Bath Scandal (7 page)

“Now that Gillie has left, let me ask you frankly, is she a nuisance for you? Does she tie you down more than you like?”

“Not at all. It is an interesting change, to hobnob with the younger set. Having missed out on motherhood, I am enjoying the privileges without the total responsibility.”

“It is truly remarkable how well she has taken to you.”

“I hope I am not that hard to get along with!” she exclaimed.

“That was not my meaning. It was meant as a compliment. She is a difficult girl to handle.”

“Not really. It boils down to understanding her. She cares more for horses than most girls her age. If one hopes to engage her in social doings, one must wedge them in sideways, under the guise of horsey doings, or with an outing involving horses in the offing. When she catches some other lady throwing her hankie at the duke, she will realize he is a man and she is a woman. Then she will go after him hammer and tong, even if he does not wear a bridle.”

“I fear the idea has not occurred to her yet. A pity he will be leaving so soon.”

“A pity Gillie cannot have a Season,” she replied, watching him from the corner of her eye. She hoped to win him over by repetition.

“I’ll speak to Deborah about it,” he said, thinking aloud.

Bea felt a stab of anger but bit back the hot retort that rose to her lips. “I expect you can let me know soon, as you will be returning to Elmland on Monday. That is when Deborah is expecting you back, is it not?” He nodded. “There are many details that must be attended to if Gillie is allowed to go. Her name must be entered at Saint James’s. I would have to be in touch with Mrs. Louden to arrange her ball and be in touch with other chaperons.”

“Have you spoken of all this to Gillie? She will feel sorely done by if she is not allowed to go.”

“I am not a complete widgeon! Of course I haven’t,” she snapped. “But you
will
speak to Deborah as soon as you return, I hope. Even she might approve, when the prize is a duke.”

Southam noticed her piqued tone. “Why do you say
even
she, as if Deborah were unreasonable? She is greatly interested in seeing Gillie settled.”

“Then I expect she may give her permission, if you approach her nicely.”

There was some mischief lurking in those green eyes. “Give her permission”—was that it? She was saying Deborah had the ring through his nose? “It is not a question of permission. The decision is mine. I am Gillian’s brother and guardian. Naturally my fiancée is involved in such decisions, however. She knows more about such things than I, from having lived so long in London.”

“Of course. Yet I cannot think she learned much about making matches at the palace. The royal princesses are all wilting on the vine, except Princess Elizabeth, and she was nearing fifty before she nabbed her beau.”

“You forget Deborah had a Season herself, Cousin.”

“She did not make a match, though.” She smiled saucily.

“It was not for lack of offers!” he defended swiftly. “She has a poor opinion of the beaux met there. Fops and Corinthians. She prefers provincial gentlemen, for their steadiness of character.”

“Like Stuyvesant?” Bea asked ironically. “Or do you mean like yourself, Southam? Certainly one cannot accuse you of foppishness. No, there is no need to lower your brow at me. That was not a slur on your toilet!”

His blackening mood lifted as he watched her green eyes twinkle with amusement. “One cannot accuse the duke of overdressing, either,” he said, smiling. “Lord, did you ever see such a disheveled boy in your life? He looks as if he’d been rolling around a cow byre.”

“No, a stable! Gillie wasn’t much better when she arrived here. If we do bring off this match, we must find them a valet and dresser to turn them out in style.”

“It would be an excellent thing for her,” Southam said, warming to the idea. “Gillie a duchess, imagine! Most gents are put off by her stable ways, but the duke would feel right at home. It seems to me they are made for each other.”

Bea gave him a conning look. “You know how to bring the match off, Southam. Send her to London. As you said, the decision is yours.”

He did not reply to this taunt, but said, “I wish he were not going to Bournemouth so soon.”

“If wishes were horses ...”

“Then the duke would love them,” he finished, laughing. “I have overstayed my welcome. You must forgive me.”

She shrugged. “Not at all. My guests often stay much later than this, but you have had a fagging day. Will you call tomorrow to see Gillie?”

He nodded. “Is eleven too early?”

“Gillie will be riding with the duke, but I shall be here if you want to call. I’ll take you on the strut on Milsom Street and make all my beaux jealous. Or we could stay here and have a private coze,” she added. This would give her another opportunity to try to tease him into accepting the London idea. A smile moved her lips as she saw Southam try to figure out her aim.

