The Wagered Heart: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (7 page)

There seemed to be no way of avoiding this unappealing encounter.

“La, but I thought my eyes had hoaxed me! It is Miss Julia Allard. Fancy seeing you here in Bath.”

Julia turned and looked down upon the fair-haired woman. “Good evening, Mrs. March.”

“What brings you here to Bath, Miss Allard? Alas, this sedate town has always been a favored spot for young ladies to live down a scandal. But, of course, I am sure that is not why
you
have come to Bath,” she ended with a titter, flipping her fan open with a snap.

Pausing to collect her composure, Julia forced herself to smile at the petite, blond woman. Aware that Mrs. Crowley was attending the conversation, she spoke in even tones.

“I am visiting my cousin, Lady Farren.” Maybe if she refused to respond to the baiting, the dreadful woman would go away.

“Lady Farren? I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making her acquaintance.” Mrs. March’s eyes took on a gleam of interest at the mention of a title.

The contredanse ended, and Clive and Caro returned to Julia’s side. She introduced Mrs. March to her relatives. Her manner was so formal, Caro immediately surmised that the widow was not someone with which Julia wished to associate.

Although she did not give her the cut direct, Caro replied to Mrs. March in such cool tones that soon the widow all but flounced off. After that, friends on the other side of the room hailed Mrs. Crowley, giving Julia a moment’s privacy with her cousin.

“What is the issue with the pretty little widow?”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Ever since I came home from
London last spring, she has not ceased prodding me about it. She just hinted that I had come to Bath to escape a scandal.”

“Oh no,” Caro said, a worried frown beginning to form on her brow.

Julia certainly did not want her cousin to think her enjoyment of the evening was dampened. “I do not give a fig what Widow March says. Women like her thrive on vicious gossip. Let us not give her another thought.”

Caro’s smile was a little uncertain as she nodded in agreement. At that moment Clive returned. By his side was a handsome gentleman who folded himself into a flourishing bow before Julia.

Julia looked from the gentleman to Clive in some surprise.

“Miss Allard, this is Mr. Dillingham, a friend of mine from school days.”

“How do you do, Mr. Dillingham,” Julia said as the man unfolded himself.

“Very well, Miss Allard. I understand from Lord Farren that you are from Chippenham, and shall be in Bath for some time.” His intense, pale blue eyes had not left hers since he had risen from his bow.

“Your information is correct, sir.”

“And are you finding Bath to your liking?”

“Indeed, I am.” Julia had the distinct urge to laugh at the intensity of Mr. Dillingham’s gaze, but managed to suppress everything but a smile. In truth, he was a handsome, refined-looking gentleman, and she was feminine enough to feel gratified by his regard.

“Ah, the opening strains of the Devonshire minuet,” he pronounced, glancing up at the orchestra. “Miss Allard, would you do me the honor?”

His expression was so hopeful, so earnest, she would not have dreamed of declining him. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Dillingham.”

As he led her to the floor, they moved past Mrs. March. Julia swiftly looked away, but not before catching the ill-tempered, narrowed-eyed look the widow gave her.

Even here in Bath, she could not escape the damage that cursed kiss had caused her, she thought with a flash of anger as she took her place next to Mr. Dillingham. Would she ever be free of that dashed duke’s licentious act?

T
 hat evening, the Duke of Kelbourne found himself looking down at a pair of deuces held casually in his left hand. His right hand caressed a stack of gold coins as he glanced up at his fellow gamblers lounging around the table, his expression impassive.

They were a dashed cautious lot, he mused, stifling a yawn.

In spite of his lowly deuces, he was confident that he would come out the winner of this hand, too. But this thought did not give him the usual thrill—the four other gamblers gave themselves away with various tics and quirks when they had a good hand. He had found little sport this eve.

Though his boredom grew with each hand, he did not intend to end his participation in this low-stakes game.

“Heh, heh. Let’s see, my turn, gentlemen?” asked Sir Bartholomew.

Kelbourne looked over at the heavyset man and mentally sighed again. This really was becoming too easy: the
heh, hehs
were a sure indication that Sir Bartholomew had a bad hand.

