Not more than a few minutes after she closed her eyes to shut out the light now boring into her skull from the few candles and a dying fireplace, a dark shadow fell across her face. “Bella, my dear.” A low, familiar rumble near her ear, a hand touching her shoulder.
Her eyes blinked open in the dim candlelight, and she scrambled to her feet at the sight of an unknown gentleman bowing. Instinctively, she stared over her shoulder, to see if he meant to speak to the brocade-covered wall rather than her.
She turned back and caught sight of the source of the familiar voice: her uncle at the man’s elbow. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, she stammered, “Unc… Uncle Howard. I—” She dropped into a curtsey, looking around for any distraction from the immediate requirement to speak to a man she had never seen before.
“Lord Holsworthy, my niece, Miss Isabella Smithson. Bella, the baron asked if you might stand up with him for the next set.”
“Um.”
She stared at Uncle Howard, waiting for him to answer for her, as he often did—as everyone often did—and when he only stared back in expectation of her answer, she kept searching the room over the man’s shoulder, for her aunt, her cousin, even her brother would do at the moment. Anyone to say something that would carry the conversation before she might have to.
“Myron Clewes, Baron Holsworthy, at your service, Miss Smithson. Your uncle tells me you are an excellent dancer. Might you allow me the pleasure?”
“Er.”
Her fingers were once again twisted in her gown, and all the blood that had drained from her face now rushed back full force. The room must have just gained ten degrees, as she could feel the perspiration on her forehead and upper lip, and in light of this new, more pressing, problem, and some inconvenient lightheadedness, her headache melted away.
“Bella?” her uncle queried.
“Um-hmm?” Bella replied.
Lord Holsworthy held his arm out. Lacking the capacity to speak a full sentence, and with an approving nod from her uncle, she had nothing left to do but take it.
He was quite tall. The top of Bella’s head barely reached his chest. And broad; his shoulders seemed as wide as a ship’s mainsail. Were he to put his arms around her, she might disappear completely. His greying hair was long, loose, and wild, and the lines in his face were deep, as though they had been carved with a chisel. Much older—perhaps even older than her father—his large hands were gentle against her fingers on his arm, and his smile tender.
He was the first man not a blood relation to ask Bella to dance. Ever.
When they took their places in the line for the contredanse, Charlotte nearly fell over her own feet trying to pay concurrent attention to her husband, the dance steps, and the mysterious gentleman who had asked Bella to dance, after she and her mother had both agreed everything had been done that could, until the next assembly.
“You are a lovely dancer,” Lord Holsworthy remarked as he led Bella clumsily through a turn. “You put me to shame, I’m afraid, though I am certain my skills are improved merely by proximity.”
“Er. Uh. Thank you?”
When their dance was finished, mercifully with no further need for words, Bella found herself unfortunately thrust into the conversational fire at the refreshment table, with Lord Holsworthy, Viscount and Viscountess Pinnester, and a glass of lemonade.
Before Bella was required to think of anything to say, her aunt and uncle rushed across the room, and Lady Effingale wrapped her arm around Bella’s shoulder.
“My lords, my lady, I hope you will allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Isabella Smithson.” Lady Effingale kicked the side of Bella’s foot to initiate a curtsey, as though she hadn’t already been introduced and made a perfect bow to each in turn.
Bella’s throat had closed at the attention from strangers who so definitively outranked her, combined with the likelihood of some new public humiliation at her aunt’s hands. The viscountess kindly took her hand and made her compliments on her embroidered dancing slippers, begging the name of the maker. The ploy might have worked if Bella hadn’t answered without thinking, “My aunt’s maid gave me the pattern, but I did the stitching myself. The cobbler in the village set the soles.”
Lady Effingale’s eyes flashed dangerous fire at Bella, so she looked away, face flushed, only to see Lord Pinnester’s eyebrow and lip curl upward in unison, until his wife stepped on his toe and said, “I vow you are a finer needlewoman than any in London, and it is so important to patronize the shops in one’s home village.” She addressed no one in particular when she asked, “Do you not agree?”
