The Bath Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  “I know,” she said, “but I’m afraid, Ned. I don’t know if I can be what you want me to be. I can try to trust you, but I can promise no more than that yet. In any event, I don’t want you to stay here. Not until I know. Will you go to Camden Place?”

  He nodded. “Aunt Lucretia’s people are discreet enough, though I doubt Fanny will think for a moment that I am anywhere near Bath. Even if she does, as I said before, it will tempt her all the more to think she is accomplishing her end beneath my very nose. As to how she will accomplish it, we will leave that to her to decide, and you will trust me to see that she is caught.”

  “I will try. Kiss me, Ned.”

  He complied with enthusiasm, and it was some time after that before he left her. But when he did, she went up to her bedchamber, wondering once again if she was making a mistake. For hours, she tossed and turned, trying to imagine a future in which she no longer had to consider anyone but herself and Ned, and they could be happy together.

  She slept at last and awoke the next morning to a rattle of dishes as Elsie placed the tray with her chocolate and toast on a table near the bed. Sunlight streamed through her window.

  “ ’Tis a fine day, m’lady,” the maid said. “There be a touch of spring in the air, I’m thinking, and Miss Medlicott said to tell you she’d be up directly.”

  “Thank you,” Sybilla said, straightening and allowing the maid first to plump pillows behind her and then to place the tray on her lap. A moment later she was alone, and all the feelings from the previous night reasserted themselves.

  What, she wondered as she sipped her chocolate, did she think she was doing? One moment she wanted nothing so much as to be with Ramsbury again, and the next she feared the household in Royal Crescent would disintegrate without her. Easy enough for the earl to say that wouldn’t happen. He had never cared one way or another if it did. But what would he say the first time she had to rush back to Bath to attend to some crisis? Was she not on the verge now of speeding headlong back into what had already proved to be an impossible situation?

  And what about Ned himself? Fanny was surely a thing of the past, but would there not be other women? Could he really be content with only a wife? She sat up a little straighter and pushed the tray off to one side, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, to think.

  There was no use denying that she had missed him. She had not realized how much until he had swept back into her life, but until then, she knew now, she had merely been existing from one day to the next, waiting for something to happen. To be sure, she had been busy, but she had always known that Mrs. Hammersmyth could manage the household perfectly well without her. The only thing the housekeeper couldn’t manage was Sir Mortimer.

  Sybilla sighed. What could she do about her father? He was accustomed to letting her manage things, and she had given him no reason to believe he could not continue to trust her to do so. But Ned would not stand for any more frequent trips from London to Bath, and she could not really blame him for that. But neither could she ignore a cry for help. To do so would go against nature.

  Ned had told her to trust him, but he had given her no particular reason to do so and no answers to these problems. For that matter, he had not really talked about any of them. But then, she reminded herself, he did not talk easily about such things, any more than she did. Where she had learned over the years to divert uncomfortable conversation onto a track she could control, he had learned to duck confrontation altogether when he wished to do so. Both of them, as Ned had said himself, had learned those lessons from their respective fathers.

  Though she had had little to do with the Marquess of Axbridge, she knew from the reactions of both his wife and his son that nearly anyone would try to avoid confrontation with him. And her father, in his own fashion, had likewise taught his household not to arouse his temper. Both were selfish men, and arrogant, expecting everyone around them to leap to serve their needs without thought for anything else. They both expected obedience, and it was certainly the duty of their children to obey them.

  There was no use asking herself what would happen if she simply abandoned her father to his own devices. She would not be able to do that. The habits of obedience and duty were too strong to be broken so easily. And Ned, she realized, would not much longer be able to ignore the marquess, or to avoid him. Too many times recently had she heard Lady Axbridge complain that the marquess was tired or not enjoying his customary health. The fact was that he was getting on in years, and soon he would need help whether he liked it or not. The proper person to help him was his son. Ned wouldn’t like it, but he would have to do his duty, just as she had to do hers.

