Roxanne was amused by her new role as confidante and elder sister, but also aware that at just twenty and clearly inexperienced with women, Daniel had a fragile ego and he would take anything she said to heart.
“I am sure Miss Gifford knows you hold her in the highest esteem and that, alas, is the problem.”
Daniel kicked moodily at a stone, uncaring that his Hessians polished to a dazzling shine were now coated with a fine layer of dust. Then he looked up. “How can that be a problem?”
Roxanne tucked her hand confidingly through the crook of his arm. “Many young ladies love attention and when they are sure of an admirer’s devotion they tend to be careless of it.”
His face turned even gloomier. “Oh, so now she’s laughing at me, is that what you’re saying,” he growled.
Roxanne gave his arm a little shake. “Not at all. I am sure Miss Gifford would feel the lack of your admiration keenly if she were to lose it…or think she had lost it.”
A small smile appeared on the young man’s face as realisation dawned. “By Jove, I see what you mean. I should pay less attention to Miss Gifford and then she will think I don’t care as much for her as I did.”
“You need not entirely cease your devotion to this young lady, but if you were to pay attention to another, or several eligible young women, Miss Gifford would soon come to realise you are not to be trifled with. Perhaps that would help.”
Daniel’s ear-to-ear grin demonstrated his relief.
“You see,” she said tactfully, “it would not be advisable for Miss Gifford to engage herself to you too soon and then after a while regret her decision because she felt she had not had the chance to meet other possible suitors.”
Daniel’s face fell. “Of course not! I want her to be sure.”
“You would also want to demonstrate to her devoted mama and papa that you are sincere and fixed in your affections and are not just a spoiled youth who flits from damsel to damsel seeking enjoyment without commitment.”
Clearly aghast at the hint of insincerity and inconstancy in his suit, Daniel sputtered, “I am sincere and fixed in my affections!”
“I am sure you are, but Miss Gifford is about eighteen, I would say,” Roxanne hazarded.
Daniel nodded.
“Well, if my only daughter was eighteen, very beautiful, and just making her social debut, I would be the strictest mama in the town and chase away any potentially undesirable suitors,” she said with a laugh.
Daniel stopped in the path and took her hands. “You are a good friend to me, Mrs. Wilkins.” He raised one hand to his lips. “Thank you, I will heed your advice and be patient.”
“Coo-ee,” called Miss Skittering from higher up the path. “We’re nearly at the top. I think you have both been chattering so much you cannot have seen anything of the picturesque beauty the Reverend Gilpin described.”
Upon their return to Bath, the company parted ways, but not before Mr. Clarkson had secured their acceptance of his invitation to the theatre the following evening. Roxanne was about to refuse, but Miss Skittering gently pressed her friend’s arm and accepted on their behalf.
After the two gentlemen strolled off, Miss Skittering turned to Roxanne. “My dear, I know you are of a naturally shy and retiring disposition, but think upon this.” Her face glowed with excitement, as if she had an important piece of news to divulge. “Tomorrow is the opening night of the new play, The Painted Fan.” She made a little moue and shrugged. “Of course it isn’t Covent Garden or Drury Lane, but we pride ourselves on our cultural achievements.”
When Roxanne still hesitated Miss Skittering pressed home.
“Just think, my dear, everyone who is anyone is bound to be there. Perhaps we may even see your aunt.” A thought crossed her mind. “You have not said what she looks like. Can you remember?”
Roxanne closed her eyes. “I think she is tall and slender. She did not resemble my father much, but I am sure I would remember her. She was always elegantly dressed and smelled of jasmine.”
The image of her aunt floated into her mind, like an old portrait. Tall, slender, enveloped in a cloud of jasmine, and with a tinkling laugh, her Aunt Cecily had personified kindness to the motherless little girl. Then the image faded.
“I am sure she must have changed over the years,” said Roxanne.
Miss Skittering nodded wisely. “But not so much, I am sure, that you would not recognise her.” She cocked her head to one side in her usual bird-like manner. “Although, I am confident that she would recognise you instantly. When last did you see her?”
