The Bath Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  They were held up briefly at the turnpike while Manningford persuaded the keeper that he intended to go no more than a few yards beyond to Grosvenor Place to pick up a friend who was awaiting him, and that they would then return. The rules regarding this sort of thing were quite clear, but the keeper was by no means prepared to accept the word of a young buck driving a carriage clearly intended to carry no more than two people, and a fast carriage at that. Only when Manningford pointed out that his friend was the gentleman dressed in the height of fashion now approaching them on the pavement directly opposite Grosvenor Place, did the keeper give way and allow them to pass, though he kept a sharp eye on them as he attended to the two vehicles following closely behind the phaeton.

  Manningford drew up beside Mr. Lasenby, who had lifted his gold-rimmed quizzing glass to his right eye, the better to examine Miss Bradbourne. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said politely, letting the glass fall before casting an inquiring look at Manningford. “Going to introduce me, my lad?”

  “Never mind doing the polite, Seppi,” Manningford told him. “Just hop up here, quick as you can, before that turnpike keeper begins to think we’re tipping him the double.”

  “What, didn’t you get a proper ticket?” Mr. Lasenby demanded, climbing up to squeeze in beside Nell, who in shifting to make room for him, found herself sitting awkwardly on her pistol. “Dashed fool thing to forget,” he added. “And you such a knowing one! But you might introduce me to the lady all the same, you know, particularly if we’re going to be driving along the highroad squashed together like geese in a drove.”

  “Geese in a flock, Sep; sheep in a drove.” Manningford smiled at Nell. “Mr. Lasenby, Miss Bradbourne, little though he recommends himself to you with his foolish chatter.”

  “Well, I like that,” Mr. Lasenby said indignantly. “I am not the one who insisted upon driving to Reading in a dashed uncomfortable high-flyer, am I? Dashed right I’m not! And—Here, Bran, what are you doing turning full about in the middle of the London Road? You’ll have us over or in a tangle with another carriage. Watch that fellow on the right, will you!”

  “Hold your nash, Seppi. I’ve never overturned you yet, have I?” Manningford waved thanks to the gentleman who had halted his own carriage in rather a hurry to allow him to turn his around. “We are taking Miss Bradbourne back to Laura Place.”

  “Taking her back!” Mr. Lasenby looked from one to the other, then uttered a weak laugh. “I wonder what nonsense you can be speaking, Bran. Miss Bradbourne, I daresay you do not know what he is talking about. Pay him no heed, I beg you.”

  Nell looked straight ahead, biting her lower lip to keep the bubble of laughter she felt rising in her throat from bursting forth, and grateful that her short stay in Bath made it unlikely that any of her great-aunt’s friends, or anyone else, would recognize her in her present position.

  Manningford, shooting a glance at her, said nothing until he had negotiated the turnpike again, but once they were through, he said to Mr. Lasenby, “She knows the whole, Sep, and she objects to being abducted, so I am taking her home immediately.”

  “She knows?” Mr. Lasenby tugged at his highly starched neckcloth, evidently finding it suddenly a trifle too tight. “I say, Miss Bradbourne, I hope Bran’s little indiscretion—”

  But here he was interrupted by a crack of laughter from Manningford. “You sound just like her, Sep! Indiscretion is precisely the word she employed to describe what I tried to do. Oh, and Miss Bradbourne,” he added in lower voice, “if you have not already done so, I beg you will put that pistol back where you found it before we reach Laura Place and without waving it about, if you please, for all and sundry to see.”

  “Pistol!” Mr. Lasenby choked the word out. “She’s got a pistol?” Watching in fascinated dismay as Nell gratefully removed it from beneath her hip and returned it to her reticule, he said as she did so, “Now, look here, Bran, I said the whole notion was mad-brained, and if you had not let your father get your temper up like you did, you’d have seen as much from the outset. For I’ll tell you to your head, my lad, you have not managed this business with a jot of your usual finesse, and that’s a fact.”

  Manningford chuckled, glancing again at Nell, who refused to look at him for the simple reason that she was still having difficulty, both in containing her laughter and in believing that any of what was happening was real. She was quite certain that at any moment, she would awaken and find herself in her own bed, where she would be able to laugh without restraint for as long as she wished to do so, and without anyone’s believing she ought to be clapped instantly into Bedlam.