  How could she make him see that? Could she influence him to behave as he should? Or was that precisely the sort of thing he meant when he asked her to trust him? He said he had changed, and indeed, she had seen that much for herself. There had been little of his old, frenetic search for pleasure since the day he had come to find her in Bath. Of course, she had only been out with him a few times and had spent those evenings pretty much at his side, and Fanny had been there to claim her attention.

  But just as she was settling her thoughts for a thorough recitation of Fanny’s iniquities and transgressions, Medlicott entered the room with a handful of letters, glanced at the tray and said, “No chocolate this morning, m’lady? You ailing again?”

  “No, Meddy, just in a brown study.” Sybilla took her letters and sorted through them. “Oh, good, a letter from Miss Mally! But what is this?” she added, turning over the letter in question. “I do not know anyone named Porter.”

  Quickly, remembering the last time she had received a missive from an unknown, she tore open the letter and began to read. Her worst fears were confirmed at once. “Good gracious, Meddy, get my driving habit and order out the phaeton! Master Brandon’s been shot! What will he think of next to startle us? This Mr. Porter says nothing of his opponent, only to come at once and to say nothing to anyone else. Brandon must have killed his man!”

  XV

  “IF MR. BRANDON DID kill anyone,” Medlicott said as she moved with her customary dignity first to ring for a maid and then to fetch out the habit, “I should think he would have crowed about having hit what he aimed at for once.”

  “But someone else wrote the letter,” Sybilla pointed out, “and what with all the riot and rumpus over Lord Castlereagh’s duel with Mr. Canning a few months ago, he will not have dared to write more than he has, lest he condemn Brandon. Mr. Porter says he will meet me at Biddlestone to conduct me to a place called Cheyne’s Farm, where Brandon is recovering from his wound,” she added before falling silent again when Elsie entered.

  Sybilla’s mind was racing, and remembering that she was not supposed to leave Bath without a gentleman escort, she realized that she would have to dissemble a bit. She certainly could not call upon Ramsbury to help her. Not only would he be furious with Brandon if he learned of this latest start, but to distract him now, when she knew he was expecting Lady Mandeville’s letter to reach the marchioness at any time, would not do at all. And she did not wish to annoy him by calling upon Sydney Saint-Denis to accompany her again, so she would go alone. She could come to no harm, after all, for Biddlestone was but a few miles distant from Bath on the Old Road. Thus it was that when Elsie asked if she should say what horses m’lady wanted, she said casually, “Oh, any pair will do, I daresay.”

  When the maid had gone, Medlicott looked at her sharply and said, “Master Brandon is in town, then? I thought you said Biddlestone.”

  “I did,” Sybilla admitted, adding hastily, “but ’tis only three miles or so from town, and there is no reason to put everyone in a dither. Newton will accompany me, after all, and it is not as though that has not always been my way, to drive myself wherever I go.”

  “The master will not like it,” Medlicott said flatly, helping her off with her nightdress and pouring hot water into the basin for her.

  “He will not know,” Sybilla said, sc
rubbing her face and reaching for the towel Medlicott held before she added coaxingly, “Now, really, Meddy, there is no need to tell him. I will send for him if I need him, but first I must discover how seriously Master Brandon is injured and what, precisely, he wants me to do. Like as not, you know, the case will prove to be no more drastic than it was the last time, and he will be making jokes about it all by the time I get there.”

  Before she had finished dressing, however, another thought had occurred to her. Had she not been expecting Fanny to find some way of preventing the marchioness from merely being able to hand the money to her? What if the letter from Porter were but a ruse to give credence to some tale or other that would be spun for the marchioness’s benefit? She would have to warn Lady Axbridge, but just in case Porter’s letter was real, she would have to do so in a way that would not give Brandon’s folly away to Ramsbury. Thus is was that she scrawled a hurried message for the marchioness and told Medlicott to deliver it to Camden Place later in the day. That, Sybilla decided, would give her time to see what was what for herself and time to think how to protect Brandon in the event that it became necessary to tell Ramsbury or her father what he had done.

