A Rival Heir (15 page)

For the time being he refused to consider how she was going to learn to dance. 

* * * *

"You look a little peaked this morning," Rosemarie remarked at breakfast.

"Do I?" Nell glanced in the mirror across the table from where she sat, but she saw nothing different about her face. "I so enjoyed the concert last night."

Her aunt gave a snort but said, "Well, I'm glad you did. A lot of caterwauling, to my mind. And I can't think half the people were there for anything more than to see and be seen."

"Perhaps," Nell agreed diplomatically.

"You won't find much use for that new gown."

"Perhaps not."

"Must have spent a fortune on it."

"Mmmm." Nell sipped her tea, then spread butter on her toast.

"I want you to take a note round to Mrs. Dorsey this morning."

Nell almost dropped the piece of toast. "Mrs. Dorsey? Why, of course, aunt. Does she live close by?"

"Corn Street. Doesn't sound a very promising direction, but according to the map it’s not far." Rosemarie dug in her pocket and came up with a sealed missive. "Right after breakfast, mind."

"Certainly. And shall we expect her for tea later?"

Her aunt gave an irritable shrug. "Depends on whether she's available, does it not? Wait for her answer. And, Helen, there's no need to tell her how long we've been in town. I just mentioned that we'd needed a few days to settle in."

"I see." Nell slipped the note into her own pocket. If it had not been sealed, she would have been sore tempted to read it, except that she doubted her aunt had revealed anything of significance. "Have you any other errands for me to run this morning, aunt?"

Her aunt regarded her suspiciously. "Why? Planning to gad about town are you?"

Nell shook her head with amusement. "As usual, Aunt Longstreet."

"None of your lip, Helen. And another thing. I will want to be private with Gertrude. I'll thank you to excuse yourself from tea."

"As you wish, aunt."

Now that, Nell decided, could only mean trouble. Definitely Aunt Longstreet was up to mischief. There was no other reason for her to exclude Nell from tea with her old friend. It behooved Nell to find out as much as she could before that tea even occurred.

So as soon as breakfast was finished, she put on her bonnet and pelisse and sallied forth. The weather had cleared somewhat, but remained overcast, the skies leaden and the air on the chill side. Nell walked past the Westgate Buildings and saw the Hetling Pump, but instead of heading toward the Abbey, she turned toward the quay. The near end of Corn Street was reached by Peter Street, and she walked at only a moderate pace, as she did not wish to arrive at an unreasonably early hour.

The house whose number she sought was modest but pleasant, built of the city's usual golden stone and well maintained. There was a brass knocker on the door which Nell plied with more assurance than she felt. When a maid answered the door, Nell explained her errand was to deliver the message from Rosemarie Longstreet, and to await an answer, if that was possible.

"Oh, yes, miss," the girl said, dropping a little curtsy. "Mistress is just in the morning room with her correspondence. I'll show you in."

Nell followed her down a narrow hallway to a room at the back which was filled with so many plants that it looked more like a conservatory than a sitting room. At a desk near the multi-paned windows sat an elderly woman in a white cap. Mrs. Dorsey looked so much older than Aunt Longstreet that Nell was startled for a moment, knowing that the two women were essentially the same age.

Not that Mrs. Dorsey looked ill, but there was an air of fragility to her quite unlike Aunt Longstreet's peppery vigor. The maid announced her as "Miss Armstrong, niece to Miss Longstreet," and the little woman perked up instantly.

"Oh, then she's come!" She rose to her feet with some difficulty, but walked steadily across the room toward Nell. "And you are the niece of whom she's written so often. How pleased I am to meet you at last."

"As I am to meet you," Nell assured her. She handed Mrs. Dorsey the note, saying, "Aunt Longstreet asked that I await a reply, if possible. I believe she's hoping you will come to visit us in Queen Square."

"Please, sit down. Lucy will bring us a cup of tea."

Ordinarily Nell would have refused such an offer so shortly after her meal, but she had every intention of learning what she could from Mrs. Dorsey, and that would require spending time with her. She accepted the seat her hostess suggested, a chair tucked closely beside a broad-leafed plant whose name Nell requested.

