by Anna Bradley
Aunt Sybella for sure. Portia sighed and sat back.
Eyebrows raised, her aunt cocked her head. “May I ask what exactly you said to the minister’s wife that caused this whole ordeal?”
Shrugging, Portia picked up her cup and took a sip. The tepid tea did nothing to help her current mood. “I didn’t speak directly to her, although I cannot think it could’ve been worse had I done so.” Drat. No matter how she explained it, she would always be in the wrong. Did other gossipers have such a bad time of it? Or was she the only one ever to be censured for the sin?
“Go on.”
Portia blew out a heavy sigh. “We were all in church, and the vicar had just entered, as he always did, with his wife and five children coming down the aisle right behind him. It used to be four, but the vicar and Mrs. Sloane had had a baby the month before. I hadn’t seen the newest child and when I saw her, I leaned over to my sister Mary, who was beside me, and said, ‘Isn’t it odd that all the vicar’s children have that lovely blond hair except for Catherine?’ That’s the new baby. And then I said, ‘Wherever do you think that red hair came from?’”
Aunt Phoebe smothered a smile. “That was all?”
“No, although I daresay, after talking to my mother, that would’ve been bad enough.” Portia set her cup down. “I then said to Mary, ‘It looks to be the exact same shade as Mr. Hodges’s.’” She leaned toward her aunt. “Mr. Hodges is the parish curate.”
“Oh, dear.” Aunt Phoebe’s eyes had widened. “And you had heard no gossip about this before you spoke to Mary?”
“No, nothing. I was simply making an observation. I truly didn’t mean any harm with it.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, my dear, although I can see why Mrs. Sloane would be upset.” Her aunt sipped her tea, her mouth puckered into a smile.
“It was just my luck that she was passing by our pew, bringing up the rear behind the children, when I spoke.” Portia swallowed the now-cold tea and took a cherry tart from the tray. “Afterward, Mama explained to me how what I’d said could have serious consequences for the vicar and his wife and Mr. Hodges.”
Her aunt set her teacup down. “I can well imagine. Were there any consequences?”
“Well, Mr. Hodges was forced to resign his post, even though Mrs. Sloane explained, very loudly, I might add, that her mother’s side of the family had both blond and red-haired children.” The woman had protested a good deal too much, in Portia’s opinion. “Everyone in the parish was looking strangely at Mrs. Sloane, and Mrs. Sloane and the vicar were glaring at me every time I set foot in the church, so Papa insisted I leave until the parishioners, and the Sloanes, forgot about it.”
“I suspect you may be here for some time to come, then.” Aunt Phoebe laughed and poured Portia another cup. “That’s the kind of gossip that doesn’t quickly die away, I’m afraid.”
Considering what Mama had told her about the implications of her comment, Portia had to agree with her aunt. “The only way you’ll be able to get rid of me is probably to marry me off.” Portia bounced up in her seat, almost spilling her tea. “So you see, Aunt, I really must be allowed to go the dances at the Assembly Rooms or else you’ll have me as a visitor for life.”
“Somehow, I think that argument will not sway your father. Come, let me show you to your room. I’ve had Ellen’s room readied for you.” Aunt Phoebe preceded her to the narrow front stairs that led to the first floor.
“But where is Miss Everly?” Portia was instantly alarmed. “You haven’t dismissed your companion because of me, have you?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” Aunt Phoebe turned toward the first door on the right. “But I did tell Ellen that as you were going to be with me at least through the Christmas season, she could go home to be with her family in Kent. As soon as you’re reunited with your family, I’ll tell Ellen to return. Here you are.”
Aunt Phoebe opened the door to a comfortable chamber furnished with a rose and green motif. The walls were papered in stripes of those same colors, the large bed covered in a spread with floral renderings, and the curtains around it were green jacquard. A nice-sized writing desk sat to one side, the rose-cushioned chair before it looking soft and cozy. Even the rug upon which it sat, although white, had deep verdigris vines twining throughout it. Altogether a lovely prospect for her stay. “Thank you so much, Aunt.” Portia gazed about and smiled, content for the first time. “The room is delightful.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here, the Assembly Room dances notwithstanding.” Her aunt nodded. “I’ll leave you to get settled in.”
“As I’m not allowed the dances, may I ask for additional company?” Portia untied her bonnet strings.
“Whom do you wish to see, my dear?” Aunt Phoebe stopped in the midst of shutting the door.
“My uncle, Lord Denys Babidge, my mother’s youngest brother, resides in Bristol.” She removed her bonnet and set it on the bed. “As it wouldn’t be a long journey, I wondered if I might invite him to visit me while I’m here? He is just a year older than I am and we were much together growing up.” Denys was the perfect person to help prevent her from dying of boredom. “If you’ll allow it, I will write him directly, with the request to call upon us by the end of the week.”
“That sounds a splendid idea.” Aunt Phoebe gave a nod of approval. “It’s always helpful to have a gentleman of the family to escort one about town.”
