because it was someone who throughout childhood had possessed such a wealth of roguish charm, he had found the discourse commonplace, and could only wonder at himself for experiencing such a surge of dissatisfaction. What had he expected, for heaven’s sake! She was no longer the adoring infant, only too willing to share confidences with someone whom she had looked upon as an indulgent big brother. Furthermore, this evident reserve in her now hadn’t suddenly manifested itself overnight, he reminded himself.

Quickly casting his mind back over the years, he recalled the time when she had returned after the period spent at that Bath seminary. He remembered experiencing a sense of acute disappointment in Beth then, especially when she had attempted to ape the more ladylike behaviour of her beautiful cousin. Missish conduct hadn’t suited her in the least. He recalled vividly now that he had found the totally feigned manners irksome in the extreme. It simply hadn’t suited Beth at all to act the helpless, languishing damsel. It was different now, though, he realised. During their years apart she had developed her social skills, and her manner no longer seemed artificial. Undeniably it was some achievement, and one of which he would have wholeheartedly approved had he not the increasing suspicion that she was determined to keep him at a distance.

This strong impression was endorsed moments later, when they continued their stroll through the gardens, and Beth inadvertently stepped on a large pebble and momentarily lost her balance. Instinctively he grasped the upper part of her right arm in order to steady her, and just as quickly she wrenched it out of his gentle clasp, as though the heat from his fingers had seared through the material of the long evening glove, burning her flesh.

She recovered her poise almost at once, the frantic look of a creature caught in a trap instantly fading from her eyes. ‘Forgive me, I’m not usually so clumsy.’

He experienced a stab of irritation at the needless withdrawal. Exerting the praiseworthy self-control for which he was much admired, he none the less suppressed his annoyance in a trice. ‘On the contrary, I clearly remember you being exceedingly accident-prone as a child,’ he countered. ‘I distinctly recall rescuing you from countless scrapes. I was obliged to climb numerous trees in order to assist you down. I even plunged into the river, here, to save you on one occasion, when you ventured too close to the bank, remember? And ruined a pair of brand new boots for my pains!’

Philip could only stare in wonder as he watched a smile, full of that roughish charm he well remembered, light up her face like a beacon. He had seen it numerous times in his youth, and realised quite suddenly how much he had missed not seeing it in recent years. It worked on him like a physic, instantly lifting his spirits from the merely contented frame of mind he’d been in for far, far too long.

‘Great heavens! I’d quite forgotten all about that!’ Her spontaneous gurgle of mirth was further proof, had he needed any, that beneath the demur, ladylike surface trappings lurked, still, that impish and intrepid spirit of yesteryear. ‘Poor Philip, you must have found my company confoundedly tiresome on occasions.’

‘Far from it,’ he was swift to assure her. Then, after considering for a moment only, he quite deliberately added, ‘Only after you’d returned from that seminary did I find your company less than agreeable.’

Study her though he did, he could detect nothing to suggest she was in the least offended by the disclosure. Her smile had faded in an instant, true enough, but her expression gave him every reason to suppose she was more intrigued than anything else by the candid admission, before she eventually asked, ‘Why so?’

‘Because I found your behaviour during those few years leading up to your eventual departure from the Grange quite artificial,’ he told her bluntly, fervently hoping that by so doing it might result in a resumption, at least in part, of the relationship they had once shared, which had been based on mutual trust, deep affection and honesty.

He chose not to dwell on the reasons why he should wish for a resumption of their past close association as he gave voice to his earlier thoughts. ‘You attempted to ape the manners of your cousin Eugenie, and it simply didn’t work. It just didn’t suit you to play the simpering miss.’

One finely arched brow rose, as blue eyes studied him keenly. ‘I cannot recall you regarding Eugenie in the light of a simpering miss,’ she reminded him, with just the faintest trace of pique in her voice. ‘In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I seem to recall your remarking once that her manners and conduct were beyond reproach.’

