Romantic Rebel (14 page)

With all the happenings of that night, the liveliest since coming to Bath, it was late when I went to bed, but I took a moment to jot a thought down in my diary. “My opinion of gentlemen has been both lowered and raised somewhat by tonight’s doings with them. I met the sub-species, flirtus unscrupulus (lowered), and learned it is despised by proper gentlemen. More than one of them displayed very kind feelings toward the intended victim (raised). Gratified to discover this vestige of chivalry has survived.”

Chapter Eleven

The literary muse, whom I envisaged as the ghost of Mrs. Radcliffe, sat on my shoulder all the next morning, whispering clever words into my ear. My composition was usually more inspired after a successful social outing. The time flew by and before I knew it, Isabel was tapping at the door. We were on close enough terms by then that I invited her into my bedchamber while I made my toilette for the outing.

She still wore traces of last night’s exhilaration. It seemed a shame to bring her down from such ecstatic heights, but it had to be done. “Do hurry, Emma,” she said, drawing out her watch and glancing at it.

Keeping all censure from my voice to tempt her into confession, I inquired, “Have you arranged to meet Lord Ronald this afternoon, Isabel?”

Her answer was a soft sigh. “Yes, at three-thirty.”

“Why did you not ask him to call on you?”

“Oh, Auntie would not care for that! She feels he is not at all the thing.”

“Then it is a great pity she invited him to her drum.”

“She could hardly omit him when he was staying with his aunt, who is one of her bosom bows.”

“I see.” I set down my brush and turned a sapient eye on her. “And you truly expect me to help you slip around behind your aunt’s back in this deception? That is a hard way to treat a friend, Isabel.”

“But you said I should take control of my own life! I am the one with the money.”

“Yes, and it is your money—nothing else—that interests Etherington. The whole world knows what he is, Isabel. How can you be such a gudgeon?”

She lifted her chin and pouted like a girl of five or six. Undeterred, I continued. “Perhaps I urged you too far toward freedom before you were ready for it. Choosing your own bonnets is quite different from choosing your own husband on such short acquaintance.”

“But you said we ought not to be forced to marry anyone we dislike.”

“No one is forcing you to marry anyone.”

“Auntie is always pushing Sir Laurence Edwards at me” was the harshest treatment she could come up with. I had already begun to suspect that Lady DeGrue was not a complete ogre.

“Then you ought certainly to resist her if you cannot care for him, but Lord Ronald? What has
he
to recommend him, outside of a handsome face? He is a younger son who has fribbled away his fortune and run to Bath to escape the merchants. He has no idea of manners; he sulks; he despises everything— except a gullible heiress. Any gentleman who asks you to meet him in secret is up to no good, my girl. Please, for your own sake, don’t meet him today.”

Her chin descended an inch, but still rode higher than usual. “He told me people would say that. I have a mind of my own. I know he is not perfect, but neither am I, Emma. And he says he will change once he is settled down. If I cannot buy some happiness with my money, what good is it to me?”

“You will not be buying happiness, but a few weeks’ tumultuous excitement during the clandestine courtship, followed by a lifetime of remorse. Do you think he has any notion of making you happy? Think again!”

The chin remained high. Isabel, who used to be so shy and gentle, had become a perfect mule. “I have told him I shall meet him, and I shall. I am through with being trodden underfoot by Aun—anyone. If you do not care to accompany me, then I shall go alone.” She looked from the corner of her eye to see if this threat moved me.

“I shall go, on one condition. That you do not see him in secret again. If he can indeed settle down, then let him show it by carrying on this courtship in the proper fashion.” I mentally made another condition, viz., that we would rush, post haste, to the Pump Room as soon as we finished with Etherington.

“Very well,” she said sullenly.

Our usual high spirits were considerably lowered as the carriage descended the downs to the Crescent Gardens. Annie accompanied us, but it was agreed she would not be told everything. In theory, we were to accidentally meet Etherington. I was to draw Annie aside and allow them a few moments privacy for Isabel to explain that she would not meet him by stealth again.

We got out of the carriage and began our stroll through the gardens. I prayed that Etherington would not keep the assignation. That would give her an idea of his character. No such luck. He was there, lurking behind some bushes to leap out with unholy promptitude and glower in simulated surprise.

