The Bath Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  Matilda said, “His highness has said he did not say any such thing, sir, if you will pardon my reminding you. Perhaps you ought not to blame him without more evidence of his guilt.”

  The dowager clicked her tongue. “Indeed, I cannot imagine why any man’s brother would tell such lies.”

  “Ernest wants me declared unfit,” the Regent said flatly, “so that he can take over the throne. He is the most cunning fellow, you know, forever looking for one’s weaknesses and then pouncing upon them. I must watch what I eat, I daresay, even here. Wouldn’t put it past the damned fellow to poison me!”

  “He will not do so in this house,” Sydney said quietly, adding as Hercules began to scratch himself, “Cousin Judith, I believe it is time someone took that animal for a walk. He has provided enough amusement for one day.”

  Miss Pucklington got up at once and took the spaniel from the dowager, who made no objection and occupied herself for a moment or two with brushing dog hairs from her skirt.

  Lord Skipton, who had followed his own, rather slow train of thought, now said pensively, “I do not think it possible, sir, that Cumberland can expect to take your place, for he could not become Regent after you. Surely the Duke of York is the eldest after you, and Cumberland but one of your father’s younger sons.”

  “True,” the Regent agreed, “but Ernest ain’t deterred by that. Wants to be king, and I doubt he would cavil at a few murders along the way. Damned shame we can’t just give him some small spot on the map like Hanover to rule. Make him perfectly happy, I daresay, for he dotes on the place and would just as lief live there as here. Can’t think why, but then I’ve not spent the time there that he has.”

  Sydney deftly turned the subject, and the conversation became general after that, but although they chatted amiably about any number of other things, the Duke of Cumberland still occupied more than his share of everyone’s thoughts.

  XIII

  NO ONE COULD DENY that Cumberland’s arrival strained the hospitality of Bathwick Hill House to its limits. The royal duke, while continuing to insist upon his innocence with regard to the rumors about the Regent’s mental condition, made not the least effort to conceal his contempt for him when they met again at the dinner table that evening.

  Whether the duke had sinister intentions toward his brother or not, everyone could see that his sly references and innuendos were making the Regent miserable. When Lady Skipton gave the signal to withdraw, Carolyn hoped that the men would linger long over their port, but she was not entirely surprised when they entered the drawing room less than half an hour later.

  Skipton looked disapproving, the Regent harassed, and Cumberland looked saturnine. Only Sydney appeared to be his usual self. In fact, as Carolyn noted, there was even a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

  The Regent’s wiry secretary, Colonel MacMahon, drew a chair nearer the fire and fussed over his master as he settled himself. Mr. Neall hurried to do the same for Cumberland, and when the two attendants had effaced themselves at last, the dowager turned to Carolyn and said placidly, “No doubt their royal highnesses would like to hear you play for them, my dear.”

  Carolyn paled, saying hastily, “Ma’am, you know my skill is nothing superior. I would prefer not to inflict it upon them.”

  “Nonsense, you have been well taught and play quite tolerably. Do not be difficult, my dear. It don’t become you.”

  Without thinking, Carolyn looked imploringly at Sydney and was immeasurably relieved when he said at once, “I will play for you if you like. His highness appreciates a pretty voice and will enjoy hearing you sing a ballad or two.”

  Though knowing her voice was likewise nothing beyond the ordinary, Carolyn acquiesced at once, feeling as though she had been spared a dreadful ordeal, and when the Regent said that it would not matter what she sounded like so long as they might simply sit and watch her, she was able to grin saucily at him and say, “You may change your mind, sir, if I miss a note. I know you are famous for having a fine ear for music.”