“It is her first time at the Assembly Rooms,” Lady Effingale apologized. “Isabella is surely tongue-tied in the presence of such illustrious company.”
Bella’s forehead furrowed. She was not entirely tongue-tied, and was certain, given the chance, she could manage polite discussion with the viscountess, though probably not her husband. Lord Holsworthy’s eyes twinkled in a way she was sure must be scandalous, but he had neither said nor done anything inappropriate, and every word he spoke seemed designed to put her at ease.
To fill Bella’s stricken silence, Lord Holsworthy said, “I appreciate industry in a young lady. So many place more stock than is seemly in feathers and furbelows, and have little notion of a purposeful life.”
Following closely on Aunt Minerva’s heels, Charlotte dragged Alexander across the room, and another round of bowing and curtseying ensued, while the Effingales and Firthleys did their level best to all speak for Bella at once. No one wanted to see her make a fool of herself. No need, when she had perfectly good family members to do it for her. Lord Holsworthy refilled her glass and spoke under the din, standing near enough she could smell the pleasing scents of ginger and cardamom on his clothes.
“I wonder, Miss Smithson, if you have ever thought of traveling?”
She choked on her lemonade, and he thumped her on the back to clear the coughing from her throat.
“Traveling?” she queried in a whisper. Find yourself a seagoing baroness or board your new flagship without one.
“I have spent my life at sea, and my travels are the only things of which I can speak that might hold the interest of a young lady. Though admittedly, she would have to be quite unique indeed to find entertainment in my ramblings.”
He was very sweet to be concerned about whether he might bore her, when boring one’s conversation partner was her stock in trade. He was kind to carry so much of the dialogue among his friends, since she clearly had no idea what to say.
Since he had made the attempt to speak to, not at or around her, like everyone else, Bella made the effort to formulate an answer. “I find the idea of travel fascinating, though I think it unlikely I shall be allowed to indulge my curiosity.”
“And why is that, Miss Smithson?”
“It just seems improbable for a girl who has passed her life in the countryside.” She stopped short of saying, ‘a girl without means’.
“Obviously, you have journeyed as far as Bath. Have you not seen London?”
She dropped her eyes and wished he hadn’t mentioned the capital. Even more, she hoped no one he knew had attended the fateful party that had ruined her chance at a London come-out before it had even been planned.
“Only briefly.” The lemonade shook in her hand, like it might go flying across the room with the least provocation. “I much prefer the country life.”
“I see.”
She quickly sipped the last of the liquid, so it wouldn’t somehow end up on his breeches. Or his nose. He cleared his throat, took the glass from her hand and placed it with his on the table.
“I am forced to return to Town for a few days on the morrow, Miss Smithson, but might I call upon you when I return, perhaps for a carriage ride? If your family will join us, we could make a picnic of it.”
Chapter Four
April 12, 1805
Bath, England
The morning of the proposed picnic dawned clear and bright
. The Firthleys appeared at breakfast so Charlotte could help Bella prepare for the engagement, not that Bella thought it should take six hours to be made presentable. When Charlotte asked what she intended to wear, Bella had suggested her russet walking dress, at which both her cousin’s and aunt’s brows turned down at exactly the same angle.
“That dress should have been given to a maid years ago,” Charlotte nagged. “Why did you even bring your old clothes to Bath? I thought that was the point of a new wardrobe.” Had Aunt Minerva had her way, Bella would have come to Bath with nothing but rags, but instead, Charlotte had hired a modiste with Firthley money, to outfit Bella as well as any other debutante, and better than most. “No, the bronze green muslin and Brussels lace is a much better choice. It is springtime personified, and looks just lovely with your eyes and hair.”
“Charlotte is right, Isabella. You won’t keep his interest by your conversation, and if you add that drab gown, you might as well climb up onto the shelf this morning. You are not precisely decorative, but you do not look so poorly in that gown, provided you are corseted tightly enou—”
“Lady Effingale!” Uncle Howard snapped. “Leave discussion of my niece’s corsetry for the dressing room.”
