Ash scowled. “I have no idea. I saw her off this morning—back to her friend’s house on the other side of my park.”
Guy studied him with interest. “Saw her off? She was staying here?” At Ash’s nod, Guy’s tone softened. “Was she, indeed?”
“To nurse me,” Ash said abruptly. “Aunt Florence recruited her.”
“Ah, I see.”
Ash lost his patience. “It is clear that you don’t.” He turned abruptly, hearing the voices of his daughters.
He bent down, his troubles falling away as he waited for Evie and Lily to run to him. Ash rose with one daughter in the crook of each arm and carried them along the path, Lewis running behind. Guy joined them as they tramped to the wide space in the middle of the garden, where a lawn around a fountain made a soft place for the children to play.
Again, Helena’s words came to him. You adore your children and take every sort of care for them.
She’d told him her husband had only known his father from afar. Ash’s father had been a bit less stand-offish, but when Ash had been young, the custom had been to keep the children quiet and out of the way as much as possible. Ash’s father had been plenty busy running the estate and sitting in the House of Lords—as Ash was now—but Ash had vowed that when he had children, he’d not be a stranger to them.
Ash had ordered a few cricket bats and balls to be left on the green, and now he slid off his frock coat and spent a pleasant time showing his daughters how to bat the easy balls Guy tossed them, and teaching Lewis how to refine his pitch.
Lily enjoyed the game, though Evie was more content watching the others. Evie read much, and as her sister and brother ran about, she whisked a book from her pocket and buried herself in its pages. Ash did not admonish her—he for one, thought women should be well-read and learned. The gentlemen Helena described who were put off by it were idiots.
As they rested on the grass, Lewis had to pull out the be-damned letter describing Ash’s perfect match. Ash had sworn the letter had been thrown away or burned—Edwards had taken it at his request—but here it was in Lewis’s pocket.
“We have been thinking, Papa,” Lewis said in his serious Marquess of Wilsdon manner. “About whom you should marry.”
Ash sat up abruptly but tamped down his impatience, not wanting to snap at his son. “I believe I have said we should forget all about the matter.”
Lewis nodded. “I was in error when I proposed that Mrs. Courtland should help find a wife for you. Evie, Lily, and I have discussed it, and we have concluded that your perfect match is Mrs. Courtland herself.”
Ash went still. All three children watched him anxiously, Evie with a worried expression, Lily in hope, Lewis remaining solemn. Ash expected to hear Guy laugh, but his friend was strangely silent.
“Lewis,” Ash said warningly. “No.”
Lewis took on the stubborn look Ash often saw in his own reflection. “You told me that when I faced down opposition in the House of Lords, I should be ‘clear, concise, and unafraid’. And so I put it to you.” He lifted the paper, his fingers shaking a bit. “She must be tall—Mrs. Courtland is only a few inches shorter than you. I saw you kiss her in the garden, and she did not have to stand on her tiptoes at all. She must not be too thin or too wide. Mrs. Courtland is right in between, as you would have discovered when you put your arms around her. She must like children—she does like us, even when we are unruly and late for supper. She does know how to sew—when you were sick, she sat with Aunt Florence and mended your shirt.”
Ash could not stop himself touching the sleeve of his shirt—he’d torn it while helping fix the thatch. He imagined Helena’s eyes on her competent stiches as she and Aunt Florence gossiped and sewed.
“She must not adhere to timetables, and must teach you to leave off them,” Lewis continued relentlessly. “I have heard Mrs. Courtland argue with you about your timetables, and I believe she will persuade you to leave off them. You ought to propose to her very soon, perhaps marry her by Christmas. That way, you can start the Season with a wife.”
Lewis folded the paper, his face holding dogged resolution. Evie peered at Ash more fearfully, Lily lifting her chin. Guy, lounging on his side, said nothing at all, tactful for once.
Ash’s jaw was so stiff he could barely move it to reply. “I believe I told you to leave it alone, Lewis. Now give me that letter and go to the nursery. Take your sisters with you. Return to your studies, and we will speak no more of this.”
On the rare times Lewis angered his father, he’d duck his head and say a quick, “Sorry, sir,” and all was forgiven.
This time, he kept his gaze on Ash, with a strength Ash had seen budding in him for some time. “When you were ill, sir, you stayed far from us for our own good,” Lewis said. “I am insisting on this for the same reason.”
Ash shook his head before Lewis finished. “Not the same thing at all. You do not interfere with another man’s personal business, or his life, or choose his path to happiness, no matter how well-meaning you might be.”
Lewis pushed out his lips, rendering him a sullen little boy instead of the well-reasoned man he strove to be. “You interfere with our lives all the time. We want a mum and someone to look after you. Why must you be so unyielding?”
“Unyielding,” Lily echoed in a whisper.
Ash climbed to his feet. “That is enough. Go.” He pointed to the house
His children had learned to obey when he took that tone. Lewis and his sisters rose, all looking more unhappy than chastised. Lewis clasped Evie’s and Lily’s hands and they started together down the path. Lewis had retained the letter, Ash noted.
As they went, Lily looked over her shoulder, the sorrow on her face enough to break Ash’s heart.
“Well,” Guy said, coming to stand next to him. “That seems to be that.”
“It is. I am finished with this. If Mrs. Courtland is still staying with her friend, I will have her sent back to London.”
Guy wrinkled his forehead. “A bit much. You can’t order her about, you know, unless you do make her your wife. Then again—I don’t readily picture Mrs. Courtland obeying your orders, no matter what.”
“Her friend lets the cottage from me—it is part of my estate,” Ash managed to answer. “They stay or go at my pleasure.”
He squared his shoulders and marched for the house. He heard Guy’s voice behind him— “This will be interesting …” but Ash resolutely ignored him.
A few days later, Helena was pleased to accept Lady Florence’s invitation to a garden party at Middlebrook Castle.
She’d heard nothing from Ash after their quarrel in the carriage, hadn’t even seen him, though she’d kept an eye out for him everywhere. She knew he surveyed his estate each morning, but she hadn’t been able to contrive a reason for turning up at one of his outbuildings, or at the home of one of his tenant farmers. Nor had she been able to glimpse him riding across the fields, upright and handsome on a horse.
She was bewildered then, as she strolled a path in Ash’s beautiful garden, very near to where he’d kissed her, for Mr. Lovell to fall into step with her and exclaim, “Good heavens, you’re still here, Mrs. Courtland?”