Bath Scandal (10 page)

When Bea made a move to enter as well, he said, “I have hired a separate room for you, Cousin.”

She followed him along the hallway to another room. “You are extravagant, Southam!” she exclaimed when he opened the door for her. The room was large and elegantly appointed, with a view of the sea from the east windows. “I would have been perfectly happy sharing a room with Gillie and Miss Pittfield.”

She took his flush for pleasure at her praise. “You will want a little privacy from time to time,” he said. “Gillie is a renowned chatterbox.”

“It is a charming room, but I don’t know that I will be quite comfortable sleeping alone here. One hears of break-ins and things in a holiday hotel. The lock looks stout enough,” she said, examining it. Her examination prevented her from noticing the gleam of interest in Southam’s eyes.

“You will know where to find me if you hear anyone scratching at your door. I am in the next room,” he said.

She glanced up then, not suspicious but just acknowledging the information. “I shall bear that in mind. Shall we dress formally for dinner? Let us do it. It will add a festive note to the commencement of our holiday.”

“I trust you don’t mean I should wear my knee breeches and silk stockings. I left them behind.”

“Good gracious, no! We are away from the antique customs and prying eyes of Bath now. We shall enjoy ourselves like modern folks.”

Another gleam shot forth from his eyes. She noticed it this time.
“Respectable
modern folks,” she added playfully, and turned him around to lead him out the door.

“We’ll meet downstairs in half an hour?”

She just looked, shaking her head. “I am not a magician, Southam. It will take at least an hour before I am fit to be seen in public. My housekeeper usually acts as my dresser. I am perfectly capable of making my own toilet, but it will take me more than thirty minutes. We shall meet in one hour in your parlor.”

“You don’t look that frazzled,” he said, using it as an excuse to study her. His gaze lingered on her green eyes and arched eyebrows, so dainty and perfect, they might have been sketched on in charcoal.

“If that is a compliment, which I very much doubt, I thank you. If it is a hint that one hour is too long to wait, then I can only assume that Deborah has spoiled you wretchedly.”

“She is punctual, I’ll say that for her.”

“That is grudging praise, sir! I begin to see that you are not the only one in this engagement who has to put up with—” She came to a guilty halt in midsentence. “You are not at all gallant,” she said, trying to pass it off without undue embarrassment. Then she turned him around and shoved him out the door.

“And you, Cousin, are a tyrant! Take care, or I’ll lock you in.” He dangled her key from his fingers. Bea reached out and grabbed it.

When the door was closed behind him, she made a grimace at her blunder. She must be more fatigued than she realized. What a thing to say to an infatuated groom-to-be! Though, as she considered the matter, she realized she had heard very little raving about Deborah from Southam. She was beginning to wonder whether he was not undertaking a marriage of convenience. His scant compliments on his beloved were all to do with her help in managing his household. Her own knowledge of Deborah Swann told her that she was not the sort of lady to engender a wild passion, nor would her years among the spinster princesses have sharpened her up much in that respect.

Pity, for beneath Southam’s demure facade, she sensed a more interesting man trying to get out. The new haircut and stylish cravats were but an outer manifestation of a deeper change occurring beneath. She rang for water and made a leisurely toilet.

Bea had long since given over any claim to being anything but a matron. Her gowns were not the pastel hues favored by debs, but the rich jewel tones of a mature lady of fashion. She wore a low-cut gown of claret silk that enhanced the creamy velvet of her throat. It was cinched tightly at the waist and hung in elegant folds to the ground. She never traveled with her diamonds, except to London for the Season. For such a trip as this she wore the pearls given to her by Southam as a wedding gift. They hardly showed at a distance, but at close range, their iridescent hues glimmered attractively. She attached a set of garnet ear pendants. Her only other jewelry was her wedding band of diamond baguettes.

With a last pat of her hair, she turned down the lamp, set the door on the lock, and went along to Gillie’s room. Two taps were enough to tell her Gillie and Miss Pittfield had already gone below stairs, so she went along, not hurrying but glancing around the lobby at the other guests. She was directed to Lord Southam’s parlor and proceeded toward it.

“What kept you!” Gillie demanded. “We’ve been waiting for ages.”

“You cannot claim you are starving at least,” Miss Pittfield said, “for you have eaten a plate of macaroons.”

