A Rival Heir (7 page)

* * * *

By the time Nell returned to the house in Queen Square she had accumulated quite a few items in her basket. She had taken her time, enjoying the spring sunlight and the delightful breeze that tossed her ringlets in a decidedly playful manner. It was the kind of day that she especially enjoyed at Longstreet Manor, where she would escape onto the brick pathways beyond the kitchen garden, eventually losing herself in the home wood and returning with an armful of early spring blossoms.

Bath offered its own pleasures on such a day, and Nell arrived back in excellent spirits. She had scarcely set her basket down on the table in the entry hall when she heard her aunt’s voice raised in indignation.

“You cannot seriously expect me to welcome you into my house, sir! Who the devil is Mrs. Holmsly, and what does she have to say to anything?”

The footman who had opened the door to Nell remarked with an impassive face, “A gentleman has called, miss. His card is on the salver.”

Nell’s heart beat more quickly as she picked up the card which lay there. But she was astonished to see that her aunt’s caller was Lord Westwick. Not that Nell had ever heard of Lord Westwick, but it astonished her that her aunt knew anyone of such a high rank as an earl.

Nell was tempted, given the rancor in her aunt’s voice, to disappear into the nether reaches of the house, but thought better of such a scheme. Her primary duty, in her own mind, was to act as intermediary between her aunt and the rest of the world, since Aunt Longstreet was obviously incapable of behaving in a fashion acceptable to anyone but herself.

Straightening her shoulders and pasting a polite smile on her countenance, she let herself into the parlor as though nothing were afoot. Fortunately she remembered to bring with her the two books Mr. Bentley had urged upon her at the library, so she had an excuse at hand for invading her aunt’s presence.

A very distinguished gentleman stood across the room from Aunt Longstreet, who sat upright in her chair, glaring at him. Lord Westwick had silver hair and was dressed in a coat which had obviously been made by a very skilled tailor. In fact every item of his dress suggested that he was
au courant
with the fashions of the day. His neckcloth was a veritable waterfall of fine white linen. Nell dropped a curtsy to him.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting, Aunt Longstreet. I have brought you some books from the library, but I could return later with them.”

The gentleman made her a formal bow, as Rosemarie Longstreet barked out an introduction, “This is Lord Westwick, Helen. Sir, my niece, Helen Armstrong.”

“How do you do, Miss Armstrong?” his lordship murmured. “Please don’t leave on my account. I was about to depart myself.”

“Not until you explain why you have come!” Miss Longstreet insisted.

Lord Westwick looked ruefully at Nell and said, “I had dinner last evening with Mrs. Holmsly and her brother, Sir Hugh Nowlin, your godson. Mrs. Holmsly mentioned that you were in Bath, and realizing that we must in some kind be neighbors, both coming from Westmorland, suggested that I call on you, as you had settled in Queen Square for some time.”

“Busybody!” Aunt Longstreet declared. “Had the impertinence to call on me with her screaming child just yesterday.”

“He was not screaming, Aunt,” Nell reminded her exaggerating relative. “Won’t you sit down, Lord Westwick? Could I ring for tea?”

“No, you could not!” her aunt interposed. “Lord Westwick is leaving!”

“Just so,” he agreed, but Nell noticed the rueful light in his eyes, which made her take an immediate liking to him.

“I shall see you out, then,” she said, and ignored her aunt’s disparaging comment that this “would not be at all necessary.”

In the hall with the door shut behind them, Nell turned to their visitor with an apologetic smile. “My aunt is indisposed this morning, and therefore a little out of sorts. I pray you will disregard her crotchets. Perhaps if you were to call on another occasion…”

“I’m not sure I’m brave enough to beard the lion in her den twice,” he admitted. “You’re Margaret’s daughter?”

“Yes. Did you know my mother?”

“I did. A beautiful, spirited girl she was when I knew her, many years ago. I was sorry to hear that she and your father were both gone. And your grandparents, too. How sad for you.”

“Well, it was long ago,” Nell said bracingly. “And I still have my aunt—as you see.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a shake of his head, “you most certainly do. I should like to hear more of your mother on another occasion. Would it be acceptable for me to call on you sometime?”

