by Sandra Heath
“That is news which I’m sure will be greeted with universal disappointment,” replied Robert, smiling a little as he toyed with the lace at his cuff.
William looked uneasily at him. “Robert, about today ...”
“What about it?”
“I feel I have to explain Miss Richmond’s presence in the balloon.”
“I understand it was an unfortunate accident.”
“Yes, but ...”
Robert smiled again. “If it was an accident, William, there can’t be anything to explain. The Misses Richmond happened to be in Sydney Gardens, where you encountered them. The younger Miss Richmond expressed an interest in the balloon, and while she was examining it with you, the balloon broke loose and there was nothing you could do until the roof on Royal Crescent brought the flight to a halt. Isn’t that how it happened?”
“Yes. But ...”
“But what?”
Oh, how William wished the other would stop being so eminently reasonable, for it wasn’t making his position any easier.
Robert studied him. “William, is there something you wish to tell me?” he asked softly.
William looked reluctantly at him. “I think perhaps there’s a confession I should make.”
“No, William, you needn’t bare your soul, for I don’t think I’m under any illusion. I’ve known you for a long time, long enough to read you fairly accurately, and your manner today made your interest in my future bride very clear indeed. Tell me, my friend, is the interest returned?”
William stared at him. “I ...”
“Come now, it’s a perfectly sensible question. You are quite obviously taken with her, and all I wish to know is if she views you in the same way.” Robert’s gray eyes were calm and clear, and there was still no hint of any simmering anger.
William suddenly wished he could read Robert, Lord St. Clement, as well as that gentleman could evidently read him. He shifted his position. “No, Robert, the fault is entirely mine. I’ve been guilty of allowing my feelings toward her to get the better of both my honor and my loyalty to you. I can only ask you to forgive me.”
“Forgiveness can hardly be granted if the sin is likely to be repeated,” replied Robert, still studying him closely.
“You have my word. In future I will keep well away from the Richmond family.” William lowered his eyes for a moment. “I envy you, Robert, I envy you with all my heart, for I believe her to be the most wonderful, enchanting, delightful—”
“William, to say that you are smitten would apparently be to put it far too mildly.”
William flushed. “I’ve given you my word, and you may be sure that I will keep it, because I intend to leave Bath within a day or so. Robert, I deeply regret having permitted this situation to arise, and if I’ve damaged my friendship with you on account of it, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Our friendship hasn’t been damaged, William, for as I said, I know you very well. You’ve always been a man of honor, and I know that you wouldn’t have welcomed the attraction you undoubtedly feel toward the woman who is to be my wife. I trust you will respect my honor now by forgetting that I felt the need to question you concerning her feelings for you.”
“That is already forgotten, Robert.”
“Thank you.”
Robert extended his hand. “I’ve no doubt we’ll meet again soon.”
“Good-bye, Robert.”
“William.”
Robert stood back as his friend entered the chair, which was speedily conveyed away in the direction of Brook Street; then he reentered the house, going up to the drawing room to pour himself a large glass of cognac. Swirling the amber liquid in the large-bowled glass, he moved to the window, opening one of the shutters and gazing down over the dark, open hillside toward the misty lights of Bath in the valley below.
Behind him the sumptuous blue-and-gold room glowed richly in the candlelight. There was Chinese silk on the walls, velvet chairs and sofas, and a costly Axminster carpet on the floor. Gilded picture frames caught the low light, and mirrors reflected the crystal drops of the unlit chandeliers. There was a portrait above the marble mantel-piece of an extremely lovely young woman dressed in the fashions of a quarter of a century before.
She had a mass of golden curls, and wore a wide-brimmed hat that was tied beneath her chin with immense green ribbons. Her green eyes were matched not only by these ribbons but also by the shining satin of her tight-waisted gown, and there was a basket brimming with flowers on the table next to her.
She was smiling out of the canvas, an entrancing smile that the artist had captured to perfection. It was a portrait of Lady Chevenley, the widowed aunt whose house it was, and who was at present staying at Bellstones.
Robert was oblivious of the room. He continued to gaze out of the window, the cognac swirling in his hand. The glass-domed clock on the mantelpiece ticked slowly, and the fire shifted in the hearth, sending a stream of sparks up into the chimney toward the star-studded sky.
Suddenly Robert came to a decision. Draining his glass, he replaced it by the decanter and then went to sit at a fine writing desk near the door. He took a sheet of cream vellum, dipped a quill in the silver-gilt inkwell, and began to write to Jane.
Several minutes later a running footman set out for Johnstone Street.
* * *
Several hours after the letter had been delivered, number 14A was in darkness, except for a solitary light in Jane’s bedroom. Everyone else was asleep, but Jane wasn’t only awake, she was fully dressed. The candle on her dressing table swayed and smoked as she paced restlessly to and fro, the train of her long-sleeved apricot wool gown dragging on the carpet. Her red hair was brushed loose about her shoulders, and she fidgeted with the white cashmere shawl over her arms, tying and untying the long fringe.
Robert’s letter lay on the dressing table by the candlestick, and she paused to pick it up, reading it again, but she put it down immediately when she heard her maid quietly approaching the door.