  While the Regent preened himself and settled comfortably back in his chair, Cumberland looked compellingly at Carolyn and said with intent, “George is known for his excellent taste not only in music but … in many other things.” Then, finding Sydney’s eyes suddenly fixed upon him, the duke added casually, “I daresay we shall all enjoy your singing, Miss Hardy.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She went hastily to the pianoforte after that and helped Sydney select some music, but she was still nervous, for she was guiltily aware that she had practiced infrequently since leaving school. When she moved to take her place, he stopped her with a light hand upon her arm, and when she looked up at him, he smiled reassuringly. Carolyn felt herself relaxing at once, as a warm feeling of confidence spread through her, and she smiled back, no longer nervous at all.

  The first song was a simple ballad, one she hoped would not betray her lack of skill, but she need not have worried, for no sooner had she finished the first verse than Sydney, who played as well as he did most things, joined his pleasant baritone voice with hers. By the fourth verse, the Regent, who did indeed have a great love for music of any kind, had moved up beside her to sing along, and so much did he enjoy himself that the songfest continued until Cumberland had had his fill of it and excused himself in disgust to retire to his bed.

  Nor did the evening end with his departure, for by then, Matilda and even Skipton had joined in the singing, and the dowager was heard to assure Miss Pucklington that she was enjoying herself very tolerably, very tolerably indeed. Only when the singers had entirely exhausted Sydney’s collection of music did she ring for the tea tray.

  “Damme, ma’am, but I cannot think when I have enjoyed myself so much in a single evening,” the Regent informed her as he accepted his cup. It is just as I thought—a Bath cure is what I needed. I daresay that after a good night’s sleep, I shall be in plump enough currant to get a very good price from Melvin for those of his things that I choose to admire.”

  It appeared the following day that he was indeed feeling well, for Sydney bore him off directly after they had broken their fast to visit Sir Percival. Carolyn, learning that Cumberland had likewise gone into town upon business, and that Lord Skipton had ridden out to look over Sydney’s estate, left Matilda to the dowager’s mercies and went to the stable, where she learned to her dismay that Salas had decided to make himself useful by helping to tend the royal horses. When she demanded what he meant to say if anyone questioned his presence there, he informed her cheerfully that the royal servants assumed he served Sydney while Sydney’s servants assumed he served the Regent.

  “No one will object,” he added confidently. “You forget, lady, that Salas has magic in his hands for all grees.”

  “Well, don’t get to thinking you are going to live here permanently,” Carolyn said with asperity, “for it won’t happen. You must be patient until the Regent leaves, Salas, but then you will have to go, too.”

  “But that is what one wants, no? It would not suit Salas to remain here, lady. He prefers to live with his own.”

  Not sure if she believed him, she left him and returned to the house, where she occupied herself with a few of the many errands the dowager had assigned to Miss Pucklington. When one of these took her late that afternoon into the kitchen garden, she was astonished to discover the Regent, quite unattended.

  Standing on the gravel path, peering down into a radish bed, he raised his head at the sound of her footsteps and greeted her with a rueful smile, saying in a more sober tone than was usual with him, “Daresay you are surprised to see me here.”

  “Very surprised, sir,” she admitted. “I did not know you had returned from town, and one does not, in any case, expect to find the ruler of one’s country gazing at radishes in the kitchen garden. I hope your visit to Sir Percival was a successful one.”

  “Oh, yes, some devilish fine pieces.” He paused, grimacing. “MacMahon and the others have been flitting about me like flies since we returne
d, and Ernest—Well, the fact of the matter is I came here looking for some peace. Don’t see much of that, you know, but I thought this would be one place no one would think to look for me. That cursed brother of mine has been telling me I ought to make a few public appearances in London if I wish folks to believe me fit to rule. Damme, but he says it as though he still believes I ain’t fit. And the worst of it is, I know if I do return to London, he’ll have been before me with his little hints and jealousies. Fact is, I’m sick of it, damme if I ain’t. What I need is one of them clever magician fellows to make Ernest disappear with a flick of his magic wand, damme if I don’t.”

  Carolyn bit back a smile, for he looked more like a chubby boy, disappointed at some turn of fate, than like a grown man with the fate of a nation resting on his shoulders, and she found to her amazement that she felt sorry for him. She wondered what it must be like for him to have fought for power in the face of strong opposition and general lack of public confidence, and nearly to have won it all, only to discover that the burden was heavier than he liked to carry.