“Good. I shall sit here and pen an invitation he will not wish to refuse.” Smiling broadly, Portia suited her actions to her words and drew up the chair, seated herself, and hunted out a pen and penknife.
“I will leave you to it, then. The bell for dinner is wrung sharply at six o’clock. Be sure you’re ready.” Her aunt closed the door, leaving Portia to pick out a trimmed sheet of foolscap and the ink pot.
My dear Demon,
She grinned at the nickname she’d concocted for him when she’d been in leading strings. Not that he’d ever quite lived up to it, but they’d had some rollicking good times behind her mother’s back.
In case Mama has not yet written to you about my shame, please allow me to inform you of all the circumstances that have brought about my exile here in Bath.
Waxing rather longer than anticipated, Portia finished the first sheet and pulled out another.
To this end I have been banished to Father’s sister’s home, where I shall have to spend the rest of the Christmas holiday without even the solace of entertainment in the form of dancing.
She recalled her earlier words to her aunt about needing to be married in order to be able to leave Bath.
As my aunt assures me that I shall not be allowed home until this scandal has blown over, I may need to seek a gentleman to marry in order to resume a normal life away from here. Unfortunately, Father is being even stricter than anticipated and has forbidden me the Assembly Room dances, which will hinder me severely in my search. You can see, therefore, that your company is required forthwith, so that you may both help me find a husband and keep me from expiring of boredom before Twelfth Night.
Do please come rescue me as soon as you are able. I require cheer at this time of merrymaking.
From your cheerless niece,
Pence
It would be so good to see her uncle—much more like a brother than her actual ones had ever been—especially now that he would be saving her from the utter tediousness of Bath society without dancing.
Like all those who came to the city to take the waters, Portia needed her own miracle cure, and his name was Demon.
CHAPTER 2
Nicholas, Lord Benberry, picked up his cup of strong black coffee and sipped long and hard. Swallowing the hot brew, he dropped his shoulders and savored the rich bite of the dark roast. Nothing tasted quite so perfect on a cold and rainy Bristol morning. Of course, he would’ve given much to be back on his home estate in Northhamptonshire rather than chilly and lonely at Christmas. But the perfect townhouse had quite suddenly come up for sale and that
had required his presence to sign the deed of sale and determine what repairs and refurbishments he wanted to bespeak. All in all, a canny business deal that would profit him by supplying a base for the shipping company in Bristol his grandfather had left him.
Pity that society in Bristol was not to his taste. As a result, he’d languished here in the new townhouse for a week, boredom his constant companion. He took another sip of coffee and picked up one of a pile of letters his butler had just brought in.
Nick popped the seal off and opened the single sheet.
Dear Benberry,
I hope this letter finds you well and still in Bristol. I’ve just returned from London to find your letter informing me of your residence in my part of the world.
Ah, it was from his long-time friend, Lord Daventry. Nick had written him the moment he’d known he’d be in the city so close to Bath, where his friend resided.
As soon as you’ve completed your business, please consider a short journey to Bath where I can show you the best society and opportunity for the enjoyment of it my city has to offer. Looking forward to seeing you once more.
Your friend,
Daventry
Oh, good show. He’d hoped to visit his friend, if only he could conclude his business here in Bristol with some expedience. All that remained was to confer with the workmen he’d hired to replace the roof of the townhouse and engage a caretaker for the property for the times he wouldn’t be in residence. He wouldn’t be in the city more than three or four times a year, but he’d prefer to live under his own roof during such times, and a new property never came amiss in the long run.
Nick folded the letter and laid it to the side. He’d send an answer to Daventry once he’d finished reading all his mail. A sojourn in Bath over Christmas had quite an appeal. Smiling, he picked up the next letter and popped the seal from it. This one was longer, written on two sheets in fine, even lines. From his sister Angelica, perhaps?
My dear Demon,
Frowning, Nick turned the page over then consulted the second page, looking for the signature.
Pence
What the devil?
He thumbed back through the sheets, searching for the direction on the front of the letter. Lord Denys Babidge. Misdirected? No, the address was the same as his current residence. That hadn’t been the name of the gentleman from whom he’d purchased the house. Perhaps a former tenant? Shaking his head, Nick put the pages back in order and began again. The author of the letter might’ve left a clue about who Lord Denys was to them, or where they might be discovered, although if they’d sent it here, they obviously didn’t know the gentleman had moved his digs.
Sipping the now-cold coffee with a grimace, Nick started with that strange greeting.
My dear Demon,
In case Mama has not yet written to you about my shame, please allow me to inform you of all the circumstances that have brought about my exile here in Bath.
Last Sunday, when we were all at church, I had occasion to remark to my sister Mary that the minister’s wife’s youngest child’s hair was a rather particular shade of red, whilst all the rest of her brood were blondes.
As he read, a smile crept over Nick’s face. The young lady who’d written this—the handwriting with the elegant loops and swirls had immediately marked the author as female—was obviously a most spirited and witty person, with perhaps a generous touch of naiveté. Not only to make such an outrageous observation, but to make it in church and within the lady’s hearing…
He laughed out loud. A young lady whose acquaintance he would certainly like to make some day. Her plight continued on the second page.
