Carola Dunn (4 page)

“It’s fate,” he announced in a mournful voice as he led her to the nearest incomplete set. “I cannot help myself. I always fall in love with tall females.”

She laughed and made up her mind to enjoy herself.

Mr. Barlow, eldest son of a West-Country squire, proved to be an amusing rattle, and the next gentleman presented by Mr. Guynette made up for his lack of inches. Lord Peter Something-she-didn’t-catch was excessively tall and painfully thin, with a haughty nose which suggested generations of aristocratic forebears. Trying to talk to him while standing beside him, she developed a crick in the neck. Her effort was wasted, too, for he had absolutely no conversation and responded to her openings with grunted monosyllables. Nor did he appear to have much acquaintance with the steps of the country dance. She consoled herself with the thought that he was a younger son, and therefore a poor prospect.

Returning to Aunt Tibby after the set, she was determined to sit out the next dance. Her resolution vanished like summer dew when Mr. Guynette reappeared with the gentleman of the curricle at his side.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Mr. Walsingham, ma’am,” announced the Master of Ceremonies before trotting off about his kindly duties.

Jessica looked up into admiring grey eyes set in a face somewhat too long to be called handsome but with an attractively humorous cast. He was rather taller than she had expected from her brief view, well-built though lean. The fit of his black coat over his broad shoulders betokened a first class tailor, while the sapphire pin adorning his simply tied cravat suggested affluence with no aspirations to dandyism.

He gave no sign of having recognized her.

He bowed, and she noted with approval the crisp curl of his short, dark hair. “May I have the pleasure of this dance. Miss Franklin?” His voice was a light, pleasant tenor.

Rising, she returned his smile and curtsied. “Thank you, sir, that will be delightful.”

As they walked out onto the floor she saw that he limped slightly. There had to be a flaw, she thought philosophically. No one could possibly be quite as perfect as Mr. Walsingham had at first appeared.

“Do you live in Bath, ma’am?” he enquired politely as they waited for the music to start up.

“No, sir, we are visiting for a few weeks. My brother’s estate is in the North, in County Durham.”

“After so long a journey I trust you are enjoying your stay in Bath?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with conviction. The beginning of a dance prevented her elaborating on this brief answer for a few minutes. He danced well, performing the figures with aplomb, his limp scarcely in evidence.

Then it was the next couple’s turn to take up the steps and Jessica continued, “We had thought of going to London but I abhor crowds. I confess, though, that I was not sure, yesterday morning, whether we had made a mistake in coming here. We arrived at the Pump Room before the fashionable hour.” She described the company in which they had found themselves, and Nathan’s horror. “So you see, we were vastly gratified to find this evening that we are not the only people here with the full use of our limbs. Oh!” She raised her hand to her mouth with a horrified gasp, feeling her cheeks turn scarlet. “I beg your pardon, sir!”

To her relief, it was time to curtsy to her neighbour and turn on his arm. She avoided Mr. Walsingham’s eye as they exchanged places with the couple opposite. How could she have said such a thing! She would not blame him if he cut her dead in future, though he was too gentlemanly to abandon her on the dance floor.

“A war wound, Miss Franklin,” he said gravely, but there was something in his voice that gave her courage to risk an upward peek. To her great indignation, his eyes were laughing at her. “I was invalided out of the army,” he explained.

“You were in the Peninsula with Wellington?” she ventured. “My brother has just returned from America. He will be pleased to meet another soldier, if you will forgive my ill-considered remark and allow me to introduce you.”

“Consider it unsaid. May I hope that you will acknowledge the acquaintance when next you meet me in the Pump Room in my Bath chair?”

“I shall offer to push you for a turn about the room, and bully you into drinking up your glass of spring water.”

“So fair a face, yet so unkind,” he said with mock outrage. “Have you tasted the stuff?”

“It smelled so horrid I could not bring myself to try it. You are not here to take the waters, I trust.”

“N... Yes, alas. I refuse to boil myself in the baths like a lobster, but the doctors think that drinking a daily draught may be of value for... er... for my chest. A minor wound to the lung.” He coughed hollowly, provoking astonished stares from their fellow dancers.

It was their turn to lead the set again. Jessica was glad that the exertion of dancing did not seem to have an ill effect on Mr. Walsingham’s injured lung, since his alarming cough did not recur. When they were once more at rest, she asked, “You do not live in Bath, then?”