  “Sep is right, Miss Bradbourne,” Manningford said ruefully. “I lost my temper last night, drank too much port afterward, and acted this morning without allowing myself so much as a moment to think. A single moment’s reflection must have shown me the idiocy of succumbing to an impulse born out of temper.”

  “Ought to have taken the post chaise instead of this rackety phaeton, for starters,” Mr. Lasenby muttered.

  Manningford chuckled again. “With you acting as postilion, I suppose. Or do you imagine that fellow we had from Westbury yesterday would have obliged us by going on to Reading with Miss Bradbourne as our captive? If he had, Sep, I’d have had to leave you behind, since the chaise barely had room enough for the two of us. It would never accommodate a third.”

  “It did accommodate a third,” Mr. Lasenby said testily, “just as this vehicle is accommodating a fourth, or had you forgotten King Ethelred, who, as I plainly see, is still taking up more than his fair share of the floor space?”

  “King Ethelred?” Nell said, looking down at the hound’s head, which was all she could see of that noble animal, since the rest was well back under the seat. “Is that what you call him?”

  “It is what Sep calls him,” Manningford said. “He thinks him unready. He maligns him, I believe.”

  “Well, what do you call him?” she asked reasonably.

  “Dog,” he said.

  “But that will not do at all,” she said, looking again at the hound. “He is rather regal, but not much like an Ethelred, more like the Emperor Maximilian, I think.”

  “Max he shall be then,” Manningford said.

  She grinned at him. “Just like that, sir?”

  “Just like that,” he replied, smiling back at her.

  Nell looked away and said quickly, “I cannot imagine why you have never given him a proper name him before now.”

  “I only just acquired him,” he said, and went on to explain.

  When he had finished, she said, “That is one wager my father never dreamed of. Did every card truly land face down?”

  “Every one. Was not your father the one who set out to lay jackstraws end to end along the road from Frome to Beckington before some other fellow could twice walk the same distance?”

  “The very same. He lost that wager, though. A heavy wind came up and blew half the straws away before he’d finished. He was most put out, because it had taken him nearly a month to collect enough straws to do the trick in the first place.”

  Mr. Lasenby had been watching them, and listening, and this casual cordiality was too much for him. He said sharply, “Here now, what goes on? Bran, you say she knows you meant to abduct her for a wager, yet here she is discussing dog’s names and absurd wagers with you just as if you was both at a rout party, when she ought by rights to be laying charges against you.”

  Manningford’s eyebrows shot up. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you mean to lay charges, Miss Bradbourne?”

  A gurgle of laughter escaped before she could stop it. “I do not think I should care to do that, sir,” she said. When he regarded her with twinkling humor in his eyes, she shook her head and said, “Any competent magistrate would stare at such a tale as I might relate. ‘A gentleman took me up in Sydney Gardens,’ I’d tell him, ‘and drove me to Grosvenor Place, where he took up another gentleman before returning me to Laura Place.’ In point of fact, sir, th
ere is no crime that I can see.”

  “But look here,” Mr. Lasenby said, “he must have spun you some Banbury tale or other to get you into the phaeton, and he wasn’t meaning to take you only so far as Grosvenor Place. In actual point of fact, ma’am, if you had not had that pistol—though why a lady residing in Bath should carry a pistol in her reticule is more than I can say. Why do you do so, ma’am?”

  “I had no maid or footman to accompany me, Mr. Lasenby, and I have not always resided in Bath,” Nell said.

  “But, surely—”

  “Peace, Sep,” Manningford said, and to Nell’s surprise, since Mr. Lasenby seemed something of an amiable rattlepate, he said not another word. There was a long moment of silence before Manningford said thoughtfully, “You know, Miss Bradbourne, I cannot help but feel that somehow I ought to repay you for taking so sanguine an attitude to my outrageous behavior.”

  “Well, I do not know how you might do that, sir, unless you know of someone in need of a companion, or perhaps a governess.”