“I was ten years old when Mother died. Aunt Cecily came to see my father and they quarrelled about something. I think it was about me.”
Miss Skittering clasped her hands. “Now don’t go thinking about sad things, my dear. It never does anyone any good.”
Miss Skittering bade her good night and Roxanne returned to the hotel. After supper, she retired to her room and lay on the bed, thinking. Penrose, beloved Penrose seemed so far away. She squeezed her eyes shut, but could not prevent tears trickling through her eyelashes, running down the sides of her face to plop onto the pillow. How had she arrived in this terrible tangle? What had possessed her to embark upon a marriage first with that dreadful Edgar and then, without even trying to find out if he was still alive, she had blithely entered into marriage and a contract with Julian.
Julian. The image of his face appeared in her mind, despite her efforts to imagine something else. She had let him down very badly. The contract was for six months and she had run away after only two months. Now he would not get his money. Thankfully, a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed her and she felt asleep while wondering what Julian was doing at that exact moment.
The following evening, Roxanne met with Miss Skittering who was giddy with excitement. She was also surprisingly elegant in an evening gown of patterned yellow silk and a gauzy scarf arranged over her shoulders. She carried a posy of pale yellow roses, which she blushingly confessed were from Mr. Clarkson. Miss Skittering hailed two sedan chairs and gave the bearers their destination, which was the Theatre Royal.
“Such a nice man,” she confided breathlessly to Roxanne. “So well mannered and so thoughtful.” She looked down at the posy. “I am sure you should have these, my dear. Perhaps he meant them for you.”
She thrust the flowers at Roxanne who laughingly refused to take them. “Sybilla, whatever is the matter with you? He sent them to you, not to me! Why can’t you accept that Mr. Clarkson has set his eyes on you? I am sure he will make you an offer very soon.”
Miss Skittering, who was in the act of climbing into her sedan chair, made a strange gurgling sound in her throat and then tumbled into the seat.
Roxanne peered into the equipage. “Are you quite well, Sybilla?”
Miss Skittering nodded, her face a frozen mask as she fanned herself quite frantically. It was clear to Roxanne her friend was overcome with emotion or fear…or both!
By the time they arrived at the theatre, Miss Skittering had recovered her composure enough to compliment Roxanne on her gown of royal blue crepe. It was just good fortune that Roxanne had thought to bundle an evening dress and matching satin slippers into her portmanteau on the chance she might meet her aunt in formal circumstances. Roxanne was excited at the idea of seeing a theatrical performance. Miss Skittering confessed she had no idea if the play was a comedy, a tragedy, or a farce.
“Perhaps it is a tragi-comedy or one of those amusing plays by that clever Mr. Sheridan where no one seems to quite know who they are in the performance.”
Roxanne smiled and said, “Look, here come Mr. Clarkson and Daniel.”
Miss Skittering blushed bright pink and made twittering noises as if she might flee from the evening’s entertainment.
Roxanne poked her in the side with a firm finger. “Now, Sybilla, remember your manners. Mr. Clarkson would be terribly upset if you were to run away now and he would have wasted all that money on the tickets.”
Miss Skittering gulped, drew in a deep breath and steadied herself by hanging onto Roxanne’s arm.
The two gentlemen walked up to them and made their bows, Mr. Clarkson remarking that his choice in yellow roses had been a happy one. It seemed quite natural that he should offer Miss Skittering his arm while Daniel eagerly proffered his for Roxanne. Roxanne glanced ahead and saw Miss Gifford with her parents and a few friends. When Miss Gifford saw Daniel he gave her a brief nod and swept Roxanne past the group and into the foyer with panache. Roxanne was hard pressed not to mention Miss Gifford’s expression of chagrin, especially since Daniel’s smile was so triumphant.
He pressed her hand and murmured, “You are very wise, Mrs. Wilkins.”
The Theatre Royal was filled with a glittering crowd of elegantly dressed men and women. High above their heads hung an exquisite crystal chandelier with twinkling facets catching the light like multi-coloured prisms. The tiered auditorium was resplendent with ornate plasterwork and red and gilt decoration. Mr. Clarkson had secured them a box with an excellent view of the stage. Roxanne had never seen so many people crammed into one space at a time. Clearly the Bath residents and visitors were keen theatregoers.