“If only something could be done with your awful hair. And a picnic, of all things! Any weather at all will ruin the hours of work it will take to make you fit to be seen. You should have suggested the theatre or a museum, where the lights might be dim.”
After the meal, Charlotte, Bella, and Aunt Minerva retired to Bella’s chamber with a bevy of maids, where no fewer than seventeen attempts were made at a stylish presentation of her fine, straight, thick mass of hair, and no less than fourteen different lotions and unguents were applied to her face, throat, hair, and hands. During this same occupation, each and every gown, chemise, stocking, and slipper that had been brought from Evercreech to Bath was removed from wardrobe and trunk, inspected, mended, pressed, and evaluated for this ever-so-important ensemble. For all the effort that had been expended on Bella’s foray into the marriage mart, it seemed no one had actually expected a gentleman might ask to call.
In the end, it took six-and-a-quarter hours for Aunt Minerva and Charlotte to proclaim Bella ready for a picnic, by which time, Bella had been well and truly reminded of every fault her family insisted she possessed, and had added to them a hundredfold, most notably by a decided lack of her usual patience and calm forbearance.
“Lord Holsworthy values punctuality,” Bella finally insisted to her aunt. “He said so to me, and it is an ethos I share. He has been waiting too long already. Would you have him turn around and leave?”
Finally, the three women entered the drawing room, where Uncle Howard and Alexander had been entertaining Lord Holsworthy. Bella went to him first, and curtseyed low. “I am so very sorry for the delay, my lord. It is not my intention to inconvenience you.”
Silence reigned in the room, as everyone waited to hear what Lord Holsworthy would say.
“My dear,” he said, taking her hand and helping her up. He held her at arm’s length to look at her. Bella knew she was unlovely, but this afternoon she truly thought she showed to advantage. Her green gown shimmered beneath an overskirt of tight, intricate lace, and her bronze-gold hair, styled à la Grecque, framed her bright, azure eyes like the settings for precious jewels.
His lips turned up into a genuine smile. “How can I make one word of complaint, when you look so charming in green? You are as lovely as springtime itself.” He bent to kiss her fingertips. “I hope your aunt will not find me too bold when I say I believe your eyes are precisely the color of the waters off the coast of St. Thomas.”
Bella could feel the heat rising in her face, and she turned the blue-green eyes in question away from his face. “She might not find you too bold, Sir, but I may.”
Of course, he had to be able to act the courtier, since he did business among the nobility, but it was difficult not to be moved by her first experience of flattery. No one ever made her compliments.
Alexander traded a look with Charlotte that suggested hurrying things along. Uncle Howard spoke and saved Bella from having to try to flirt. “Shall we take two carriages, then?”
“If I may,” Lord Holsworthy said, “My landau is large enough, and I’ve had a wagon packed with a filled picnic hamper and various comforts of home. I thought a trip into the countryside might be welcome, as Miss Smithson said, when last we spoke, she prefers open spaces to the city life.”
After a considerable effort, the picnickers were assembled in the landau. Lord Holsworthy’s coachman drove the team at a slow trot to take the air and find a meadow or a riverbank or a ruin that looked to be a good place to stop for luncheon.
Bella was sandwiched between Charlotte and Aunt Minerva in the forward-facing seat, opposite Uncle Howard, Lord Holsworthy, and Alexander. When placed right next to her cousin’s new husband, Bella suddenly saw Lord Holsworthy’s age. He was so much older than anyone else in the coach, including her aunt and uncle, even taking into account the weathering inherent in spending one’s life at sea. Her stomach dropped. He was more than twice her age. What could she possibly say to hold the interest of someone with so much more experience of the world? What did she know of the waters off the coast of St. Thomas?