Ellen came in. “He’s here, miss.”
“In the coach house?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Very well.” Jane glanced at her reflection in the glass, then hurried softly from the room, slipping down silently through the dark house.
* * *
Yet another hour passed, and Christina had been sleeping restlessly for some time. At last she awoke. By the light of the night candle she could see the clock on the mantelpiece. It was half-past one. She lay there for a moment, wishing she could turn over and go back to sleep, but knowing that it wouldn’t be that easy.
Thoughts milled around in her head, thoughts of Robert, of her love for him, of Jane, of William, and of the disastrous free flight, details of which must have rung through every drawing room in Bath that night. She wished she’d never been persuaded to leave Stroud, that haven of dull calm, where few ripples disturbed her life. Now her world had been rocked by ripples, and would never be the same again.
She stared across the shadowy room toward the fire glowing faintly in the hearth. Sleep had deserted her completely now, and dawn was still hours away. She had to try to sleep, for at least then she could escape from her unhappiness. Maybe a warm drink would help. Flinging back the bedclothes, she got up to put on her wrap; then she lit a fresh candle and shielded the new flame with her hand as she slipped from the room.
On the landing something made her glance toward her sister’s door. She noticed straightaway that it was ajar, a fact that surprised her, for Jane always closed her door at night. Puzzled, Christina approached the door, pushing it open still further and peeping inside. Jane’s bed was empty, and the coverlet was so neatly turned back that it was obvious that no one had slept in it that night.
Christina went into the room, holding the candle up to look around. “Jane?” There was only silence. Puzzlement was replaced by alarm, and for a moment she contemplated arousing her father, but then she thought better of it; after all, she herself was about to go down t
o make a warm drink, and it could be that Jane was doing the selfsame thing.
The candle fluttered as she retraced her steps to the top of the stairs, and her shadow leapt against the wall as she went quickly and quietly down. At the bottom she was about to go to the door leading down to the kitchens when she heard a sound in the dining room. She froze, for it was the unmistakable squeak of someone closing the French windows into the garden.
Then she heard a rustling sound as someone hurried toward the door into the hall. Extinguishing the candle, Christina hastened to the drawing room, pressing back out of sight as a shadowy figure emerged from the dining room and came toward the foot of the stairs.
Christina peeped carefully out, and recognized Jane immediately. “Jane?” she whispered, stepping into view.
Jane gave a startled gasp, whirling guiltily around. Seeing it was only her sister, she exhaled with relief. “Christina! You gave me a fright!”
“Where on earth have you been?”
“I, er, went out into the garden for a short while, because I had a headache and thought the cold night air might make it go away.”
“And did it?”
“Partly.”
Christina looked at her in the darkness. “How long were you out there?”
“Only a few minutes. Why?”
“Your bed hasn’t been slept in, and you’re fully dressed.”
For a moment Jane didn’t reply; then she gave a slight laugh. “How very suspicious you seem to be these days, Christina. Have you been snooping in my room?”
“Not exactly. I was coming down to make myself a warm drink, and I noticed your door was ajar.”
“I fell asleep in the chair by the fire, and my neck must have been at an awful angle, because I woke up with the headache.” Jane pressed her fingertips to her temples, smiling ruefully. “I still have it, but maybe your warm drink might do the trick.”
Christina didn’t know what to think. Jane sounded so believable, and yet there was something that didn’t seem quite right. What that something was, Christina couldn’t have said, but it was there, lurking on the edge of recognition. She managed a smile. “A warm drink it is, then. Will you come to the kitchens with me?”
“Of course.”
They went through the door to the basement, going down the short flight of stone steps into the still-warm kitchen, where the smell of the evening’s roast beef hung in the air.
Jane sat by the scrubbed wooden table while Christina poured some milk from the jug into a copper pan on the fire in the immense hearth. More copper pans shone on the whitewashed walls, and the low light illuminated a dresser where shelf after shelf of fine crockery and porcelain had been set out with loving care.
A sugar loaf and a large ham wrapped in muslin were suspended from the ceiling, together with bunches of sweet-smelling herbs and a long bunch of onions. A door stood open into a dark pantry with marble shelves, and another door led to the washroom and other laundry facilities.
Christina poked the fire until flames leapt into life, their brightness flickering over the room. When the milk was warmed, she poured it into two blue-and-white cups, giving one to Jane and then sitting down at the table as well.
Jane sipped the milk and smiled at her. “It’s been a horridly long day, hasn’t it?”
“Thanks to you and Mr. Grenfell,” Christina replied dryly.
“I’m really very sorry, Christina. Do you think Father has forgiven me now? I went out of my way to be good at dinner. I tried my very hardest.”
“I’m sure you succeeded, for he was his old smiling self by the time the caramel cream was placed on the table.”
“I nearly died when he told me he’d actually been talking to Mr. Pitt when word of my escapade rang through the Pump Room like a wretched bell.” Jane lowered her eyes regretfully.
“I trust you’ll have the grace to stay well away from Mr. Grenfell from now on. Surely you’ve learned a little wisdom by now?”
Jane nodded. “It’s academic now, anyway. He’s leaving Bath tomorrow or the day after.”