He really was distressingly handsome. On this informal occasion, his cravat was replaced by a rakish dotted kerchief at his neck. His curls fell with seductive abandon over his pale brow, and his black eyes looked like obsidian.

More rewriting! He was a perfect villain. I felt it would add something to my novel to make my villain physically attractive. Of course the eyes must carry a heavy burden to give a hint of the demon within.

“Miss Bonham!” he said with a degree of astonishment that would have pleased the audience of Drury Lane. “What a delightful surprise.”

Isabel’s acting lacked his dash. “Hello, Lord Ronald,” she said guiltily. “You remember Miss Nesbitt, and Miss Potter.”

“Ladies.” His bow was somewhat casual, but not without grace. He came within an ace of smiling at me. He took me for either an accomplice or a tool in this romance.

Without further conversation he and Isabel began strolling in front of us, their heads together in earnest conversation. No matter how hard I strained my ears, I could hear very little. From the way he inclined his head to hers, I thought he was urging her on to further indiscretions. She appeared to be resisting.

Before we parted, I knew she had won the day. “I look forward to seeing you on Quiet Street tomorrow,” he told her before he made his adieus and left, with a disillusioned shot at me from his dark eyes.

Isabel was now at peace with the world. She smiled demurely, casting a “so there” look upon me. I was relieved. I would make every effort to foil the villain, and if in spite of all he had his way, at least it would not be my fault. Lady DeGrue would prove a formidable opponent.

“Shall we go to the Pump Room?” was a logical suggestion, and found favor. I did not mention meeting Paton there, in case he failed me. But when we entered and took a table, he proved quite as prompt as Lord Ronald, and much more agreeable. He smiled, he sat down and ordered us a handsome tea with no nonsense about drinking the foul waters. He expressed his delight with Lady DeGrue’s drum, and best of all when we had had one cup of tea, he suggested that he and I go for a walk and let Isabel and Annie enjoy the remainder of the pot.

This was how a suitor ought to conduct himself—with openness, consideration, and good humor. I hoped Isabel was making the comparison with Lord Ronald’s behavior.

The one contretemps of the afternoon was in no way Paton’s fault. One could not expect Angelina, his former mistress, to move into a convent because they were through, but I felt it contrary of Fate to deliver her to that precise spot at that precise moment when our conversation was proving most agreeable. I did not know at the time who she was, but suspected, and had it confirmed later by Isabel.

Even under this trying circumstance, Paton proved a perfect gentleman. Angelina, clutching the arm of an aging but dapper roué, inclined her head and tossed a saucy smile at Paton. I noticed that her incredibly large and lustrous eyes soon skewed in my direction and raked me from head to toe. Paton nodded and smiled, no doubt giving her escort the same oracular examination as I had just endured. He did not stop, or mention her.

Unaware of her identity, I said, “What a lovely creature! Is she an actress?” There was that in her toilette that did not make the question a slight.

He tried to divert my thoughts with a joke. “As you call her lovely, I dare say you are thinking that her nose is crooked, or her jaw too long.”

“Indeed I am not. She is exquisite.”

Paton cast a flirtatious smile down on me and said, “She is well enough if a man has any taste for blond curls, flashing blue eyes, dimples, and an exceedingly well-filled gown.”

“You prefer emaciated hags, I take it?”

“No, shrews—like you. Miss Newman, unfortunately, is not a great conversationalist.”

I mentally stored up the name for future investigation. “One cannot have everything.”

“If one qualification must be inferior, and I do not for a moment mean to imply that it is in the present company, I should prefer that it be appearance.”

Thinking of Lord Ronald, I replied with strong feelings. “Beauty, and even brains, can be a positive curse if they are not matched with character.”

He gave a conscious look. “I trust that you too mean to exclude present company. Or have you learned the truth about me, that my character is blackened beyond redemption?”

“Now, why should you think I am speaking of you? I said someone with beauty and brains.”

“Revealed for the egotist I am! You spoke with such passion, I thought you had one specific ne’er-do-well in mind. Ladies are not usually pitched into emotional violence by an abstract phenomenon.”

