Sharon Sobel (17 page)

“You must know this talk does not make me happy.” Lark pouted. “The last thing I wish is to look beautiful or healthy in the company of a certain visitor.”

“Mr. Queensman? I am sure you have nothing to fear on that account. And Mr. Warren tells me they both will call this afternoon,” Janet said, picking up the message.

Lark looked back down on her lap and wished her own letter had brought such tidings. It was not from one of her sisters, who wrote often enough, with anxious queries about her progress to recovery. In recent weeks she had managed to reassure them. But now it seemed she was destined for a complete relapse.

“I am speaking of another visitor, Janet. My letter comes from London, from Lord Raeborn. He begs to call on me in three days’ time.”

“Oh, dear. Does Mr. Queensman know?”

“I have no idea. But I expect he will be happy to expose my deception and deliver me triumphantly into his cousin’s arms.”

“You credit your suitor with too much strength if you think him capable of carrying you. And you credit Mr. Queensman with too little if you believe he will let you go.”

Lark looked at her friend in surprise, wondering what had happened to the girl who until recently seemed to take special delight in Mr. Queensman’s company. Perhaps she had made too much of it, filtered as it was through the lens of her own unbidden desire. And perhaps Janet understood the situation from the very start, for she seemed to transfer her affections very readily to Matthew Warren, and she seemed perfectly happy. Lark admitted to herself that she was happy about that, if nothing else.

“It is not a question of strength, dear Janet,” Lark said sadly. “It is purely a matter of honor. And Mr. Queensman will not have what has been promised to another.”

“She is the most delightful lady I have ever met,” Matthew Warren said as he finished bandaging the leg of a sleeping child. “I do not understand how I never met her in London.”

Ben elevated the child’s head and pressed his ear against the small back. Satisfied that all was well, he glanced across at his bemused friend.

“Perhaps you were never able to get close enough. She was accustomed to a host of gentlemen climbing over themselves to get near her and her father’s fortune, and enjoyed several brief engagements. I believe she rarely set her sights on anything lower than a baron.”

“Miss Tavish?” Matthew looked nervous. “She seems so steady, so sincere. She never would have—”

“I was speaking of Lady Larkspur,” Ben interrupted.

“Lady Larkspur? Please reassure yourself that while she might be ever on your mind, I myself have scarcely spared a thought for her. Oh, I grant you she is beautiful, with hair likely to turn the head of any man. And her breeding is excellent, as are her connections. But I do not think she has the gravity to make one a pleasant wife or a temperate helpmate. She is likely to invoke excited passions. I do not know how your elderly cousin will manage.”

“Nor do I. However, he writes to tell me he will be visiting in several days’ time and would like for me to put him up at Seagate. I have no objection, but must warn him I spend very little of my time there.”

“But surely he does not come to visit you, my friend. He must make the journey to cheer up Lady Larkspur. As such, you should find him more often at Knighton’s than in your drawing room.”

“So I fear.”

Matthew looked at him in surprise.

“You do not like the fellow?”

Ben knew he deserved that question, for he asked it often enough of himself. He knew almost certainly that he resented Raeborn and wished him away from Brighton. Let him marry ten times over and produce a hundred heirs, if he would but abandon his suit of Lady Lark.

But he did not dislike him.

“I have no objections to his company. But I fear he will be
very disappointed in the lady’s poor progress, which will not be made any better by his presence.”

Matthew placed a doll into the child’s arms deliberately and gathered up the discarded bandages from where they had fallen on the floor.

“He may be encouraged to abandon his suit,” he said evenly. “Would that bother you very much?”

Ben stood up and stretched his weary arms.

“I desire it above all else,” he said.

At midafternoon, when all the guests at Knighton’s were assembled on the veranda for tea, a great cheer rose up from the drive. Lark looked anxiously at Janet, hardly believing that their two gentlemen friends would enlist such a response and wondering if it could be the great man himself who came to the sanatorium. Mr. Knighton proved as elusive as Queen Caroline of England.

But when the uproar moved through the halls and emerged upon the veranda, Lark saw only a great muscular woman as a stranger among them. In gray gown and stiff bonnet, the woman stood expectantly, waiting for deference.