“No, I am staying at the house of my uncle, Lord Stone, in North Parade.”

This innocent answer was pronounced in a significant tone that at once made her suspect that he did indeed remember her after all. If he already thought her a disgracefully forward female, that would explain why he had not taken offence at her unfortunate comment. Doubtless he considered her incapable of ladylike reticence.

“You look monstrous solemn, Miss Franklin. A penny for your thoughts.”

“They are not worth a farthing, sir,” she assured him hastily.

He felt in his pockets. “I fear I have no farthing, nor a penny. Nothing smaller than a crown, and I feel sure you are too honest to accept a crown for what is not worth a farthing.”

“You are quizzing me, sir, but I promise you I should not tell you my thoughts even if you did happen to have a farthing in your pocket.”

“I’m glad to hear it, ma’am. In that case I can tease you on the matter whenever we meet, and we shall never lack for a subject of conversation.”

Jessica laughed, but as she completed the final figure of the dance she was aware of a warm glow of content. It sounded very much as if the amiable Mr. Walsingham wanted to see her again.

When he escorted her back to the benches, she discovered that her spurious aunt was missing. Dismayed, she scanned the room. Miss Tibbett was nowhere to be seen. Propriety frowned on a young lady sitting alone, yet she hesitated to ask Mr. Walsingham to stay, or to help her search for her chaperon. He might—horrid thought!—suppose that she had deliberately arranged with Aunt Tibby to disappear.

She was glad to see her brother approaching. “Nathan, have you seen our aunt?”

“Don’t tell me she has mislaid herself again,” he said, grinning. “I doubt there are Roman ruins in this part of town.”

“Roman ruins?” Mr. Walsingham enquired in surprise.

Jessica introduced the gentlemen to each other and explained about Miss Tibbett’s ruling passion. “I only hope she is not wandering outside in the dark hunting for sesterces,” she sighed. “It’s all very well vanishing from the Pump Room in broad daylight, but to abandon me in a ballroom at night is the outside of enough.”

“I’ll take care of you, Jess,” Nathan assured her. “I was coming to look for you anyway. It’s time for tea and I have left my last partner and her mama waiting for us in the tea room. I daresay Aunt Tibby is in there, too. Sir, will you join us if you are not engaged elsewhere?”

Mr. Walsingham accepted with flattering alacrity and they proceeded to the tea room. Nathan’s partner turned out to be Mr. Barlow’s sister, a lively girl as short and round-cheeked as her brother, who also made one of the party. He welcomed Jessica with every evidence of delight, proclaiming himself an old friend.

Nathan and Mr. Walsingham fell into a discussion of the Peninsula and American Wars. Happy to see them on cordial terms, Jessica allowed herself to be monopolized by the Barlows. Mrs. Barlow, a matronly version of her offspring, chatted placidly about the amusements of Bath while she poured the tea. Her daughter was a friendly young lady who very soon begged Jessica to call her Kitty.

“When I am addressed as Miss Barlow,” she explained with a giggle, “I look around for my sister Amelia, though she has been married for several years now. Mama has brought us all in turn to Bath when we turned eighteen, and my sisters have all made very respectable matches.”

Mrs. Barlow nodded complacently. “I fancy I can congratulate myself, Miss Franklin, for it is no joke, you know, to have five daughters to turn off.”

“It’ll be no trouble to dispose of Kitty,” said Mr. Barlow, “for she’s the best natured of my sisters and a taking little thing. Why, I’d marry her myself in an instant if she only had a fortune.”

This witticism provoked a merry laugh from Kitty. Jessica smiled, deciding that she liked the cheerful family. Despite the five years between herself and Miss Barlow, it would be agreeable to have a female friend with whom to shop and walk, someone to look out for at entertainments when Tibby disappeared.

Tibby! Where had she got to? Jessica cast a glance about the room, but the waiters scurrying between the tables and latecomers looking for seats hid half the company from view.

“Mr. Barlow, have you by any chance seen my aunt?”

“‘Fraid I don’t recall the lady, ma’am. From the moment I first set eyes on your face, dashed if I could tear ‘em away long enough to note anyone else’s.”

