A bewildering assortment of garments paraded before her. There were walking dresses, carriage dresses, ball gowns, pelisses and spencers, finest woven Norwich shawls, filmy gauze stoles, fur tippets and muffs. Henrietta admired everything; moreover, she was in the mood to indulge herself, a fact that did not escape Madame Blanche’s quick, business-like eye. Nevertheless, the proprietress was too jealous of her reputation to allow the new client to purchase any gown, however expensive, that she felt did not enhance the lady’s appearance; so she shook her head when Henrietta stood pensively before an over-elaborate model with a wealth of floss trimming, sleeves puffed all the way down into ribbon, and finished at the neck with a ruff and three frills.
“I think not, madam. If I may say so, madam should avoid too much frilling and fussiness, and aim to present the quiet elegance that is madam’s greatest asset.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are quite right,” replied Henrietta, when Louisa had supported this view. “It was really the colour that attracted me so much. Isn’t it lovely?”
The gown was of cerulean blue silk. Madame Blanche nodded in approval.
“Any soft shades of blue, green, or pink are Madam’s natural colours. But, of course, one would not wish to appear too ingénue, in the manner of a young lady in her first season. Materials and styling must be well chosen. A successful toilette, madam, is a work of art, and no less. Now this, if I may say so, is exactly in madam’s style.”
This was a blue silk and wool dress with a plain bodice finished at the neck with a single frill, long straight sleeves, and a full skirt bordered with a few inches of pin tucking.
“If madam would care to try on this model, I do believe it is very much the correct fitting,” suggested the modiste.
Henrietta needed no more urging, and very soon she was gazing, entranced, at her reflection in a full-length mirror.
Louisa drew a deep breath. “Oh, it’s beyond anything, Hetty! It fits you to perfection, I vow!”
Madame Blanche agreed, though in a more reserved tone. As for Henrietta, she said nothing, but her face expressed all her surprised delight. Surely this slender vision in the mirror could not be herself? The blue of the gown set off her fair skin and deepened the colour of her blue-grey eyes; it even added a glint of gold to the once mouse-coloured hair, which Louisa’s maid had earlier arranged in a more fashionable style. This was indeed a new Henrietta Melville, a young lady who looked as though she might well have an interesting future in prospect.
“And now you are ready to launch yourself into Bath society,” Louisa informed her when they had returned home. They were sitting in the drawing room, refreshing with a cup of tea. “You have several new gowns already, and more are soon due to arrive. Not to mention three pelisses and any quantity of shawls, gloves, muffs, stoles, and other kickshaws! Upon my word, Henrietta, when I heard you order three dozen pairs of silk stockings, I knew that you had thrown all discretion to the winds!”
“Well, we must do ourselves up in style, as my brother would say. Besides, stockings are odiously fragile.”
Louisa’s eyes suddenly brightened. “What do you say we call on Almeria this afternoon? It’s a wonder we haven’t run across her already on our shopping expeditions, for she’s often to be found in Milsom Street.”
“But surely she cannot always be buying new clothes, Louisa. She would quite run Sir Giles Barrington into the ground, poor man!”
“It would take a great deal to do that. But you must understand that Milsom Street is not only a shopping street, it is also one of the foremost fashionable promenades in Bath. Like Bond Street, in London, you know.”
“Now you mention it, I certainly did notice a great many people sauntering aimlessly about, as though they intended to be seen themselves rather than to gaze into shop windows. By all means do let us call on Almeria. Could we walk there? I seem almost to have lost the use of my own two legs since I arrived in Bath, and I miss the exercise of walking and riding.”
“Walk all the way to the Circus? I don’t engage for that, I assure you! Why it’s almost as far again from here as the abbey. And the last part, Gay Street, is all uphill, into the bargain! No, you shall walk with me to the Pump Room tomorrow morning, should it be fine enough. That’s quite as far as I care to go on foot.”
“Oh, shame on you, Louisa! Why, you’ll gain weight and lose your slender figure, if you don’t have a care.”
