His grandfather’s smile held no hint of mirth. “But that’s not the last of it. For you see, Ashe, I would then see your name published with infamy and make it publicly known on both sides of the Atlantic that you are a scoundrel and irredeemable in your family’s eyes.”
My God, he’s serious.
He went on before Ashe could respond. “I’ll take an article out in every paper of note on this globe warning every woman of quality to shun you and every man of name to reconsider his friendships.” The threat was quiet, but Ashe didn’t think a gunshot would have resounded any harder.
“So, let me understand your meaning. I take this challenge, or . . .”
“Or the worst unfolds, just as I’ve described it.”
Ashe hated feeling cornered, but it was difficult to think of a soothing argument that would divert his grandfather now. Once the old man was set on an idea, he was notoriously stubborn.
But this? What trap is this?
“One Season of impeccable behavior and all is forgiven?” Ashe asked.
I’m missing a step here, but if it means keeping Yardley’s clammy hands off my grandfather’s silver-ware . . .
“And it didn’t occur to you to just ask without all this posturing?”
“I’m fairly certain I’ve already attempted simple requests—to no avail, Ashe.” He shook his head. “I can’t face seeing you drag our name through the mud, and while you may think your activities have gone unnoticed, I can assure you, they have not.”
Ashe clenched his jaw, feeling defensive and impatient. “Have no fear, Grandfather. I’ll be the consummate gentleman.”
“You’ve agreed then?”
“Yes, but not because of the inheritance.”
“No, of course not, but I am pleased to know that some small part of you cares enough about your reputation and the future of our family to give me the demonstration I need.” His grandfather stood, and Ashe reflexively did the same. “Take my hand, Ashe, and swear to me that this Season, you won’t so much as twitch off the respectable path of invitations and activities I’ve laid out for you. No gambling and no whores, my boy, or I’ll prove that one of us, at least, is a man of his word, and I’ll make good on my threats.”
Invitations and activities he’s laid out for me? I think a part of me is twitching already, but there’s no out now.
“I swear it.” Even as he spoke and shook his grandfather’s cool, dry hand, Ashe felt the weight of his words for the first time. He was vowing to genuinely behave for a Season, which would have been challenging enough, but this Season had promised to be particularly wild and exciting—and the temptations that abounded in London would be hard to resist.
Well, at least Josiah and the others will get a chuckle out of this ironic twist of Fate.
“Good.” The elder Blackwell moved over to a sideboard to pour himself a small measure of port. “Oh, I forgot one small caveat.”
Ah! Here’s that missing piece.
“And what was that?”
“You’ll understand if I cannot simply take your word for this good behavior. Not that I don’t trust you”—he lifted his glass in a token salute—“but I don’t trust you, Ashe.”
“Will you be accompanying me for the Season, then?” Ashe asked, praying the answer would be “no.”
“Hardly! I’m too old for Town and, frankly, too old to try to keep some sort of watch on your person at every hour!” he scoffed, then downed his port to set the small glass aside.
Thank God. Not that I’m off to cheat this wager, but—
“No,” he continued smoothly. “I’ve arranged for a chaperone.”
Ashe blinked twice. “A what? You arranged for a . . .” He couldn’t say it. It was too unbelievable.
“A chaperone.” His grandfather’s smile was far more genuine now, as he openly enjoyed his grandson’s discomfort. “I have arranged for someone who will be at your elbow and accompany you at every event to guarantee that you don’t forget what’s at stake.”
“You’re serious! I’ll be damned if I’m walking about like some virginal debutante with a dragon in tow!”
“Nonsense! Look on it as my way of showing support for your new moral effort. By providing a chaperone, you’ll be less likely to stumble. And no one need know of the position you’re in! Your chaperone won’t declare their role openly or the nature of our arrangement.”
“Well, there’s one thing we agree on. I’m not about to announce to my peers the reason I’m playing choir boy and tooling about with a chaperone!”
“Mind your manners!” his grandfather said, his stern looks returning. “All this protesting makes me think you had every intention of botching this wager from the start! Well, if you want out, and your word means nothing, then say so now. Because if you meant your oath honestly, then it shouldn’t matter if I hire a legion of chaperones and spies, should it?”