“Of course. And don’t be put off by my aunt. On another occasion she will probably welcome you with open arms.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that. But I shall come again.”

He bowed to her, accepted his hat from the footman and strode purposefully down the steps to the pavement. Nell watched him leave with a puzzled expression. If he had known her mother, then he had no doubt known Aunt Longstreet, too, when she was a girl. How odd that Aunt Longstreet had been so impossibly rude to him. Nell shrugged and picked up the basket to deliver her purchases to the housekeeper. There was no understanding Aunt Longstreet.

* * * *

Sir Hugh avoided visiting his godmother for several days. In part this was because he wished to have no role in his sister’s plans with regard to his godmother, and in part it was because he still didn’t know what those plans were. After Lord Westwick had made his surprising statement that Miss Longstreet would most likely refuse to see him, dinner had been announced, and the opportunity to seek an explanation had been lost.

Though Emily, too, had obviously been startled, she was not the least bit forthcoming when their guest had departed and her brother had pressed her for details of her plan to restore his fortunes.

“No, no. I shall say no more on that head,” she had declared, making a pretty moue with her mouth. “I may have misjudged his lordship, or your godmother, and I shall not embarrass myself by pursuing that avenue.”

Though Sir Hugh did not for a moment trust that Emily would mind her own business, he did believe that she had had something of a comeuppance with regard to Lord Westwick. He could only hope that she would turn her very creative mind to some other project than his inheritance—or lack of it. In the interests of being out of sight and out of mind, he made himself scarce not only in Queen Square, but at the Holmslys as well.

So it was more than a week before he came across his sister again, and this time their meeting occurred in the hot, and very crowded, upper assembly rooms. Sir Hugh was pleased to see that Holmsly accompanied his wife on this occasion, though he detected a slight air of tension in Holmsly’s frown when Emily was claimed by one of her cicisbeos. Emily’s haughty expression in response to this did not bode well for marital felicity, in Sir Hugh’s opinion. But then Sir Hugh had no experience of the matter, he reminded himself.

“Well, John, returned from the wilds of Bristol, are you?” he offered pleasantly as he came abreast of his brother-in-law.

“Some days ago,” Holmsly said shortly. “Why is it that your sister must be forever dancing with some rakehell, Hugh?”

Sir Hugh regarded his brother-in-law with patent amusement. “I should think it is because one is forever asking her, John. It would be rude of her to refuse for no other reason than that you would like her to stay by your side.”

“I have no objection to her dancing. It is the type of man she dances with that I object to. Why couldn’t someone like Figby over there ask her to dance?”

Hugh lifted his quizzing glass and gazed in the direction Holmsly indicated. Across the room stood a very short, rumpled individual who blinked repeatedly at his companion, an aging dowager in a puce gown. “I should think Emily would terrify such a man, John,” he remarked.

His brother-in-law laughed. “Yes, I dare say she would. Pity she doesn’t terrify the likes of Mannering.”

As Emily’s partner, Giles Mannering, was a close associate of Hugh’s, this comment could hardly be ignored. “Mannering is hardly what I would call a rakehell, John. Granted, he will flatter my sister outrageously, but he has very refined manners and is unlikely to discompose her in any way. I thought you brought her to town so that she might enjoy herself.”

“So I did,” Holmsly grudgingly admitted, running a hand through his thick brown locks. “But I could wish she didn’t enjoy herself quite so much with all these man milliners and gazetted flirts.”

 Hugh allowed a moment to pass before he remarked, “She misses you when you’re away, you know. There may be an element of retaliation in her choice of partners.”

Holmsly frowned at him, and his lips tightened slightly. “I am never from home except when business requires it. Your sister cannot believe otherwise.”

“Ah, who knows what goes through the mind of a woman,” Hugh said. “I’ve known Emily all her life and I certainly cannot guess the half of what goes on in her mind.”

Holmsly chuckled. “How true. She’s a remarkable woman, isn’t she?”

Glad to see his brother-in-law restored to good humor, Hugh agreed. “Quite remarkable. When we were young…” His eye was suddenly caught by a surprising sight at the end of the dance floor. “My word! Is that my godmother?”

