by Amanda Scott
Her great-aunt, having entrusted her with the subscription card that served as a ticket of admission to the gardens, had told her that a significant part of the social round in Bath included a daily stroll along the gardens’ paths and promenades, where to be recognized and to be bowed to was confirmation of one’s approval by Bath society. For this purpose, however, Lady Flavia had pointed out in her acerbic way as Nell placed the card carefully in her bulky, knitted reticule, it was generally considered an advantage to be strolling at a time when there were other strollers about. Nevertheless, in Nell’s own opinion, since her primary purpose in visiting the gardens had been to think matters out for herself, her timing was excellent.
Ahead of her, to her right, was a pair of tennis courts, but they too were empty, and she wandered on, adjusting the strings of the unwieldy reticule over her arm and wondering what she ought to do about her future. Remaining with her great-aunt was clearly ineligible unless she could think of a way to contribute to the expenses of the household. And since Lady Flavia objected strenuously to any plan put forth with regard to Nell’s possible employment, she could think of no way to accomplish that end.
She was not, she realized forlornly, much suited to employment, anyway. She had been given an adequate education, but she did not think anyone of sense would hire her as a governess, nor did she imagine for a moment that she would enjoy such a position. That was the rub, that she did not, in all honesty, think she would enjoy a menial position, for the simple reason that her temperament was more determined in nature than most employers would tolerate in a dependent. She smiled, remembering her brother, Nigel’s, description of her.
“But I am not obstinate,” she informed a scampering squirrel that paused to look at her, sitting back on its haunches, nose a-twitch. “Really, I am not. A bit willful at times, I suppose, perhaps even a trifle recalcitrant when I think someone is attempting to take advantage of me, but I should prefer to think of myself as resolute, persevering, or tenacious, rather than just tiresomely stubborn.”
It was a game of hers, to think of words, to play with them in her mind, to find exactly the right one to suit the moment. Reading had been her chief joy for many years, and she had also enjoyed writing little tales for her own amusement, but since neither interest could provide her with employment, when the squirrel dashed on, disappearing through a shady grotto into what appeared to be a vast, hedged labyrinth beyond, she drew her mind inexorably back to the problem at hand, ignoring a strong temptation to fling her cares aside and follow the squirrel, to explore the labyrinth to her heart’s content.
The enormous maze was not the only distraction the gardens offered, for they had been designed in imitation of the famous Vauxhall Gardens in London, with artificial waterfalls, grottoes, thatched pavilions, and even a sham castle with cannon. Ahead of her now, built over a section of the Kennet and Avon canal, diverted to flow through the gardens, was an iron bridge in the Chinese style. She approached it, mentally sorting through a list of genteel occupations, discarding one after another.
Her great-aunt would suffer an apoplectic fit, she was sure, should she apprentice herself to a milliner or a modiste, or try to find a position as a lowly shopgirl. And Lady Flavia would approve even less of anything that smacked of Nell’s reducing herself to the servant class. About the only thing she could imagine that might possibly find acceptance in the old lady’s eyes was hiring herself out as lady companion to some elderly, albeit not impoverished, gentlewoman.
Stepping onto the bridge, Nell paused a moment in its center to look down at the clear water flowing beneath it, and sighed at the thought of spending her future days at the beck and call of an imperious employer, who would no doubt demand that she fetch and carry and listen to all manner of megrims and complaints. And what if the employer were sickly or, worse, a hypochondriac? Her recent history made it impossible to imagine herself fortunate enough to find employment with a paragon.
On the other side of the bridge, the gravel path wound south to follow the canal for a time, and she suppressed her cheerless thoughts for a few moments to enjoy the sight of a sextet of baby ducks who, under the watchful eye of their dignified mother, floating nearby, were flinging themselves from a low rock near the shore into the water, then swimming back and, with their wings aflap, clambering up the rock again to repeat the action with the same gleeful abandon that children might have shown.