Well, there’s a point of logic I should have anticipated. . . . Oh, well. I’m already in up to my eyebrows, so why complain about the temperature of the water?
Ashe let out a long, slow breath. “You’re right, and I have no intention of backing out. I just—I have never heard of a man with a chaperone, so you’ll have to give me a moment to accept the notion.”
His grandfather nodded and moved over to the bellpull by the fireplace to give it a firm tug. Within seconds, the butler materialized in the doorway.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Frasier said with a curt nod.
“Bring in Townsend, Frasier.” He walked back to Ashe, his hands behind his back. “Try to be polite when you meet your chaperone, my boy.”
Ashe felt a twinge of confusion.
Why wouldn’t I be polite to the chap? Hell, if he thinks we’re the best of friends, I may actually get to take a deep breath this Season without a dispatch flying back here and setting off cries of alarm.
“I am always polite to your friends.”
His grandfather said nothing but gave him an arched look full of skepticism. Within seconds, the library doors opened again, and Ashe turned to see what flavor of windbag his chaperone would be.
A petite woman in a pale gray gabardine dress that was several seasons out of fashion came toward them, and Ashe’s first impression was that his grandfather’s new housekeeper was a good bit younger than he’d have expected. But as she drew closer, a new and more startling idea occurred to him.
He wouldn’t! She cannot possibly be—
“Allow me to introduce you to your chaperone and companion for the Season. This is Miss Caroline Townsend. A relation to my very best friend and American business partner, Mr. Matthew Townsend, now sadly passed away. I have invited her here to attend this very serious and delicate matter, and after a week in her company, I am convinced that she is entirely suited to the task at hand.”
“This is preposterous!” Ashe turned to his grandfather, rudely ignoring her and cutting her out of the exchange. “I might have managed to accept this if you’d sailed in some granite-faced old dowager, but you cannot possibly think that a—how in God’s name were you thinking that this might work?”
“It will work because a young woman gives you the perfect excuse! It will work because you will present her as a family friend and you will take the role of guardian! It will work because with her at your side, you may actually get admittance into respectable houses and decent company! It will work, because no one would suspect the truth!” The years dropped off his face as he spoke, and Ashe had to remind himself not to take a step backward as the old intimidation began to work its magic. “It will work because I’m telling you to make it work!”
For long seconds, they faced each other, until at last, Ashe was forced to blink. He reluctantly stepped back and barely spared a quick glance back at the woman before closing his eyes in frustration.
A plain, drab little pony of a thing, but the old man’s probably guessed correctly. If I’m to have a dreary Season, she’ll provide the perfect dreary excuse. Damn!
“My grandson will apologize for his rudeness,” the elder Blackwell said, his voice full of warning. “And I, too, Miss Townsend, for not preparing him and raising him properly to mind his manners in the presence of a lady.”
“Not at all,” she spoke, and the strong silk of her voice and strange, flat American accent caught Ashe’s attention immediately. “Your grandson is a grown man and old enough to do and say what he pleases. And if it pleases him to be rude and boorish, then that’s no reflection on you, Mr. Blackwell. You’ve been nothing but kind, sir.”
Rude and boorish?
Ashe clenched his jaw in frustration but managed to growl out his words. “I apologize, Miss Townsend. But as you’ve pointed out, I’m a grown man, and hardly in need of a chaperone, despite what my grandfather believes.”
She tilted her head to one side, a small bird openly unafraid. “What you’re in need of, sir, is not for me to say for fear of seeming equally rude, but I’ve promised your grandfather I’d do what I could to assist you, so we’ll just have to make the best of it, won’t we?”
Ashe forced himself not to sputter in astonishment at the woman’s cheekiness. She’d openly insulted him, and then stood there as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. He looked at her more closely, his first impression of a gray dove giving way only slightly. Her brown eyes were large and framed with impossibly long lashes that gave her an inquisitive countenance, but not an owlish one. Her gaze was far too direct for an English woman of breeding, but the intelligence there made it difficult to look away. Her features were balanced and pleasing, but her color was far too high for the current fashion. Ladies were encouraged to look as porcelainlike as possible, hinting at a lofty station that allowed them to shun the sun and all excesses that might put a permanent stain on their faces. Instead of dainty curls and a lace headdress, her dark blonde hair was pulled back with a simple fall of waves down her back without a single ornament.