  Believing that she had done well to think of all the possibilities, Sybilla mounted the high seat of her phaeton with a sense of a task well done and took the reins from Newton. Twenty minutes later, when he mentioned rather pointedly that she was leaving the city behind, she chuckled.

  “I am, and you may tell anyone you like what I have done, after we return. We are going to Biddlestone.”

  “But, m’lady—”

  “Hold on, Newton, I’m going to spring them.”

  There was little traffic, and it was less than half an hour later that they pulled up before the small inn in Biddlestone that had been named in the letter. Looking around the yard, Sybilla was glad to see a man who looked familiar. Deducing that she must, at one time or another, have seen him with her brother, she called out, “Mr. Porter?”

  He hurried over, leading his horse. “Lady Ramsbury, follow me at once, for there is little time to be lost!”

  “Goodness, is he badly injured, then?”

  “No, ma’am, but we must get him away!”

  “Oh, then his opponent—”

  “Dead, I’m afraid. Can your man be trusted?”

  “Certainly, lead the way.”

  Porter jumped onto his horse, and Sybilla clucked to her team. Beside her, Newton muttered, “This be a bad business.”

  “Hush,” she commanded. “You are not to speak of this to anyone, do you understand?” She glared until he nodded, then turned her attention firmly to her horses.

  Half an hour later, she pulled up in front of a farmhouse. The yard was empty. Porter jumped down from his horse.

  “Have your man take the team and my nag to the shed behind the house,” he said, reaching up to help her down. “I’ll take you straight in to Bran.”

  Sybilla’s fears for her brother had been growing steadily, and she did not question the man at all. She had forgotten her earlier suspicions and wanted only to get inside the house and see her brother.

  They stepped onto the front stoop, and when Porter opened the door for her, Sybilla rushed inside, only to pull up short at the sight of a second man and Lady Mandeville. Both looked out of place in the shabby little sitting room, particularly Fanny.

  “Good day, Sybilla,” she said with a faint smile. “You’d better come in and sit down.”

  “My brother is not here?”

  Lady Mandeville shook, her head. “To the best of my knowledge, if he is not walking backward to Brighton or doing some equally stupid thing for a wager, he is still in London.”

  Sybilla sighed in relief. “I cannot think what you meant to accomplish by such a trick, Fanny—or you, either,” she added, looking from one to the other of the two dark-haired, athletic-looking men and realizing that the reason they were familiar was that she had seen them both with Fanny at the Theater Royal.

  “They need not concern you, Sybilla,” Fanny said, looking at the pair rather nervously. “Do sit down.”

  “I am not staying, Fanny.” She turned to leave, only to find Porter in front of her. “Let me go,” she said furiously.

  Fanny said quickly, “Do not annoy him, Sybilla. He is not a nice man. And you cannot leave, I’m afraid, in any case, for it would not do to have you show your face in Bath for several days, not before our plan has succeeded.”

  Sybilla very nearly told her that their plan could not succeed, no matter what they did, but it occurred to her that if she did that, she might well spoil everything. Already she had done what Ned had warned her she might do, simply by rushing ahead on her own. “What plan is that?” she asked, trying to sound bewildered. “I do not know what you mean.”

  Fanny’s attempt at a casual shrug was belied by another nervous glance at the men. “The fact is,” she said, “that I lost a bit of money to Ned and even more to some others, and I must pay them back. Ned, of course, will not really dun me, but he has annoyed me of late, and I thought it would amuse me to pay him back in a way that will annoy him even more. Consequently, you will remain here for a time, long enough to convince your kind and generous mama-in-law that you have run away from him.”

  “But how can you hope to make her believe such a nonsensical thing as that?”

  Her offhand manner now clearly forced, Fanny said, “I have written her such an affecting little letter, you see. She will easily believe that Ned has ordered your return and demanded that you begin to be a. proper wife to him. I explained that his demands have frightened you and you need time to think things out, so you are running away, and since you cannot obtain money to support yourself in any of the usual ways, you have applied to her. She is a most believing person, after all, so I do not anticipate that she will make any difficulties.”

