‘Miss Culpepper. What a fabulous ball. A success even so early in the evening.’
‘Thank you, Lady Hummingford, you are too kind.’
‘Is Mr Ashburton close by? We would like to give him our regards.’
‘I’m not sure where my dear great-nephew is at the moment but I’m sure he’ll return to the ballroom shortly.’
Beth stretched her neck up as she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man on the other side of the ballroom. Mr Ashburton was easy to pick out over other people’s heads—he must be at least six feet tall, perhaps even more, and his hair such a dark brown it was almost black. He disappeared again almost as soon as she caught sight of him and Beth tried to push away the feeling of relief.
She wanted to get married, wanted to be a wife and start a family, wanted a house of her own to run, away from the interference of her mother. She’d conversed with Mr Ashburton twice for no more than a few minutes each time. Apparently he didn’t attend many society events, didn’t seem to be in London all that often, not that Beth would know as they’d only made the journey to the capital a couple of weeks ago themselves. On the two occasions they had talked, both over a year ago now, her impression of him had been that he was a serious man, dedicated to running the estates he would one day inherit. He didn’t smile much, didn’t laugh much, but he seemed pleasant enough. There were plenty of worse candidates for a husband. The issue was more that when she looked at him she didn’t feel anything. No racing of her heart, no difficulty catching her breath, no delicious tingling of her skin. Beth didn’t expect love at first sight but she was certain there should be something, some sign of attraction or, at the very least, a feeling of companionship when faced with the man she would be spending a lifetime with.
Miss Culpepper had moved on to the next guests, so Beth and her mother weaved their way deeper into the ballroom.
‘I think I saw Mr Ashburton.’ She slipped her arm out of her mother’s and turned to walk away.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No,’ Beth said a little too quickly, pausing a moment and giving a reassuring smile before continuing. ‘I think I should speak to him alone.’
Her mother eyed her for a minute before finally nodding. ‘Remember how important this is. Annabelle’s future is at risk too if you don’t secure this match.’
As always when her mother reminded her of her debt to her sister Beth felt a little nauseous. Annabelle was one year younger and the sweetest girl in the entire world. Beth had to make a good match and marry a man with enough money to support not only herself but also her mother and younger sister. They were living off goodwill and the influence of the Hummingford name, but their lines of credit were one by one being cut off and if Beth didn’t marry soon they would be facing financial ruin.
‘I know, Mother.’
Lady Hummingford let go of Beth’s arm and quickly Beth slipped away before she could change her mind. She would go and seek out Mr Ashburton, but not just yet. She needed a few minutes to collect her thoughts, to convince herself she could do this. Mr Ashburton would make a perfectly tolerable husband—who was she to want more, to wish for something that only happened in stories?
Weaving through the ballroom, Beth smiled and greeted people as she passed but didn’t stop to talk. Instead she made her way to where the French doors were thrown open and stepped out onto the terrace. The air was marginally cooler outside, but not cold enough for Beth to need anything on her shoulders. Many of the other guests seemed to have had the same idea, with little groups gathered along the length of the terrace. Spotting the stone steps that led down into the garden, Beth checked that no one was watching her and made her way into the darkness below. She’d just find somewhere to sit, somewhere to contemplate her future for a few minutes, away from the crush of the ball, and then she would summon some enthusiasm for hunting down Mr Ashburton.
Joshua Ashburton stepped out of the carriage and paid the driver, not taking his eyes off the striking white façade of the house in front of him. It was large, especially for a town house, easily the largest in the street. Even before he took a step towards the house it was apparent that there was some sort of gathering or ball going on. There was a swell of music from inside, mixed with the hum of dozens of voices talking all at once.
He hesitated, wondering whether to stop the carriage he’d arrived in before it trundled off down the street, contemplating if it would be easier to go away and come back tomorrow. Twenty-five years he’d waited for this moment, another day surely wouldn’t make any difference.
He knew logically it wouldn’t make a difference, but still he couldn’t seem to turn himself around and walk away from his brother’s house.
‘Perhaps just a peek inside,’ he murmured to himself. He didn’t need to march in and declare himself, didn’t need to disturb his brother’s party. Five minutes, just to get a sense of who his brother was. They had exchanged letters over the years, but you couldn’t get a