Even so, Kel hoped the other gentlemen would oblige him by playing into the wee hours.

It was astonishing to him that a house as large as the one his mother and grandmother occupied could feel so confining.

Shifting, he slid lower in his chair, crossed his legs at the ankles, and continued to mull over the mess of his domestic situation. He had the time, for Sir Bartholomew would agonize for some minutes before making his play.

Kel wondered what maggot in his brain had convinced him that he should come to Bath in the first place. In spite of Emmaline’s plea, he should have stayed at the Keep or gone to London.

For some reason, neither of these options had appealed to him. But a week caught in the middle of the sniping and petty bickering of his mother and grandmother was more than enough to set his nerves afray.

If his relatives’ behavior was not trying enough, there was Bath itself to add to his mounting list of annoyances.

He certainly admired the aesthetics of the town. With its impressive crescents and scenic parades, Bath appeared all that was civilized and elegant. But he found it a deadly dull place for any sort of amusement. And the town was teeming with cits and doddering dowagers.

Earlier that day, when old Major Collings had timorously invited Kel to his home for a few hands of cards, the duke’s boredom had lifted. Finally, a bit of action! And a perfect excuse to beg off escorting his mother and sister to the parched insipidness of the Upper Rooms.

But his evening had turned out to be more gossip than gaming.

Gad.
Kel stifled a yawn and rolled his shoulder. He’d been still for so long, he was growing stiff.

His attention was caught by an odd sound emanating
from the other side of the table. Glancing up, he was met with the sight of Mr. Bostock’s numerous chins quivering like a pudding from his snores.

His host behaved as if this was all quite commonplace and only spared a quick glance at the clock on the mantel. “It is almost half past ten, gentlemen. Last hand?”

Kel’s only show of surprise was a quickly subdued quirk of his brow. If he were in London, or anywhere else for that matter, the evening would just be in bud.

This was it. Let Maman and Grandmère cut each other to shreds with their rapier wits. He was done shielding both of them. He would have his bags packed and be on his way to Kelbourne Keep before breakfast was over. As the game concluded, Mr. Bostock awoke with a snorting start and expressed surprise that it had gotten so late.

After winning the last hand, Kel rose and made his farewells. Once Major Collings had seen him to the door with the usual pleasantries, and the groom had brought around his horse, Kel decided to take a circuitous route back to the Royal Crescent.

Setting his bay to a slow canter, he left the lane and turned onto Alfred Street. The evening air felt cool and bracing against his face. He was wideawake and restless. The moon, which was near full and bright, gave him an idea. If he rode around town long enough, mayhap the rest of the household would be asleep when he returned. It was worth the extra distance.

He was approaching the elegant south exterior of the Upper Rooms and saw a number of carriages waiting in the forecourt. Realizing it was near eleven o’clock, he knew the assembly would have concluded, thus creating this mass exodus. In London, if he found himself forced to visit Almack’s, he made it a point never to enter before five minutes to eleven.
This habit vexed Sally Jersey, who took her role as a patroness seriously. He grinned a little, recalling how she never failed to take him to task for
almost
being late.
Mayhap I shall go to London.

As he drew even with the entrance to the Rooms, he glanced over to make sure he was in no danger of colliding with a carriage merging onto the street. Framed by a glow radiating from the room behind, he saw two women stepping from the columned entryway. One of the young ladies was much taller than the other. Instantly, his eyes were drawn to her upswept hair, which glowed pale gold in the moonlight.

Swiftly, he pulled his bay to a prancing stop. Thunderstruck, he stared as the tall young lady followed the other into the interior of a carriage.

He watched the conveyance pull forward onto the lane. It made a wide turn and rolled past him down Alfred Street.

Kel knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had just seen the young woman he had insulted last spring. And by her attire, he had been wrong in his assumption that she was a maid.

Pulling the reins to bring his horse’s head around, he lightly spurred the animal in the direction from whence he had just come. With his boredom dissolved, he decided that Bath might afford some amusement after all.

“I
  own that Mr. Dillingham is a charming man, and his countenance shows much refinement, but the tattle is that he is shockingly dipped.”

