The Bath Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  She gasped, glaring at him in indignation, but he did not look away, and she remembered, belatedly, her resolution not to arouse his temper. Lowering her gaze, she struggled to contain her temper, to think. But rational thought would not come. She thought of Lady Mandeville again instead, of the way she had treated Ramsbury like a private possession. How much Sybilla yearned to tell him what she thought of him for encouraging such a woman to behave so, while believing his wife capable of extorting money from his mother. Remembering that little matter, however, quenched rather than fueled the flames of her fury. Until she could somehow prove to him that he was wrong in believing her guilty, it would be better to calm him, for when he was angry, he was unable to see anything clearly.

  The silence lengthened, and he made no attempt to break it, clearly waiting for her to make the next move. At last, she turned toward him again and said with careful diffidence, “I apologize, Ned, but you frightened me a little. You want to spend the night here, I collect, and I do not want you to do so. You are perfectly correct in saying you have the right to command me, but I hope you will not do so.”

  “I believed you felt otherwise,” he said. “Earlier …”

  “I know,” she admitted, “I did not behave well. I cannot deny that I have enjoyed our time together this evening or that I was glad you came to Bath. Oh, not at the first,” she added when his expression turned sardonic, “but afterward, when you returned with Lady Lucretia, and tonight. I wanted to see …” Her free hand, which had been gesturing to emphasize her words, dropped to her lap as she fell silent. She could not be so candid as to put those revealing thoughts into words.

  His expression as he listened to her changed from satisfaction at hearing her confess her earlier, guilty behavior to irritation at the elliptical reference to his arrival in Bath, then to amusement at her obvious discomfort. He relaxed finally, with a little smile. “I think I know what you wanted, Syb,” he said, “but you ought to have considered the consequences.”

  She bit her lip again but did not speak.

  After another lengthy silence, he said ruefully, “I sent Jem Lassiter back to Camden Place. Would you have me walk? I doubt I’ll find a chair at this hour.”

  Her relief made it easy to smile back at him. “It is not so far as that, sir.”

  “It is damnably cold out, however.”

  That she could not deny, and he had not worn a cloak. Perhaps one of her father’s … But the thought was rejected before it was completed. Her father was not much shorter than Ramsbury, but his shoulders were a good deal less broad. Any cloak of his would be scanty on the earl, if she could even find one. Sir Mortimer had not stirred from the house in years.

  Ramsbury continued to watch her, but her senses were no longer on the alert. The threat was gone. She said, “I suppose, if you really wish to stay, there is no good reason that you should not do so.”

  “Ah,” he said, satisfied.

  “But you will not sleep in my bed, sir,” she added quickly. “I will have Robert show you to Brandon’s bedchamber. The bed there is always made up, for we never know when to expect him.” Her chin lifted. “I hope that will do for you.”

  “I suppose it must,” he said, “but we will talk about this again before we are much older. That I promise you.”

  Telling herself that it would be a deal easier to cope with him by daylight, she rose to her feet, set her glass down, and rang for Robert before Ramsbury could change his mind or attempt to change hers. The footman arrived with gratifying promptness, reminding her that her servants must be very interested in her husband’s presence in the house.

  “His lordship will remain the night, Robert,” she said calmly. “Show him to Mr. Brandon’s bedchamber and see that he has everything he needs.”

  Ramsbury, turning to follow the footman, looked back over his shoulder. “Everything?”

  She frowned at him but refused the bait. “Good night, sir. I trust you will sleep well.”