I was tempted to mention Lord Ronald, but as that hurdle had been successfully passed, I did not. “Where did you get such a foolish idea? You think only men are concerned at injustice, and greed and knavery? I will have you know I wax very strong at all the social ills.”

“Especially when the grocer puts his thumb on the scales, eh, Miss Nesbitt?”

“We are speaking of abstracts!” I said loftily. Then less loftily, “And it is my landlady I had in mind. She promised that fuel came with the rent, and now she tells me I must pay for the coal.”

“If she suggests a particular coal merchant, don’t use him. He’ll up the price and give her a cut.”

“I have half a mind to bust up the chairs and burn them. It would not be difficult. There isn’t a leg in the lot that doesn’t jiggle precariously when you sit on it.”

Paton’s face assumed a less frivolous tone. “I rather wondered that you chose such a—an inconvenient address.”

“By which you mean a low address.”

“Not at all. Lampards Street is quite an aerie. If you are thinking of removing, however, a friend of mine has a flat in the Westgate Buildings that he wishes to sublet. He’s letting it go at a very good price, probably no more than you are paying now. Shall I speak to him?”

“That would be very kind of you, but—are you trying to make me respectable, Lord Paton?”

His smile can be described only as intimate. It seemed to reach right out and touch me. “No, more easily accessible,” he said.

“Any address is accessible to you. You have the stoutest pair of nags in all of Bath.”

“They don’t mind the ascent. It’s trying to hold ‘em in on the downgrade that is destroying all my gloves.”

We had completed our circuit and returned to the table. “I could do with another cup of tea, but I expect it is all gone,” I said.

“No problem. We’ll pretend we’re Lady DeGrue and order a gallon of hot water.”

Of course he ordered a fresh pot, and the conversation became more general. I told Annie about the flat in the Westgate Buildings, and she talked it up for some time. After a proper interval, Lord Paton took his leave, saying that he would speak to Mr. Percival about the flat, and arrange with him a time for us to look it over.

“I’ll go to speak to Percival right away. Then I shall whip up my nags, buy a new pair of gloves, and call on you this evening,” he said. And with a bow, he was off, leaving nothing but good feelings behind.

“That is a stroke of luck for us.” Annie smiled.

Again thinking of Etherington, I said, “It certainly shows great consideration on Paton’s part. He is a real gentleman.”

Isabel lifted a brow and said, “Yes, I noticed he was careful not to introduce you to Miss Newman, but passed as if he scarcely knew his mistress.”

I jumped a foot. “Was that Angelina?”

“Yes, the pretty blonde with Mr. Hill,” Isabel said. She lifted the pot and poured. I noticed she held it higher than before. Her confidence was soaring to dangerous heights, and it was all my fault.

We left soon after, and I stopped in to see Mrs. Speers before going up to our flat. It was too late to find her perfectly sober, but she was not yet bosky. Her hair had begun to tumble from its chignon, and the room smelled of jumper, but she was coherent.

“How is the biography going, Mrs. Speers?” I inquired. We all felt it a duty to inquire after Madame de Stael before proceeding to real business.

“I am just returning her to France, into the arms of Napoleon.”

“Hands,” I think, would have been a better choice of word. “How nice. I have come to let you know Miss Potter and I will very likely be leaving within a few days.”

She shot a malevolent glare at me. “I’ll need a week’s warning, Miss Nisbett. Read your contract.”

“Very well, consider this the warning. In fact, I shall put it in writing, as I failed to do regarding the coal.”

“Now, dearie, if it’s the coal, we can do something about that. I know a tradesman will give you a great bargain on it.”

I mentally translated this to read “give
me
a great bargain.”

“I
do
like to share my roof with ladies,” she continued in her own ladylike way, “and there is no point pretending that Millie Pilgrim is anything but a trollop. Out till all hours again last night, but at least she didn’t try to slip him into her room. As to Elinor Clancy, if her dad was a churchman, mine was a dook.”

“It is not the coal, but the inaccessible location that distresses me,” I assured her.

“I’ll put Millie out and give you her rooms. It will save Miss Potter the last flight of stairs. Just give me a day or two to prepare her, or there will be feelings. Maybe Millie will take your third floor rooms,” she added with a conniving look.