‘And so they were,’ he readily concurred. ‘And perfectly natural too. From the cradle your cousin had been strictly reared. You were not. Eugenie’s behaviour was scrutinised at all times for the slightest imperfection. You, on the other hand, were allowed to do more or less as you pleased. I thought at the time that it was not the wisest thing your father ever did, allowing his sister to persuade him to send you away to a school that was renowned for turning out débutantes who all behaved exactly the same. No doubt it was beneficial for some; for others, like yourself, it was nothing short of disastrous. The Colonel would have done better either to engage a stricter governess-companion to instruct you on how to comport yourself, or to send you to a school where standards were not so rigidly high. ’

He watched as she turned her head and stared intently in the direction of the neat yew hedge that divided the formal gardens from the shrubbery. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Beth. Believe me, it wasn’t my intention.’

‘You haven’t offended me,’ she said at length. ‘You’ve merely given me pause for thought. No doubt I shall mull over what you’ve told me at my leisure, and decide if there is some justification for the criticism.’

Once again he became the object of a level blue-eyed gaze.’ At the risk of inviting further criticism, dare I ask how such an arbiter of conduct in the fair sex rates my behaviour now?’

Although half-suspecting her of mockery, he decided to be totally frank. ‘If what I have observed since your arrival here is a true representation of your character, and I would be most surprised if it was not, I should say you’re a young woman who conducts herself to please no one but herself, who is now totally without artifice and who is more than capable, still, of exuding an abundance of natural charm, when the mood takes her.’ He took a moment to slant her a quizzical smile. ‘You certainly had Charles Bathurst clinging to your every word during dinner.’

‘What utter rot!’ she exclaimed, while eyeing him uncertainly, as though unable to make up her mind whether his intention had been to compliment her or not. ‘It was simply that, apart from Ann and myself, no one sitting close to him attempted to engage him in conversation very much at all. The vicar and his wife, seated opposite, apart from one or two polite exchanges, virtually ignored the poor fellow throughout the meal. And your sister didn’t precisely exert herself to converse with him very often, either.’

‘Mmm…I have frequently remarked upon it that dear Constance is not altogether wise on occasions,’ Philip responded, as he began to guide Beth along one of the paths that led back to the terrace. ‘There’s some excuse for the vicar and his spouse, I suppose. They’re good people, but the Reverend Mr Chadwick wouldn’t wish to offend the more influential part of his congregation by becoming too friendly with someone who was considered a bastard by the vast majority of the polite world for the first two decades of his life.’

‘Great heavens!’ He had captured her full attention, and it clearly showed. ‘I was wondering throughout dinner why it was I couldn’t remember old Eustace Bathurst ever mentioning he had a nephew. Not that I ever knew the old curmudgeon very well, of course.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘But surely he must have acknowledged him at some point, otherwise why did he leave his property, not to mention all his wealth, to his nephew?’

‘Poor old Eustace had been in an unenviable position,’ Philip began to explain. ‘I discovered from Uncle Waldo that not only was Eustace’s brother a key player in the scandal that took place almost four decades ago, Eustace himself was on friendly terms with the sixth Viscount Litton who, incidentally, remained until his death Charles’s mother’s legal spouse. It appeared not to trouble Eustace a whit that his friend the Viscount, when in his cups, wasn’t above beating his young bride unmercifully for the slightest misdemeanour. Like so many others, Eustace considered it a wife’s lot to put up with a husband’s—er—peccadilloes’

Disgusted, but intrigued, Beth demanded to be told more.

‘It was after she had suffered a particularly vicious beating, that the young Viscountess was attended by the newly qualified Dr Cedric Bathurst. They fell in love, and as soon as the Viscountess was restored to health they ran away to live under assumed names as man and wife. Some few years later the Viscount succeeded in locating his errant wife’s whereabouts. Charles had been born by that time, but even so the Viscount flatly refused to grant his wife a divorce, and made life so difficult for the couple that they were forced to flee yet again. Eustace had no contact with his brother at all during this period. In fact, it wasn’t until after the Viscount’s death, some fifteen years later, when Cedric had been able to marry the mother of his child, and had set up a very successful practice in Northamptonshire, that contact between the Bathurst brothers finally resumed. But even so mud sticks, and there are those still unwilling to recognise Charles Bathurst as his father’s legitimate offspring and the rightful heir to Eustace Bathurst’s fortune.’