  Alone in her own bedchamber twenty minutes later, she found that she could not turn her thoughts from him. Moonlight filtered through a crack in her window curtains, and she focused her gaze upon the slender thread of light that reached the carpet, but it was no use. All she could see was his face, his broad shoulders, the hungry expression in his eyes when he moved toward her. Her memories lingered on his touch, on the way the pressure of his lips changed from softness to firm possessiveness when they claimed hers. She had thought he might kiss her when he first put his hands on her shoulders. If Robert had not chosen to enter just then …

  A noise startled her, and her gaze shifted warily to the door of her bedchamber. Had the noise been a footfall in the corridor? Would he dare? Swift as thinking, she scrambled from beneath her down quilt, put bare feet to the carpet, snatched up the folds of her nightdress so they would not impede her, and ran to the door, ramming the bolt to without the least concern for the noise it made. Then, leaning breathless against the door, she listened. There was not the slightest sound from the other side. A moment later, she heard the boom of the tall clock on the landing as it began to toll the hour, and realized that the noise she had heard must have been the slight whirring that always preceded the clock’s hourly announcements.

  Feeling foolish, she moved her hand to the bolt, but even as it began to slide, she took her hand away, knowing she would sleep far better with the door bolted. It would mean waking betimes in the morning, for she did not wish Medlicott or the chambermaid to know that she had locked her door, but with Ramsbury in the house, it would be better to be safe than sorry.

  She awoke before gray dawn light had touched the crescent, unbolted her door, then crept back beneath the comfort of the quilt, shivering. When the chambermaid slipped in a half hour later to lay and light the fire, she was sound asleep again and did not waken until Medlicott came in with her chocolate and threw the curtains wide. The clatter of rings against rod woke her, and she turned over sleepily to gaze at her dresser.

  “Good morning, Meddy.”

  “Good morning, madam.”

  “Madam? Am I in disgrace, Meddy?”

  “Not at all, madam. I am sure it is no place of mine to censure your behavior.”

  “No.” Hitching herself up in the bed, Sybilla allowed me little woman to plump the pillows behind her and lay the white tray across her lap. Watching lazily as Medlicott moved around the room, Sybilla felt a warmth toward her that was out of keeping with their relationship. “You know that his lordship spent the night,” she said suddenly. “He is my husband, after all. He has every right to stay in this house.”

  “Indeed, he has, madam,” Medlicott said in a carefully even tone. “Every right.”

  Realizing suddenly that Medlicott did not disapprove of Ramsbury’s presence in the house but of his absence from her bed, Sybilla frowned. “I think we will discuss this matter no further. I will wear the blue frock with the silver buttons.”

  “ ’Tis a mite chilly this morning,” Medlicott said from the wardrobe, drawing out the flimsy muslin skirt of the dress in question. “I should think the moss-green velvet or this russet wool would be more sensible, Miss Sybilla.”

  Sybilla sighed, remembering that she would likely be facing Ramsbury across the breakfast table. The possibility was remote that he would take himself diplomatically out of the way and back to his aunt’s house before that time. A suit of armor would be more to the purpose, had she possessed such a thing. Lacking one, she smiled at Medlicott and agreed to the wool.

  Dressed at last, with her hair coiled neatly and primly at the nape of her neck, Sybilla descended to the ground floor, where the breakfast parlor overlooked the back garden, barren beneath an overcast sky. She could see a lone white marguerite amidst the mass of browning greenery just across the gravel path outside the window.

  The earl was already at the table, and by the evidence of the crockery in front of him, had already made a tidy breakfast. He smiled at her. “Good morning.”

  He still wo
re the clothes he had worn the night before, but he looked well rested, not as though he had prowled the corridors in the night, seeking entrance to her bedchamber. The thought made her blush, and her color grew even deeper when his eyebrows lifted in silent query. Quickly, she said, “I hope you slept well, sir. Could not Robert find you a clean shirt at least?”

  His smile broadened. “Your whelp of a brother and I are scarcely of a size, my dear.”

  “No, of course not. Oh, Elsie,” she added with relief when the maid entered, “bring a pot of tea and some toast. His lordship appears to have eaten everything in sight.”

  “Aye, mistress,” Elsie said, smiling. “He’s a fine appetite, sure enough.”

  Sybilla stared at the maid’s retreating back, then turned to look at Ramsbury. “Of all the impertinent … She thinks …”

  He chuckled. “Don’t read more into her words than what she said. She meant nothing more. What would you like to do today?”