Smiling, Nell wandered on, following the path along the canal, stopping briefly to admire a swing wide enough for two people to sit upon. A few yards beyond, the canal disappeared into an underground tunnel, and the path, crossing over it again, joined the hard-packed earthen ride that encircled the gardens, where horsemen exercised their steeds early each morning and others rode to be seen in the late afternoon. Shortly after that she came within sight of the labyrinth again and realized that she had made her way around a full half of the gardens.
The labyrinth at this point appeared to be divided by the ride, with a portion continuing into the shrubbery between the ride and the high wrought-iron fence that separated the gardens from the Sydney Road. She could hear carriage traffic from the road. Indeed, it sounded surprisingly nearer than that.
With something of a start, she realized as she came to the place where the ride passed between the two sections of the labyrinth, traffic was nearer than she had thought possible—for surely carriages were not allowed within the gardens themselves. Yet approaching now from the direction of the main gate was a crane-necked phaeton of the sort the bloods called a high-flyer, rattling along at speed behind a team of powerful-looking, perfectly matched bays.
Nell hitched her reticule more securely onto her arm and drew well aside, for the ride was not intended to accommodate wheeled vehicles or pedestrians—and certainly not both at the same time—and she noted that the single occupant was a well set up gentleman with fair hair beneath his high-crowned hat, broad shoulders beneath his well-cut, many-caped driving coat, and an irritated expression on his handsome face.
He caught sight of her just then, and his expression lightened as he pulled up his team with a flourish, bringing the carriage to a standstill right beside her. Then, to her complete astonishment, flashing a charming smile, he spoke to her.
“I do hope that you are Miss Bradbourne.”
“I am,” Nell replied in quelling accents, hoping that gentlemen in Bath did not often accost unknown ladies in public.
He swept his hat from his shining locks and made her a bow. “Sorry to disturb your walk, Miss Bradbourne, but the fact is that I’ve come here on purpose to find you. There’s been—”
“Aunt Flavia,” Nell exclaimed, her eyes widening in fright. “Something’s happened to Aunt Flavia! Oh, sir, pray tell me.”
He looked a trifle disconcerted by her reaction but recovered quickly, saying, “It is nothing dreadful, merely that she asked me to fetch you. I know it is not at all the thing when you do not even know me, but perhaps …” His voice trailed off, and he watched her hopefully.
Nell did not hesitate. “Of course I will come with you. Can you give me a hand up? How dreadfully high these carriages are! Oh, sir, what has happened to her?”
He did not answer at once, apparently being too much concerned both with holding his horses and with helping her to ascend to the seat to make explanation. Helping her, in itself, was no easy task, for her skirt was narrow and the step was set high from the ground, intended to accommodate a gentleman, not a lady. At last, however, the deed was done, and Nell discovered that she was not his only passenger when a toffee-colored hound lying on the floor under the seat lifted its head from its paws and gazed curiously at her as she stepped across the gentleman’s long legs to take her seat beside him.
“I trust your dog is well-behaved,” she said.
“Better than I,” he replied. “Hang on!” With that, he whipped up his horses again, and the phaeton sprang forward.
“Oh, sir,” Nell cried, “is it not a shorter distance if
you turn around and go back to the entrance the way you came?”
“I suppose it is,” he replied, “but if you can turn this rig in this narrow ride, you are a better driver than I am, which I take leave to doubt.”
She grimaced, saying, “No, of course I could not. ’Twas a foolish thing to say, but I am dreadfully troubled about my aunt, sir. You still have not told me what has happened to her.”
“Nor have I introduced myself,” he said glibly. “Brandon Manningford, at your service, Miss Bradbourne. You are newly come to Bath, I believe.”
“Yes, sir, but though it is pleasant to make your acquaintance, I confess I have no wish to exchange civilities just now. Pray, do tell me about my aunt.”