  “It must be difficult,” she said, putting her thoughts into words, “to be always in the public eye, and to know the world is watching and criticizing everything one does.”

  He straightened. “Can’t blame them for that,” he said in a tone more like his normal one. “I’ll be king one day, after all, damme if I won’t. Near enough now, for all that—nearer still in six weeks when all the restrictions are gone. Can’t wonder at them wanting to know every move I make. Daresay, being female, you might not realize how it is, but even the Times notes where I go every day and what I do. Today it will report that I am visiting Bathwick Hill House as the guest of Mr. Sydney Saint-Denis. Might even mention Miss Carolyn Hardy. How would you like that, m’dear? Daresay it would be a feather in your cap.”

  Carolyn, thinking she was coming to know him better, said gently, “I do not believe I should like it at all, sir—everyone wondering over his tea if I should succeed or fail and grumbling at every turn as though he could do better. It seems that every man is entitled to his privacy, except a royal prince.”

  “Regent, m’dear, not merely a royal prince anymore. Aye, and that’s the rub, damme if it isn’t.”

  “It must be a very great responsibility, sir.”

  “That it is,” he agreed. “Not a day passes by but someone or other is demanding something from me. It was less arduous being only a royal prince, I can tell you. Then, it was only my debts that annoyed them. As if a fellow in my position could live on the paltry allowance they provide! But here, we have talked too long about me, m’dear, and a kitchen garden is no place for beauty like yours. Let me take you away from here.”

  She had no objection to letting him make her pretty speeches, but instead of allowing him take her from the garden, she indicated a bench under a bare apple tree and suggested that they sit down instead. “I came out here looking for one of the gardeners, sir, to tell him my godmother wants some late bulbs planted, but there is no great need for me to find him at once, and you will not wish to give up your peace so soon.”

  He agreed at once and set himself to charm her with such good effect that in no time at all she was laughing with him and regaling him with certain details of her history that she usually kept to herself, knowing they would make him laugh. He was quick to admit equally mischievous episodes in his childhood, and since she knew as well as any other citizen of England that that childhood had been much more severely restricted than her own, she encouraged his laughter by describing pranks she had played on Sydney at Swainswick.

  “You made Saint-Denis the butt of your jokes!” He laughed heartily. “Damme, even after watching him floor Ernest, I find it hard to imagine him with a hair out of trim, so I do.”

  “Well, he was younger then, of course,” Carolyn said, not feeling at all inclined to admit more recent activities, “but even so, sir, he rarely lost so much as an ounce of his self-possession, and I must own that to stir him out of that calm became a near madness with me. His mother has told me that he was used to have the most devilish temper, but I cannot believe her. I ask you, sir …”

  The Regent shook his head. “Don’t see that m’self. Daresay the old lady was making it up to be interesting.

  “Yes, so I thought; however, after that, I wanted more than anything to see him put out of countenance, but the plain fact is that Sydney never is put out. The most I could hope for, when I was particularly annoyed with him, was that the prank itself would relieve my irritation.”

  He nodded vigorously. “I believe you, damme, if I don’t. Just now, I should very much enjoy being able to get back at Ernest for all he has done. Things were simpler when we were boys. Not,” he added with a sad, reminiscent air, “that one ever really got back at Ernest, even then. He is the sort who always can think of something worse to do. It was much better to hoax him several days later and hope he never found out who had done it. In any event, one is an adult now, and Regent. It would not do.” He sighed. “It would be a fine thing nonetheless if something so simple as a hoax could free me from Ernest’s damned mischievous tongue, damme if it wouldn’t.”

  Carolyn sighed too, for he sounded so wistful that she found herself wishing that such a thing were not impossible to contrive. If only she were a truly clever person, she mused, she would know how to make undesirable persons vanish with no more effort than it took to nod her head. But since she was not such a person, she was unable to think of a way to make even Salas the gypsy disappear, let alone the odious Duke of Cumberland.