  He had her full attention at last. She straightened to her full height, glad she had not yet sat down. “I intend to do what I do every day, sir. I have duties here to occupy me.”

  There was a brief silence, but his expression, though it set a little, did not change. “Still indispensable, are you, Syb? Place still can’t run without your hand on the tiller? I should have thought you’d learned better by now.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, bristling. “I am here because I wish to be here, and since I am here, of course, I take my duties seriously. Who else will run this house, I ask you, if I do not?”

  “I’m sure I don’t give a damn who runs it,” he said with a sigh, “but I’m convinced your Mrs. Hammersmyth is able enough.”

  “Well, you don’t know everything about it. Papa would fly into a fit of apoplexy by the end of the first week if he were left solely to her ministrations.”

  “You exaggerate, my dear,” he said, his pleasant tone a bit strained now. “I am sure your little jaunts to London often last longer than a sennight, and I know for a fact that Sir Mortimer survived the first few months of our marriage.”

  Her teeth grated together. “That doesn’t matter, Ned. Perhaps he can get on well enough for a time, but you know there were often problems while I was in London. And since I am here because I wish to be here—”

  “Oh, sit down,” he said sharply. “It cannot be good for you to fly into a temper so early in the morning, before you’ve even broken your fast. I’ll take myself off, if that’s what you want, but don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. We are going to talk, and soon.”

  “No, we are not,” she snapped. “ ’Tis just as I told you it would be. We have been together for no more than ten minutes this morning, and already we are sniping at one another. No doubt you are longing to get back to London and more convivial company. Pray, let nothing here delay you.”

  He stood up suddenly, his eyes flashing, the chair scraping back noisily behind him. “By heaven—”

  The door opened, and Elsie, beaming, entered with a tray. Seeing him on his feet, she hesitated, but he had control of himself again, and he managed to smile at her reassuringly. “Ask one of the lads to whistle me up a chair, Elsie. I’ve no wish to parade through the streets of Bath in my evening dress.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” the maid replied, moving swiftly to deposit the contents of the tray upon the table and beginning to clear away the empty plates.

  Sybilla, seeing that the morning post accompanied her breakfast, turned away from Ramsbury and reached for her letters. Sorting quickly through them, she came to one that made her pause, frowning.

  Ramsbury had begun to turn away, but her frown stopped him, and he watched her more closely. “What is it?”

  “I do not recognize the hand,” she said, reaching for a knife to slit the seal. “ ’Tis from Charfield. I know no one there.” Quickly she opened the single sheet and began to read. No sooner had she scanned the first two lines than a small cry of alarm escaped her lips and she reached to yank the bell cord.

  “What is it?” Ramsbury demanded again, his tone urgent.

  “Brandon,” she said, breaking off to address the maid. “Elsie, tell Medlicott to pack a case for me, and have Newton hitch the bay team to my phaeton. I must leave for Charfield within the hour.”

  “Yes, m’lady, at once.” Elsie scooped the last empty plate onto her tray, glanced at the teapot and toast rack, and added hesitantly, “Will you still want to eat, mistress?”

  “No—”

  “Yes, she will,” Ramsbury said abruptly. “Leave us, Elsie.”

  “Aye, m’lord.” She hurried out.

  “Sybilla—”

  “No, Ned. I know you mean well, but I have no time to waste on tea and toast. Someone will pack a basket for the phaeton. I must dress now, so if you’ll excuse me …” She turned away toward the door, still clutching the letter.

  He moved swiftly, grabbing her upper arm. “No, you don’t,” he said. “You’ve not said what’s in the letter, but if you think I’ll allow you to go flying off alone to Charfield—which is at least fifteen or twenty miles from here—you’re sadly mistaken.”

  She tried unsuccessfully to free herself. “Let me go, Ned. I’ve no time to argue with you. I must go.”