"Why, that's an aspidistra," Mrs. Dorsey explained. "My son has taken to bringing me a different plant each time he visits, and I've become that fond of them. Now they’re something of a pastime of mine. I learn about their care from an old gardener friend down the block."

"They're lovely," Nell said, meaning it. "They make the room feel almost like an outdoor park."

Mrs. Dorsey nodded enthusiastically. "Have a look about you while I read your aunt's note," she suggested.

But Nell scarcely had time to turn around before Mrs. Dorsey was exclaiming, “Oh, I should love to come for tea this afternoon! I’m delighted Rosemarie is here in Bath. And Queen Square is such a lovely spot. Fancy her not letting me know when she was to arrive!”

“I’m sure she didn’t want you to feel any obligation to see us settled in,” Nell offered. “My aunt is a very independent woman.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that.” Mrs. Dorsey nodded reminiscently. “There were those who were surprised at her engagement, you know, as they believed Rosemarie was unlikely to welcome any man ruling over her.”

Her engagement? Nell felt a prickle of excitement, but forced herself to appear calm. “But you weren’t surprised, yourself?”

“No, no. I always suspected she had a
tendre
for Westwick. Oh, he was a striking-looking man in those days. Came from her neighborhood, too. Seemed an entirely appropriate match.”

Lord Westwick had been engaged to Rosemarie Longstreet? Nell had to bite her lip to keep from exclaiming aloud: What happened? Instead she nodded knowledgeably and fingered the leaf that was curling near her head, hoping Mrs. Dorsey would continue in this vein. But the older woman just sighed and said, “Ah, well,” before perking up and adding, “Please tell your aunt that I shall be delighted to come this afternoon. I hope I’ll see you there, Miss Armstrong.”

Nell rose, saying, “Yes, indeed. Aunt Longstreet will be so pleased that you can make it.”

Out on the street she stood in stunned, oblivious dismay as a dray passed alarmingly close by. Aunt Longstreet had been engaged to Lord Westwick. Impossible. Or so one would have supposed. What could have happened? Since a gentleman could not cry off, it must have been Aunt Longstreet who did so. But why? Nell could hardly imagine a more desirable husband than Lord Westwick would have been as a young man.

Could Mrs. Dorsey be mistaken? The elderly woman had shown no sign of being less than mentally capable, but older people sometimes had odd skips in their memories, didn’t they? Nell considered the few minutes she’d spent with her aunt’s old friend and concluded it was highly unlikely that Mrs. Dorsey could have made up an engagement between Rosemarie Longstreet and the Earl of Westwick out of whole cloth.

There was, of course, the possibility that Aunt Longstreet had lied in a letter to her friend about having attached the earl, and then gone on to repudiate her betrothal. That, however, did not sound much like the Aunt Longstreet with whom Nell was familiar.

As she began her walk back to Queen Square, Nell mulled over what she knew of the earl, but it was really very little. Certainly in their perusal of the
Peerage
she and her aunt had never read about him, nor had her aunt ever so much as mentioned him before their arrival in Bath. Now Aunt Longstreet was insisting that Nell have nothing to do with him, though she would give no explanation.

When Nell arrived at Queen Square she discovered Emily Holmsly climbing the stair to their door. The young matron’s retinue had not accompanied her on this occasion and she caught a glimpse of Nell before plying the knocker. “Oh, capital!” she exclaimed. “Just the person I wanted to see. Will you accompany me to the Pump Room, Nell?”

Nell was about to refuse when the possibility of obtaining information from this charming young lady occurred to her. “Yes, if you’ll just allow me to give Woodbridge a message.”

“But of course.”

Emily was adjusting the set of her bonnet when Nell slipped back out of the house after informing the butler that Mrs. Dorsey would be coming for tea. Nell had never seen such a delightful confection as the rose-colored lutestring bonnet, saucily turned up in front, that her visitor wore. She was contemplating how much Madame de Vigne would charge for such an item when Emily linked arms with her and confided, “I detest going into the Pump Room alone, you know. To be sure, before I have taken three steps there are half a dozen acquaintances there to greet me, but walking in the door alone simply unnerves me.”

Nell found this hard to believe, given her new friend’s sociable nature, but it was certainly an emotion with which she could identify. “My aunt has taken to avoiding the Pump Room, and I cannot say that I am displeased. Not only did we have no acquaintance there, but she was given to finding fault with the arrangements, to say nothing of the taste of the waters.”

