The Bath Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  “But you cannot take your dog,” Sydney said patiently.

  Carolyn, seeing that the dowager was entirely prepared to explain at length why Hercules ought to go, said gently, “You know, ma’am, it is not altogether unreasonable to fear that the duchess might mistakenly believe you intend Hercules to be a gift. Do not people frequently bestow pets upon her?”

  The dowager looked shocked, and although she said she thought she could explain the truth of the matter very well, thank you, Carolyn saw that the point had gone home and did not think she need say any more. Discovering that Sydney had relaxed and was regarding her with lazy approval brought a blush to her cheeks, and she looked away, taking the first opportunity to change the subject to the preparations for her rout party.

  In the few days remaining before that event, the weather proved particularly inclement, making some occupants of Bathwick Hill House wonder if any of the invited guests would come. Only the dowager was unconcerned.

  “No one,” she declared at the dinner table two days before the rout party, after Miss Pucklington had expressed anxiety on Carolyn’s behalf, “will wish to miss the opportunity of being entertained in this house. Everyone is well aware of what a superior house this is, and will welcome the opportunity to see the foreign oddities that Sydney has collected in his travels. ’Tis a pity, I think, that Matilda and Skipton have chosen this of all times to visit her mother, for they might have brought the children, you know, and now I shall not see them until we visit them at Swainswick for Christmas. I have been thinking, Sydney,” she added before anyone had thought of a suitable reply to her last, daunting statement, “that you will wish to arrange a few tables of display in the library.”

  Sydney said calmly, “I don’t think I will, ma’am. Bathwick Hill House is no museum and I do not intend that it shall become known as one. I don’t mind showing my treasures to those who appreciate their value or who wish to seek my advice regarding some intended purchase of their own, but I have no wish to flaunt my things before all and sundry.”

  The dowager stiffened, and Carolyn, expecting to draw her fire and not knowing precisely why she should wish to do so, said hastily, “Might not persons who do not understand your generosity of spirit describe such a display as vulgar, ma’am?”

  “Nonsense,” the dowager said haughtily. “Why, the Regent himself seeks Sydney’s advice when he wishes to add a new trifle to his collection. If he considers him to be an authority on such matters, surely our guests will be more than delighted to be granted an opportunity to view Sydney’s own little collection.”

  Carolyn blinked at hearing the vast assortment of articles Sydney had acquired during his sojourn in China described in such a way, but Sydney, taking snuff with a delicate twist of his wrist, said with amusement, “One fears the display you intend would suggest instead that we had prepared a sale of goods. No, no,” he added, smiling at the outraged expression on his mother’s face, “I was only funning. Nonetheless, and though I have no wish to distress you, my belongings are not for public view.”

  Carolyn held her breath, but she was not so astonished as she might have been several weeks before, when the dowager nodded regally and said, “It shall be as you wish, of course, though I am sorry you should have disliked the notion, for many of our friends, I am convinced, will be very much disappointed not to have the opportunity to view your treasures.”

  “My friends have seen what they wished to see, ma’am.”

  “Oh, your intimates, of course, but I shall not quibble, my dear. It shall be as you wish.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nodding, she returned her attention to her dinner, and Sydney turned to Carolyn. “Have you any special request for your birthday, Caro? You have not expressed a wish for any particular gift that I know about.”

  “I can think of nothing that I need, sir.”

  “Oh, but on such an occasion, need is not important. Surely, it is the right of any young woman who reaches her majority to ask for a special gift, perhaps even one she believes to be unattainable or outrageous.”

  “Is it?” She grinned at him. “And how do you know so much about it, sir? Do you think I will demand the moon or a few stars? I shall not, for I don’t know what I should do with them if I got them. I should infinitely prefer a bouquet of spring flowers, but when one’s birthday comes in late autumn, one cannot wish for such things. In books, of course, one can,” she added with a teasing look at Miss Pucklington. “If one can gather blackberries in springtime, no doubt one can also collect spring blossoms in autumn, but not, unfortunately, in real life.”

