Though Emily, too, had obviously been startled, she was not the least bit forthcoming when their guest had departed and her brother had pressed her for details of her plan to restore his fortunes.
“No, no. I shall say no more on that head,” she had declared, making a pretty moue with her mouth. “I may have misjudged his lordship, or your godmother, and I shall not embarrass myself by pursuing that avenue.”
Though Sir Hugh did not for a moment trust that Emily would mind her own business, he did believe that she had had something of a comeuppance with regard to Lord Westwick. He could only hope that she would turn her very creative mind to some other project than his inheritance—or lack of it. In the interests of being out of sight and out of mind, he made himself scarce not only in Queen Square, but at the Holmslys as well.
So it was more than a week before he came across his sister again, and this time their meeting occurred in the hot, and very crowded, upper assembly rooms. Sir Hugh was pleased to see that Holmsly accompanied his wife on this occasion, though he detected a slight air of tension in Holmsly’s frown when Emily was claimed by one of her cicisbeos. Emily’s haughty expression in response to this did not bode well for marital felicity, in Sir Hugh’s opinion. But then Sir Hugh had no experience of the matter, he reminded himself.
“Well, John, returned from the wilds of Bristol, are you?” he offered pleasantly as he came abreast of his brother-in-law.
“Some days ago,” Holmsly said shortly. “Why is it that your sister must be forever dancing with some rakehell, Hugh?”
Sir Hugh regarded his brother-in-law with patent amusement. “I should think it is because one is forever asking her, John. It would be rude of her to refuse for no other reason than that you would like her to stay by your side.”
“I have no objection to her dancing. It is the type of man she dances with that I object to. Why couldn’t someone like Figby over there ask her to dance?”
Hugh lifted his quizzing glass and gazed in the direction Holmsly indicated. Across the room stood a very short, rumpled individual who blinked repeatedly at his companion, an aging dowager in a puce gown. “I should think Emily would terrify such a man, John,” he remarked.
His brother-in-law laughed. “Yes, I dare say she would. Pity she doesn’t terrify the likes of Mannering.”
As Emily’s partner, Giles Mannering, was a close associate of Hugh’s, this comment could hardly be ignored. “Mannering is hardly what I would call a rakehell, John. Granted, he will flatter my sister outrageously, but he has very refined manners and is unlikely to discompose her in any way. I thought you brought her to town so that she might enjoy herself.”
“So I did,” Holmsly grudgingly admitted, running a hand through his thick brown locks. “But I could wish she didn’t enjoy herself quite so much with all these man milliners and gazetted flirts.”
Hugh allowed a moment to pass before he remarked, “She misses you when you’re away, you know. There may be an element of retaliation in her choice of partners.”
Holmsly frowned at him, and his lips tightened slightly. “I am never from home except when business requires it. Your sister cannot believe otherwise.”
“Ah, who knows what goes through the mind of a woman,” Hugh said. “I’ve known Emily all her life and I certainly cannot guess the half of what goes on in her mind.”
Holmsly chuckled. “How true. She’s a remarkable woman, isn’t she?”
Glad to see his brother-in-law restored to good humor, Hugh agreed. “Quite remarkable. When we were young…” His eye was suddenly caught by a surprising sight at the end of the dance floor. “My word! Is that my godmother?”
Holmsly turned to look in the direction his companion was staring. “By Jove, I believe it is! What a figure she cuts! Haven’t seen a gown like that since I was a child. And who’s the chit with her?”
Hugh’s eyes moved to the taller, younger companion. “Her niece, Helen Armstrong. Where did they get those gowns?”
Chapter Five
Nell had managed to ignore the odd looks she and her aunt were given until she noticed the expression on Sir Hugh’s face. Though she could not be unaware of the difference between the heavy rich fabrics that she and Aunt Longstreet wore, and the flimsy, insubstantial materials the ladies around her sported, Nell had, on the whole, convinced herself that, for such a luxurious occasion as an assembly in Bath, their own gowns were surely more appropriate.