Southam was standing at the window with a glass of wine in his fingers, looking out at the street. His head turned, his eyes made a slow examination of Bea, and a smile moved over his saturnine features. “Well worth the wait,” he said, with a small bow.

She felt he was looking straight through her gown. The intimacy in that gaze warmed her cheeks. When Miss Pittfield cleared her throat, Bea felt that the whole room was aware of the awkward moment. “You are also looking elegant, Southam. I see you are wearing the
new cravat your valet purchased. We must keep an eye on him, Gillie, or your brother will take
to sprinkling himself with Steak’s Lavender Water and carrying a bouquet.”

Southam smiled blandly at these charges and went to the table. He poured a glass of wine and carried it to Bea. “I have taken the liberty of ordering dinner, to soothe the savage beast,” he said, a glance just flickering off his ravenous sister.

“Roast beef!” Gillie said. “I told Rawl you like it, Aunt Bea.”

“Indeed I do. I’m sorry if I kept you all waiting.”

Southam drew her a chair and sat down across from her.

“What are we doing tonight?” Gillie asked. Southam looked to Beatrice for instructions.

“There’s a dance, here at the Royal Bath,” Miss Pittfield mentioned.

“Till we have time to canvass the town tomorrow and see what it offers, it might be best to stay here tonight,” Southam commented idly.

Gillie stared into her wine glass. “There wouldn’t be any races at night. And Tannie knows where we are staying.”

“Perhaps he’ll drop in,” Bea said, to cheer her.

Dinner arrived and was attacked with vigor. Bea was aware of Southam’s dark eyes moving too often in her direction as they ate and talked and lingering longer than they should. He made her uncomfortably aware of her low-cut gown. Over coffee he was staring again. When he lifted his eyes, he found Bea examining him.

“Have you been wondering whether these are the pearls you gave me as a wedding gift, Southam?” she asked. Her tone was ostensibly polite, but he sensed an undercurrent of censure in it. “I have noticed you examining them from time to time. They are indeed the same ones. I am very fond of them.”

“I am happy they proved useful.”

“Pearls always come in handy,” Miss Pittfield said.

The waiter came to remove their plates and announce the dessert choices. Gillie, who had a large sweet tooth, could not choose between the Chantilly cream and more macaroons, so she ordered both, and so did Miss Pittfield.

“I, being a confirmed provincial, will have the apple tart and a wedge of cheddar,” Southam said.

“And I, being an aging lady, will have just coffee, or I shall not be able to get my gown buttoned,” Bea said.

“Why, you are thin as a rail, Cousin,” Southam objected.

“High praise indeed! Next you will be saying I look like a skeleton.”

He turned a laughing eye on her. “That was not the simile that occurred to me, I promise you.”

“I shan’t ask what simile did occur.”

“A cat,” he said promptly.

“You’re making Aunt Bea blush, Rawl,” Gillie said. “Don’t you know you should never say anything to make a lady blush?”

“If a gentleman is so uncouth,” Bea added, “then a lady does not hear it. Though if I had heard it, I would show him my claws. At least he did not say an
old
cat.”

“I was referring to your eyes,” he said.

Dessert and coffee were brought in. There was no longer any discussion over the taking of coffee. Southam held his cup out without even thinking. Hard on the heels of the waiter came the duke, bumping into the servant and knocking the cheese plate off his tray. It clattered across the floor, with cheese slices flying in all directions.

“Watch what you’re about. You nearly knocked me over!” the duke scolded.

“Sorry, sir.” The waiter turned to Southam. “I’ll get fresh cheese, milord.”

“And another cup for our guest.
Or perhaps you would prefer a glass of wine, Duke? How about some dessert?”

The waiter’s head slewed around to the ungainly guest. In his snuff-brown eyes there was more doubt than amazement that this buffoon was a duke.

“Whatever you are having,” the duke said. “To drink, I mean. I’ve just had dinner.”

“Another cup,” Southam informed the waiter.

“How long have you been here? Why did you not send a note and let me know you had arrived?” Tannie said. In his shyness he directed his words to Gillie, the least intimidating of the group.

“We arrived late this afternoon. We just changed and came straight down to dinner.”