  When Miss Pucklington blushed and glanced guiltily at the dowager, Carolyn, realizing that she must not yet have finished reading about the adventures of Laura Lovelace and Sir Bartholomew Lancelot (although she herself had long since done so), quickly changed the subject. Lady Skipton did not appear to notice anything out of the way, but although Sydney accepted the change of subject, he gave Carolyn such a quizzical look that she decided some sort of explanation was due him.

  She waited until they had gathered in the drawing room after dinner. Then, while Lady Skipton and Miss Pucklington, sitting comfortably near the blazing fire, put their heads together over the invitation list to determine which guests had accepted or declined, Carolyn accepted Sydney’s challenge to a game of picquet and joined him at a table by the window.

  “Poor Puck,” she said in an undertone when they had begun their second hand and she was certain the others were too involved in their task to pay her any heed. “I nearly gave her away, and I would not do so for the world. I declare four.”

  “No good,” he replied. “Gave her away?”

  She explained as they scored the rest of their points and began to play the hand out, and when he chuckled, she said, “You may laugh, but I daresay she would rather be reading that book right now than counting guests for my party. Your discard.”

  Sydney studied his hand. Then, throwing a card, he glanced toward the fire and said, “She appears content enough.”

  “I should hate being so dependent. It must be dreadful.” Taking the trick, she hesitated over her lead, trying to remember what points he had declared earlier and what he had played.

  “It could be worse,” Sydney pointed out, “but in a better world, I daresay Cousin Judith would be happier keeping a shop.”

  Carolyn stared. “A shop! Puck? You must be joking.”

  “Can you not imagine her as a stylish modiste? I can. Even Mama does not despise her suggestions when choosing a wardrobe.”

  “True.” Carolyn frowned at the card she had selected. “It is too bad, isn’t it? Puck does exquisite plain sewing and fancywork, and her knitted creations are beautiful. Yet if she suggested selling one of them for extra pin money, people—the right people—would be very much shocked, so she is condemned to a lifetime of walking that dreadful Hercules and attending to your mother’s whims.”

  “I do not believe she is unhappy, however. Is that your lead? If it is, I wish you would play it.”

  “I daresay you do,” Carolyn said, putting down the ten of spades. “No doubt it is the very one you hoped I would throw. Oh, what a beast you are!” she exclaimed when he took the trick. “I had forgotten you declared three knaves, and now I shall be lurched. But I’ll be revenged, sir, before the night is done.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that,” he said, smiling at her. There was a look in his eyes just then that she had not seen before, that made her pulse beat faster and made it somehow impossible to look away. But then he blinked, and the expression disappeared before she could decipher it. As she watched him deal out the next hand, she dismissed the moment from her mind.

  They chatted amiably while they played until the tea tray was brought in and it was time to put the cards away, but Carolyn remembered that conversation again the night of her party when Miss Pucklington, attired in a puce evening gown and draped with an assortment of her best shawls, entered her bedchamber half an hour before it was
time to go down to greet the first guests.

  “Oh, Puck, thank goodness! I cannot get this bodice to drape properly, and poor Maggie is at her wits’ end. But should you not be helping Godmama?” she added as Miss Pucklington moved swiftly to examine the rose-pink muslin drapery at her bosom.

  “Cousin Olympia is in the dining room, my dear. Although the chef assured her he had everything he required, she wanted to see for herself that there will be nothing to criticize, and so she finished her toilette in good time for me to come to you. I believe a tuck just here and here will sort things out.”

  Five minutes later she stood back, regarded Carolyn’s bosom critically, then nodded.

  Carolyn sighed in relief when she turned to look at the result in the looking glass. “Oh, yes,” she said, “that is perfect. I can’t think why we didn’t see the problem before.”