“Ah, but does she not believe in their curative power?”

“I doubt it, but she sends Woodbridge to the Hetling pump for a glass now and again. In any case, her gout has eased considerably over the past week.”

Emily cocked her head mischievously. “There, you see? Cured by the waters.”

Nell laughed. “Perhaps. In any case, as she is more comfortable now, her disposition has improved. If I have the Bath waters to thank for that, I can only be grateful.”

“Yes, indeed.” Emily reached into her reticule and withdrew a tiny green satin bow. “Is this yours? Hugh brought it by first thing. He said it was discovered in his carriage this morning. I know he took you and Miss Longstreet to the concert last night.”

Nell accepted the bow with a small stab of disappointment. Sir Hugh could have brought it to her himself, had he chosen to. Instead, he had delegated his sister. “Yes, I wore several in my hair last night. They matched my gown.”

Emily’s eyes sparkled. “Hugh said it was a spectacular gown. Oh, I wish I could have seen it. Not at all like the gown you wore to the Upper Rooms, apparently.”

“No, it was new, made up by a woman here in Bath.” Nell thought it unlikely Sir Hugh had called it a “spectacular” gown; that was just Emily’s hyperbole. “I shall probably never have another chance to wear it, but I don’t regret having it made. I felt truly fashionable for the first time in my life.”

“Well, we shall just have to look for other occasions on which you may sport it,” Emily suggested. “A ravishing gown should not be allowed to molder away in the closet.”

Nell merely nodded. She was now familiar with Emily’s penchant for trying to solve any problem which arose in her vicinity, and she didn’t want to give her an excuse for doing something on Nell's behalf. “You missed a delightful concert last night,” she said. “Your brother hinted that you’re not over fond of music.”

“Mmm. Not unless it is music to which I can dance,” Emily agreed, her smile mischievous. “I am hopelessly uncultured, you see.”

"I never would have suspected," Nell assured her with an answering grin. "Do you not play the pianoforte and dabble in watercolors?"

"Well, as to that, I suppose I am moderately accomplished. Because, you see, it is my own performance which is being put to the test when I am asked to play, or when someone observes a watercolor of mine. Fortunately, I am able to play what pieces I please, or draw what object interests me, so it is not at all the same as appreciating the accomplishments of others."

 "I see. Do you not enjoy the accomplishments of others?"

Emily cocked her head to one side, considering. "Not in the way other people do, I fear. I have no discrimination. If the music is lively, I exult in it. If the painting is cheerful, I feel a warm glow. On the other hand, if the music is lugubrious, or the painting downright depressing, my spirits are lowered, and I cannot value those artistic merits which others find so obvious."

Nell stepped over a stone which was blocking their path while Emily skipped around it. "Well, that doesn't sound like such an awful thing to me," she admitted.

Emily lifted her dainty shoulders in a shrug. "No, but it means I am denied that uplifting thrill other people feel when they listen to beautifully trained voices or they examine the works of some old master painter. Still," she added happily, "I seem to survive without it. My joys come from simpler pleasures--my baby's smile, the babble of a sunny brook, the feel of the music inside me when I'm dancing. That's enough for me."

"I should think it would be enough for anyone."

"Well, they're not sophisticated pleasures, but I shall just have to do without those. Or perhaps, when I am an old lady, I shall acquire some taste for them, or pretend that I have so my grandchildren won't be ashamed of me."

Nell shook her head at Emily's nonsense, though she couldn't help but wonder out loud, "Do you suppose those women at the concert last night who could find nothing good to say about the music were only pretending to be knowledgeable? Or were their ears so finely tuned that they could detect the smallest error?"

"I suppose," Emily said with some asperity, "that they were people who are prone to criticize, and have too little refinement to restrain themselves in public."

They had reached the Pump Room, and Emily linked her arm with Nell's as they entered the large room. "Now, you are to stay with me, if you please. I do not wish to have some gentleman thinking he can separate me from my friend for a tête-à-tête in the corner. One or two of these so-called gentlemen would attempt to do just that, if one allowed them to."

"I don't think any gentleman has ever attempted to do such a thing to me," Nell said.