Indeed, she received it.

Miss Hathawae was the first to speak.

“Goodness, is it you, Martha? However did Mr. Knighton steal you away from Margate?”

“He bribed me plenty,” the woman said bluntly, and then bowed slightly when she added, “Miss Hathawae.”

Miss Hathawae smiled delicately and turned towards Lark and Janet.

“Martha Gunn is the most famous of all the Margate dippers, and truly the most accomplished. Why, I remember one afternoon she rescued a poor horse from drowning.”

A gasp of awe rose up from the others, but Lark could scarcely suppress her laughter.

“I am like a fish,” the woman growled.

More like a whale, Lark thought to herself, unable to dismiss the image. “What is it, exactly, you do, Martha Gunn? We are very curious to know how the bathing machines work.”

“It is most simple, miss. The ladies enter the cart while the machines are still on the beach. Once they are inside, they
find a cozy bench to sit upon and hooks upon which to hang their gowns and shawls. The quarters are very tight, but that is a good thing, for if a lady should lose her footing while the machine is moving, she is not likely to fall to the floor.” Mrs. Gunn laughed, a little too heartily. “She may be a bit bruised about the elbows, however.”

“It sounds very dangerous,” Janet said nervously. “Why is the machine moving?”

“Dearie, how do you expect to get into the waves? The horse, led by old Martha, makes his way down the wooden track and into the water. He knows to stop when the water laps about his neck, for then the water is at a height with the door in the cart. I rap on the door, and wait until the lady is ready for me. When she opens the door, we put my hoop around her, and she steps down into the brine. She’d best hold tightly, for I then push her down into the water and up again.”

“You must be very strong,” Janet murmured.

“That I am, miss.”

“Why are the ladies not capable of submerging themselves in the water?” Lark asked, wide-eyed.

“It is not an exercise for them. A lady does not know how to manage the waves,” Mrs. Gunn insisted.

“But I do. I have been swimming since I was a little girl,” Lark argued.

From across the terrace a man’s laughter rang out. Gabriel Siddons sat there with his boorish uncle, fingering a dissected map.

“You must not admit to it, my lady,” he said. “You may be very fashionable in London, but you must remember the particular rules of our little society here. Ladies of quality neither swim nor sail. Nor, with capable men about, and the likes of Martha Gunn, are they ever required to.”

“How very humbling, Mr. Siddons, to discover that one may not reckon among one’s accomplishments what one has practiced for so many years. I suppose you would not like it very much if you were told you could no longer ride, but must be carted about in a carriage,” Lark said playfully, for she knew she would not win her point in company such as this. Aside from anything else, she was believed to be an invalid, and so the old rules of behavior could no longer apply.

“I would not, to be sure. But we all of us make sacrifices for society.”

Lark wondered at the change in his tone, at the implication that they were speaking of something other than fashionable mores. She smiled a little tentatively.

“You speak with some authority, sir.”

Martha Gunn cleared her throat with all the delicacy of a cannon shot.

“Swim or not,” she said, “I have orders to do my job. Mr. Knighton wants me to inspect the bathing machines and try the horses in the water. If all is well, I expect to see the ladies on the beach tomorrow.”

“Not too early, Mrs. Gunn. There are several gentlemen who make it a habit to bathe in the morning,” Lark said, affecting an air of innocence.

The renowned dipper coughed. “Let them bathe. They have nothing to show I haven’t seen before!”

Miss Hathawae gasped in an appropriate show of delicacy. Mr. Siddons flushed a deep, dark red.

But Lark looked with a growing admiration on the newcomer, wondering what she knew of which she herself was only imperfectly aware.

“Do not get any fine ideas, Lark,” Janet whispered curtly.

“Would you not like to get a closer view, to see if Mr. Warren is as … ah … amiable as you presently believe?”

Janet looked shocked, and Lark regretted her teasing words at once. What did she know of it after all? A few stolen moments with a man she thought she detested until moments before he dared to kiss her did not qualify her as a woman of the world. If, in fact, she was destined to marry the fossilized Lord Raeborn, she might have already shared more passion with a man than she should ever expect again.