Alexander took on the conversational burden at the start, by discussion of Lord Holsworthy’s opinions of several matters before the Lords and how he intended to vote his proxy during his travels. This was exactly the kind of discussion Aunt Minerva insisted Bella and Charlotte should leave to gentlemen, and there were precious few conversations Bella wouldn’t avoid with gentlemen, purely on principle. Still, with no conception of why or how, Bella found herself blurting out, “Do you mean, my lord, you are consulted by the Privy Council, but then must only hope they take your advice on the matters at hand?”
“Bella!” Aunt Minerva scolded.
Lord Holsworthy waved aside the admonishment, smiling at Bella and explaining, “In essence correct, Miss Smithson, though lacking in nuance. I was only recently made a baron, so one can hardly say my opinions are solicited by government. My value to His Majesty is almost entirely financial in nature, by virtue of my private enterprise.”
“Come now, Holsworthy,” Alexander chided. “That is surely an understatement. You have settled treaties.”
“You overstate my diplomatic responsibility, Sir. In the main, my role is the making of money. And though I am new to Parliament, I doubt, as a British peer, one can always ensure the efficacy of one’s vote while standing on the floor of the House of Lords; one certainly cannot from the deck of a ship tens of thousands of miles away.”
Uncle Howard observed, “If you were not a political figure, the king would not have elevated you to a barony and appointed you envoy to the savages of the world.”
“Is that the nature of your mission, Sir?” Bella asked. “Taming savages? Do you seek to save souls?”
“What a thing to ask, Isabella Smithson!” Aunt Minerva snapped. “One does not just speak of savages in company, nor speculate on whether they have souls.”
“Quite right,” Charlotte turned into her mother in less than an instant. “Have you a destination in mind for the picnic, Lord Holsworthy?”
Lord Holsworthy made Bella a lopsided grin, showing he had heard her question, but it would be better answered at some point later. “No particular spot in mind, I’m afraid. I am new to the area and was told there is open countryside that will do. The Holsworthy barony is too far a drive for an afternoon jaunt, though it is but a long day away from here. It is not, however, entirely habitable, as it has been abandoned for a good many years. The same is true of my new house in London. My ship, where I have lived the past ten years, is not even in the water, but in dry dock under general refit, as still another ship is prepared to be my next abode. I am currently a man of many houses, but no home.”
Once they reached a landscape Lord Holsworthy pronounced, “a serviceable meadow for a pic
nic,” his driver and footman jumped down to assist the ladies out of the coach, and the servants in the baggage wagon began to arrange for the comfort of the party. The late afternoon sun dappled the long grasses and shimmered off the stream burbling by. Lord Holsworthy held out his elbow to Bella and said, “Shall we have a bit of a walk while they arrange things for luncheon?”
Looking over her shoulder at the expectant looks on everyone’s faces, she took his arm. Charlotte indicated with her eyebrows that she and Alexander would follow, but there was no way Aunt Minerva would overlook the chance to listen in on Bella’s attempts at flirtation, and she insinuated herself and Uncle Howard between the two couples.
The group having fallen into step, Lord Holsworthy began, “You asked, Miss Smithson, about my work among the savages, and while your aunt may not deem it appropriate, your questions are, to my mind, not the least bit scandalous.”
The sharp intake of breath behind them must have been Aunt Minerva, as it was surely her yelp the next second; Uncle Howard might have pinched her to remind her to hold her tongue.
At Bella’s look of surprise, he said, “I believe in plain speaking, Miss Smithson. I find it sinful to dissemble, doubly so for vanity’s sake or political expediency. It is but one reason I am unsuited to the diplomatic life.”
“So,” Bella began, mentally gathering up questions she hadn’t yet asked, “You seem quite a religious man. Is it your mission to save souls?”
He rubbed her fingers, his hand folded over hers at the crook of his arm. “It is not my mission, per se. But that is not to say I do not hope Our Lord works through me, while I expand the reach of my company and my king. I can say with some certainty, Miss Smithson, that savages have souls, and also that I am not a vicar. It is not my place to save them, but God’s. I can but provide a school, a bible, a source of income, and contact with the civilized world.”
Shipmate: A Royal Regard Prequel Novella Page 2