“Well, at least there’s a royal precedent for that. They say the Prince Regent is enormous, in spite of his corset.”
Henrietta’s few previous excursions to Bath had never afforded her a sight of the Circus, one of the most exclusive areas of the town, and she was considerably impressed by its classical elegance. The magnificent houses were circled by a broad carriage road; the central area was enclosed by railings protecting from general usage a shrubbery and a gravelled walk beside the reservoir that supplied the houses with water.
The butler graciously informed them that his mistress was within, and admitted them to a light, airy drawing room with walls of palest blue plaster surmounted by a scrolled frieze and furnished in modern style. In a moment, Almeria was on her feet to welcome them. But as she was about to embrace Henrietta cordially, she stopped short, staring.
“Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed, involuntarily. “You look so, so —” then, after a pause — “delightful!”
Henrietta was wearing an olive green pelisse with frogged fastenings in black and a black cord tassel. Her bonnet was of the same green with a silk lining in a paler shade, and in the very latest style. She coloured with sudden self-consciousness before Almeria’s frankly incredulous gaze.
Noticing this, Almeria tactfully refrained from making any further personal remarks. She invited her guests to be seated, offered refreshment, and settled down with them for a comfortable chat.
“Did you chance to see my brother before you came away?” she asked Henrietta presently in a casual tone. “I had a few lines from him a day or so ago to say that my father continues to make progress, but I wondered if you had any later news?”
She watched closely for any quickening of interest in Henrietta’s expression as she spoke, but could detect none.
“Oh, yes, we met at an evening party given by the Floreys, and briefly again some days later. But I believe I cannot have seen him since he wrote to you, so I’m afraid I have no more recent information about Lord Aldwyn’s health. I dare say you will be hearing from Lady Aldwyn before long, though, will you not?”
All of which tells me nothing at all of how matters stand between you and Julian, thought Almeria, disappointed; evidently, enlightenment would only come from her brother himself.
If only she had known how it cost Henrietta a struggle to speak nonchalantly of that last meeting with Julian Aldwyn. She was no green girl, Henrietta told herself sternly, to be blushed and confused at the mention of a gentleman who had lately made her a declaration. Had she not dealt easily enough in similar regard with the Reverend Thomas Claydon? There was nothing at all different in having received addresses from the Honourable Julian Aldwyn, which she had been obliged to decline.
Nothing? Well, very little. And in any case, Miss Melville of Westhyde Manor, who wore frumpy clothes and promised by her manner to make a conformable wife for a man with no love to offer, had ceased to exist. In her place was Henrietta, the dashing New Woman, who would marry, if at all, on her own terms.
Chapter IX
After all his recent disappointments, Captain Barclay was delighted on the following morning to espy the two ladies from the house next door setting out on foot. He guessed they were bound for the Pump Room, which, until recently, had been Mrs. Fordyce’s usual morning port of call; so he quickly started off down Pulteney Street in pursuit.
A few long strides soon brought him alongside his quarry. He raised his hat and bade the ladies good day, inquiring in diffident tones if they were walking to the Pump Room, as he was going that way himself.
“We shal
l be most happy to have your escort,” replied Louisa, smiling up at him in a way that made his heart turn a somersault. “May I make my neighbour Captain Barclay known to you, Henrietta? This is my dear friend Miss Melville, Captain — I had almost said old friend, but that sounds much too absurd! Only we have known each other a very long time.”
The captain and Henrietta exchanged bows, covertly sizing up each other, and simultaneously reaching a favourable conclusion. No woman could compare with Mrs. Fordyce, in the captain’s opinion, but this one was undeniably attractive in a quite different style. She had a warm, friendly smile, which suggested a kind and generous disposition. Henrietta, for her part, judged the captain would be a useful man in a crisis, one to make quick, reasoned decisions upon which he would promptly act. It was plain, too, she thought, that the gentleman was very much smitten with Louisa.
As they strolled along chatting pleasantly together, she could not help looking for any sign that Louisa returned the captain’s partiality, but her friend treated the captain in an informal, friendly way, which gave no bint of any warmer feeling.
