Letter From a Rake: Destiny Romance (2 page)

Millie peered through the window of her family’s carriage as it drew up outside her uncle’s brightly lit house later that evening. Ashton House might not have been the largest house on Green Street, but it was certainly the most elegant.

Four huge stone columns rose high above the street, forming an arched portico. Black iron gates on both the side arches meant entry to the house could only be gained from the arch facing toward the front of the street. Those foolish enough to choose this side of the street on which to walk were forced to negotiate a narrow path between the columns and the road.

Millie thought it rather outrageous that one of her father’s ancestors had been able to steal the public footpath in front of Ashton House.

‘They widened the street after the house was built,’ her father noted.

Millie glared at him. James Ashton had an uncanny ability to know exactly what his only daughter was thinking at any moment. When she was young, she had thought it a fun game when he told her what she wished to eat for supper.

Now, as she grew older, Millie found herself having to maintain a distance from her ever-observant father. Though she knew it didn’t take any special insight to see how unhappy she had been from the moment they had docked in damp, grey England.

Her parents had talked about returning home for so many years, that London had taken on an almost mythical status. Then one night her father cheerfully announced that he had accepted a senior post there with the East India Company and they would all be leaving Calcutta in six months. Her shock at the sudden news contrasted sharply with the light she saw shining in her mother’s eyes as her father made the announcement.

Later, when she passed the door of her parents’ room on her way to bed, she witnessed them sharing a passionate kiss. As they drew apart, she saw a huge smile on her father’s face. When her mother whispered to him ‘Thank you darling; this is the greatest gift you have ever given me,’ Millie knew her life in India was at an end.

In the weeks that followed, she realised she had never seen her mother and father so happy. After seeing her parents’ loving embrace and the giddy excitement her mother had displayed when the first of the packing crates arrived, Millie had vowed not to tell either parent how devastated she was about the impending change of their family address.

It was now almost a year later and she still found it hard to believe she had seen the monsoon rains for the last time.

‘Kindly stop reading my mind, Papa; it’s not polite,’ she replied, her mind returning to the present.

‘Well, stop thinking so loudly,’ her father said, chuckling.

The carriage came to a halt in front of Ashton House and James Ashton stepped out and onto the pavement. He helped Violet and Millie down, leaving Charles to follow behind them.

Inside Ashton House, James’ older brother and his wife greeted them warmly. Married for fifteen years, the Viscount and Viscountess had sadly not been blessed with children.

‘Millie,’ Lady Ashton said brightly. ‘I am so pleased to meet you; I have been waiting for this night for such a long time.’

She placed a warm kiss on Millie’s cheek and gave her a hug. ‘I love your silk gown; it matches your nose ring. You will make quite an impression in London society, my dear,’ her aunt remarked.

Millie raised a hand and touched the tiny sapphire-studded ring which she wore in her right nostril.

‘Thank you, Aunt Beatrice, you don’t think it makes me look too foreign? Mama has been trying to get me to take it out since the day we left Calcutta,’ she replied. Her pale-blue gown with gold edging on the skirt had arrived earlier that morning from the modiste; it matched the colour of the sapphire to perfection.

Lady Ashton nodded her head. ‘I love it, but you may want to listen to your mother’s advice; the
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can be a rather close-minded lot when it suits them. Not everyone will see you as interesting and exotic.’

‘I am beginning to understand what you mean,’ Millie replied.

Lord Ashton slapped Charles heartily on the back. ‘My boy,’ he said, laughing. With an empty nursery in Ashton House, his nephew would be the eventual heir to the Ashton family title.

‘Remind me to send you the bill for his schooling,’ replied James, with a grin.

The two brothers shared a playful wrestle while the rest of their family members watched. Violet seemed to be the only one who did not find the whole brotherly exchange the least bit odd.

‘Nothing changes,’ she sighed. ‘From the first time I met James, I noticed the two of them could not keep their hands off one another. Always slapping, hugging and wrestling.’