Julia laughed at her cousin’s warning. “I only said he was a fine dancer—I do not wish to marry him.”

The two young women were strolling across the wide bowling green toward a less crowded part of Sydney Gardens. Julia, accustomed to a good amount of exercise, had welcomed her cousin’s suggestion of an outing.

The day was cloudless, but a chill breeze made her glad that she had brought along her large India wrap to throw over her shoulders.

Caro looked up at her cousin, tilting her head well back due to the angle of the enormous brim of the bonnet she wore. It, like the rest of her lemon-colored ensemble, was the pinnacle of fashion. Gazing down, Julia thought Caro had an air of sophistication that was rather misleading.

“Don’t you wish to be married?” Caro asked as she swung her reticule to and fro.

Taking in her cousin’s avid expression, Julia shrugged lightly. “Not today.”

“Oh, you are the droll one. You know what I mean. Has no young man ever touched your heart?”

As they meandered in a gradual ascent toward a little stand of trees, Julia gave this question some thought before answering. Caro had assured her earlier that they would find a most delightful cascade and vine-covered stone alcove in which to pause.

“Yes, I did have a
tendre
for a gentleman once,” Julia finally responded in a matter-of-fact manner.

Surprised, Caro stopped walking to stare up at her. “You did! Who was it? What happened?”

“It was years ago,” Julia replied. “I was eighteen and terribly smitten with Steven Thorncroft. I thought him the most handsome, fascinating young man in the district.”

“Mariah’s older brother?” Caro’s tone held disbelief. “How delicious. Why did you not marry him?”

“I had the mortifying experience of overhearing him discuss me with your brother at one of the assembly balls in Chippenham.”

“Roland? Heavens, Julia, do not keep me on tenterhooks.”

“I was standing behind a screen near the refreshments—I cannot now recall why, probably to shamelessly eavesdrop. Anyway, Roland said, ‘But you have to admit, Thorncroft, Julia is a passably pretty gel.’ To which Steven replied, ‘Passably pretty for such a long-shanks.’”

“Oh! You are a very good mimic, but how dreadful to have overheard that.”

“Indeed. I feigned illness and was taken home.”

“Dear Julia, you can tell me—is Steven Thorncroft the reason you have not married?”

At the note of deep concern in her cousin’s voice, Julia tossed her head back and laughed in sheer amusement.

“Lud, no. It was not long after the ball that I realized what a dull fellow he actually is. Speaks of nothing but sheep and wool prices. I now think it was just his uniform that dazzled me.”

Caro frowned. Julia’s story certainly was not the tragic tale of unrequited love that she was hoping to hear.

“But still, it must have hurt to have him ridicule your height,” her cousin asked, trying another gambit.

Julia waved her hand dismissively. “Not for long. Besides, I
was
a gangly girl then.”

“Yes, Mama says you are a late bloomer. But there are no two arguments about it now—you have become stunningly beautiful. Just look at the way the gentlemen flocked around you last night.”

“Me! You had your own full circle of admiring swains.”

“I did enjoy myself last evening, but I am still angry at Clive for running off to the card room right after our only dance. And then he runs off to his mama’s again today!” Caro exclaimed.

The hurt in her cousin’s voice could not be mistaken. Julia admitted to herself that she had not made up her mind about Clive Farren. Granted, he had welcomed Julia with genuine solicitude. She knew he took his position in the House of Lords seriously, and loved his hounds. It had also become apparent soon after her arrival that he was tied to his mother’s apron strings with a very tight knot.

They reached the little cascading spring with a picturesque ivy-covered stone alcove nearby. Amid the lush, shaded green beauty, Julia pondered her cousin’s obvious unhappiness. Pulling the folds of her wrap across her shoulders, she decided against making any criticism of Clive. In years to come, if the newly wed couple resolved this problem, Caro might
be hurt by Julia’s critical remarks, no matter how supportive the words seemed now. But speaking up about the dowager Lady Farren was another proposition.

“Do not let his mother daunt you, Caro. Have you thought about having a private word with her? You can explain—sweetly and patiently, of course—that she is monopolizing too much of your husband’s time.”