The startled—nay, shocked would not be too strong a term—expression on the baronet’s face gave the lie to this reasoning. Nell felt a flush creep into her cheeks. She had never before been to an assembly, in either Westmorland or Bath, and she had been filled with a kind of exuberant excitement when Aunt Longstreet announced that they were to go. Though she had wished for it, she had not believed they would ever attend such an occasion.
Her aunt had admitted—to Nell’s astonishment—that she had caused several of her old gowns to be packed in their trunks. Since her relation’s height and spare figure were close enough to her own configuration, Nell had been relieved to hear that they would have something unexceptionable to wear.
Now it appeared that the heavy satin gown she wore, such a lovely rich burgundy color, with acres of blonde lace, was not acceptable to the gathered gentry. She raised her head a little higher, making her no doubt the tallest woman in the room (especially with the exotic confection that adorned her head). What did it matter, after all, if she and Aunt Longstreet were not dressed in the fashion of the day? Fashion was a fleeting thing, when all was said and done, and its pursuit not something which a serious-minded young woman should pride herself upon.
Or so she attempted to tell herself, her color high, as she surreptitiously watched the baronet approach them from across the crowded room.
Sir Hugh made his bow to her aunt, graciously including her in his greeting. “Miss Longstreet, Miss Armstrong. I am enchanted to find you here. Had I known of your intention of attending an assembly, I would have been honored to offer myself as your escort.”
“We didn’t need your escort,” Aunt Longstreet snapped. “We are perfectly capable of getting ourselves from Queen Square to the Upper Rooms.”
“So I see.” Sir Hugh glanced around briefly, as though to satisfy himself that they had not, in fact, come with an escort. He lowered his voice to say, “It is, however, customary for ladies alone at night to be attended by a male escort. I would prefer it in future if you would call upon me for that service.”
“You would prefer it?” Aunt Longstreet sputtered. “What the devil does that have to say to anything? I shall do precisely as I choose.”
There was steel in his voice when he replied, “I certainly hope you will think better of that decision, ma’am. I should not like to think of your being accosted on the streets of Bath because you were without an escort.”
“We had the footman,” she retorted, defiant. “We had no need for another.”
“Ah, but I think you did,” he said, his tone smooth and his voice not carrying beyond their little trio. “I am your godson, Miss Longstreet, and it would be my pleasure—an it were not my duty—to see you safely about Bath, at any time you should require my services.”
Nell was surprised to see her aunt turn away from him rather than counter him with her usual invective. But there was indeed something about Sir Hugh’s demeanor which was just a trifle intimidating. His will, apparently, was quite as strong as her aunt’s in this matter, and he obviously had no intention of being gainsaid. He turned toward Nell with a slight smile and added, “I think you are a woman of good sense, Miss Armstrong. I trust you will call upon me in future to render you and my godmother such escort services as you may require.”
“Indeed,” she replied, not meeting his sharp gaze.
Nell heard his exasperated sigh and clenched her hands more firmly together. More than anything she wished to simply disappear from the face of the earth. Or at the very least to be safely at home in the parlor in Q
ueen Square, or better yet at Longstreet Manor. To her alarm, she heard Sir Hugh say, “Perhaps you would care to join this set with me, Miss Armstrong?”
The color rose higher on her cheeks. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I could not.”
“Did you not come to dance?” he inquired gently.
“No. That is… I have no intention of dancing.”
Nell heard a little gasp beside her and turned to find Sir Hugh’s sister Emily staring at her. “Whyever not?” Emily demanded. “Hugh is an exquisite dancer, Miss Armstrong.”
Nell dropped a curtsy to the pretty young matron. “Oh, that does not surprise me at all, but you see I have never been to a dance before and I have no knowledge of how to execute all those intricate steps.”
“Never been to a dance before!” Emily looked truly shocked. “But that’s unconscionable!”
“No, why should it be?” Nell asked. “We have come merely as observers tonight, my aunt and I. I am quite enchanted with the colors and the music and the elegance of the dancers. We were going to find ourselves chairs where we might enjoy the proceedings.”