  He shook his head. “No one.” He glanced at her. “I do not think anyone will hire you for a governess.”

  “But I have been well-educated, sir, and the only other thing I do well is housekeeping, for I served my father in that capacity from the time I turned sixteen.”

  “Well, you cannot go for a housekeeper. What else can you do? There must be something.”

  “Nothing,” she said firmly, “unless you consider my passion for reading or my foolish scribbles.”

  “You write?” He looked at her sharply.

  “Well, not really. That is, nothing but nonsensical stuff for my own amusement. I daresay I should enjoy reading to an invalid or making up tales to amuse children, but I do not think I should make enough in either case to keep myself, do you?”

  “No,” he agreed. He fell silent again, but after a moment, he said slowly, “I believe we must have a serious talk, Miss Bradbourne. Can you extend your complaisance to allow us to accompany you inside when we reach your great-aunt’s house?”

  Nell stared at him. “Mr. Manningford, you are not still thinking that I shall assist you to deceive the gentleman with whom you made your outrageous bet. Even though I myself might have suggested such a thing …” Words failed her.

  Mr. Lasenby stared. “You did, ma’am?”

  “Be still, Seppi,” Manningford commanded. “She did no such thing. Nor am I suggesting such a course. I do possess a certain amount of integrity, Miss Bradbourne, though I realize you have no cause to believe me when I say so.”

  Relaxing, Nell smiled at him. “I have every cause, sir. Oh, yes,” she insisted when he regarded her skeptically. “Just as I know beauty through having been acquainted with one, I know villainy, and you are no villain, sir. Mr. Lasenby chooses to think that you were merely careless, but I have talked with you a good deal this morning and have seen no indication of stupidity. Yet, despite what you claim to know about alternative routes, avoiding turnpike keepers, and such other obstacles as might have been encountered, I cannot believe you truly intended to abduct me. Not in a high perch phaeton, not all the way to Reading. I do believe you lost your temper, from some cause or other, and acted impulsively, but that is all I believe.”

  Manningford opened his mouth and shut it again. After a moment’s thought, he said, “No doubt you have the right of it. Sep is certainly correct in saying that I lost my wits. We must hope that had I not wakened with a sore head and my temper still in an uproar, I should more rapidly have recovered them.” He reined in his team. “Here we are now. Do we all go in, Miss Bradbourne? I believe I can safely promise it will result in your benefit, though not by so much as four thousand. Indeed, I do not know what amount I can offer, but if we put our heads together, perhaps we can find a solution to suit us both.”

  Nell made up her mind quickly. “Yes, do come in, the both of you. Only there is no one about to hold your horses, Mr. Manningford. Shall you have to tether them to the area fence? Or perhaps the wrought-iron fence ’round the fountain will do. It looks strong enough, does it not?”

  “Your porter will see to them, I expect,” Manningford said comfortably. “Go knock the fellow up, Sep, and then help Miss Bradbourne to alight. I cannot trust these fellows to stand.”

  Mr. Lasenby jumped down obediently, smoothed his coat, and ran a finger quickly around the edge of his neckcloth as if to be sure it was properly in place before ascending the three steps to rap authoritatively on the door.

  Nell waited with bated breath to see if any servant would appear. One never knew whether Sudbury, the butler, would be in the hall or down in the kitchen, since, except for a daily housemaid and Lady Flavia’s devoted dresser, Botten, he and his wife were the only two servants she had seen since her arrival. However, after a moment’s delay, the door opened, and Sudbury, looking as stately as though he served a ducal mansion, looked down his long nose at Mr. Lasenby, then past him at Nell.

  Mr. Lasenby spoke quickly, and the butler nodded without losing a jot of his dignity and shut the door, leaving Mr. Lasenby to stand staring at it. A moment later, it opened again, and at the same time, a thin, gangly boy of twelve or thirteen, in nankeen breeches and cap, shrugging on a well worn coat, came running up the area steps from the basement kitchen and hurried to the leaders’ heads.

  Manningford looked at the youth with misgiving. “Think you can hold them?” he asked.

  “Aye, guv. Bang up bits o’ flesh ’n bone, they be. Bit resty, but I’ll run ’em round yon fountain ’n they gits uppity.”