Miss Tibbett continued least in sight. However, under Mrs. Barlow’s kindly aegis, Jessica stood up with three more gentlemen presented by Mr. Guynette, and had the doubtful felicity of finding herself in the same set as Mr. Walsingham and his partner of the moment.

Though he treated the young lady with a grave courtesy quite unlike his teasing way with Jessica, she scarcely raised her eyes beyond his middle waistcoat button. Possibly because of the weight of her diamond aigrette, thought Jessica with unusual waspishness. The spray of jewels in her hair was part of a parure consisting of a collar, ear-bobs, brooch, and bracelets, fit for a duchess to wear to St. James’s Palace. It was amazing that the glittering creature could dance at all.

Her gown was buttercup-yellow satin with an overdress of what Jessica suspected was genuine Valenciennes lace. Amidst the pastel muslins she looked like a peacock among doves. Yet she appeared to be bashful to the point of timidity.

Turning on Mr. Walsingham’s arm, Jessica caught his half laughing, half exasperated glance and was somewhat consoled.

The ball ended promptly at the early hour of eleven, in accordance with Beau Nash’s dictum, which had survived its originator by half a century. When Jessica and Nathan followed the dispersing crowd into the anteroom, Miss Tibbett was waiting there for them.

“Aunt Tibby, you look smug as the cat that stole the cream. What have you been up to?” Jessica demanded.

“I have made the acquaintance of a charming couple,” she explained. “A retired clergyman and his wife, and—” she took a deep breath, her eyes sparkling with delight “—they are both amateur archaeologists with a particular interest in Roman Bath!”

Jessica hadn’t the heart to take her to task for abandoning her charge in the ballroom.

Every chairman in Bath was waiting at the doors of the Assembly Rooms, so they soon reached home. Exhausted by the excitement, Tibby retired at once. All the servants had gone to bed long since, but Jessica and Nathan repaired to the kitchen to discuss the events of the evening.

Jessica poked up the fire and heated milk for hot chocolate while Nathan ransacked the pantry for edibles.

“Do you mean to set your cap at Walsingham?” He reappeared with a plateful of strawberry tartlets in one hand and the remains of one of the sticky pastries in the other. “I cannot like the thought of deceiving him. He’s a famous fellow.”

“Would you prefer that I set my cap at a rogue? Not that I mean to ‘set my cap’ at anyone, but I like Mr. Walsingham very well.”

“Only think, I happened to mention how much I admired his curricle and his cattle, and he offered to take me up in it, and even to let me handle the ribbons!”

“Oh, Nathan, you didn’t remind him that we saw him driving down this very street!’’

“Why the devil should I not?” he asked in surprise. “But no, I don’t believe I said where I had seen him. He was surprised that we had no vehicle with us, so I told him your taradiddle about having heard the Bath streets were too steep for carriages and it’s easier to take a chair.”

“It’s no taradiddle,” Jessica said indignantly. “I know I read that somewhere.”

“Never mind. I also said that I intend to purchase a curricle but I have had no opportunity since returning from America, which is perfectly true. And Walsingham offered to give me his advice...”

“You haven’t committed yourself to buying a curricle!”

“I wish you will not interrupt a fellow so, Jess. As I was about to say, his first word of advice was not to buy in Bath because the best carriage-builders are in London. So you see, you need not put yourself in a tweak. I know perfectly well we cannot afford any such extravagance. You ought to be grateful to me for upholding your bluff, for I
cannot
approve of it.”

“I’m sorry, my dear, and I am grateful, I promise you. Did you at least enjoy the ball?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a wry smile. “I met a number of good fellows and danced with several delightful girls. I’ve no desire to marry any of them, however, and I cannot even tell you whether any of them are rich!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Matthew whistled as he strolled towards the Pump Room. The world was a bright place this fine June morning. Not ten minutes ago he had seen, from his uncle’s conveniently placed dining room window, Miss Franklin setting out in this direction with her aunt at her side. At this hour the chances were better than even that the Pump Room was their destination.

He could not believe his luck. Within two days of his arrival in Bath he had met a handsome, agreeable young lady whose brother owned vast estates in the North. What was more, she seemed to like him, and Sir Nathan was a pleasant enough young cub who was unlikely to stand in his way. Jess, he had called her. Jessica? Jessamine? Pretty names, both. Either would suit her to a T.