Sir Hugh, his face impassive, bowed and said, “Allow me to find seats for you.”
“Yes, do make yourself of some use,” Aunt Longstreet suggested, “instead of just standing there and prosing on at us.”
The baronet accepted this sally without demurral. Turning to his sister he asked, “Where are you seated, Emily? Would they have a view of the dancing from there?”
“Yes, indeed,” Emily assured them. “Please, follow me.”
The crowds seemed to part before Emily’s determined progress. When a young gentleman attempted to stay her, she rapped his hand with her fan and exclaimed, “Not now, Whissenby! If I promised you this dance, I am very sorry, but I have a duty to perform.”
And perform it she did as she presented her seats to the two visitors with a flourish of her hand. “Here! The best seats in the rooms, if I do say so myself. Holmsly is wonderful at that sort of thing. Pray be seated and Hugh will bring you a glass of orgeat.”
“I detest orgeat,” Aunt Longstreet said, but she accepted the chair with some eagerness. Nell suspected that her gout was troubling her, though she had made no mention of it.
Emily remained standing at Nell’s side, seeming determined to offer whatever assistance was needed. She bent down and whispered in Nell’s ear, “They are only country dances, you know. The waltz isn’t danced here yet, more’s the pity. Didn’t you learn country dances in the schoolroom?”
“Not in any recognizable fashion. My mama was my only teacher, and since there was no one else to form a set, it was impossible to do more than imagine what such dancing must be like.”
Emily frowned. “It is shameful that your aunt never took you to an assembly. How were you to meet young men? When were you to have any fun?”
Nell laughed. “I assure you, Mrs. Holmsly…Emily, that I have had many very enjoyable days at Longstreet Manor.”
“I cannot conceive how,” Emily admitted with a disparaging glance at Aunt Longstreet, whose concentration on the scene before her was almost unnerving. “Is she looking for someone in particular?” Emily whispered to Nell.
“I don’t think so. She certainly didn’t mention that we were to meet anyone here. Is it true that we should not have come without an escort?”
“Most assuredly. You undoubtedly shocked the Master of Ceremonies, but I dare say your aunt annihilated him with one of her wicked comments.”
Nell’s lips twitched. “She did. She told him that she had better things to do than cater to a bunch of ill-conceived, antiquated rules.”
“Ha! I should have thought anything antiquated would have pleased her excessively,” Emily retorted.
At this point Sir Hugh arrived with glasses of orgeat for Nell and Emily, and wine for Aunt Longstreet. His godmother sniffed it suspiciously and took a small sip. “Watered!” she announced, but she proceeded to drink it all the same.
Emily’s husband joined them and was introduced to the two women. Nell thought Mr. Holmsly cut a dashing figure, like someone from a romance—with his shining black hair, piercing blue eyes and rugged features. He was just the sort of man she imagined married to Emily, though she was a trifle disappointed when he spoke, for his conversation was somewhat prosaic—a comment on the state of the roads between Bath and Bristol.
She caught the amusement in Sir Hugh’s eyes as he regarded her. “Did you think he would offer tales of high adventure?” he asked in an undertone. “Be thankful he is not as derring do as his appearance, else he would be totally unable to manage my sister!”
“Your sister is charming.”
“Yes, but quite a handful, I promise you. I don’t envy Holmsly the keeping of her.”
As Emily was smiling very prettily at her husband just at that moment, Nell could not conceive what difficulty Mr. Holmsly ever had with his wife, but she remained silent. There were mysteries between married couples which she would never experience. And she did not intend to pretend that she possessed some sophisticated knowledge that she did not.
Sir Hugh accepted her silence with good grace and asked, “Shall I tell you about some of the people here tonight?”
