Cynthia Bailey Pratt (8 page)

“Don’t worry. I am silent.”

Coming downstairs, after she’d changed, Danita stopped to address a word to the butler. After telling him her spurious fears about the clock, she asked, “Did Sir Carleton ask who lived here before he told you about the handkerchief?”

“No, Miss Wingrove. He told me of finding it, and then inquired as to how long Mrs. Clively will be residing in this residence. He said Number 15 is draughty and he is considering making a change.”

“He knew Mrs. Clively had taken the house?”

“Not until I told him. Miss Wingrove.” The hired butler’s expression did not vary despite his surprise at being questioned. “He wished to know how many persons this residence accommodates.”

No doubt the butler had mentioned the added advantage of the rooms on the third floor for nursery and governess, presently occupied by a great-niece. Having been a servant herself, Danita knew how much gossip could be conveyed in a word or two.

Sir Carleton had more than time enough to scribble a note while Figgs asked Berenice about the handkerchief. Danita’s hope that Sir Carleton had not recognized her in his town house began to evaporate. On which subject, she wondered, did his note promise silence, that of their first meeting or of her entering his house last night? The injunction not to worry was in vain.

Either he had followed her last night, or he had purchased the handkerchief to meet the favored granddaughter of a wealthy woman. For reasons which she did not name, Danita did not wish to believe Sir Carleton, gambler though he be, was also a fortune-hunter.

Berenice was ready to go. Usually, she had thought of several shops to visit as they walked to the Gardens, but today she rushed along the narrow streets of Bath as though pursued. Only when they reached the hotel, did she slow to a more sedate speed. Danita was all but breathless. “Why...why the hurry?”

“No reason. If we are going, we might as well go quickly.” Berenice craned her neck to see ahead. “There’s an empty bench, down that lane.”

“It’s rather shady, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to ruin my...on second thought, let us sit there, in the middle of the walk. Those ladies look as if they are ready to go.”

Berenice stood by the bench until the ladies already occupying it became tired of sending her evil looks and departed. At once, Berenice dropped down. Danita followed suit, only to find that her cousin seemed unable to sit still. She bobbed and weaved in her seat, trying to see around passersby. Danita asked, “Are you expecting someone?”

“Oh, no.” Yet she all but rose from the bench when a gentleman slightly above the common height appeared, walking with two young ladies. With a murmur of disappointment, she sank down again.

To either side, the green lawn stretched out, cool and inviting, until taken over by trees. But on the light-colored gravel walk, the sun reflected hotly into their faces. “We should have brought our parasols,” Danita said.

“What does it matter?” Berenice began jerking at the fingers of her gloves.

“Miss Clively?” A dark-haired woman with an enormous hat and dressed in a yellow silk gown far too young for her, stopped before their bench. Berenice squinted upward. “How is your grandmother today? Better, I hope.”

“I suppose so,” Berenice mumbled.

“She’s very well, Mrs. Rivington,” Danita added. As she had thought, this comment went unnoticed. Danita had been several times to Mrs. Rivington’s house for tea and once for a musical afternoon. Her hostess had never spoken to her, though she delighted in spoiling Berenice. She and Mrs. Clively were old friends, though Mrs. Rivington tried to make it clear that Mrs. Clively was far older than herself.

Berenice liked being the center of so much attention, yet on this occasion she seemed uneasy and impatient. She did not invite Mrs. Rivington to share her bench. Danita, more polite, made room by rising. Without a glance in her direction, Mrs. Rivington sat.

Danita lifted the edge of her glove, reassured by the sight of her arm that she was still visible, and not merely a dress puffed up into the semblance of a woman.

“I cannot imagine what has happened to my friend! I sent him to order luncheon in the hotel for half-past one, and to meet me here. But then, what can one expect of a man?” Mrs. Rivington had buried her third, and would not have minded changing her last name again. “Now, tell me, dear, are you enjoying Bath?”

“Yes,” Berenice answered, turning her head to look past Mrs. Rivington toward the folly.

“I would have thought badly of you, if you’d said anything else. Where
is
he? I know he’ll be disappointed if I cannot introduce him to you. He asked me last night who the prettiest girl in residence was, and I had to tell him Miss Berenice Clively. My conscience would permit no other answer.”