She was plain but for those mesmerizing eyes . . . But the Ton will tear her to pieces—an American! With the manners of a rough and tumble Colonial, no doubt, to match that saucy tongue of hers!
His grandfather laughed, and the surprising sound of it arrested the dark vein of his thoughts. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted for a few moments.”
“I hardly think that’s necess—” Ashe started to protest.
“Nonsense! You’ll talk and make amends to the lady.” He turned to take Miss Townsend’s hand. “I will see you both for a cordial dinner, and then you may both take your leave in the morning in my carriage. Ashe will take you into Town and see you settled at his home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.”
He left without another glance at his grandson, and Ashe let out a long sigh before attempting another start with his “chaperone.” “I am genuinely sorry, Miss Townsend, for my behavior. But I am also sorry that you seem to have been thrown to the wolves without your knowledge. I’m having trouble understanding why my grandfather thought to put you in such an untenable position, but as you seem to grasp, I have little say in the matter.”
“Are you the wolf in question?”
He shook his head. “Not this time.”
“Then I fail to see the difficulty, Mr. Blackwell.”
His brow furrowed, unsure of how realistic a portrait to paint for her. After all, if she refused to proceed with the plan, he could hardly be blamed. But if she went into it without any idea of the obstacles ahead, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself. “Are you well versed in the etiquette of a London Season, Miss Townsend?”
Ashe watched a flash of fiery temper alight in her eyes and knew the answer before she supplied it.
“Good manners are common sense, Mr. Blackwell, and I’m sure I’ll pick up on things quickly enough. We are not entirely without the social niceties in Boston.”
“No, I didn’t imagine you all in mud-covered huts, Miss Townsend.”
“Yet you seem to look at me as if I’m wearing animal hides, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Now there’s a wicked picture,” he said, unable to keep from smiling at the thought of the little terrier of a woman in front of him wearing nothing but a few furs. He went over to the side table. “Port, Miss Townsend?”
“No, thank you.”
Why am I not surprised?
He smiled and turned back to lift his glass in a mock toast. “What kind of woman agrees to chaperone a rogue such as myself? What in the world would appeal to you to come so far for such a ridiculous task?”
Caroline Townsend fought the urge to throw something at his smug face and did her best to compose a reasonable answer. He was a rogue, without question, and while he was far more handsome and imposing than she’d expected, he was also the more annoying and ill-mannered.
So much for the superiority of an English gentleman!
She stepped forward, tipping her head back to look up into his face with what she hoped was her sternest and most unforgiving expression. It had previously brought more than one pupil to tears, and while she didn’t expect the pompous wall of a man to crumble, Caroline was determined not to give any ground. “I see nothing ridiculous in helping my grandfather’s dearest friend.”
“Your grandfather’s dearest friend may not have considered all the risks when he asked you for this favor.”
“You repeatedly speak of risk and I can’t help but think you’re trying to frighten me away, Mr. Blackwell.” Her chin lifted a defiant inch, and Ashe had a small glimpse of just how immovable Miss Caroline Townsend could be when pressed. “And since you are a self-confessed rogue, I don’t believe I need to defend or explain anything to you. Your grandfather said you couldn’t be trusted not to disgrace him, and while I can only imagine what you’ve done to earn his censure, I don’t care. My life and reasons for being here are my own.”
It galled him a little that his grandfather would have said such a thing to an outsider, but then his chaperone would undoubtedly have to know the worst to understand her strange employment.
“As are mine! I have agreed to my grandfather’s request, but know this, Miss Townsend—I won’t waste any more time warning you away from your noble quest to play my moral guardian. And you can trust me when I tell you this, since you’re so determined to have your way, I’ll not interfere. I don’t need you to keep me from disgrace. Rogue or no, I’m capable of holding my own without some drab little tight-lipped American nipping at my heels. Frankly, I would rather haul a tiger around on a bridle than cart you through a Season.”