Holmsly turned to look in the direction his companion was staring. “By Jove, I believe it is! What a figure she cuts! Haven’t seen a gown like that since I was a child. And who’s the chit with her?”

Hugh’s eyes moved to the taller, younger companion. “Her niece, Helen Armstrong. Where did they get those gowns?”

Chapter Five

Nell had managed to ignore the odd looks she and her aunt were given until she noticed the expression on Sir Hugh’s face. Though she could not be unaware of the difference between the heavy rich fabrics that she and Aunt Longstreet wore, and the flimsy, insubstantial materials the ladies around her sported, Nell had, on the whole, convinced herself that, for such a luxurious occasion as an assembly in Bath, their own gowns were surely more appropriate.

The startled—nay, shocked would not be too strong a term—expression on the baronet’s face gave the lie to this reasoning. Nell felt a flush creep into her cheeks. She had never before been to an assembly, in either Westmorland or Bath, and she had been filled with a kind of exuberant excitement when Aunt Longstreet announced that they were to go. Though she had wished for it, she had not believed they would ever attend such an occasion.

Her aunt had admitted—to Nell’s astonishment—that she had caused several of her old gowns to be packed in their trunks. Since her relation’s height and spare figure were close enough to her own configuration, Nell had been relieved to hear that they would have something unexceptionable to wear.

Now it appeared that the heavy satin gown she wore, such a lovely rich burgundy color, with acres of blonde lace, was not acceptable to the gathered gentry. She raised her head a little higher, making her no doubt the tallest woman in the room (especially with the exotic confection that adorned her head). What did it matter, after all, if she and Aunt Longstreet were not dressed in the fashion of the day? Fashion was a fleeting thing, when all was said and done, and its pursuit not something which a serious-minded young woman should pride herself upon.

Or so she attempted to tell herself, her color high, as she surreptitiously watched the baronet approach them from across the crowded room.

Sir Hugh made his bow to her aunt, graciously including her in his greeting. “Miss Longstreet, Miss Armstrong. I am enchanted to find you here. Had I known of your intention of attending an assembly, I would have been honored to offer myself as your escort.”

“We didn’t need your escort,” Aunt Longstreet snapped. “We are perfectly capable of getting ourselves from Queen Square to the Upper Rooms.”

“So I see.” Sir Hugh glanced around briefly, as though to satisfy himself that they had not, in fact, come with an escort. He lowered his voice to say, “It is, however, customary for ladies alone at night to be attended by a male escort. I would prefer it in future if you would call upon me for that service.”

“You would prefer it?” Aunt Longstreet sputtered. “What the devil does that have to say to anything? I shall do precisely as I choose.”

There was steel in his voice when he replied, “I certainly hope you will think better of that decision, ma’am. I should not like to think of your being accosted on the streets of Bath because you were without an escort.”

“We had the footman,” she retorted, defiant. “We had no need for another.”

“Ah, but I think you did,” he said, his tone smooth and his voice not carrying beyond their little trio. “I am your godson, Miss Longstreet, and it would be my pleasure—an it were not my duty—to see you safely about Bath, at any time you should require my services.”

Nell was surprised to see her aunt turn away from him rather than counter him with her usual invective. But there was indeed something about Sir Hugh’s demeanor which was just a trifle intimidating. His will, apparently, was quite as strong as her aunt’s in this matter, and he obviously had no intention of being gainsaid. He turned toward Nell with a slight smile and added, “I think you are a woman of good sense, Miss Armstrong. I trust you will call upon me in future to render you and my godmother such escort services as you may require.”

“Indeed,” she replied, not meeting his sharp gaze.

Nell heard his exasperated sigh and clenched her hands more firmly together. More than anything she wished to simply disappear from the face of the earth. Or at the very least to be safely at home in the parlor in Queen Square, or better yet at Longstreet Manor. To her alarm, she heard Sir Hugh say, “Perhaps you would care to join this set with me, Miss Armstrong?”

The color rose higher on her cheeks. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I could not.”

“Did you not come to dance?” he inquired gently.

“No. That is… I have no intention of dancing.”

Nell heard a little gasp beside her and turned to find Sir Hugh’s sister Emily staring at her. “Whyever not?” Emily demanded. “Hugh is an exquisite dancer, Miss Armstrong.”