The Pump Room was crowded when they entered. Louisa quickly introduced Henrietta to those acquaintances nearest at hand.
“You’ll take a cup of the waters, will you not, Miss Melville?” asked Roderick Dyrham. “Every visitor to Bath must do so, you know; it’s one of our unwritten rules.”
“Naturally I’m reluctant to infringe a rule, sir,” replied Henrietta, smiling. “But can you truly recommend the beverage? My persuasion is that anything with curative properties is bound to taste horrid. What do you think, Captain Barclay?”
The captain considered for a moment. “I’ve taken worse things in my time, I believe, ma’am, but only in the line of duty.”
“Oh, for shame, you naughty man!” trilled Miss Dyrham, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Now you’ve quite set Mrs. Fordyce’s friend against our famous Bath waters! As a punishment, I shall insist on your taking a glass yourself!”
“Happy to oblige in most things, ma’am, but this time I must ask you to excuse me.” He bowed stiffly.
She started a flirtatious protest, but he was rescued by the arrival of the Barringtons. Sir Giles was a tall, fair gentleman with an air of assurance. He and the captain were friends of long standing and were soon discussing sporting matters with Mr. Dyrham, while Almeria chatted to the ladies in the group.
Miss Dyrham drew the reluctant Louisa a little to one side.
“Did you hear what Captain Barclay said to me, Mrs. Fordyce?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper. “That he was happy to oblige me in most things, I mean? I do declare, the poor man has conceived quite a tendresse for me, and it’s so droll, because I never give him the least encouragement.”
Louisa scarcely knew how to reply to this. But she need not have troubled herself, for Miss Dyrham was quite accustomed to supplying comments in reply to her own remarks, having found from experience that other people’s responses were not nearly so satisfactory.
“He is very shy, poor man,” she went on. “I dare say he will never summon up courage enough to make me a declaration. Now, do you think it would be improper in me to give him a little — oh, a very little — encouragement? I ask you, dear Mrs. Fordyce, because I rely utterly on your sense of decorum and good taste. Of all the females in Bath, you are the most discreet, I declare. Why, even to me — and I flatter myself that we are quite bosom bows — even to me, I say, you have never breathed a word concerning the sad loss of your dear lamented husband. What you must have suffered I can well imagine! But you are like myself, you don’t care to make a vulgar parade of your sufferings. So it is with sensitive souls. Whenever I hear anyone say of you that you are overly secretive, I always deny it hotly! You shall not find Jane Dyrham lacking in loyalty, I promise you.”
“You are very good,” replied Louisa shortly, looking around for a way of escape.
“It is nothing. I would do a great deal for you, my dear. This friend of yours, Miss Melville, I suppose must be quite an heiress? That gown she’s wearing must have cost a pretty penny, if I’m any judge.”
“And indeed you are,” Louisa answered coldly, resenting the other’s impertinence.
“Yes, I think I may fairly claim a knowledge of such matters,” Miss Dyrham said confidently, for she had made a study of every changing whim of fashion. “And has she come to Bath to find a husband? She is a prodigiously attractive woman, and one can scarcely guess at her age, though she can’t be younger than three and twenty, I think. Now, tell me, how close am I to the truth?”
But as they were joined at that moment by one of Miss Dyrham’s few cronies, an overweight widow of uncertain years who had a liking for gossip, Louisa was enabled to escape at last and promptly excused herself to re-join her own party.
“I saw you trying to escape from the Dyrham,” Almeria greeted her, “but I was too cowardly to attempt a rescue. I had little desire to be gathered into her clutches with you.”
“Ah, if only you had her loyalty,” Louisa remarked sardonically, setting them all laughing. “Fortunately I was rescued by Lady Hillier, though I fear that, like Sir Peter Teazle in Sheridan’s play, I leave my reputation behind me.”
“Is she such a dreadful gossip then?” asked Henrietta.
“One of the worst sort,” said Almeria. “But I cannot be too severe upon anyone who affords me a little amusement now and then.”