“Is he? How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
“You haven’t mentioned it before.”
Jane shrugged a little. “It didn’t occur to me to mention it.”
“Let’s hope everything about that wretched man fades as completely from your mind,” replied Christina caustically, noticing how her sister was avoiding her eyes.
“You aren’t going to lecture me again, are you?”
“Do I need to?”
“No, not anymore. I know I’ve made promises in the past, but I really mean it this time. I’ve decided exactly what I want, and I intend to have it.”
Christina studied her in the firelight. “You seem to have found new heart from somewhere.”
“I have.”
“So, you’re ready to look the monde in the eye at the theater tomorrow?”
“Yes, except that I’ll be looking the monde in the eye before then. Robert is taking me for a drive in the morning. He invited me in the letter he sent earlier.” Jane finished her milk and got up. “And if I’m to look my best for that drive, I’d better hie myself to my bed.”
“I’ll be up in a minute or so. I haven’t finished my drink yet.”
“All right. Good night.” Jane kissed her on the cheek and then hurried out, the train of her apricot wool dress swishing behind her.
Apricot wool. Alone in the kitchen, Christina suddenly realized what had been nagging away at the back of her mind since encountering Jane at the foot of the stairs. Her sister had been ready with an explanation for still being dressed, and for not having slept in her bed. Anyone could fall asleep in a chair, that was reasonable enough, but a lady whose maid had attended her at bedtime, as Ellen had attended Jane, would have been in her nightgown and wrap, not in an apricot wool day dress.
Even if Ellen had gone to her mistress’s room and found her already asleep in the chair, the apricot wool remained odd. Jane had worn beige taffeta at dinner, and it had been nearly midnight when she’d retired and Ellen had gone to attend her. If she hadn’t changed into her nightclothes then, why hadn’t she still been in her evening gown when she went out to the garden? Why go to the trouble of putting on the apricot wool, which inevitably meant changing again before going to bed?
Christina ran her fingertips thoughtfully around the rim of her cup. The only reason for changing into the apricot wool that sprang to mind was that Jane had intended all along to go out, and wool was infinitely warmer than taffeta, and infinitely more proper than nightclothes. Yes, Jane had purposely changed to go out, and her skeptical, sorely tried sister doubted very much if her purpose had had anything to do with a headache.
With a sigh, Christina finished the milk. She suddenly found herself thinking of the occasion of her return from the circulating library with Robert. She’d been so convinced she’d seen Jane enter the house in front of her, and yet Jane had denied it. Oh, there’d been an explanation for Ellen being seen putting away the pelisse, but a much more credible explanation was that the maid had moments before relieved her mistress of the pelisse, because said mistress had indeed been out somewhere.
Jane was up to something. But what? Knowing her, that something could be just about anything. And there was no point in confrontation, for glib explanations were evidently second nature to Jane Richmond these days.
Chapter Sixteen
Robert arrived the following morning as promised in his letter and Jane accompanied him for a drive lasting several hours. Their route deliberately took in a number of fashionable places, so that Jane soon found herself facing Bath’s highly intrigued society. She braved it all, finding it less of an ordeal than she’d expected because Robert was there with her, making his support and regard very clear to everyone.
They returned to take tea with Christina and Mr. Richmond, and a very agreeable hour was passed in conversation before Robert left. That hour was very hard for Christina, but when
it was over she was satisfied that she’d acquitted herself more than adequately. She’d kept a very tight grip on her inner feelings, and had protected herself as much as possible by addressing herself mostly to her father and sister, thus keeping Robert at a distance she found able to cope with.
She did the same that night, when they all sallied forth to the theater. There had been a great deal of whispering as they’d entered their box, and during the intermission many quizzing glasses had been turned upon Jane, but Robert had remained close to her throughout, intimating by his every action and smile that nothing had changed.
Over the next week it was the same, with Christina doing her best to discreetly shun Robert without his realizing it. William Grenfell and his balloon vanished from Sydney Gardens, and from Bath itself, but Jane didn’t seem to even remark the fact. The future Lady St. Clement positively dazzled everyone with her happiness.
She was captivating, even managing to achieve the perfect blend of shyness and humor when she bravely related the tale of the balloon flight to a daunting gathering of dowagers at the Assembly Rooms tearoom. She was so charmingly contrite that she engaged their sympathy, and after that her sins were entirely forgotten; over the years Jane had had a great deal of practice when it came to smoothing over the results of her impetuosity, and with William Grenfell and his balloon removed from the scene, it seemed she was herself again.
Christina watched Jane closely throughout that rather wet week, when the weather changed dramatically, and her fears were gradually allayed. Whatever Jane had been up to, she didn’t seem to be up to it any longer, but with William gone, and with the visit to Bellstones looming ever closer, the St. Clement match seemed happily secure at last.
Christina wasn’t looking forward to Bellstones, but knew she couldn’t wriggle out of it without causing a great deal of comment, to say nothing of the hurt such an action would cause both Jane and her father. As far as the meantime was concerned, however, she did her utmost to stay out of Robert’s way. She was careful to be out when he was due to call, and she invented other engagements in order to escape early from any function at which they were both present.