Shadows of Doubt

Copyright © Elizabeth Johns, 2015

All rights reserved

Cover Design by Wilette Youkey

Edited by Tessa Shapcott

ISBN-13: 978-0996575409

ISBN-10: 0996575405
 

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, copied, or transmitted without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For my Grandma Gwyndolen Lambert Davis, who showed me the world through an artist’s eyes… and vacuumed in high heels.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to:

Wilette. You are the reason people open my books in the first place.

Staci, Judy, Shae, Beth and Tina. I have come to rely on your opinions and support. Thank you.

Tessa. My editor, that makes me not dread that part of the process so much!

My family, for their continuous support and encouragement. Writing is not an 8 to 5 job.

Chapter One

Bloody Bath. How had he been reduced to this? He was stuck in dowager-debutante-invalid hell. Not that there was anything wrong with any of them in particular, but the amalgamation was daunting to a bachelor. There was nothing and no one else there—between the ages of twenty and sixty anyway.

And he wasn't
particularly
sought after: a mere mister, a Lord Nobody. Not that he was so meek to think his was not an attractive personage; only the few who’d turned his eye had loftier targets in mind. But, in fact, hardly any had turned his eye. Perhaps he had merely been too long with the Army; there was no doubt he had a courteous and cheerful disposition, but he enjoyed sparring with his bantering tongue, and few had the wits—or appreciation of humour—to match him long enough to maintain his interest.

He was certainly great for filling a dance card. He was a superb dancer and had exquisite taste in dress. And he was excellent at evening out the numbers. Mamas were not even afraid to leave their unwed daughters with him—he was too nice.

To make matters worse, his friends had succumbed to leg shackles. Every single one. Or, rather, they were not single any longer. He had to leave this Mecca for the unsingle-minded as soon as possible. If only he knew where to go.
 

France? No, as beautiful as it was, he had had enough of the Continent during his time with the Army, and recently, some French triplets.

London? No, he had already had his fill of society and matchmaking. He could only abide London in small doses.

A country house? The country was certainly appealing, but he would be bored within a fortnight by himself.

He looked out over the window from their townhouse on the Circus. There were children playing with their nannies and nurses pushing their new charges in prams around an older gentleman with his cane. He needed a change. A big change. He certainly could not remain in Bath much longer or his sanity would succumb.

His father, Sir Charles, had decided to settle here to be within a day's drive of both of his daughters and his grandchildren. His grandmother also showed a decided inclination for Bath, and both seem tickled to be within walking distance of the Upper Rooms, not that his grandmother would walk there. A night at the Assembly felt like the worst sort of punishment for Andrew. He was glad his father seemed content here, but he needed to move on.

It was difficult for an old soldier to settle down. He needed something meaningful with which to occupy his time. He did not wish to return to the Army of Occupation either. He had ended that chapter in his life, though Waterloo would always be with him, like it or not.

It must be his upcoming birthday causing his unrest. Thirty was not so old, yet he had no plan for the future. He must think of something, and soon. Melancholy was not his way and he felt it encroaching at an alarming pace.

“What has you in the dismals?” he heard his father, Sir Charles, ask from behind him.

“Am I so obvious?” He remained staring out the window with his hands in his pockets.

“You are hardly yourself these days. Are you bored?”

“I suppose. I am not certain what to do with myself now,” Andrew said with a slight lift of the shoulders.

“Ah, I see.”
 

He turned to look at his father, who had pinched his face in thought.

“And there is no one you wish to settle down with?”

Andrew shrugged again. “I need a holiday from marriageable misses. Apparently, I am not eligible enough in their opinions.” Despite everyone’s assumptions, he was not opposed to settling down, but had not yet found the proper person. Too many London Seasons had tended to lead him to cynicism about marriage.

“Why do you not enlighten them?”

He gave his father a look of mock abhorrence. “One doesn’t blurt out ‘I am as rich as Croesus’ in the
ton
. Besides, I do not wish to be wanted solely for my property and my income.”

“It is understandable, but it is also understandable for someone to desire security. Is that not what you would seek for your daughters?”

Andrew had not thought of it that way, but no one would ever be so openly vulgar. He shrugged. The wealth of the Abbotts was not well known; Sir Charles’ vast estates were either let or in foreign holdings. Both men had been away for most of the decade, and were neither likely to boast or flaunt their wealth to anyone.

 
“What do you wish to do?” his father asked.

“That is the problem. I do not know.”

