“Who might you be, sir?” she finally asked, her mouth trembling as if she fought with her tears.
Unexpectedly he noted that said mouth was lushly curved, that she was delightfully plump, and her dress strained at the seams of her décolletage. “Forgive my intrusion,” said James, feeling uncomfortable for noticing her sensuality at this moment. “It was not ill-intended. I am James Delaney.”
“Mr. James Delaney?”
He hesitated but was reluctant to mention he was now the Earl of Kingsley. Clearly, Richard had not mentioned it to anyone. It felt entirely unnecessary for James to do so; hence he replied, “You seem to know who I am.”
“You are Richard’s friend that he tells….” Her voice hitched. “Told me so much about?”
His heart jerked. Richard had barely answered any of James’s letters. “He spoke of me?”
Somber eyes stared at him. “Of course, why wouldn’t he? That was the only time he seemed to smile.”
James very much doubted he could speak around the emotions clawing up his throat. “Please allow me to ask your name, and how do you know Richard?”
“I am his sister…Miss Poppy Ashford. I sent notice of his death to an address I saw on a letter you franked to him.”
“Thank you, Miss Ashford. Your letter arrived at my country home, and the butler sent it to me in London. It took some time, and I was late in arriving for the funeral.”
Richard had referred to her as passably pretty with little prospect of a decent marriage but had a most beautiful spirit, kindness, and charm. “Richard spoke of you as well. I recall his efforts to purchase music sheets for you.”
“Yes…I love playing the pianoforte…and I am self-taught. He would buy books and music sheets for me. Richard truly spoke of me,” she whispered, those eyes glittering with indefinable emotions.
“Yes, always with great fondness.” Another truth.
A cross between a sob and a chuckle escaped her. “I have it on the highest authority that brothers find sisters too bothersome, or they are too overprotective to speak about their sisters with friends.”
James shifted on the stone bench so he could see her expression. “Richard and I were on furlough and heading home. That journey took us through the countryside, which was already in proximity to our respective homes. Instead of making his way home, Richard continued on, trekking for miles to buy sweets for you. When I groused that we passed quite a few confectionery shops in the villages, he insisted that he visit a specific shop in London. They alone knew how to make chocolate nonpareils, marzipans, and candied pineapple the way you loved them. I daresay you were a beloved sister, not bothersome at all.”
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, and she pressed a hand over her mouth. “I have disappointed him so these last few months. I hurt him dreadfully with my willfulness and contrary nature. I do not think he forgave my stubbornness.”
Her voice was a mere whisper, but it resounded with anguish.
“Did he tell you so?” James murmured.
Her chest lifted on a ragged breath, and James believed the lady entirely unaware that her hand had found his knee and her fingers were clenched tightly onto his trousers.
“Not in those precise words. But he pleaded with me to marry a particular gentleman, and I most adamantly refused! It must have been his fretting over my future that—”
“Utter rubbish,” he said softly, yet the impact of his word jarred her.
Miss Ashford visibly flinched, yet the eyes that looked up at him were wide and imploring. He knew what she needed, words of affirmation that she had nothing of which to feel guilty. He knew the emotions that tore at her heart—helpless anger, pain, the fear she might not have done enough to save her brother.
An odd sort of kinship tugged at his heart, and James found himself reaching out to lift the wet tendrils of hair from off her forehead and cheeks. At his touch, the pulse at her throat fluttered, and a soft shudder went through her entire body.
“Every man is appointed to die, some way or another. You had nothing to do with Richard’s death.”
“I—”
He placed a finger over her lips, sealing the word away. “Nothing.”
Yet the dark anguish in her eyes did not abate. James lowered his hand. “If you will allow me to pry, how did you disappoint and hurt him?”
She swiped the tears from her cheeks. A useless endeavor for the harsh rain blew beneath the umbrella, spewing droplets on them. “He very much wanted me to marry the vicar of our parish, for it is a respectable position, and I would be provided for.”
“And you were opposed to this gentleman?”
“Not at first. He courted me…and I admired his gentle manners and amiable qualities. He…he offered for me, and I accepted. Richard was also pleased with the match. The vicar…” she cleared her throat. “Mr. Rushworth was new to our parish and the occupation, so he had not yet met either of my sisters.”
She glanced away from him, her gaze on the churning water of the brook. “At first, I was anxious for him to meet my youngest sister.”
James arched a brow. “Why?”
“Men, it seems, cannot help falling in love with her,” Miss Ashford replied with a shaky laugh. “She is exceptionally beautiful.”
“Ah.” He had an inkling of where this story might lead.
“Mr. Rushworth met Rebecca and fell violently in love with her. He informed me he could no longer in good conscience remain affianced with me, not when his affections and passions were otherwise engaged. I excused his crying off. Thankfully, it had not been announced. There would be little to no scandal.”
James frowned. “Was Richard insisting on the match going through?”
“Mr. Rushworth begged my stepmother and Richard to allow Rebecca to marry him. Of course, my stepmother refused. A beauty like Rebecca can have her pick of any gentleman, and our sister, who recently married a baron, promised her a season where she could meet eligible beau of society and make a good match. Mr. Rushworth was crushed, and after a few weeks of nursing his wounds, he offered again for me.”
“I am not sure whether to be disgusted or to admire his gall.”
She gripped his knee even tighter. “I was infuriated, and of course, I refused! To marry a man so inconstant and easily distracted by beauty. I am aware I am passably pretty, and I have little talent to recommend me, but does that mean I should marry in haste and then worry about his roving heart and attraction?”
James’ heart jolted. Passably pretty? She was not beautiful in the fashionable sense with blonde ringlets, bright blue eyes, and a tall, slender figure. But she was not uncomely. Or quite as unremarkable as he had first assumed. No…with her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, there was something remarkable.
Miss Ashford closed her eyes and lifted trembling fingers to her mouth, tears sliding from beneath her lowered lashes. “But Richard begged me repeatedly to accept Mr. Rushworth. We had so many arguments. He called me prideful and a silly romantic. The realities of life say I need the protection of a husband, and…and I could not expect to do better than the vicar.” Her shoulders shook, and the tears coursed more freely down her cheeks. “He was so disappointed; we barely spoke in his last days.”