There was more color in his cheeks than she had noticed before when he said, “The situation is not grave, I promise you. Only a slight indisposition. But it frightened her sufficiently enough that she asked me to go in search of you, and of course I said I would. I can tell you, I was glad to see the gardens were nearly empty, for I had not the least notion what you looked like. As it was, I accosted two other females before you and nearly a third. Fortunately, I saw that the latter was of such age and countenance as to dismiss any possibility that she might be the Lady Flavia Bradbourne’s beautiful niece.”
“Her husband was my grand-uncle, Mr. Manningford,” Nell said, “but I do thank you for your compliment, little though I deserve it.”
They were approaching the entrance to the gardens now, and Nell saw that the wiry gatekeeper had opened both gates in order to allow the phaeton to pass through. Manningford raised a hand in thanks, and the gatekeeper saluted him. Once beyond the gates, Manningford negotiated the narrow, crescent-shaped entrance road, and emerging into Great Pulteney Street, urged his horses to greater speed before raising his voice above the clatter to say, “You slight yourself, Miss Bradbourne.”
“What, in refusing to lay claim to beauty?” She smiled at him, certain he was talking nonsense, trying to take her mind off Lady Flavia until he had delivered her to her side, but she could not let his accusation stand. “I speak no more than truth, sir. Few persons admire carrot-colored hair or the temperament that is thought to accompany it, and while soft curls are desirable, thick, wiry ones that tangle like a blackthorn hedge at the least motivation to do so are not. Furthermore, I am much too small for beauty. I know a truly beautiful girl who lives near my home in Trowbridge. She is tall and slender with masses of shining black hair, rosy cheeks, and eyes the color of sapphires.”
He shrugged. “I, too, know a woman who looks like that. Have done for a good portion of my life, for that matter, but I cannot say she suits my notion of what is beautiful. She is married, which might account for it, though now that I come to think of it, I never thought her beautiful when we were younger either. A madcap she was then. Sobered up a bit since she married Sydney and saddled them both with a pair of high-spirited children. He is also a friend of mine, Sydney Saint-Denis. They live at Bathwick Hill House.”
“I have heard of him,” Nell said, flushing when she remembered the context of that particular conversation.
Manningford glanced at her. “Have you now? And what might you have heard that turns your cheeks the color of ripe cherries, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
Flustered, Nell said quickly, “My great-aunt merely mentioned his Chinese servant … that he … Oh, dear, you will think me very odd, to be sure, if I do not explain, but it was all so silly. She was talking about mysterious things …”
“Aye, Ching Ho might appear to an elderly English lady to be something of a mystery, I suppose,” Manningford said, smiling.
He had a delightful smile. The thought startled her and she blurted, “It was not that precisely. Aunt Flavia was talking about Oriental poisons … that is to say, how to lay one’s hands upon them, and she thought—”
“Poisons!” Manningford threw his head back and laughed, inadvertently shaking his reins, giving his horses to understand that he desired them to go faster. But his hands were instantly quick and calming. “Here, lads, easy now,” he said, struggling to achieve the same control over his voice. “Ching Ho and poisons! That’s a good one. Easy, lads.”
Nell waited for him to regain control over the team before she said, “It sounds ridiculous, put that way, but she was merely saying that she didn’t believe in the mysterious Oriental poisons one reads about in romantical novels and—” She broke off when the laughter disappeared from his face, replaced at once by a grimace of disapproval. “Why, whatever have I said, sir? Oh, heed where we are!” she cried before he had had time to reply, for she had noted that they were passing the fountain in Laura Place, heading into Argyle Street. “That is her house there!”
In response he slowed, but she quickly realized that he did so only because Argyle Street was so much narrower than Great Pulteney Street and because there were other vehicles.
“Is Aunt Flavia not at home, then?” Nell demanded.