He heard a loud sigh from his father. “I am loathe to bring this up, but it seems I have little choice. The plantation remains in need of much work after the fire. It seems that it is too much for Abe alone. I will be forced to sell if I cannot find someone I trust to rebuild and run it. I am getting on in years. I do not wish to return to America to live. Would you consider going to oversee the rebuilding and finding a proper steward?”

“I don't know, Father. America is rather distant. I thought I might attempt to settle down.”

“Now that you're in your dotage? I do not wish for it to be permanent, Andrew. If you cannot find a trustworthy steward then I would ask you to sell the property after it is restored.”
 

“I thought that was to be Elly’s land. Should you not defer to her and Easton?”

“They have their hands full here. I would bequeath the earnings to her, of course.”

Andrew pondered in silence.

“Something to consider. I will leave you to think on it.”

Andrew needed to escape outside for a little while. He put on his beaver hat and began to stroll around. He would prefer a long hard ride, but Bath was not the ideal place with its steep hills. If he had not promised his grandmother to escort her to the Assembly tonight he would have headed out into the country. He shuddered. Another night charming old ladies and girls with spots.

***

Gwendolyn wanted to get away from Bath. She had lived near here her whole life but wanted to see the rest of the world. Desperately. She knew there was more to life, because she had read such things in books. But as long as her mother was ill, and she had no money, she would have to be content travelling through the written word. She fastened her bonnet and prepared to take advantage of this small reprieve. One of her mother's cousins and childhood playmates had moved to Bath and had been calling for a few hours each day to sit with Mama, allowing Gwendolyn to have some fresh air. She pulled her bonnet down over her unruly mane and set out for her walk.

Mama became anxious when she was left alone. She had a servant in the house with her, but that was not the same. Thank goodness Mama was happy with her cousin. The time she had each day was a treasure. How had she maintained her sanity before?

She wandered around on the beautiful sunny day with little purpose, enjoying the taste of freedom. She walked down Milsom Street on her way to the circulating library and passed the colourmen’s shop. She wished she could still afford to buy paints, brushes and canvas. Keep walking, she told herself. No point in letting her artist's genie out of the bottle, since she could not indulge it. She normally walked in a different direction so she would not allow herself to be tempted by things she could never have again. The dress shop next door held a celestial blue silk hanging in the window that she felt a pang of envy for.
 

She had long ago given up on having a London Season, or even one in Bath. She might have had a right to be there by her birth, but that was where the connection ended. The two times she had been to the Assembly, she had lurked in the shadows because she was insecure. She was never completely comfortable in large crowds—people tended to stare. She had also been forced to leave her school when her papa died. She knew most things properly, but had had little actual practice.

Still, it would have been nice to dress up like a princess and dance with a handsome prince. Once.

She had given up on those dreams becoming reality. Since Papa had died leaving them in penniless disgrace, and Mama needed her, any thoughts of her own situation were fruitless. She had missed the desirable age for marriage, and who would want to saddle themselves with a spinster and her ailing mother? She did not want to ponder how she would get by when her mama passed.
 

She entered the library and scanned the available works, all familiar and most nearly memorised. Burney, Edgeworth…

She heard the clock chime. Was it so late already? She would be obliged to run if she did not leave soon. She carefully selected her two allotted volumes. Even though the cost of a library subscription was dear, she had nothing else she would rather spend her money on. It was her escape from reality, her dreams fulfilled in another world.

She entered their rooms on Barnett Street breathlessly and tossed her bonnet on the table. She hoped she had made it before the Dowager left.

“Gwen, is that you?” she heard her mother's voice say quietly.

“Yes, Mama. Shall I bring in tea?”

“Not yet. Come in.”
 

That was strange. Gwen walked into the parlour with a concerned look on her face. She curtsied to the Dowager and rushed over to her mother’s side. She did not look well.

“Is something amiss?” she asked worriedly.

“No, my love. Cousin Henrietta has an invitation for you.”

“Yes, your mother and I were discussing what is to be done with you. We have decided that you should accompany me to the Assembly tonight,” the Dowager Duchess of Loring pronounced.

“That is extremely kind of you, Your Grace, but I could not.” Gwen made meaningful eyes towards her invalid mother on the sofa. How could the Dowager think she could leave her mama?

“Your mother will be fine. We will only be a stone’s throw away. I will send an extra servant here, who may fetch you should your mother need you. She will not be alone.”

Gwen did not want to go. She was past the point of being marriageable and she was certainly too poor to attract any notice. If only she’d had such an offer before her world had come crashing down. She felt a twinge of guilt. She should not have been dreaming earlier...