The Transformation Of Miss Ashworth

‘Don’t be fooled by anything you might have heard him say out there in Spain,’ Beth advised, smiling fondly. ‘Believe me when I tell you he felt so proud that his little girl was a bruising rider, and had learned to shoot as well as he could. He rarely objected when I escaped from my long-suffering governess to accompany him out. And so it followed that whenever he was invited to join a shooting party in the locale, or went fishing with neighbours, I, too, went along. Philip frequently accompanied his father, and so, naturally, we became very well acquainted. I always looked forward with much pleasure to those times when he came home from school and, later, university. I regarded him as…possibly…a surrogate brother then, and followed him about everywhere.’ Smiling still, she shook her head. ‘He, poor boy, must have found me such a confounded nuisance, but he was always so very patient with me.’

Pausing to reduce the contents of her glass, Beth took a moment to collect her thoughts. ‘Of course such a state of affairs couldn’t possibly continue. Dear, dear, the granddaughter of an earl, no less, going about in breeches…?’ She raised her brows in mock horror. ‘It was not to be borne! Eventually my father’s only sister, the only member of his family, incidentally, with whom Papa ever had any dealings during the vast majority of his adult life, succeeded in forcing him to acknowledge the error of his ways, and in persuading him to pack me off to an exclusive seminary in Bath, where her own eldest daughter was a pupil.

‘I must confess I did somewhat resent Aunt Hetta’s interference at first,’ Beth went on to reveal. ‘And woe betide the woman if she ever attempts to meddle in my affairs again!’ A reluctant smile then tugged at her mouth. ‘To be fair, though, I’m forced to own she was in the right of it on that occasion. Eventually even I was brought to acknowledge the fact that I simply couldn’t go on behaving in such an outrageous fashion, especially if I ever hoped to make a suitable marriage. And besides—’ she shrugged ‘—the few years I spent at the seminary weren’t so bad. My eldest cousin and I were much of an age, and of course we’d seen each other on several occasions before then. But at the seminary we shared a room and became the very best of friends, more like sisters than cousins. At least, that’s how I eventually came to look upon Eugenie.’

The widow thought she could detect just the faintest trace of bitterness in Beth’s voice, and was frankly puzzled by it. Although Beth could never have been accused of boasting about her more illustrious family connections, she had on several occasions during the past five years mentioned her cousin Eugenie, always with affection, and always with much regret at her passing.

‘I seem to recall your saying you kept in regular contact with that cousin in particular,’ she remarked, in an attempt to discover a little more about this period in her dearest friend’s life.’

‘Yes, we exchanged letters on a regular basis and, as Papa had become increasingly less remote as the years had passed, at least where his only sister was concerned, we visited Lord Barfield’s mansion in Surrey at least once a year. Then, quite out of the blue, shortly after Eugenie had enjoyed a very successful first Season in town, Aunt Hetta professed a desire to accompany her eldest daughter here. The visits quickly became more frequent, every three months or so. Foolishly I imagined my cousin instigated those frequent journeys into the West Country for the sole purpose of seeing me.’ The shout of laughter that echoed round the parlour held a distinctly hollow and bitter ring. ‘How wrong can one be! The main reason for the regular visits was to remain in close proximity to a certain eligible young bachelor who had paid her no little attention during her weeks in London the previous year.’

Ann sympathised. ‘Little wonder you felt so aggrieved, my dear.’

‘Yes, and much more than you realise. I also foolishly imagined that Philip’s visits to this house were prompted by a desire to keep in regular contact with his childhood companion, not to moon over the beautiful girl with whom he had fallen head over heels in love.’

Rising to her feet, Beth went to stand before the window once more, and after a significant silence, when the only sound to be heard was the crackling of the logs on the fire, she at last conceded, ‘But perhaps I’m doing Philip an injustice to speak so disparagingly of him. Little wonder he fell so hopelessly in love with Eugenie. Believe me, Ann, she was the most beautiful girl imaginable—golden blonde hair, big, bright blue eyes, and the sweetest of dispositions.’

The sigh she uttered seemed to hang in the air for a long time before she added, ‘Although I was blissfully ignorant of it at the time, Waldo Staveley persuaded his nephew to wait until the following year before making anything official. Philip, seemingly, must have been content enough to follow his uncle’s advice. Which was understandable in the circumstances. He was very young, not four-and-twenty, and he was having to accustom himself to a vast number of responsibilities, as he had only months before come into the title. None the less, one cannot expect to keep things secret indefinitely and eventually word leaked out that an engagement announcement would be forthcoming in the spring of the following year.

‘During this period, Papa sailed for Portugal with Wellesley in the summer of ’08, as you know, and there was no possibility that I could remain here at the Grange. Foolishly I felt hurt, and harboured far too much resentment towards Eugenie and her mother to stay with them for the duration of Papa’s absence, and so I inflicted myself on my mother’s maiden aunt, who still resides in Plymouth. I was brutally aware, of course, that I would be expected to travel to Surrey for the engagement party the following year. As the months passed, and the date for the celebration loomed ever nearer, in sheer desperation I sought a way out of my predicament, and managed to attain passage on board a ship bound for Portugal, just a matter of a week or so before the engagement was made official. Great-Aunt Matilda suspected nothing until she discovered the note I had left her, poor darling. She must have been desperately concerned, even though I assured her I was sharing a cabin with the wife of an army surgeon, eager to join her husband out in the Peninsula, and would therefore be adequately chaperoned for the duration of the voyage.’

‘Even so, you took a desperate risk, my dear—a young girl, just turned twenty, travelling without a male protector,’ Ann pointed out.

‘True,’ Beth was obliged to agree. ‘But at the time to have remained seemed a far worse fate.’ She shrugged. ‘Her numerous letters since would suggest Great-Aunt Matilda has long since forgiven me for the distress I caused her. Lady Henrietta Barfield is a different matter entirely. Although she did eventually bring herself to write to me, the few letters received during the intervening years have contained precious little warmth.’

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.’