No other answer could have roused Berenice from her curious preoccupation. “Did you? How kind you are, Mrs. Rivington! Do you truly think I am...what you said?”

“I swear, I’ve not seen another girl to touch you. Even Miss Parridge, whom everyone calls so fine.”

“Not that great gawky brunette! I can’t abide an olive complexion on a girl, though it is pleasing on a gentleman.” Berenice gave her own pink cheek a pat, and then, reminded of her primary interest in coming to the Gardens, began to glance once more into the faces of the males strolling by their bench.

“I know you shall like John, if he ever comes. He is very fair. What can be keeping him?”

Danita, tired of standing still in the heat, said, “I shall go and look for him. What is his name?”

For the first time, Mrs. Rivington let her eye fall upon the companion. “I don’t like to trouble you ... his name is Mr. Newland—the Honorable Mr. Newland.”

Danita stopped at the mention of the name. “Perhaps you should come with me, Berenice. Your grandmother ...”

“What about Judith?” Mrs. Rivington asked.

Berenice said slowly, “Grandmamma stopped me from dancing a second time with Mr. Newland. She said he might be fast.”

“John! Fast?” Mrs. Rivington laughed, rocking back and forth. “My dear, he’s a perfect slow-coach. Not even the army could enliven John. He studies the Classics, Greek and Latin, and other dead things. He intends to be a barrister and he is quite the most serious fellow I’ve ever met. His mother and I went to school together, of course different years, and she was sober-minded even as a girl.”

Berenice said, “Oh, I quite liked Mr. Newland. I was sorry we only danced the once.” After a moment’s thought, Berenice looked crestfallen.

Mrs. Rivington at once interpreted the young girl’s look. “That John! He is so clever! He wanted to talk about you but wangled it so that it was I who brought you up in conversation. No wonder he asked me who the prettiest girl in Bath was. He’d already met you and merely wanted his opinion confirmed. My dear, I’ll settle with your grandmamma. Go and find Mr. Newland, Miss ... er ... Miss.”

Keeping her pride in check, Danita dipped a demure curtsy and set off down the walk toward the hotel. Little by little her speed increased until she was striding in a most unfeminine fashion. Though she knew Mrs. Rivington and her ilk were silly, brainless women with nothing to occupy their minds, assuming they had any, the studied indifference with which they treated her never failed to gall. Their eyes, fixed upon making advantageous matches for themselves or for others, saw nothing worthwhile in a poor relation.

Danita stopped in the middle of the walk. She had not before thought of herself in those terms. “Poor relation” was a description of a broken woman without the backbone to make her own way, relying instead on the charity of another, unfortunate enough to acknowledge the ties of blood.

Tears stung Danita’s eyes, and she was suddenly afraid that she would disgrace herself by expressing an emotion in public. A narrow lane sheltered from the sun by broad-leaved trees invited her to sniffle and mutter her complaints in decent privacy. Though her tears clung to her lashes, she did not so far forget herself as to sob aloud. Placing her cool fingers over her hot eyes, she shook her head forlornly.

At the very moment she was beginning to feel foolish for indulging herself in this way, a gentleman’s voice, the Irish tang only noticeable when listened for, said, “I beg your pardon ... are you quite well?”

She nodded her bonneted head, hiding her face in her handkerchief. If only he would go away, she thought. I owe him too much already to go deeper into debt over added kindnesses.

“I can’t help you?” In answer, Danita shook her head emphatically. “Well,” he said, “I hope the trouble, whatever it is, won’t make you lose your sleep again. Miss Wingrove.”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, her head jerking upright in surprise. She was sure her eyes must be red. She could not know that the tears had increased the brilliance of her pupils and spiked her dark lashes like the petals of exotic flowers.

“I just knew,” Sir Carleton said, his black brows coming together in a puzzled frown. Then he smiled. “Perhaps it was your perfume.”

Danita wasn’t about to tell him she used none, though she couldn’t help feeling flattered at his pretending to remember her scent. “It must have been.”

“That being settled, won’t you tell me your troubles? As you know, I am a passable listener.”

