A Rival Heir (10 page)

“Entirely too much,” Emily muttered. She appeared to be on the point of expostulating with Nell when the butler Woodbridge appeared in the doorway to announce, “Mr. Bentley has called, miss, and wishes to know if you are at home.”

Nell felt somewhat surprised at receiving a visit from the librarian, and wondered briefly if Emily might misinterpret his calling in Queen Square. Nonetheless, she did not feel that she could turn him away. “Please show him in, Woodbridge.” And turning to Emily she explained, “Mr. Bentley is a librarian who has been looking out some books for me and my aunt. You may have encountered him at the lending library.”

As she had feared, Emily’s eyes lit with suspicion. “I dare say I may have, but no librarian has ever come to my home.”

Mr. Bentley looked a little disconcerted to find that Nell was entertaining company, and he immediately exclaimed, “I beg your pardon for interrupting, Miss Armstrong! Your butler failed to mention that you had a visitor.”

“You are very welcome,” Nell assured him. “This is Mrs. Holmsly, my aunt’s godson’s sister. Emily, this is Mr. Bentley.”

The young man bowed punctiliously, awkwardly shifting the large pile of books he carried. “A pleasure, ma’am.” When he turned to Nell, he added, “If you would prefer my coming another time…”

“No, please. Have a seat and show us what you’ve brought.”

Mr. Bentley’s awkwardness vanished when he started to discuss the various volumes he carried with him. Emily became a mere observer as Nell questioned the young man on the authors and the content of the books. He had a wealth of interesting information at his fingertips, and was more than willing to share it.

“This one,” he said, holding up a sizable book in half-leather, “is a guidebook to Bath, but it covers more than the usual sights. Bath’s hidden treasures are to be found in here, and a history of the city that goes back far beyond the Aquae Solis of the Romans. There is an account of Solsbury Hill and the myth of Bladud and his swine.” He smiled engagingly. “And you will enjoy the influence the goddess Minerva has had on the town.”

“I shall most certainly read it with care,” Nell promised.

“This history I brought especially for your aunt, because it discusses the influence of the latter half of the last century on the changes happening today.”

Nell nodded. “Yes, indeed. That should please her—provided the influence is considered an important one.”

“Oh, yes. It’s written by a rather curmudgeonly old fellow,” Mr. Bentley admitted, with just the tiniest smile. “But he is considered quite an authority, mind.”

“Perfect. I dare say it would bore me to flinders?”

“No, no. But the style is rather more florid than our contemporary ear is accustomed to. You would probably find yourself skimming through the more prosaic passages.”

Nell felt certain she had been right in the first instance, that the book would be oppressively boring to her. But she had noticed that when someone took an interest in you, and she had to admit to herself that perhaps Mr. Bentley had, they had a tendency to believe you shared the same tastes and even the same level of intelligence that they did. This could be disconcerting, especially in the case of a man like Mr. Bentley, who was undoubtedly extremely well read.

Though Rosemarie frequently insisted that Nell was of a serious turn of mind, Nell herself was not so sure. True, she did not indulge in frivolous activities, or even in particularly amusing reading, but that was more, she suspected, for lack of opportunity than real intent. The library at Longstreet Manor ran to dull histories and uplifting essays. Aunt Longstreet did not subscribe to any of the more popular journals of fashion—thus their embarrassment of the previous evening.

Mr. Bentley had brought one novel with him, and he placed it tentatively in Nell’s hands. “This may be of no interest to you,” he disclaimed, “but many of the ladies who frequent the lending library have assured me it is not the usual farrago of nonsense. I will take it back if you should disapprove of such reading, of course.”

“
Mansfield Park
, by A Lady,” Nell read. “Do you know the story, Mr. Bentley?”

“I have not myself read it as yet, but I understand that it is about a modest young woman coming to live with her more prosperous, and perhaps less upright, relations.”

Emily, who had not spoken until now, giggled. “How splendid! If you have no interest in reading it, Nell, I shall certainly take it home with me!”

“I think I should read at least the first chapter or two to see for myself whether or not I like it,” Nell said. “Not many novels have come in my way.”

“Poor child!” Emily consoled her. “Those novels Mr. Bentley apostrophizes as a ‘farrago of nonsense’ have whiled away many a dull hour for me.”

