by Lynne, Karen
“Well, I shall not ponder on things I cannot change. How is Sam?” Isabella laughed.
Abby brightened. Sam was a little black boy, her brother, William, bought in Bristol for Eliza’s wedding present. Eliza was concerned about the little boy because his owner mistreated him.
“Sam is not so little anymore. He is free and happily running around the estate. He works at Lady Susan’s Fyne Court, the lady’s academy for gentlewomen. He gets wages and attends school with the village children.”
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Isabella brightened.
Happy voices of children could be heard as the girls filed out into the courtyard. Abby stood as the little girl she had seen before came towards her, a thumb in her mouth, dragging her ragdoll by the arm. Abby opened her bag of candy and offered a piece to the child. She readily grabbed the offering and put it in her mouth.
The candy had been distributed, and the girls wandered off and to play.
Abby turned. Sir Andrew was striding across the grass towards them. “Oh, no,” she mumbled, “here comes trouble.”
Isabella turned to see. “Sir Andrew,” she whispered.
Chapter Five
Andrew was just finishing a meeting with the director of Walcot workhouse. When the sound of laughter came from the courtyard, signalling the children were at play, he stepped to the window, surprised to see two young ladies handing something to the children clambering around them.
A small girl dragging a tattered rag doll stood near Lady Abigale. Miss Dalton stood by her side, engaged in the children. He recognised her from several functions he had attended last Season. He believed Miss Dalton was from Bristol, just down the road.
Lady Abigale looked like a fresh spring flower, dressed in a simple gown of sea green with small dotted flowers sprinkled across the bodice and pink silk ribbon flowing from her trim waist.
His mouth watered, still remembering the apple tarts she supposedly made. He still had his doubts about that. She had won over his staff, and they hadn’t even met her.
“Is there anything I can do, Sir Andrew?” the matron asked.
“I noticed Lady Abigale out in the courtyard with the children. She’s come for another visit I see.”
The matron beamed. “Oh, yes, it seems Lady Abigale was intrigued by the children and returned today to bring them candy. I thought it was a very nice gesture.”
Sir Andrew moved towards the courtyard. He was still peeved at her note but determined to pay his respects nonetheless, and this time, he would not be put off so quickly.
The young girls ran away back to their games. Lady Abigale met his eyes as he neared, and her face froze. A frown showing on her lips, she nudged her companion. Miss Dawson turned, and her eyes widened. He remembered seeing her at several events last Season. They whispered among themselves as he approached.
Miss Dawson had the same colouring as Lady Abigale. They both were stunning. He was curious as to why neither of them was married. They had both been out several years now. He stopped a few feet in front of them and gave a slight bow. They watched, waiting for him to speak. Strange, most young ladies usually fell all over him, hardly giving him room to talk.
“Lady Abigale, I just finished a meeting with the director when I noticed the two of you out in the courtyard. I understand you were giving candies to the girls.”
Lady Abigale turned to the girls then back to him a slow smile touched her lips. “Yes, Sir Andrew, I thought they would enjoy some candies.”
“Do you always go around bestowing treats on citizens of our fair town?”
“Sir?” Abby replied, confusion in her eyes.
“My staff thanks you for the delicious apple tarts you sent us,” Sir Andrew reminded her.
A bright smile crossed Lady Abigale’s face. “Oh, yes, I am glad they enjoyed them.”
Miss Dalton looked between them as they carried on this conversation.
“Miss Dalton, it’s good to see you again. Lady Abigale sent us pastries, thanking me for rescuing her from Farlington and giving her and her maid a ride into Bath.”
Lady Abigale had the decency to blush as she wrapped her arm around Miss Dalton’s. “Sir Andrew, I am most thankful for your help that evening. You need not bother any further for my welfare. Miss Dalton and I were just leaving.” She moved to step around him.
“But Lady Abigale, I would not think of leaving you unescorted in our fair city. Your father, Sir George, and I are colleagues. He would want me to make sure you were well treated. I would hate to give him any bad news about your welfare.”