Roxanne and Miss Skittering found themselves comfortably settled in their seats by the two gentlemen who then wandered off in search of refreshments before the play began. Miss Skittering peered from one side of the theatre to the other, pointing out various people she knew in the boxes opposite the auditorium or else down below in the pit. Roxanne also looked and listened, all the while thinking that perhaps her aunt might be among the crowd of eager theatregoers. She scanned the sea of faces, but saw no one even vaguely familiar.
As she settled back in her seat, convinced her aunt could not possibly be in the audience, Miss Skittering exclaimed, “My dear, there is a lady studying you very closely through opera glasses!” She jerked her head to one side so as not to attract attention. “There! There!”
Roxanne peered in the direction Miss Skittering indicated, but saw no one resembling her aunt, although she reflected ruefully it was possible she would not even recognise her aunt after all these years. The play began just as the two gentlemen hurriedly claimed their seats, declaring the crush at the refreshment booth was too large and they would try again in between the first and second act.
The play was, as Miss Skittering had guessed, a tragi-comedy. It was well acted, but with such a plethora of major and minor characters that Roxanne found her attention wandering and she soon lost track of the plot. Her thoughts roamed idly back to Julian and Penrose, to the night she and Julian had made love, to thoughts of what would have happened if she had stayed.
The headache she had successfully ignored until now returned and with it a feeling of nausea. It was clearly a migraine. Determined not to spoil her friend’s obvious pleasure in the performance, Roxanne said nothing, but prayed for a quick resolution to the thorny problems besetting the characters. Finally, the first act ended to tumultuous applause and the audience standing up to cheer loudly. The heat in the theatre was oppressive, so when Mr. Clarkson, remarking on her white face and strained expression, suggested getting a breath of fresh air, Roxanne agreed. She stood up quickly and two things happened. A wave of dizziness overcame her just as she heard someone say, “Roxanne, my dearest girl!” Roxanne fainted, and only the quick reflexes of Mr. Clarkson, who stood right next to her, saved her from hitting the floor.
Chapter Seventeen
When Roxanne opened her eyes, she was in a strange house with a circle of interested faces leaning over her where she lay on the sofa. Miss Skittering, twittering like a distressed canary, clutched her scarf around her shoulders in agonies of anxiety; Mr. Clarkson and Daniel stood slightly back, their faces also expressing concern. A strangely familiar woman sat next to her, stroking her forehead with a cool hand, and a man who, judging by his dress and impressive side-whiskers was a doctor, peered at her.
The woman next to her was thin with an angular face, grey hair dressed elegantly atop her head, and twinkling blue eyes. The same eyes as her father.
“Yes, I am your Aunt Cecily, my dear girl, although you would never have found me by asking for Cecily Chesney. I married and became Lady Derwent. My husband, dead these ten years, was not fond of the name Cecily, so I used my second name, Anna. But you can call me Aunt Cecily, if it pleases you.” She smiled. “Poor dear Roxanne, you must have been going round in circles.” She glanced at Miss Skittering. “Your friend has…er…explained everything.” A puzzled frown creased her brow. “Well, almost everything, and I am sure you can supply the remaining details tomorrow.”
Roxanne opened her mouth, but her aunt interrupted before she could utter a word.
“Hush, now. I will have the landlord send your belongings early tomorrow from the Pelican, but for now you will reside with me. Sitwell, my maid, will provide you with all you require this evening.”
The doctor told Roxanne her pulse had settled and she must get plenty of rest. He had a strange look on his face as if he wanted to discuss something with her, but said he would return the following day to check on her state of health. Aunt Cecily shooed her friends out the door and said they could certainly call the following day. Roxanne soon found herself in bed with Sitwell pressing a glass of warm milk to her lips and was grateful when sleep claimed her at last.
The following day, Roxanne felt recovered. She found her portmanteau next to her bed when she awoke. She washed and dressed quickly and was ready to go downstairs before Sitwell knocked at the door, offering her services.