  Had the Regent spoken to her at just that moment, no doubt her thoughts would have taken an altogether different turning, but as it was, he was lost in his own meditations and remained silent for quite a little time, doing nothing to distract her, so that what had begun as the tiniest seed of an idea had time to take root in her mind and flower there until it actually began to seem possible. Doubts set in at once, for the plan was too simple and depended too much upon small but essential details. She looked speculatively at the Regent, who chose that very moment to recollect himself.

  “I say,” he said ruefully, “I’ve fallen into a brown study which is not at all the thing to do, damme if it is. Shocking, in fact. Only goes to show what Ernest’s mischief has done. Not my style to sit in silence beside a beautiful young woman.”

  “Never mind, sir,” she said. “You told me once that his highness has a certain fondness for Hanover, did you not?”

  “Aye, he was at university there for four years and then entered the army there—well, you’ve seen for yourself that he always wears his damned uniform! One would think that losing his left eye at Tournay would have given him a distaste for military life, but it didn’t. Still thinks himself a fine soldier. Not but what I’d like nothing better than to see him off to battle again, damme if I wouldn’t, but he ain’t taken a military turn since they made him Duke of Cumberland nigh onto eleven years ago, so I’m afraid it won’t answer.”

  “What if he were called to duty in Hanover?” Carolyn asked.

  “Now, that would be a fine thing,” the Regent agreed, looking at her hopefully. Then his face fell. “But it won’t happen, you know. Bonaparte’s in control there, you know.”

  “I think it could happen,” she said thoughtfully, “but he might not believe the messenger, you know, and if he were to question him too closely, the plan could fail.”

  He stared at her intently. “What plan?”

  She swallowed and took the plunge. “I know a man who might easily pose as a messenger from Hanover. He could arrive here, his horse all lathered, and announce an emergency of one sort or another in Hanover. He will insist that the duke’s presence is being demanded there. We shall have to put our heads together, of course, to determine the exact nature of the emergency, for I know absolutely nothing about Hanoverian politics. But you will no doubt be able to think of something. What do you think, sir?”

  For a moment a light of pure mischief gleamed in
his eyes, but then he shook his head. “I doubt that Ernest would believe it,” he said, “and even if he did, I have learned to my cost that it does no good to take unknown persons into one’s confidence in such schemes. They nearly always turn up later and want more for their trouble than they are worth. Your messenger could prove entirely too costly, my dear.”

  She grinned. “If that is your only concern, sir, I can put your mind at rest, for the messenger I have in mind wants only to reach the Continent without anyone else’s knowing he is leaving the country. He would be willing to disappear once he reaches Belgium or Holland, or wherever they make landfall. By the time the duke realized he had been duped, I can promise you, our messenger will have disappeared. What do you think now?”

  But it was not the Regent who said grimly, “I think the time has come to put an end to your foolish pranks, Carolyn.”

  Startled nearly out of her wits by the sound of Sydney’s voice so close at hand, she whipped her head around to see him emerging from the nearby shrubbery. Though she had no notion how much he had heard, there could not be the least doubt this time that Mr. Saint-Denis was blazingly angry, and though she leapt to her feet, she could think of nothing whatever to say to him.

  Making no effort, for once, to conceal his anger, he snapped, “I will speak privately with you at once, Carolyn, if his royal highness will excuse us.” He looked steadily at the Regent. “Your secretary has been looking for you, sir. A courier has arrived with letters from London.”

  Getting up with less haste than Carolyn had displayed, the Regent said nervously, “Nothing in our little tête-à-tête, you know, Saint-Denis. Just came out to get away from everyone for a few minutes, and Miss Carolyn chanced to find me instead of the gardener she was looking for when she came into the garden. Nothing in it to make you take a pet, nothing at all. Damned clever notion she’s taken into her head, damned clever, but nothing’s amiss, man, nothing at all.”