Southam decided there was some enchantment in her smile. It suggested all manner of delightful things, not all of them having to do with Gillie. Deborah would not approve of his spending a morning alone with this enchantress. “I’ll see you at eleven, then,” he said, and rose to take his leave.

As the carriage jogged through the streets to the White Hart, Southam reviewed the evening. His thoughts soon settled on Mrs. Searle. He knew in his bones that she had changed from her school days with Deborah, or his fiancée would not have suggested her as Gillie’s chaperon. She was too dashing, too free in her manners, too flirtatious.

It would be Leonard who had worked the change, of course. Reckless, handsome Leonard. He must have seen the potential in Beatrice, or he never would have married her. No denying he was a highflyer. Just how high, he wondered, did the widow soar? She mentioned more than once how she enjoyed her freedom.

She was too young to be past temptations of the flesh. Did she indulge in discreet amours, taking care that the proprieties were maintained? In Bath the proprieties would be of great concern. At least she would not do anything outrageous with Gillie around. Was that why she had suggested they remain at home tomorrow morning when Gillie was out? Good lord! Surely she wasn’t planning to have an affair with him!

He had sensed some incipient seduction in her green eyes. It was no more than flirtation really. Very likely that was all she had in mind. Well, he had nothing against flirtation. He used to be a bit of a dasher himself in his salad days, before he suddenly had the care of Elmdale and his three half sisters thrust on him. And before Deborah. Naturally an engaged man did not flirt with other ladies—not in front of his fiancée in any case.

Soon he would be married. This might be his last chance for a flirtation. He could think of no one more delightful than Mrs. Searle for a partner. He must take care it did not go beyond flirtation.

Chapter Six

 
Lord Southam’s valet was surprised, the next morning, to receive a scolding for not having packed his lordship’s new jacket.

“You only wear it to church on Sunday,” Scrumm objected.

“Just what did you pack?” Southam demanded.

“The jacket you’re wearing and your monkey suit.”

“Only knee breeches and silk hose for evening?”

“Miss Swann said that was what was required for the assemblies in Bath.”

“No one is wearing knee breeches to private parties. Damme, I’ll look like an antique. When did Miss Swann speak to you?”

“She sent me up a note the last day she was at Elmdale.”
Scrumm’s eyes glinted. “Miss Swann didn’t think there’d be any private parties. I tossed in your black pantaloons and evening jacket, just in case,” he said.

“Thank God for that! Help me with this cravat, Scrumm. I want something different from that hard ball of a knot I usually wear. I noticed a gent at breakfast with a sort of folded, softer look.”

“The Oriental,” Scrumm nodded. “I learned it off Stuyvesant’s man. Tried to get you to try it a month ago,” he mentioned.

“So you did.”

“You said it looked like a nun’s wimple.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Southam said with a glassy stare.

Scrumm performed this sartorial miracle and stood back to admire his handiwork. “The Oriental requires a wider linen, but that’s the general style of it. It’d look more stylish with shorter hair. The Brutus-do that Stuyvesant sports—that’d suit your lordship.” Scrumm waited for some scalding put-down, and was surprised to see instead a contemplative expression. His efforts to smarten up his lordship seldom met with success. A pity to see such a fine-looking young lad turn out so rusty.

Southam was tempted. He glanced at his watch. “It is nearly eleven. I haven’t time. You might see if you can find some of those wider cravats, however, while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do that.” Made brave by this small success, Scrumm ventured further.

“There’s a man comes to the inn here to do gents’ hair. You could slip in before you dress for dinner this evening. You need an appointment.”

Southam examined himself in the mirror. Yes, his hair was an inch longer than the men in Bath were wearing it. Even Mr. Reynolds, who looked every day of forty-five, was wearing the Brutus-do. “Set me up for six-thirty,” he said.

Scrumm’s head jerked in pleasure. There was life in the master yet. “When I’m buying the wide cravats, would you like me to pick up a spotted Belcher kerchief for you? You see them everywhere nowadays—except in Alderton.”