“That’s it,” he said brusquely. “Be still now while we go across the bridge. I cannot think what the designer was about to have made it so narrow. Even in those days, they must have wanted to drive vehicles across it in both directions at once, so why he had to put shops on both sides is a good question, don’t you agree? To believe anyone can actually have intended this bridge to be part of his main route to London must be lunacy.”
“Is that why Great Pulteney Street is so wide?” Nell asked, diverted. “I wondered about that, since it does not go anywhere in particular. There are all those odd side streets, too.”
“Aye, none longer than about fifty feet. The money ran out before the project could be completed. Good thing, too, if you ask me. This bridge would never have accommodated more traffic than there is now, and all those elegant houses in Laura Place and Sydney Place would have been sneered at by the very folk expected to purchase them, if they had thought they would have to put up with the racket of turnpike traffic all day. Let me concentrate now. It won’t do to lock wheels with someone else.”
She watched anxiously for a moment, not wanting an accident to delay her in reaching Lady Flavia, but she soon saw that there was no cause for misgiving. As her brother, Nigel, would have put the matter, Manningford drove to an inch. He seemed to do so effortlessly, too, so that she could not imagine why he had expressed concern about other vehicles.
On the other side, they rolled swiftly along Bridge Street and, turning away from the Abbey spires into North Gate Street, soon passed a tall church and a bustling market place without slowing any more than was necessary once or twice to avert disaster. When they had passed the Paragon Buildings, Nell said anxiously, “Are you certain you are going the right way, Mr. Manningford? My aunt said nothing to me about going out, you know, and while she might have stepped down the street or even so far as one of the shops on Pulteney Bridge without thinking to mention it, I cannot believe she would have come so far as this without telling me she meant to do so. Where are you taking me?”
He glanced at her in a measuring way before he turned his attention back to his horses and said casually, “Well, the fact of the matter is, Miss Bradbourne, that I am abducting you.”
Nell gazed at his excellent profile in silence for a long moment before she said calmly, “I see.” She shifted her reticule more securely into her lap, fiddling a little with the brightly colored strings that held it shut, saying nothing more.
He glanced at her again, clearly surprised by her calm. “I must say, I expected rather more of a reaction than that.”
“I am displeased, certainly,” Nell said in a matter-of-fact way, “but not so much as to have lost control of my temper, which is fortunate, since I have been told that one should remain calm in the presence of persons whose senses are clearly disordered.”
“I see.” To her surprise, there was amusement in his voice. “I am perfectly sane, Miss Bradbourne.”
“You will have to pardon me, sir, if I take leave to doubt that statement. I shall not
scream, however.”
“Be a damned good thing if you don’t. That offside wheeler is a mite ticklish, and I’m having all I can do, as it is, to keep his mind on his business. If you scream, we’ll most likely have him plunging over the traces. And this sort of carriage, you know, is notoriously unstable.”
“I should not wish to court disaster,” she agreed. “Indeed, I shall even keep to myself my opinion of a man who would hitch an unsteady team to such a notoriously unstable carriage.”
“Wise of you.” He shot her an enigmatic look. “I am truly grateful. Particularly since this is not my team, and if even one of these damned brutes is injured, my brother-in-law will doubtless have my head served up to him on a platter the moment he returns from France. He’s a marquess, you see, so I don’t doubt he’d know instantly how to arrange it.”
“Am I to assume,” she asked reasonably, “that your brother-in-law would otherwise approve of the use to which you have put his team?”
She saw his lips twitch briefly before they tightened into a thin line, and he said, “You’re mighty cool for a wench who’s just been told she’s being abducted. I expected tears and recriminations at the very least. Most young ladies of my acquaintance would show rather more sensibility, I believe.”
Nell gave the matter some consideration before she said, “I daresay I am not, in general, a woman of great sensibility, sir, but on the other hand, I must tell you that you are not precisely my notion of an abductor either.”
His mobile eyebrows lifted comically. “I hope that does not mean you believe I shall set you down again before my purpose is fulfilled, ma’am, for you are bound to be disappointed.”