While they were discussing the trip, the waiter returned with another cup and the cheese. Later Gillie asked the duke, “What are you and Duncan doing this evening?”

“A bunch of us are poking around town to see who is here for the races. We will be stopping at all the inns, I expect. We came across my uncle Horatio. He is putting up at the Carlton with some friend who stays there year around.”

“Good! I look forward to seeing him. There is a rout being held at this inn,” Gillie said.

“Do you have to go?”

The duke, as usual, spoke in his normal voice. Bea used her chaperon’s prerogative to join the conversation. “You must know Gillie cannot knock about town with a bunch of gentlemen. We shall visit the rout here for an hour. I do hope your friends can spare you to us for that long?”

“They would be honored, ma’am. That is to say, I would be honored.”

Bea and Southam exchanged a satisfied look. The instant Southam put down his fork, Bea said, “Let’s you and I take our coffee to the sofa, Southam. I never like lingering at the table after dinner, with all the confusion of used plates.”

“I haven’t had my cheese.”

She picked up a slice and put it on his saucer.

He looked confused, but followed her lead. Bea caught Miss Pittfield’s eyes and beckoned her from the table as well. Miss Pittfield was no stranger to the plan of nabbing the duke. She joined them, wearing a cagey smile.

“He didn’t put up any resistance to staying for the rout,” Miss Pittfield said, smiling.

“As he had already acceded to that, why are we here, juggling our cups on our knees, when there is a plate of cheddar on the table?” Southam demanded.

“Because we want to leave them alone, ninnyhammer,” Bea explained. “Nothing will develop with three chaperons staring at the poor boy.”

“He will hardly fall to his knees and crop out into a proposal at the dinner table.”

“One would think he had never been young,” Miss Pittfield said to Bea. She would not normally be so familiar in front of her employer. Her weeks with Mrs. Searle had lent her behavior a more casual air, though she was never less than a lady.

“Nor ever even had a cap flung at him in his life, since he does not recognize the most basic elements of catching a husband,” Bea added, shaking her head at his naiveté. “The idea, Southam, is to throw the couple alone together as often as possible, and let nature take her course.”

“If nature don’t oblige you, then I expect you have a few more tricks to prod her along?”

“There! He is moving to sit next to her,” Bea exclaimed, but in a lowered voice. “Even Tannie, that awkward colt, knows the moves.”

“He just wants more sugar for his coffee,” Southam said, when Tannie reached for the sugar bowl.

“That is the pretext, Southam, not the reason. Really, I begin to wonder how you ever managed to get a ring around Deborah’s finger, you are so uninformed in flirtation.”

“I daresay she engineered the whole affair.” He laughed. “Though to be fair, I cannot remember her pulling off such stunts as this.”

Miss Pittfield took a deep breath and uttered a speech that shocked her for its boldness. “Why do you think Miss Swann suddenly developed an interest in old sermons, Lord Southam, and you with two hundred of them in your library? Did you not notice the interest died as soon as she got her ring?”

He laughed, taking it for a prime joke. “I was maneuvered into love,” he said.

Miss Pittfield looked at Bea and lifted her brow. “Well, he was maneuvered at any rate,” the look said.

Bea observed the look and filed it away for future consideration. Soon she was preoccupied with something quite different. She touched Southam’s elbow. “Do you notice anything unusual?” she asked.

He followed the direction other gaze to the table. “I don’t see him on his knees.”

“You don’t hear him, either, but his lips are moving. Tannie usually speaks at the top of his lungs. He must be saying something personal, something he doesn’t want us to hear.”

Southam blinked. “By God, you’re right! You ladies are regular Napoleons for strategy.”

“Wellingtons, if you please!” she replied. “We plan to
win
this battle—or should I say engagement?”

Miss Pittfield leaned toward the table, eyes gleaming. “Look at that!” she whispered. “Gillie is pouting! She never pouted in her life before. When she is in one of her moods, she wears a face like a sulky dog.”

“That expression she is wearing is officially known as a moue, Miss Pittfield,” Bea said. “I take that as an excellent harbinger of love. Where the deuce did she learn it?”

Southam cast a teasing eye on her. “Are you not her mentor, Cousin? I assumed she had learned these tricks from you. I promise you she didn’t leave Elmland with them.”