Once again Philip found himself the recipient of an assessing blue-eyed gaze. ‘But you are not of their number, I fancy.’

‘Assuredly not!’ he concurred. ‘But sadly there are those in these parts unwilling to offer him the hand of friendship. I am hoping he can rely on your support?’

‘That must rate as the worst insult you have offered me thus far!’ she returned sharply, her dark brows having risen in feigned hauteur. ‘Really, Philip, I’m astonished you felt the need to ask!’

For answer he gave a bark of appreciative laughter. Then, before she was able to do anything to avoid it, he entwined her arm securely round his and returned to the house to rejoin his other guests.

Chapter Three

Early the following week, while alone in the front parlour busily dealing with household accounts, Beth was informed that Sir Philip Staveley’s sister had called. A few moments later the lady herself swept unaccompanied into the room, appearing, it had to be said, slightly put out.

‘What a—er—very singular manservant you keep, Bethany, my dear,’ she began, after accepting the invitation to seat herself in one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth. ‘His odd manner gives one every reason to suppose that he isn’t solely an indoor servant.’

‘Rudge’s coat buttons over many duties, Constance,’ Beth confirmed, all at once realising what must have given rise to her unexpected visitor’s odd expression when first entering the room. ‘Although I wouldn’t be without him for the world, even I must admit he lacks the natural aplomb and social graces of an experienced butler.’

She smiled wickedly as a thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Perhaps, if I’m feeling particularly vindictive one day, I might persuade your brother to have Rudge up at the Court for a spell so that he might pick up a few pointers from the very estimable Stebbings.’

As the teasing had clearly been wasted on her guest, who appeared quite nonplussed, Beth didn’t attempt to explain she had been merely jesting. Instead, she glided smoothly across the room in order to provide her visitor with some refreshment.

‘Would I be correct in assuming you imbibe the same revolting concoction as my good friend Ann?’ she asked, holding up a certain decanter containing a clear liqueur flavoured with almonds.

‘What…? Oh, yes, yes. A glass of ratafia would be most welcome.’

‘Each to her own,’ Beth murmured, providing herself with a glass of burgundy, before joining her guest over by the hearth.

‘Is Mrs Stride not to join us?’ Lady Chalford asked after gazing about the room in a decidedly vague manner. ‘Such a charming woman, not in the least ingratiating. Yet, at the same time, one gains the distinct impression she’s quite accustomed to socialising with those more fortunately circumstanced than herself.’

Although in her formative years she had been far better acquainted with Sir Philip than his sister, Beth knew Constance well enough to be sure that she was not in the least malicious by nature. There was no denying, though, there was a wide streak of quaint snobbery running through her, which had a tendency to surface from time to time.

Consequently, although she had no intention in taking up the cudgels on her friend’s behalf, Beth was not slow to reveal, ‘If I were to tell you that her maiden name was Carrington, and that she is closely related to the branch of that family owning many acres of Gloucestershire countryside, you’ll perhaps appreciate why she’s not overawed in polite company.’

Quickly realising she had captured her guest’s full attention by what she had thus far revealed, Beth was happy to divulge more in the hope that it might pave Ann’s smooth introduction into local society.

‘It is true that her father, like my own, was a younger son, and therefore was obliged to make his own way in the world. He joined the church, and ended his days as a well-respected, if not particularly affluent, clergyman. Needless to say, Ann too was obliged to earn her own living at a young age, and thanks to both her parents’ efforts received a well-rounded education. She eventually attained a post as governess with a family in Hampshire, where she met and subsequently married Major John Stride, who owned a modest property in the county.

‘When he went out to Portugal with his regiment, Ann was happy to accompany him. Sadly he lost his life at Talavera. It was around that time I arrived on the scene.’

Lady Chalford gave a sudden start. ‘Why, yes! I clearly recall darling Philip mentioning something about that only the other day—said something about wondering whether Colonel Ashworth had sent for you at all. My brother seemed to suppose it had been entirely your own decision to join your father out there.’

Beth attempted to hide neither her surprise nor her grudging respect. ‘Well, well, well! The clever devil! I wonder how he managed to deduce that.’