White Roses a.b

chapter 32

Ashley trudged through the back door, reeling with infuriation and insult. In the kitchen she nearly ran into Abigail as she bustled towards the stairs carrying a tray of cucumber sandwiches.

Abigail gasped. ‘Lady Ashley! Oh, thank heavens. Mary Ann was just called upstairs, and you’d best get up there, too, before the Marchioness works herself into a frenzy.’

‘Tea? This early?’

Abigail cocked her head, silently demanding that Ashley go on ahead, and fast.

Remembering her parents’ threat to release Mary Ann, Ashley hung up her shawl and took the stairs two at a time. Normally her father took his tea in the library, but when she stepped on to the landing she heard voices coming from the front parlour, which was only used for entertaining guests.

The thought of entertaining anyone made her bones shudder.

She considered jotting up to her room and pretending she wasn’t home, but before she could make a decision, her mother poked her head out of the room. Her face was contorted into a crazed grin. ‘Ashley! There you are! I thought I heard you come in, sweetest girl!’

Sweetest girl?

A new dread sank on to Ashley’s shoulders. ‘I didn’t think we were expecting guests. I’m not properly dressed for—’

Bustling forward, her mother smoothed back Ash’s hair and picked at her dress collar, then nudged her towards the parlour. ‘Don’t be silly, dear. We mustn’t keep our guests waiting . . .’

‘But—’

‘Here she is, Your Majesty!’ her mother bellowed, shoving Ashley through the doorway. ‘I found her loitering in the hallway, bashful thing!’

The King and the Marquess both jumped to their feet. Again, the King had brought with him the twitching White Rabbit, his guards, and Andy. Again Andy stood by the far window, his black motley and drooping hat silhouetted in the afternoon light. He stood at respectful attention, his hands linked behind his back, but this time he was pointedly staring at the wall rather than at her.

On the opposite side of the room, Mary Ann stopped pouring tea long enough to shoot Ashley a curious look. Ash couldn’t hold it, too ashamed of her recent failure with Hatta.

The King clapped, a solo applause for Ashley’s opportune entrance. ‘There she is, there she is!’ he said. ‘And here I am – surprise!’

Ash forced a wobbly smile. ‘Good day, Your Majesty. To what do we owe this honor?’

‘Ah, my beloved,’ said the King, beaming around the word and ignorant to Ash’s grimace, ‘there is to be a spectacle most extraordinary at the Lobe Theatre tonight – a special production of King Cheer, performed in my own honour! I was hoping . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I hoped, with the permission of the Marquess, that you might agree to accompany me, my . . . my sweet.’ His hands knotted themselves together and his coyness would have been endearing if Ash hadn’t been so reviled.

‘My, that sounds splendid, Your Majesty,’ said the Marchioness. ‘Doesn’t that sound splendid, Ashley?’

Her gaze darted to Andy, rather against her will, but his expression was as blank as an undisturbed pond.

‘I am flattered, Your Majesty, but I would require a chaperone for such an outing and I don’t know that we can spare—’

‘Take Mary Ann,’ said her mother. Mary Ann froze in the middle of pouring a spoonful of sugar into a cup. ‘Mary Ann, stop bothering with all that and go get changed. Snap, snap!’ Her mother punctuated the words with snapping fingers and, with hardly a surprised glance at Ashley, Mary Ann had scurried from the room and the Marchioness had taken over the tea. ‘You, too, Ashley. Go and make yourself presentable. The Lobe Theatre is very nice, if I recall, though it’s been years since Mr Costello took me there, isn’t that right, Mr Costello?’