  “No doubt ’twas because you did not wear your pearls with it before,” Miss Pucklington said, smiling. “’Tis a lovely dress, my dear, and for once there are fires in all the rooms, you know, so you need not be chilled despite the fact that you are not at all well covered. Perhaps just one light shawl—”

  “No, no,” Carolyn told her with a laugh. “With everyone commiserating with me for having reached the ripe old age of one-and-twenty, I must not look a dowdy, as well. Oh, dear, Puck! My wretched tongue again! I didn’t mean that you—”

  “No, dear, I know perfectly well that you meant nothing by it. I like my shawls, you know, and would not be without them. One can add or subtract one or two and always be comfortable. Except, of course, when Cousin Olympia insists upon economizing. Do not forget your gloves,” she added, handing those articles to Carolyn, who kissed her cheek as she took them.

  “I shouldn’t dream of forgetting them. They are by far my favorite gift, for I know that you embroidered them yourself to match my gown.” She pulled the first one on and smoothed it into place, admiring the exquisitely embroidered pink and lavender flowers on delicate green stems. Remembering Sydney’s words, she said, “Do you sometimes wish you might set yourself up in an elegant shop, Puck, selling your wonderful creations, so that you need not be so dependent upon Godmama?”

  For a brief moment there was an arrested look in Miss Pucklington’s eyes, but she mastered herself quickly and said, “Whatever can have put such a notion into your head? A shop! Why, my mother was a Beauchamp, just as Cousin Olympia is, and a Beauchamp does not keep shop. Only imagine the scandal!”

  “Well, I think it a pity that so few of us should be aware of your talents, ma’am.”

  Coloring, Miss Pucklington said, “I know you are funning, my dear, but I pray you will say nothing of the sort to anyone else. Goodness me, I should not wish to distress Cousin Olympia by letting her think for one moment that I thought—and I don’t, truly I don’t, but—”

  Carolyn, wishing she had held her tongue, interrupted gently. “I won’t say a word to anyone, Puck. I am persuaded that we ought to go down now. Our guests will soon be arriving.”

  Miss Pucklington glanced at the little clock on the dressing table and exclaimed, “Oh, yes, why, it seems only a moment ago that I left Cousin Olympia. How can half an hour have passed by so quickly?” Twittering as she went, she bustled beside Carolyn to the grand stairway, from the top of which they could see that several guests had already arrived.

  Carolyn paused as the depressing thought struck her that despite the number of people invited to the ball, there was no single person she was truly looking forward to seeing. Reminding herself firmly that a number of young men had been invited who would no doubt prove entertaining, she lifted her chin and went down the stairs to take her place beside her godmother and Sydney to greet those guests who had been invited early to dine.

  Lady Skipton said in an undertone, “I sent Judith to fetch you more than half an hour ago.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carolyn said, turning to greet a majestic dame and the young girl following in her wake. By the time they had passed on, others had arrived and Lady Skipton was too taken up in the process of greeting them to quiz Carolyn any further.

  From time to time before the last of the dinner guests had been greeted, she was aware of Sydney’s glances, and she thought he must realize she was a trifle out of sorts, but when he finally ordered his porter to see to any latecomers and offered her his arm, he said only, “Shall I take you in, my ancient one?”

  Relaxing, she smiled at him. “Not if you intend to spend the evening throwing my advanced years in my face!”

  The dowager, who had been gathering up her fan and her satin reticule, which had been placed upon the table behind her, turned and said, “’Tis Sydney’s place to escort you, Carolyn, and it is not at all becoming in a young lady of one-and-twenty to be childishly difficult.”

  “No, ma’am,” Carolyn said, bowing her head for the simple reason that it was safer than taking the chance of looking at Sydney. She did not do so again until the dowager and her escort had passed before them into the dining room, and when she did, she saw the laughter in his eyes that she had expected to see.

  “May I help your decrepit self to a chair, ma’am?” he murmured wickedly.

  She chuckled and said, “If you mean to keep this up, sir, I shall not be responsible for my actions. I am not so old that I cannot remember how best to be revenged upon you.”