His meaning was not lost on Lady Abigale as she gave him a meaningful stare, a challenge in her eyes as her facial muscles tightened. She reached for her parasol on the bench. He could feel the tension as she tapped it against her skirt almost as if she wanted to hit him with it. So, she had a temper. She was probably used to getting her own way. Spoiled, like most young ladies from wealthy families.
“Miss Dalton, are you with your parents in town?” Andrew asked.
“I am accompanied by Mrs Notley of Bristol and her niece, Miss Grant.”
Sir Andrew withdrew his card and handed it to Miss Dalton. “I would be most honoured if Lady Abigale and your party would join me tomorrow evening at the Theatre Royal. My box has room for everyone. Shall I see your party there at eight o’clock?”
Miss Dalton stared at the card and then back to Sir Andrew. “Thank you, my lord. I am sure we will be able to make it.”
With a slight tip of his head, he turned and left the courtyard before Lady Abigale could protest. He had Lady Abigale’s attention at the mention of her father. Retrieving his hat from the lobby, he stepped out of the workhouse, satisfied. He had seen the challenge in her eyes. It would be a most interesting night at the theatre.
* * *
Abby watched Sir Andrew leave the courtyard. He didn’t even look back. That man had a way of bringing up her ire, and they barely knew each other. A blast of fresh air surged over her face as she and Isabella entered the street, lifting her parasol over her head and cooling her temper. Sir Andrew was nowhere in sight as they made their way back to the Crescent.
“Isabella, why did you agree that we would attend the theatre with Sir Andrew?”
“Abby, Sir Andrew Pulteney is the wealthiest and most influential citizen in Bath. He is the most sought-after bachelor. He does you a great honour by singling you out. You don’t say no to a man in his position.”
“Why do you say he does me a great honour? He invited all of us to attend the theatre.”
“Because he has seen me all these past Seasons and has never given me a second look. I saw the way he looked at you. It was you he was inviting. We were included only as a formality.”
She knew Sir Andrew was doing her no honour by his invitation to the theatre. He made it a point by mentioning her father as a threat. What was he up to?
“I think Sir Andrew is seeking revenge on tricking him for a ride to Bath,” Abby confessed.
“Abby, what do you mean, tricking him?” Isabella watched her closely.
Abby sighed. “You must promise to tell nobody.”
“I promise,” Isabella breathed.
Abby confessed all about that night in Farlington when she and Betsy finagled a ride to Bath from Sir Andrew that late night.
“Oh, Abby!” Isabella’s eyes grew wide. “Were you not afraid you could have been…” Isabella looked around. “Ravished?” She whispered.
“Ravished—I had Betsy with me and besides, he thought I was an old widow.”
“Well,” Isabella sighed, “you are either extremely brave or a complete fool.”
Probably a little of both, Abby thought as she reached for Isabella’s arm.
“As you say, Isabella.” Abby brightened. “Nevertheless, we shall endeavour to have an enjoyable evening at the theatre tomorrow. What do you believe we are going to see?”
“We shall ask Mrs Notley what talents we shall enjoy. They are usually quite good, as I’ve h
eard some can go on to perform on the London stages.” Isabella followed Abby’s lead.
When they returned to the Crescent, Miss Underwood was out. “May we have some refreshments brought to us in the drawing-room?” Abby asked the butler. “And ask if Mrs Randall will bring us some lemonade as well.”
No sooner had Abby and Isabella taken off their bonnets than the butler announced, “Mrs Notley and Miss Grant to see you.”
Mrs Notley came waltzing into the drawing room, trailed by Miss Grant. “Girls, I am glad to see you here. We had a lovely walk here on foot and could do with some refreshment. I saw the tray being brought down the hall as we entered.”
Abby smiled at the sight of Mrs Notley’s slightly flushed face, but she appeared quite robust for a woman of her age. It wasn’t but a few minutes when the door opened, and the tea cart was wheeled in. Abby played hostess in Miss Underwood’s absence.
“Mrs Notley, Sir Andrew Pulteney, has invited our group to the Theatre Royale tomorrow evening.” Isabella handed her the card Sir Andrew had given her.