‘Yes, well, we do have a bit of catching up to do, my dear,’ replied her husband, his head tucked firmly under his older brother’s armpit. The two men both grinned like naughty schoolboys. The joy of being reunited with his younger sibling shone brightly in Lord Ashton’s eyes.

Millie had a sudden vision of two little boys running wild through the fields of Kent, laughing as they went. Her father had related many stories of his joy-filled childhood at Ashton Park to Millie and Charles as they grew up.

Years later, when they were grown and the Ashton estate was facing financial ruin, her father had travelled to the other side of the world to restore the family fortune, leaving both his brother and England behind.

Lord Ashton released James and turned his attention to Violet. Pulling her into his arms, he gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. ‘I am so glad to have you home, my lovely sister; you spent too many years away from us, too many.’

Hot tears stung Millie’s eyes as she watched her uncle hold her mother as if he would never let her go.

Until recently, Lord Oscar Ashton had been merely a name on a treasured letter from a far-off land, but here and now, he was all too real. All flesh and human emotion, wrapped up in the spitting image of her father.

She felt the gentle pressure of her aunt’s hand on her upper arm and turned to see Lady Ashton gulping down air as she vainly attempted to stifle her own tears.

During the blissful, ignorant years of her young life, Millie had never understood that her parents had been painfully separated from their families. Although India was her home, for James and Violet their time on the subcontinent had been twenty years of sacrifice and longing.

Now, thanks to her father’s endeavours and skilful management, the family had made enough capital to return to England and re-establish themselves at the pinnacle of London society.

Millie drew a handkerchief from within her gown and dabbed at her tears.

‘To think I wailed over leaving my horse behind. What a dreadful, selfish daughter I am. I should be happy that my parents have finally come home, yet all I can think of is my own miserable self.’

Her aunt put a comforting arm around her.

‘My dear girl, you have nothing to be ashamed of; don’t be too hasty to punish yourself. Your mother tells me your first week has been a bit of a trial. We all have to remember that England is a foreign country to you, Millie, so none of us should expect you to settle in here straight away. Your parents might have returned home, but now you are the one who has left her homeland behind and begun a life abroad.’

‘Thank you,’ Millie replied, finding a smile for her aunt. ‘You are kind.’

Lady Ashton’s failure to provide her husband with an heir must have been a painful humiliation for her. Yet, from the moment James and Violet had arrived back in England, she had done everything to make them and their children feel welcome.

She gave Millie a hug. ‘Nonsense; that is what family is for, my dear. If you need an ear to bend with your problems, I would be more than happy to lend you mine. It’s hard to be an outsider in the
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if you are not born into it. Now, dry your eyes; I want to show you and your mother how beautiful the ballroom looks before the rest of the guests arrive.’

An hour or so later, Millie stood alone to one side of the crowded ballroom reflecting upon her aunt’s words. As the other guests huddled in small, intimate groups, she felt the sting of being a true outsider.

Earlier, she had made several turns of the elegant ballroom with Charles, both smiling with pride as the other guests admired the beautiful silk wall hangings their father had brought back from India for his brother. The four large multi-coloured panels were hung on the walls in pairs on either side of the French doors at the rear of the ballroom, affording a full view of them from the top of the staircase.

‘They will serve as a constant reminder of where the Ashton family’s salvation came from, when it came so very close to the edge of ruin,’ her father had said when he commissioned the works from the local weavers in Calcutta. Now, as she stood looking at her favourite panel, which depicted a view of the Hooghly River from Fort William, it occurred to her that the silks were a visual representation of all that her parents had sacrificed.

When their uncle came and dragged Charles off to meet his friends, Millie declined the invitation to join them, preferring to spend some time on her own. Considering that apart from the Ashton family she knew no one else in the whole of London, this was an easy feat.

‘What a crush; I didn’t think there would be this many families in town at this time of the year,’ observed a young, fair-haired woman who stopped at her side. ‘Though I ought not to complain; at least it keeps me from Lord Ashton’s supper table. My mother says if she sees me near it once more this evening she will have my lips sewn together.’