Nell thought Mr. Bentley’s smile was just a shade complaisant. “Oh, yes, many of the ladies who patronize the library are quite taken with
The Mysteries of Udolpho
and the like. These are highly adventurous and exciting stories, no doubt, but haven’t a wisp of credulity to them. While
Mansfield Park
I believe is quite a different story. My understanding is that the author satirizes certain social pretentions while exhibiting the virtue of her heroine.”

“Oh, well, then, I probably shouldn’t care for it,” Emily protested, with a moue of disappointment.

Nell laughed at her new friend’s outrageous observation, but Mr. Bentley seemed to take her seriously. “Oh, I feel certain you would, Mrs. Holmsly!” he said, his brow contracting. “I am told the writing is especially fine.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Emily agreed. She gave a little tug to the paisley shawl she wore. “I shall await Miss Armstrong’s opinion of the book before I consider reading it.”

Mr. Bentley turned to his hostess. “Will you try it then, ma’am? I brought it especially for you, as I had no reason to believe your aunt would be interested in a contemporary novel.”

“Certainly, Mr. Bentley. You were kind to think of us, and especially generous to come here with the books. I would have come to the library very soon, I assure you!”

“Well, it had been several days since you were there, and, as you can see, I had accumulated quite a stack of books for you to consider.” He seemed to hesitate before he spoke again, more diffidently. “I thought perhaps I could call again in a few days, to see if you wished me to take back any of the volumes.”

“How kind of you, but, you know, I am perfectly capable of bringing the books to the library myself.” Nell smiled to take any sting from this rejoinder. “I mustn’t expect such service in future.”

Once again Emily thrust herself into the conversation, this time to say, “Yes, my dear Nell, but at the library it is always so busy, and the patrons expect such a hushed atmosphere. You and Mr. Bentley would not be able to discuss what you had read. And I think Mr. Bentley would be most interested in your opinion of some of these books, especially the novel.”

“Indeed I should!” Mr. Bentley agreed, bestowing a grateful smile on Mrs. Holmsly. “But of course I would not come if you should not like it, Miss Armstrong!”

“It is a great deal too good of you,” Nell temporized. “But no doubt my aunt would like the opportunity to thank you in person for your kindness to us both.”

Mr. Bentley looked as though this prospect would not provide him with much of a treat, but he stoutly proclaimed that he would come again. Then he rose to take his departure, making a polite bow to Mrs. Holmsly and clasping Nell’s hand briefly but firmly. When he had left the room, Emily shook her head and said, “That is no way to encourage a suitor, Nell—threatening him with your aunt!”

“Mr. Bentley is not a suitor, Emily,” Nell informed her with a frown. “And I do not at all wish to encourage him.”

“Whyever not? He seems a decent enough fellow.”

“I feel certain that he is, which is reason enough not to lead him astray.”

“Lead him astray? How could you possibly lead him astray?” Emily asked, astonished.

“It would be dishonest in me to allow him to spend time with me, believing we could develop a liking for one another. As I mentioned earlier, I have no intention of marrying.”

Emily shook her head, refusing to accept this pronouncement. “But, Nell, you must marry.”

“Oh, no. Not every woman was meant to marry, my dear Emily. Look at Aunt Longstreet.”

“You are not the least like your aunt, Nell. Marriage would be the perfect solution for you.”

Nell was not willing to argue the point with her new friend, so she said, “We shall see.” But she knew very well that decision had long since been made.

Chapter Seven

Sir Hugh had no intention of visiting the ladies in Queen Square on the day following the assembly. For one thing, he was convinced that his sister would go there to propose her idea of the dancing instruction, and he did not wish Miss Armstrong to think that he had anything to do with that proposal. For another, he was not in the mood to endure his godmother's sharp tongue. True, she had been distracted the previous evening and consequently had not managed to say anything particularly devastating on the drive home, but he had no dependence on her distracted mood lasting for more than a short while.

So he would not have come near Queen Square if he had not happened to encounter his sister in Milsom Street. And he was not at all surprised to hear that Miss Armstrong had politely rejected Emily's offer of the dancing lessons. He had expected no less. What he had not expected was Emily's account of the librarian's visit.