By the time Martha Gunn marched from the veranda, Lark felt thoroughly disheartened.

“You look very weary, my lady. Should you enjoy some diversion?”

Lark opened her eyes and looked up into Gabriel Siddons’ pleasant face. His moment of embarrassment apparently behind him, he now dared to approach her.

“I should love anything that allows me to forget my sad predicament,” she said truthfully. “But I feel I must warn you: Mr. Queensman
and Mr. Warren are due to arrive at any time.”

A spark of sudden interest glinted in Mr. Siddons’ eye.

“You do not feel they might be tempted to go for a swim first?” he asked pointedly.

Lark wondered how he knew so much about it.

“Indeed not. They prefer the morning hours, as I have already told Mrs. Gunn,” she said daringly.

“Several of my acquaintances have met them there on occasion. I myself do not take to the waters unless absolutely necessary.”

Lark wondered if this was an indictment against his cleanliness, and then realized she never desired to know if it was. Unlike other gentlemen, he never came closer to her than considered polite, and she preferred to keep it that way.

“In fact, one of them has brought me the very thing I promised you,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Do you recall? We spoke about Mr. Wallis’ dissected maps.”

Lark exchanged a glance with Janet, who rolled her eyes.

“Of course. You promised they would provide an excellent diversion. I hope I might manage it, for I have very little experience with such things.”

“You will be marvelous, I am certain,” Mr. Siddons said, with a good deal more confidence than Lark felt herself. “My uncle now works on a map of this very region, but I am certain he will interrupt his progress to guide you as you puzzle out the pieces of a map of America.”

“America! You mistake me if you think I know a single thing about that savage place! I certainly do not expect to ever travel there!” Lark protested.

“Do not be distressed,” Mr. Siddons said, though he did not look in the least apologetic. “It is only of the northeast, near the Canadian provinces, and most certainly relates to things you might have heard or read about. As you are a friend of Mr. Queensman, you have probably heard of his adventures in the army.”

Again Lark wondered why he seemed to bring Benedict Queensman into every turn of the conversation and how he knew so much about him. If Mr. Siddons considered Mr. Queensman a rival, it might explain the first. But she could not guess at the answer to the second.

“As a matter of fact, I have not,” Lark said warily. “Indeed, your
own uncle reveals a good deal more about the subject of the American campaign.”

“So he does!” Mr. Siddons laughed. “It is a subject of endless fascination for him! But so I suppose it must be to every hero.”

Janet moved restlessly. “What, precisely, did Colonel Wayland do?” she asked.

Mr. Siddons hesitated, not enough to discredit him or his uncle, but surely so much as to cast a slight doubt on his heroism. Lark was quick to seize upon it, though she did not know why it should matter.

“Why, he—he surely already told you about it a dozen times. He speaks admirably for himself.” Mr. Siddons smiled so brightly, Lark thought his face would crack. “Should you like for me to bring over the map now? You need not be in the least bit intimidated.”

“Dear Mr. Siddons, how very kind of you,” Lark said, reflecting his own smile. “And with your help, and that of your excellent uncle, I should fear nothing.”

Mr. Siddons’ eyes darted to the elderly gentleman, and he nodded briefly. Colonel Wayland rose shakily to his feet and picked up a wooden box from the table before him. While he made his way across the veranda, Mr. Siddons hastily removed drinking glasses and a book from the round table between Lark and Janet.

“We shall set it up here, where it can easily be moved within,” he said.

“We have no intention of retiring on such a splendid day,” Lark said, trying to sound encouraging.

“Ah, but the progress of work upon a dissected map may take days to achieve. If we leave the pieces outside, a curious gull may make off with a critical clue and leave us quite helpless to finish.”

Lark looked at Janet, who shrugged. But there was no hope for them, as they were the very model of a captive audience.

Mr. Siddons removed a seal from the box and upset its contents upon their small table. Janet quickly retrieved the few pieces that tumbled to the ground, and Lark spread her fingers to prevent any more losses. The pieces of the map were cunningly cut at odd angles and seemed impossible to restore to any order.

But Colonel Wayland assumed command of the troops.