“Sir Andrew,” Mrs Notley murmured, studying the card. “This is certainly unexpected and quite an honour.” She smiled as she handed the card back to Isabella. “Sir Andrew does not usually escort young ladies to public functions.”
“That is what I was just telling Lady Abigale.” Isabella turned to Abby, acknowledging what she said was true.
Abby restrained a sigh. “I’m sure Sir Andrew is just paying his respects out of honour to my father, Sir George, as they are contemporaries in Parliament. I wouldn’t be surprised if my father asked him to watch out for me.”
Mrs Notley gave a hearty laugh as she put down her teacup. “Yes, my dear, I’m sure he may have. I received a letter from your Aunt Lucy, instructing me to take good care of you.”
Abby’s heart warmed, thinking of her Aunt Lucy. “Yes, but that’s different. You will not stifle my enjoyment this summer. My sister-in-law, Lady Eliza, tells me how good you were to her.”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Joanne spoke up. “Aunt Notley is wonderful and great fun.”
Mrs Notley laughed. “Well, my dear girls, I am pleased that you approve of me. Of course, we will accept Sir Andrew’s invitation.”
“He has requested us to meet him at the Theatre Royale at eight tomorrow evening,” Isabella informed Mrs Notley.
“Being seen in Sir Andrew’s company will be very helpful for your chances of attracting attention. The right attention,” Mrs Notley emphasised.
It appeared her Aunt Lucy had warned Mrs Notley of Abby’s impulsiveness. She was determined to be on her best behaviour.
“Isabella and I were wondering what play we shall see at the theatre tomorrow,” Abby asked.
“I believe it is a comic sketch called ‘The Honeymoon, or How to Rule a Wife.’ It will be followed by a performance by the clown Grimaldi. We are quite fortunate he will be here for two weeks before he moves on to another city.”
“That sounds entertaining, much better than a tragedy,” Abby said.
“I agree,” Mrs Notley said. “I would much rather see a comedy than a tragedy. We are staying at our house in Bath at 27 Queen Square. We would love to have you come tomorrow and stay for a week. If Miss Underwood could spare you, of course.”
“Oh, yes,” Isabella gushed, “it would be ever so nice to have you stay with us.”
Abby blinked in surprise. “Well, let me speak with Miss Underwood. As I’ve only been here a week . . .”
“That will be fine,” Mrs Notley said. “Do not worry; just send word in the morning whether we shall expect you or not.” Mrs Notley rose, and they made their goodbyes until the next day.
Abby was surprised at Miss Underwood’s willingness to let her spend time with Mrs Notley and her party. After dinner, Abby and Miss Underwood took a promenade in the park across from the Crescent. Although it wasn’t hot, just humid. The cooling temperatures of the evening brought everybody out.
A lively card party ensued with a group of Miss Underwood’s friends, and by ten o’clock, Abby retired, leaving the group to their boisterous conversations.
Mrs Notley sent a carriage early the next morning for Abby. Isabella smiled from the carriage window as she greeted her friend.
“I am so glad you’re staying with us this week. We have a hectic week ahead. Over breakfast this morning, Mrs Notley said if we are seen with Sir Andrew this evening, it will open up some good matrimonial prospects.”
“I daresay I can’t understand how being seen at the theatre with an old man can help our prospects,” Abby replied, still feeling a little peeved at him for taking advantage of her behaviour. She felt terrible about the way she handled herself, but he was rubbing it in in a very ungentlemanly fashion.
The carriage came to a stop as the wheels scraped along the cobblestones. The door was opened by the groom, and Abby descended. Followed by Isabella, they climbed the steps to Mrs Notley’s home. Abby turned to view the area, across the street stood a park, a pleasant place to spend the morning, she thought.
The door opened, and they were admitted by the butler. Her luggage was already being delivered upstairs as the housekeeper directed the footman up the twisting staircase with elegant elaborately carved balusters.
“What do you mean, an old man?” Isabella asked as she took Abby’s arm in hers and guided them towards the back of the house.