"One can tell he has a
tendre
for her," Emily insisted. "Why else would he be bringing books to that household? Certainly not to please your godmother! And he looks at her in just such a way…"

"At my godmother?" Hugh asked, laughing.

"No, gudgeon, at Nell." Emily sighed at the romanticism of it. "Do you suppose librarians make enough to support wives?"

"I'm afraid I haven't the first idea," he admitted.

"Of course there would be no difficulty if your godmother were to give her a bride portion, but I fear Miss Longstreet is not to be trusted to do any such thing."

"My dear Emily, your thoughts as usual have far outstripped the events to which they relate. This poor fellow did no more than bring some books to the ladies, and already you have him married but for the want of a bride portion."

Emily wrinkled her nose in deep thought. "Do you suppose he suspects her to be an heiress, Hugh? Do you think that perhaps he is merely ingratiating himself with the two ladies so that he can marry Nell and inherit all Miss Longstreet's property?"

"I shouldn't think so," he said, shaking his head with frustration. "Emily, my advice to you is to go home and manage your own household instead of attempting to manage the lives of three people you scarcely know."

"You would not be so cavalier if you had been there and seen Mr. Bentley's obvious intention," his sister replied haughtily. "Remember that Nell is not accustomed to the attentions of young and attractive men out there in the wilds of Westmorland. She could easily be swayed by a kind word and a thoughtful gesture."

"She did not appear to me to be a young woman so easily influenced. In fact, my impression was that Miss Armstrong is of excellent understanding and strong will. She would have to be, to scrape along with her aunt. You are quite out if you think she has a fluffy head on her shoulders."

"Oh, intelligence and will have nothing to do with love!" Emily declared passionately. "Surely you know that, Hugh. If Nell were to fall in love with Mr. Bentley, all her intelligence would be as nothing. And her will! Why, she would use it to achieve the end of becoming his wife, I dare say."

The picture Emily painted was not at all pleasing to Hugh. Though he realized that his sister was weaving a fantasy that had almost no grounding in reality, he could not help but wonder if the seed that had been sown by Mr. Bentley's visit in Queen Square might not indeed take root.

He concealed his displeasure with difficulty as he took his leave of his sister. Why did he feel so bothered? For honor’s sake, he hoped that it was not concern about his inheritance. And yet, what other reason had he to feel what amounted to a real stab of alarm?

Perhaps, he thought, as he strode off in the direction of Queen Square, it was because his own evaluation of Miss Armstrong did not ignore the fact that she was a babe in the woods where the world was concerned. In that, certainly, Emily was correct. Miss Armstrong might easily be overwhelmed by the admiration of a young man who had nothing to recommend him except a pleasant face and a gracious manner. If nothing else, was it not Sir Hugh's duty in some measure to keep an eye on her and prevent her from enacting any sort of folly? Surely he owed that much to his godmother, who could not be expected to be any more up to snuff than her niece where the social world of Bath was concerned. His brow cleared as this logical reasoning made his concern fully explainable.

* * * *

Rosemarie was not disposed to look favorably on Sir Hugh's visit. "We saw you only last night," she protested. "What are you doing here this afternoon?"

"Heaven knows," he murmured, giving Nell a rueful glance. "It is customary, in Bath, to pay a call on the ladies you have recently escorted, to inquire as to their comfort after the rigors of attending a social function."

"Horse feathers! As if Helen and I weren't stout enough to make the smallest excursion. If I were that decrepit I would not have come to Bath in the first place."

"So you were out first thing this morning taking the waters at the pump room, were you?" Hugh asked.

His godmother glared at him. "We don't take the waters every day. They are far too disgusting to drink all that often. I suspect that they would poison you if you drank them every day."

"Do you?" Hugh's brows rose. "I don't believe I've heard of anyone being poisoned by them. Have you?"

When Rosemarie only snorted, her niece met his interested gaze with merry eyes. They were remarkably pretty eyes, he noted. And her complexion was so fair that her feelings easily showed in the quick rise and fall of color in softly rounded cheeks. Her lips curved delightfully with those tucked-away smiles she half-concealed so well. Bemused, he realized she was speaking to him.