To this end I have been banished to Father’s sister’s home, where I shall have to spend the rest of the Christmas holiday without even the solace of entertainment in the form of dancing.
He couldn’t contain a chuckle. No dancing? The lady was in dire straits indeed.
As my aunt assures me that I shall not be allowed home until this scandal has blown over, I may need to seek a gentleman to marry in order to resume a normal life away from here. Unfortunately, Father is being even stricter than anticipated and has forbidden me the Assembly Room dances, which will hinder me severely in my search for a husband.
In Bath. Interesting. Nick paused, staring at the letter without seeing it. Did all roads lead to Bath this Christmas? Could he… No. Absurd. Shaking off the ridiculous thought, he returned his attention to the rest of the letter.
You can see, therefore, that your company is required forthwith, so that you may both help me find a husband and keep me from expiring of boredom before Twelfth Night.
Do please come rescue me as soon as you are able so you can cheer me at this time of merrymaking.
From your cheerless niece,
Pence
Pence. Such an odd name. A nickname, most likely, as was her name for her uncle. A pity the uncle wouldn’t be able to meet her to assist with husband-hunting or keep her from “expiring of boredom,” for Nick had no idea where to forward the letter.
But what if he could perform the office of entertaining her instead?
The idea he’d skirted earlier burst into his mind as if it could not be held at bay any longer. He could hardly help her leg shackle another man, but as for diverting her…that would be both easy and a pleasure. He’d already planned to travel to Bath to visit Daventry. Once there, surely he’d be able find out this young lady’s identity and arrange an introduction? His friend knew scads of people, and likely this lady’s aunt. To undertake this discovery would be quite the lark this season. And he’d be performing a necessary service to the lady, who would absolutely not be seeing her uncle as she had planned. Unfortunate that she wasn’t allowed to attend the dances at the Assembly Rooms, where he could’ve met her naturally in the course of an evening. Still, the thing could be done, he was certain of it.
Grabbing both letters, Nick rose from the breakfast table and hurried into the front receiving room, to the long Queen Anne writing desk. He opened the drawer of the ebony and Boulle writing standish and removed several sheets of pre-cut foolscap. Quickly, he mended a pen, uncapped one of the glass inkwells, dipped the quill in, and paused.
What on earth was he to write to this young lady? Best fire off the letter to Daventry first while he collected his thoughts.
Unfortunately, that missive was the work of only a few moments, which left Nick still unsure how to begin a letter to the unknown lady. He had to be very circumspect, because even sending the letter could be dangerous to her reputation. Young ladies were not allowed to correspond with gentlemen not in their immediate family. To do so would intimate that she and the gentleman to whom she wrote were affianced. So by writing to her, Nicholas could, in effect, be compromising himself into a proposal of marriage.
Not that he believed that would actually happen. His decision to pursue this madcap scheme, however, could indeed start him on a road at the end of which lay a leg-shackle. Just as the lady said she desired.
And yet something about the author of that letter had captivated him. Something about the slightly wicked nature of such a correspondence called to him like a siren’s song. Unable to help himself, he picked up the pen and drew another sheet toward him.
To the young lady signing herself as Pence,
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I regret to inform you that your Uncle Demon has not received your letter. I’m the current resident at the address I assume your uncle just vacated. He left no direction to indicate where he may be reached, so I cannot send your letter on to him. I hope you’re able to discover his whereabouts and contact him forthwith.
That was actually all he needed to write, in addition to a closing. Let the lady know her letter had not reached its destination and move on.
Nick stared at the lines he’d written then grasped the paper, rubbing his fingers against the smooth, creamy page. No, you don’t want to do that, said the devilish imp on his shoulder. Wouldn’t you rather h
ave some fun with her instead?
He laid the letter back on the desk and picked up his pen again.
In passing, I must remark that, having read your letter in an effort to learn something about where to send it on, you should be careful to whom you speak and when and where. If you are to have any career as a gossip, you must learn the basic maneuvers to keep your identity hidden, lest you end up again exposed and chastised.
Should you wish me to, I can give you instructions—having done my share of gossiping in the not-too-distant past—that may make your future endeavors more fun and less punitive.
In closing, may I wish you a pleasant stay in Bath and give you my best wishes for a happy Christmastide.
Your obedient servant,
Devil
The signature surprised Nick, even as he wrote it, although it made sense. His devilish side had prompted him to write, after all. At any rate, something cautioned him not to reveal his true identity. If indeed this letter compromised the lady, it would be a deal harder for her aunt or parents to find him and easier for him to deny writing it if his name was not presented in black and white for everyone to see. Even if Pence would, most likely, simply toss the letter in the fireplace and no one would be the wiser.
He folded the letter and picked up the pen to address it then came up short. How the devil was he to address it when he didn’t know the woman’s name? Use the only one available to him, it seemed. Carefully, he wrote out “Pence” and the direction she’d used on her letter then put the townhouse address without a name. Done.