Southam gave him a killing stare. “I think not, Scrumm. I am not a dancing master after all.” He picked up his curled beaver and gloves. The gloves, he noticed, were discolored at the ends of the fingers. “You might see if you can find me a new pair of York tan gloves. You know my size.”

A newly tied cravat was not sufficient change to make Southam uncomfortable when he was admitted to Mrs. Searle’s saloon. He entered with an easy smile. Mrs. Searle sat alone in her morning parlor, glancing through the journals. She looked entirely enticing in a green sarcenet gown a shade darker than her eyes. An elegant paisley shawl lay beside her on the sofa. Above the gown her ivory skin seemed almost luminous. A lovely complexion she had.

“Good morning, Cousin. Did you get our girl off with the duke?” he asked, making a brief and rather graceless bow.

“Indeed I did.” Her flashing eyes just skimmed over the cravat. “Very handsome,” she said. “Come and sit down.” She patted the sofa seat beside her, but there was no air of flirtation in her manner. Just so would she have spoken to Gillie. “Why do you call me Cousin? I thought we had agreed there was no impropriety in your calling me Beatrice.”

Why had he? Was it to dilute the guilty feeling he had when he was with her? To create some informality without suggesting intimacy? “You are my cousin Leonard’s widow. It seems appropriate,” he parried, trying to give an impression it had slipped out by chance.

She nodded indifferently. “I fear I have some bad news for you. The duke is leaving for Bournemouth tomorrow! Is that not wretched luck?”

“How long is he staying?” he asked, taking up the proffered seat.

“A week. And soon he will be going to Newmarket. I fear he may forget all about Gillie amid such stiff competition.”

“There won’t be many ladies there before the races.”

“Ladies? Don’t be absurd. I mean fillies. Really there is not a single whiff of April or May between the pair of them, Southam. The only odor is horseflesh. Tannie was jawing at her for being two minutes late, and she hadn’t the wits to let her lower lip tremble. She shot back, sharp as a barking dog, that she’d often had to wait longer for him. I fear this is a lost cause.” She shook her head and felt the coffeepot. It was cold.

“We must do something to waken her up.”

They sat, thinking. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked. “Perhaps it will sharpen our wits.”

“Coffee is not good for you,” he said automatically. Deborah was vehemently against the indiscriminate serving of coffee. She permitted one cup in the morning. “It keeps you awake.”

Beatrice blinked in surprise. “I hope you were not planning to fall asleep on me at eleven o’clock in the morning! You make me wonder what you did when you left here, Southam. Did you have a very late night? Slipped the leash, did you? One last prowl before you are caught in parson’s mousetrap?”

“I went straight home to bed!” he exclaimed, shocked at her racy ideas.

She disliked that Puritan face and decided to tease him. “That is where one usually goes with a lightskirt, is it not?”

“Upon my word! You have a fine idea of my character.”

She tilted her head and laughed at him. “I was
joking,
Southam. Now before you feel constrained to deliver me a lecture, let me assure you I do not talk so broad in front of your little sister. Between us enlightened adults, however, there is nothing amiss in a joke, I hope.”

He lifted his brows and gazed at her. “Nothing amiss in such jokes to Leonard’s cousin,” he agreed. “I fear certain gentlemen might misread you.”

“Very likely, but I do not associate with rakes or rattles of that sort. Now—no, before we begin, I shall have coffee. Would you like some tea?”

“I’ll have coffee if that’s what you’re having.”

Over coffee they racked their brains for some means of advancing Gillie’s romance at top speed. “A little jealousy might help,” Bea said. She sat with her chin in her hands, staring at her lap.

Even in that mundane pose, Southam found some charm in her. He looked at her long lashes, curling over her lids. Sunlight from the window painted her raven hair in hues of indigo and amber, with flashes of crimson. Odd that jet black hair should hold so many shades.

She looked up as the silence stretched and found him gazing at her. “You mean, another beau for competition?” he asked.

“No, stoopid!
Tannie is already half in love with her. I mean, another girl to make Gillie look lively. All the mamas are after him like foxes after a hare. They recognize a prime
parti
when they see him, if their foolish daughters do not. The difficulty is that Tannie never looks at them unless they are riding. And then he only looks to see how they sit their mount.”