“Amusement?” echoed Sir Giles, who had come over to his wife’s side with the captain when Dyrham had left them to join some other acquaintances. “Fiddlesticks, my love, the female’s a dead bore! For my part, I keep out of her way as much as I can. Feel sorry for her brother, though; a good enough sort of chap.”
“Tolerable sportsman,” agreed Barclay. “Wish you’d tell me how you contrive to keep out of the lady’s way, though, Barrington. Don’t seem to have the trick of it, myself.”
Sir Giles laughed. “Ah, but I’m an old married man, don’t y’know, while you’re an eligible bachelor! Only one remedy for you: get yourself leg-shackled. She’ll let you alone fast enough then.”
Almeria glanced covertly at Louisa, but she appeared to have lost interest in the conversation and was talking animatedly to Henrietta. Soon Henrietta found herself being presented to so many people that she retained only the vaguest impression of their names and faces. Louisa, obviously at home with all of them, seemed quite a favourite with several of the gentlemen. Henrietta reflected that there seemed to be no reason why her friend should remain a widow for a moment longer than she chose. It was equally plain that at present she did so choose; she treated her admirers with the same easy camaraderie that she had shown to Captain Barclay, yet at the same time, she contrived to maintain a certain distance from them. Henrietta remembered that Almeria had hinted to her that Louisa’s marriage might not have been altogether happy; that would account for her seeming reluctance to undertake a second alliance.
“How long has Louisa been widowed?” Henrietta asked Almeria quietly.
“I do not know. She will never speak of her marriage, and naturally one doesn’t care to pry. I have always assumed that it must have occurred sometime since, perhaps years, as she seems completely recovered from grief. But Louisa is a most resilient woman, so it’s difficult to judge.”
There was no time for more, as they were once more drawn into general conversation, and Henrietta found herself talking to a sprightly, fair-haired young matron, Mrs. Hinton-Wellow, who seemed not to have the slightest objection to her husband’s determined attempts at flirtation with every attractive woman under forty in the room. The two ladies soon discovered that they had mutual acquaintances in the Lavertons.
“They’re in Bath at present,” said Mrs. Hinton-Wellow, “staying in Laura Place, quite close to your friend Mrs. Fordyce. Miss Laverton is a prodigiously attractive young lady, is she not? She’s just had a season in London, and I quite expected that she would come back betrothed. However, the Assemblies here are
as excellent marriage marts, as are the Almack’s in London! Not that a girl should marry too young,” she added, with a nice display of tact. “One needs to see a little of the world before taking on the duties and responsibilities of matrimony, don’t you agree?”
Henrietta appreciated the implied compliment in this; probably Mrs. Hinton-Wellow had set her down as being several years younger than her actual age.
“True, ma’am,” she replied. “But perhaps the more one sees of the world, the more reluctant one may be to leave it for the matrimonial fireside.”
Mrs. Hinton-Wellow laughed. “Oh, I can see you are quizzical, Miss Melville! And so you regard marriage as imprisonment, a kind of trap? Upon my word, I am half inclined to agree with you!”
“Marriage a trap?” echoed George Hinton-Wellow in a mocking tone, having overheard this remark. “Ay, and if it is so, my dear Olivia, it is we men who are caught in it!”
“For shame, sir!” chided Louisa. “Do you mean to say that we females deliberately set out to entrap you?”
“My dear lady, nothing was further from my thoughts,” he protested, gallantly. “But you cannot deny we are helplessly enslaved by your bright eyes and charming ways, so that we have no more hope of escape than has a rabbit from a snare!”
“Intolerable windbag!” Henrietta heard someone mutter at her elbow.
She turned to discover Captain Barclay glowering contemptuously at Hinton-Wellow.
“Oh, Captain Barclay,” she said quickly, thinking to provide him with a distraction before he was moved to make further comments. “I think perhaps I will try a glass of the waters, after all. Would you be so very obliging as to procure one for me?”
A Conformable Wife: A Regency Romance with a spirited heroine Page 9