  This time when she tried to shake his hand off, his grip bruised her arm and he pulled her around to face him, giving her a shake. “We’ll not argue, Sybilla, but you will tell me what’s amiss or you’ll not leave this room.”

  Her gaze met his at last, and she knew by the expression in his eyes that he meant what he said. She could threaten to call the servants, but she had no confidence now that they would obey her command to throw his lordship out of the house.

  “Brandon’s been mauled by a bear, Ned. He may die. I must go to him at once, and you mustn’t try to stop me.” As she said the words, the enormity of what had happened nearly overwhelmed her. Tears leapt to her eyes, and as she struggled to contain them, her defenses collapsed and she flung herself into his arms, expelling a sob of relief when they closed tightly around her.

  V

  “GIVE ME THE LETTER,” Ramsbury said gently several moments later. When she handed it to him in silence, he read it quickly, then looked at her again. “I doubt that the situation is as bad as you think,” he said. “This Clayton Sitwell, whoever he is, appears to be more concerned with the cost of Brandon’s room and board while he recovers from his wounds than with his imminent departure from this life.”

  “You would say so,” she retorted grimly, “but you don’t care a whit for poor Brandon. I doubt you would care if he were already d-dead.” Her breath caught on another sob, but she mastered it and glared at him. “You will not stop my going, Ned. He is my brother, and he needs me. Even if I find that he is not at death’s door, which I certainly hope is the case, there is grave danger of infection from such wounds, and d-disfigurement.” Again her feelings threatened to overwhelm her as she thought of her brother’s handsome features and the possibility that they had been destroyed. “Oh God, Ned, a bear! How on earth—”

  “Larking, I expect,” he said unsympathetically. “Your brother is capable of—”

  “Oh, don’t say it,” she snapped. “And don’t try to stop me, either. I mean to go, and that’s all there is about it.”

  “No, that isn’t all,” he retorted. “There is a good deal more to be said, but I know better than to attempt it while you’re in this mood. I will tell you this, however, and you’d best heed my words if you know what’s good for you. You are not going all the way to Charfield alone.”

  “Don’t be daft! I often travel alone, as you know perfectly well. Oh, why am I arguing with you? Let me go!” Again she tried to free herself.

  Again his hand tightened. “I’ll not stop you, Syb, but I’ll not allow you to go alone, either. Not so far as that and not in the mood you’re in now. I’m going with you, for if I don’t, you’ll land that phaeton of yours in a ditch before you’re two miles out of
Bath.”

  “I won’t, and I don’t want you!” She stared defiantly into his face, then said between gritted teeth, “Let go of me, Ned.”

  He returned her look steadily, and the warning she saw in his eyes made her shiver. “Heed me well, Sybilla,” he said, his voice a near growl. “I am going to Camden Place now, but only to change into more suitable clothing and order a bag packed. If you are not here when I return, I will follow you, and you will be very, very sorry when I catch you.”

  The door opened behind Sybilla, and Elsie popped her head in. “Your chair is at the door, m’lord.”

  “Thank you, Elsie.” His gaze did not shift from Sybilla’s face. “Well, Syb?”

  She squared her shoulders. “You leave me little choice, damn you.” A gasp from behind her revealed that Elsie had not yet gone, but it was the glint in Ramsbury’s eyes that brought the rueful smile to her lips. “Pretty language, is it not, sir? I daresay I learned it from you.”

  His expression relaxed, and there was amusement now in his eyes. “Very likely,” he said, “but you would do well to forgo the pleasure of its use if you would not shock your servants. And, Sybilla, I will have your word, if you please.”

  “I have said—”

  “I heard what you said,” he retorted. “And I know you well. I would prefer to have your solemn word before I leave you.”

  His grip on her arm had relaxed, and she pulled free at last, glaring at him. “Oh, very well, you have it, though you mustn’t think for a moment that”—she flicked a glance over her shoulder to assure herself that Elsie was gone at last and the door was shut—“that you can bully me into anything else, sir.”