  “She is a very kind person,” Sybilla said grimly. “Kinder than you deserve she should be.”

  “No doubt,” Fanny agreed. “In that event, she will send you the very large sum you’ve requested to help you on your way. However, I will be the one to receive it. Then I will post up to London and give Ned and the others their share. He will enjoy the joke, I think, if you are ever able to make him believe what happened. Now, do behave, Sybilla. Porter and Forrest are not very nice in their ways. You must not rouse their tempers.”

  The threat did not frighten Sybilla as much as Fanny’s odd manner did, but she soothed herself with the reminder that it could not be long before Ramsbury came in search of her. Though she had asked Lady Axbridge not to tell him about Porter’s letter, she knew that the minute the marchioness received one telling her Sybilla had run away, she would explain the whole to Ned. And then he had only to speak to Medlicott to learn where she had gone. She had even mentioned the name of the farm. Unless, of course, the name had been a false one. That thought sent a chill racing up her spine.

  “What is this place?” she asked cautiously.

  Fanny shrugged. “Cheyne’s farm? One of my husband’s tenant farms. It is presently unoccupied, I’m afraid, so you mustn’t expect anyone here to help you.”

  The second man spoke at last. “Enough chat,” he said. “If we mean to reach Bristol tonight, we’d best go soon.”

  “Bristol!” Sybilla exclaimed.

  “Yes, did I not tell you?” Fanny did not look at her. “I could scarcely ask your mama-in-law to send money only across Bath or to this place, you know. It must look as though you have run away, and since Bristol is the nearest port, well …” Her voice trailed away as she got to her feet and glanced at Porter. Then she took herself in hand and said more firmly, “Do not worry, Sybilla. You are not going with us. Porter will see that you come to no harm, will you not, sir?”

  He returned her look. “I’m staying, but don’t go giving me orders. We agreed to allow you to play your game only because it looked like being the quickest way to get the money owed us. ’Twould be easy enough to go to your husband
and make him understand his responsibilities, as I suggested earlier.”

  She shook her head. “He would not pay. He does not care a jot for me and probably doesn’t have the money, if the truth be known. This is the only way.”

  Sybilla, astonished by the exchange, stared at Fanny, wondering what the other woman had got them into. The two men were clearly not the sort of gentlemen she was accustomed to know, for all they dressed like sporting men.

  “Then you two’d best be off,” Porter said, taking Sybilla’s arm and pulling her from the doorway. “The old woman’s been told to send the money by courier, after all, rather than by mail, and you made that little letter of yours sound right desperate.”

  Fanny’s agreement was no more than a nervous murmur in her throat, sending a frisson of fear up Sybilla’s spine. There was much more going on, she knew now, than she or Ned had bargained for. And he might well be on his way to Bristol, following the wretched courier, since Lady Axbridge’s letter would have arrived with the morning post, just as hers had. But no, she reminded herself, Ned would have read Fanny’s letter and known at once that it was a hoax. Still, he might not come before the others were away. And she was to be left with Porter.

  She wrenched free of his grip and confronted Fanny angrily. “What kind of woman are you, that you can just go off and leave me like this with a man like him?”

  “I have no choice,” Fanny said. “I owe much more to more dangerous people than Ned, and this was the only way I knew to get so much at once. But I made them promise you’d not be hurt if you’d cooperate, Sybilla, so please do not be foolish.”

  Porter grabbed Sybilla again and pushed her toward a second doorway at the rear of the sitting room. “She’ll cooperate,” he said gruffly, “if she knows what’s good for her.”

  Sybilla was truly frightened, but she was not about to allow Porter to force her into what appeared to be a bedchamber. Grabbing the door post, she kicked backward, feeling a strong surge of satisfaction when the heel of her half-boot made solid contact with his knee and he grunted in pain. But the next thing she knew he had grabbed her and swung her around, and the flat of his hand caught the side of her face in a burning slap.