Millie turned and after taking in the petite pink roses on the bodice of the slender girl’s muslin gown, gave her a wan smile. After the miserable morning she had endured, another figure-obsessed miss was last on the list of things she needed.

A spark of mischief glinted in the other girl’s eye.

‘Of course, if you and I just happen to be deep in conversation and stroll slowly by the said table of delights and I lose one of my slippers and . . .’

‘Your hand reaches out to the table to steady yourself,’ replied Millie, quick on the uptake.

‘At which point, my hand accidentally touches one of those delicious apple-and-cinnamon tarts . . .’

‘Then you could only be held to acclaim for your good manners. Since you had touched the food, you could hardly leave it on the table for another guest to eat.’

The other girl giggled, before painting a determined, serious look on her face. She took hold of Millie’s hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘You know you are right, absolutely right,’ she replied. A grin threatened at the corner of her mouth, but to Millie’s delight, her new acquaintance managed to keep it valiantly at bay.

‘It would be saving my family from the most outrageous of scandals. Why, I should receive a standing ovation the moment that tart touches my lips.’

Millie closed her eyes and sagely nodded.

‘I should think a medal would be struck in your honour; my uncle would see to it. For eating that one tart, whilst saving your good self from falling, was truly a feat of wonder, and it should not go unrewarded.’

A snicker escaped the other girl’s lips, followed by the most unladylike of snorts.

Both girls bent their heads and tried to capture their laughter in their hands.

Millie let out a sigh of relief. Real girls did exist in London society.

‘Lucy Radley,’ said her new friend, her pale-green eyes sparkling with tears of mirth. She extended her hand with all the elegance of a queen.

‘Millie Ashton,’ Millie replied, dropping into a curtsy.

As she rose, she saw the smile had disappeared from Lucy’s face.

‘Ashton, as in Lord Ashton’s niece?’

Millie nodded.

‘Oh, no. How embarrassing. You are one of the guests of honour and here I am telling you how to steal food from your uncle’s table. You must think me the height of rudeness; I am so terribly sorry,’ Lucy said, as a patches of red appeared on her cheeks.

Millie took the opportunity to make a thorough study of her evening gloves. If she was ever going to see what sort of girl Lucy truly was, now was the time.

‘I am sorry, but your apology is simply not good enough, you shall have to be punished for such a grave transgression,’ she replied haughtily.

‘Yes?’

Millie raised her eyes and with a grave look worthy of an Old Bailey judge, she passed sentence.

‘I am afraid there is nothing else for it, the sentence must match the severity of the crime. Lucy, you shall have to become my new best friend.’

A look of relief crossed Lucy’s face, followed swiftly by a well-executed expression of feigned horror.

‘It was only a tart, I had no idea the punishment would be so harsh. Couldn’t you just transport me to the colonies?’ she replied.

Millie laughed; her instincts about Lucy had been spot on. They were meant for each other.

‘Now, let us visit that supper table,’ commanded Millie, rubbing her hands together with glee. She had just made her first friend in England and it was time to celebrate.

Lucy gave her a short bow and waved toward the table. ‘Lead on.’

Later, after polishing off several of the delicacies gracing Lord Ashton’s table, including two of the apple-and-cinnamon tarts, Millie and Lucy retreated to a far corner of the ballroom.

Fortunately, they managed to find an empty space near some open doors and sought refuge from the heated crush. Millie had expected a few people to be interested in meeting her family due to her father’s position at the East India Company, but the three hundred or so guests crowded into the ballroom left her stunned. The room itself was lost in a sea of bodies and humming conversations.

‘I have never seen so many people in one room,’ said Millie. Then turning, she pointed her face toward the doorway and allowed a cold breeze to ruffle her hair. She shivered. After a lifetime of the heat of the subcontinent, the English winter would forever be a novelty to her.

‘The weather was always too hot and steamy to have this sort of number at a social gathering in India. Without room to fan themselves in the heat, ladies would simply have fainted dead away.’