  Nodding, Manningford wrapped the slack of his reins around the brake handle and swung down, holding up his hands to assist Nell, since Mr. Lasenby had forgotten her in his stupefaction at having been left standing on the doorstep. Nell placed her hands on Manningford’s broad shoulders, felt his strong hands at her waist, and wondered why such a common action as being helped down from a carriage should leave her feeling breathless. But with her feet solidly on the pavement, she took her cue from Sudbury, turned to Mr. Lasenby, and said with as much dignity as the butler himself might have assumed, “Shall we go in, sir?”

  She could see that Mr. Lasenby was dying to ask her why on earth the butler had not summoned one footman to hold the horses while another went to fetch the boy, but she had seen enough of him to be certain his manners were too good to allow him to ask such a question. Walking past him across the black-and-white-checked hall floor toward the graceful, swooping stairs, and trying to ignore a burst of outraged barking from outside, she said casually over her shoulder, “Is my aunt at home, Sudbury?”

  “Yes, Miss Nell,” the butler replied. “Her ladyship is in the drawing room. Shall I bring refreshment?”

  Fearing there might be no suitable refreshment to offer, Nell opened her mouth to deny that they wanted anything so early in the day, but Mr. Lasenby spoke first, saying gratefully, “I’d not refuse a glass of wine, and that’s a fact.”

  “Very good, sir,” Sudbury said, “and whom shall I announce to her ladyship, if you please?”

  They told him, and as the butler took Manningford’s cape and Nell’s pelisse and laid them carefully across the porter’s chair, just as though he expected an underling to collect them, Manningford shot her a look that made her color to her eyebrows, certain he had guessed there were no other servants. He looked slimmer without the cape and was dressed with a careless elegance that put her forcibly in mind of her brother. She had begun to think there was little to choose between the pair of them, and decided it was precisely that familiarity that made her feel as if she had known Mr. Manningford for years instead of an hour.

  With a stately nod, Sudbury preceded them up the stairs to the drawing room, opening the double doors and announcing their names in majestic tones. The frantic barking continued below but was muted now, and no one chose to acknowledge it.

  Lady Flavia, wearing a mauve-silk morning dress, the style of which had been fashionable some years before, and seated in her favorite chair ne
ar the fire, her feet on the tapestry footstool, set aside her tambour frame and said with a welcoming nod, “You must be Rackton’s younger grandson, Mr. Lasenby. I knew your grandpapa in my girlhood. Very autocratic, he was.”

  “Still is, ma’am,” he said. “Devilish old tyrant.”

  “I read of your recent betrothal and must offer you my felicitations. Miss Wembly is a most excellent choice.”

  “His choice,” Mr. Lasenby said with a sigh. “Wench has an income of fifteen thousand a year, and the tipstaffs were after me. Betrothal set that right, of course, but fear felicitations may be premature. Got a lamentable memory, you see. Forgot some dashed silly dress-party, and she took a pet.”

  Manningford said, “Can’t blame her, Sep, not when the party was held chiefly to make you known to her relations, and she has not cried off, precisely, just said you must improve. You won’t forget her ball in Brighton, however, for I’ll remind you.”

  Mr. Lasenby nodded doubtfully, and Lady Flavia turned to Manningford with a decided twinkle in her eyes. “You are Sir Mortimer’s younger son, are you not?” she asked.”

  “I have that honor, ma’am,” Manningford said evenly. He glanced toward the window. The barking continued.

  Nell stared at him. “That is why your name sounded familiar to me,” she exclaimed, feeling another of those odd urges to laugh and realizing that she had felt them more in one day than in the previous seven months. “Aunt Flavia mentioned your father earlier. She said … oh, dear, I am persuaded I ought not to repeat this, but she called him eccentric.” The laughter that had threatened to overwhelm her more than once that morning would no longer be denied, and she sat down on the nearest chair and laughed until tears streamed down her face. Both her aunt and Mr. Lasenby stared at her as though they feared she had lost her mind, but Manningford, with a wry twist of his lips, pulled a large, snowy handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and pushed it into one of her hands. The barking outside suddenly ceased.