  “Not that!” He held up his free hand in the gesture used by fencers to declare a hit. “I prefer to know that my snuff and my bed are safe tonight. And I should prefer not to discover salt in my sugar basin in the morning, if it is all the same to you.”

  “I never did anything so common as that,” she protested.

  “No, you were always creative. Let me see, there was the time you pasted my slippers to my bedchamber floor. I arose from my bed in the middle of the night in order to attend to some very important business—”

  “Important business?”

  He wagged his finger at her as the footman moved to hold her chair. “A lady does not inquire into a gentleman’s business.”

  She grinned at him saucily. “Particularly not the business he attends to in the middle of the night.”

  “Just so,” he retorted, bending nearer and adding under cover of the commotion caused by the ceremony of seating everyone, “On that occasion, I arose from my bed, placed both feet in my slippers, attempted to take the first step, and promptly fell on my nose. I was sorely tempted to visit you in your bedchamber to describe my displeasure to you, but since I could scarcely leave my room in my bare feet—”

  “You ought to be grateful you had resources at hand and did not have to go down the corridor to the commode closet,” she said, only to blush and sit down rather quickly when she caught the eye of the elderly gentleman being seated to her right and realized he might have heard her. “G-good evening, sir.”

  “That’ll teach you,” Sydney murmured in her ear before moving to take his own seat.

  As the guest of honor, Carolyn sat at Sydney’s right hand, but his attention throughout the meal was claimed largely by the stout, gray-haired lady on his left, a particular friend of his mother’s, who talked incessantly about her family and her husband’s estate. Carolyn was thus left to the mercies of the gentleman on her right, who whether he had overheard her unfortunate comment or not, displayed more interest in his dinner than in conversation. As she watched the others, she sipped her wine, pushed her food around on her plate, sipped a little more wine, and felt generally rather dull.

  Most of the dinner guests were of another generation, for although both Viscount Lyndhurst and Mr. Manningford had been invited to dine, neither had yet appeared. She did not miss the viscount, nor would she have cared had his name been missing altogether from the invitation list, but she did miss Brandon, since he at least would have amused her. Deciding that he had either never received his invitation or had forgotten the engagement, she attempted to revive her sinking spirits by reminding herself yet again that other, no doubt interesting y
oung men had been invited to join the party later for dancing.

  After dinner, there was no thought of leaving the gentlemen to their port, and when Sydney escorted Carolyn from the dining room, they discovered that the other guests were already arriving. “Hello, Lyndhurst,” Sydney said when that gentleman approached them. “Began to think we’d have to forgo the pleasure of your company this evening.”

  The viscount bowed to Carolyn. “Sorry to be late. Many happy returns, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” she said, coloring as she remembered their last meeting. Despite that memory, however, she was more pleased to see him than she had expected to be. He was young, he was handsome, and he would be no threat to her here at Bathwick Hill House. He was a rake, of course, and reputedly a dangerous man, but that only made him more interesting. Her smile broadened as she held out her hand to him.

  Taking it and giving it a squeeze, he looked deep into her eyes and said, “Will you walk with me? I should like some private conversation with you.”

  Sydney said swiftly, “Dashed sorry, old fellow, but I see my mother looking this way. Daresay she wants to make Carolyn known to one of her cronies. Come along, Caro.” And before Lyndhurst could gather his wits, he had whisked her away.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded as he guided her, not toward the dowager at all but into the small anteroom leading from the rear of the hall into a little used garden parlor.

  At the moment both anteroom and parlor were empty, and without a word, Sydney shut the door behind them and leaned against it, reaching into his waistcoat pocket as Carolyn turned and repeated her question. Still without speaking, he withdrew a long, slim, green-velvet-covered box and handed it to her.

  “What is this?”

  “’Tis customary to open the box,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

  She paused, looking at him. “This morning when Puck gave me my gloves and Godmama my lace reticule, you gave me that pretty Chinese lacquer box with the inlaid brass woodland scene, so what can this be?”