“You are more than that. I never thanked you—”

He held up a hand. “Thanks between you and I are unneeded. Miss Wingrove. You’d have done the same for me, if I’d been poor and troubled. You read my note?”

“I did. Let me at least thank you for that. Sir Carleton. Mrs. Clively has been good to me, but I don’t know if she would understand the circumstances in which we met.”

“From all that I have heard of your great-aunt, I am sure she would not only misunderstand, but avoid understanding with great energy.”

 “From all you have heard?”

“Since our meeting this morning, I have asked a question or two.” His admission brought up all the questions she herself had about his intentions in visiting Number 12 this morning. She would have boldly asked him if he was pursuing Berenice for her fortune, but at that moment another couple strolled by, also attracted by the silence and shade of the lane. The woman raised her eyes from the ground to flash a swift look of admiration at Sir Carleton. He bowed absently.

The appearance of these others emphasized the loneliness of the spot she’d chosen for her embarrassing outbreak. It would do as well for a private conversation between two people who were not supposed to know one another. “I am glad to see you, Sir Carleton. And to see that all is well with you.”

“I myself was taken aback to see you so fine.” His eyes rested on her with a gleam of admiration.

“My aunt is very kind to me.” Danita turned her head, as though searching for the bird that sang somewhere in the depths of the trees. She could not bear it if he were to start flirting with her, not after his behavior toward Berenice this morning.

“I trust you are enjoying Bath, Sir Carleton,” she said. This seemed an innocuous subject when Mrs. Rivington had raised it.

“Business is good.”

“Business?”

“Do you forget I’m a gambler?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Well, then if I tell you I won a fortune at the tables last night, you’ll congratulate me.”

“Last night?” She chewed her lip in alarm. If he’d recognized her behind the door, he would undoubtedly bring it up now. Nothing looked more foolish than a secret surprised. “Congratulations,” she said belatedly. “How did you do it?”

“I’m not certain myself. It was a strange night, indeed. I could not seem to lose. Everyone in the hall was amazed, not least those I won from. My friend. Lord Framstead, could hardly believe what he saw, as most of his experience has been in the opposite style. I was tempted to put my winning down to the intervention of a kindly spirit, but no doubt that is only my Irish childhood talking.”

“Then you’ve not been abandoned by ... by Dame Fortune ... as you had feared.”

“No, since coming to Bath, I seem to have found my luck again.”

Danita realized that Sir Carleton was gazing at her very oddly. She felt as she had when applying for credit in Damingford. Then, too, she’d been looked up and down as though it were herself she was having appraised. But she had not blushed then as she did now.

She said, “You found it before Bath, if what Berenice tells me about a certain horse-race is true. I asked in Damingford, but they said the Master of St. Austell lost that race, yet here you are....” She waved her hand to indicate his fine clothes, and by extension, the town house in New Bond Street.

“Fancy you remembering the name of that horse! You asked in town about it?” Danita nodded. “Well, now, I’ll tell you, my girl, if you heard it lost, then you heard a lie. Not only did that horse not win, he came last in the next race. That’s better. I’d rather see you smile. Miss Wingrove.”

No sooner had he mentioned it than her smile was gone as though blown out. She rose, holding her reticule to her bosom. He stepped back, but she was more aware of his height with the trees behind him than in the relative closeness of the morning room at Number 12. Suddenly nervous, she said, “I should go back to Berenice. That is, I was supposed to find someone for Mrs. Rivington.”

“Cordelia Rivington?”

“Yes, you know her?” Was he one of the men Mrs. Rivington would like to add to her string of husbands? If so, Danita wished her luck. Most of her fear for Berenice was born of the knowledge that Sir Carleton Blacklock was not likely to be a marrying man.

“I took seventy-five pounds off her husband at hazard three years ago. I have no proof, but I heard she killed him for it.”

“You seem to hear a great deal. Sir Carleton. Do you listen to gossip?”

“Not merely listen, but pay heed. It’s important in my line of work.”

 “I’m surprised to hear you refer to gambling as though it were a respectable trade, like blacksmithing, doctoring or ... or ...”

“Millinery?”

She dipped a cold curtsy. “Good day. Sir Carleton.”

“Come now,” he said, catching her arm as she turned to go. “Don’t poker up. Let me escort you back to Miss Clively.”