“Do you not think, Sir Andrew old?” Abby replied a little sheepishly.
“No, I do not. Sir Andrew is but one and thirty, and the son is but yet two.”
“He is married, then?” Great, Abby thought.
“Not anymore. Sir Andrew’s wife died shortly after giving birth to his son. He has yet to remarry. Although many a lady has tried to snag him, he has avoided their attempts.”
Mrs Notley and Joanne were in the drawing-room when they entered. “Lady Abigale, so glad you are here; we have a very busy day ahead.”
“Mrs Notley, would you please call me Abby? Lady Abigale is so awkward among friends.”
Mrs Notley’s eyes twinkled. She smiled and agreed. “Has the housekeeper delivered your luggage to your room and settled your maid?”
“Yes, I believe so. The housekeeper was going up the stairs before we came in here,” Abby said.
“Very good. First, we shall go to the bun shop and enjoy breakfast. Then a walk in the park to see everyone and finish up with some shopping and luncheon before we shall return home to rest before the theatre.” Mrs Notley drew the girls out into the street, setting a brisk pace with Joanne by her side.
“Isabella, is Mrs Notley always this energetic?” Abby asked.
“Oh, yes, I believe she has the energy of two of us,” Isabella whispered.
Abby giggled. She could believe it, and it made her happy that Aunt Lucy, and she became friends.
* * *
Sir Andrew adjusted his cravat in the mirror. He spent the morning with his son, followed by planning the annual house party. Well, his housekeeper and Steward had organized the party, Andrew just checked them and gave his approval. They had been handling the party since he could remember. His father had started it as a way to give back to the citizens, and they looked forward to it every year.
“My lord, could we at least update the colour of your coat?” His valet brushed lint from his shoulders.
“What is wrong with the colour? You don’t like black?” Andrew pulled on the collar of his coat, turning to examine himself in the mirror. “It gives me a mature and dignified bearing. Just as one should who represents his burrow in the House of Commons.”
“Yes, sir, but you are not so very old that you could wear a lighter shade of grey with a Clarence blue velvet collar and a dark green waistcoat,” his valet suggested.
“It sounds like you’ve been paying attention to Ackerman’s fashion prints.”
“Exactly, sir. It is my job to keep you looking your best.” His valet turned to put his brush away before picking up Andrew’s hat and handing
it to him, brows arched.
“I will take that into consideration, Baley.” Andrew had not cared whether he dressed fashionably since his son was born. With his standing in society, he had never had to worry about pleasing the ton. There were more pressing matters to consider in his life without worrying about the cut of his coat.
He thought about Lady Abigale and her impish grin in the carriage that night. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and it was driving him to distraction. Never had a woman frustrated him, intrigued him, or kept him guessing like she did, continuing to push him away. He was determined to figure her out and put his mind to rest. She was interrupting his well-ordered life.
Andrew found himself pacing the lobby of the Theatre Royale, checking his fab watch when suddenly his party appeared through the crowd.
Mrs Notley’s flushed face smiled up at him. “Sir Andrew, I hope we haven’t kept you waiting? The walk was quite invigorating, but we found ourselves manoeuvring between the crowds.”
“Forgive me. I should have sent a carriage.” Sir Andrew returned his watch to his pocket and observed the three ladies trailing behind her. They made a pretty picture in their evening wear.
Lady Abigale stood out in the simplicity of her gown of white crepe over satin, which was extremely becoming to her shape. The only ornamentation was crepe draped along the hemline, trimmed with bunches of red roses and a transparent shawl of ruby thrown over her shoulders.
Andrew recalled his valet’s conversation as he tugged on his dull, dove grey waistcoat. Annoyed that he cared, he offered his arm to Mrs Notley and escorted the ladies to his box amongst plumes of feathers and highly decorated ladies.
“That was not necessary, Sir Andrew, as I could’ve brought our carriage, but the crowds and the carriage jams can keep you waiting in a long line. So, you see, it was much easier to walk as we are not far from here,” Mrs Notley informed him.
He agreed as he remembered the effort his driver had taken to get him here. Andrew was determined he would see them home.