Aunt Cecily met her in the breakfast parlour. “I feel as if I am in a dream,” she said, after offering her cheek to be kissed. “Sit down, my dear. Cummings will serve you whatever you want for breakfast.”
Roxanne’s strange nausea had disappeared and, to her surprise, she ate a hearty breakfast. When she remarked on this to her aunt, Aunt Cecily gave her exactly the same look as the doctor had done.
“Have you been feeling poorly, dearest?” She laid a hand on Roxanne’s arm.
Roxanne frowned. “Yes, and it is so unlike me to be unwell that when I began to feel ill every day I was rather worried. I have also fainted twice now while in Bath, something I am not prone to doing.” She dropped her eyes to the ring on her left hand. “There is so much I have to tell you.”
Aunt Cecily waved at the butler. “Thank you, Cummings. That will be all.” She poured tea into the breakfast cups and handed one to her niece. “Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Roxanne poured out the entire story, starting with her father’s illness and the arrival of Edgar Doyle in their lives and ending with the contract she had made with Julian, the attempted burglary, and her headlong flight to Bath using a false name. The only details she omitted were Julian’s full name and title.
Aunt Cecily had a sad expression on her face. “My poor misguided brother. I quarrelled with him—or I should say he quarrelled with me—because I wanted to bring you up myself when your mother died. I never had children of my own, and I dreamed of taking you under my wing as my daughter. I wanted to give you everything you should have had such as a proper debut, parties, dresses, meeting eligible young men…” She glanced at the gold band on Roxanne’s hand. “Although, it appears you have done very well without me.”
Roxanne clutched her aunt’s arm. “That’s the problem, dear Aunt. I am married twice, remember? Once to Mr. Doyle and then to Julian as part of our contract.”
Aunt Cecily’s expression darkened. “I can assure you there is no Edgar Doyle in our family. He is no relation to your father and me. The man is a trickster and it sounds as if this is something he does on a regular basis.”
Roxanne began to feel optimistic. “Do you think so?”
“I very much doubt whether your marriage is genuine, but—” she raised a warning finger “—this man could cause you much trouble and embarrassment even if the union is fraudulent. I have heard of men who prey on women regularly to obtain wha
t valuables the lady owns. Once they have grabbed the assets or money, they disappear, leaving the lady in the lurch. The poor deceived creatures have no idea they have entered into a false marriage.” She smiled at her niece. “Now tell me, what’s this I hear about your present husband being abducted by Chinese pirates? How very interesting!”
Roxanne burst out laughing. “Miss Skittering is blessed with an overabundant imagination and too little to do in her life. Bath lacks the excitement she finds in her novels.”
Aunt Cecily joined in her laughter. “I thought as much, but why, my dear, did you run away from what seems to be a deeply caring man to come here and look for me? Why didn’t you tell Julian all about Edgar?”
Roxanne bit her lip. “How could I stay? Julian only wanted a contract so that he could claim his inheritance. He didn’t want a proper marriage and—” She stopped.
“And children?” Her aunt’s voice was gentle.
“That’s right, he doesn’t want children because his older brother Bevin was a scapegrace who broke their father’s heart and the birth of his sister Sophia killed their mother and it’s all very complicated!”
“Definitely no children?”
Roxanne looked away. “Most definitely not.”
Aunt Cecily frowned. She started to say something, but then fell silent. Cummings entered the room to announce Doctor Evans. Aunt Cecily ushered Roxanne and the doctor into the drawing room and closed the door after them. Roxanne sat in silence while the doctor, a kindly man, felt her pulse, listened to her chest, looked at her eyes, and questioned her about her headaches and nausea.
At the end of the examination he closed up his black bag and said, “Well, Mrs. Wilkins, you’re in excellent health and there’s nothing to worry about.”
Roxanne was puzzled. “But I have been feeling so ill, there must be something wrong with me.”
The doctor chuckled and shook his head. “No, there’s nothing wrong. You’re breeding, that’s all. You’re a few weeks along so there’s a while to go, yet. Now, get plenty of rest, eat well, don’t forget to take mild daily exercise, and I will check on you soon.”
Married at Midnight: An Authentic Regency Romance Page 19