“Oh, yes, please. I should like that immensely,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
“We shall start with the couple at the head of that set,” he said, indicating the dancers closest to them. “Mrs. Witchford and Mr. Kennyhall. She comes to Bath for two months in the spring each year, without her husband, for the express purpose of taking the waters—and setting up a flirtation. Mr. Kennyhall is not the gentleman with whom she has set up her flirtation this year. That is Mr. Pymore, the next gentleman in the set. His partner is the youngest Haddenham daughter, the fifth. Her family is anxious to see her settled, but she has shown no inclination toward any of the young men who have shown an interest.”
“She’s quite lovely. But she must be very young. Surely too young to marry.”
“Oh, no. All of her sisters married in their first London seasons, at seventeen. Miss Haddenham is probably eighteen or thereabouts.”
“Well, I hope she will not marry unless she finds a gentleman who suits her,” Nell remarked incautiously.
Sir Hugh’s brows rose. “Do you know her?”
“Not at all. I speak merely as one who believes a young woman must take responsibility for her actions, as no one is as certain to have her best interests at heart as she herself.”
“I see.” Sir Hugh did not look as though he “saw” at all. After a moment, however, he proceeded to run through the other dancers he was acquainted with, but he paused when they both heard Emily exclaim, “Lord Westwick! How good to see you again.”
Nell’s gaze flew instinctively to her aunt, who was frowning at the newcomer, her eyes narrowed to a fierce glare. This did not seem to have any effect on the earl, who raised Emily’s hand to his lips with practiced grace.
“Mrs. Holmsly, how delightful to find you here. And Miss Longstreet.” He made an elaborate bow to Aunt Longstreet, who pointedly ignored him, before turning to Nell. “And Miss Armstrong. I trust you are enjoying our Bath entertainments.”
“Very much, my lord, thank you,” Nell replied, with her deepest curtsy.
Emily intervened to say, “This is Miss Armstrong’s first assembly, Lord Westwick. I can hardly credit it! And she is not familiar with our country dances, to say nothing of the waltz. I have been cudgeling my brain to think how we may bring her up to snuff.”
Nell was aware that Emily wished only to assist, but this imparting of her situation to the earl mortified her. Again the color rose in her cheeks, and she said stiffly, “Please do not give it another thought, Mrs. Holmsly! I assure you that I am more than happy to merely observe the dancers. I have no wish to partake of such strenuous exercise.”
“Pooh!” Emily retorted. “One would have to be dead not to wish to dance! It is the most delirious fun—passing gaily from hand to hand, and laughing and fli
rting. Oh, not for the world would I have you miss it!”
“But I must,” Nell said firmly.
“Tonight, perhaps. But on the next occasion, you must be prepared to take your place in a set—with Hugh, and Lord Westwick, and Mr. Holmsly. Oh, indeed you must.”
“I cannot think how I should learn to dance these intricate steps. Not from a library book, I assure you.” Nell shook her head. “And I don’t believe Aunt Longstreet has the intention of coming again, in any case.”
“Not come again!” Emily looked horrified. She turned to Aunt Longstreet with the evident intention of cajoling the older woman into changing her mind. “Oh, ma’am, surely you must intend to come again. Why, no one stays in Bath who does not attend an assembly at least once a week!”
“Poppycock! My niece is not a spoiled girl who thinks of nothing but the elusive pleasures of society. Not for her all these late nights and overcrowded rooms. She has a serious mind, not filled with fripperies and excitement. You would do well to take a page from her book,” Aunt Longstreet admonished severely.
If Nell had been forced to respond in any way to this sally, she would have considered fainting dead away. Fortunately, she found herself no longer in her aunt’s vicinity, but locked onto Lord Westwick’s arm, with Sir Hugh flanking her other side. She blinked at first one and then the other of these two gentlemen, before saying humbly, “I thank you. Sometimes Aunt Longstreet is rather . . . outspoken. You don’t think I should go back and rescue Mrs. Holmsly?”
“Emily is perfectly capable of fending for herself. And her husband is not given to allowing anyone to disparage her.” Sir Hugh looked down (though only slightly) at his companion and added, “I beg you will forgive my sister, Miss Armstrong. She has an unfortunate habit of attempting to solve almost any problem which presents itself to her. And a great many of them, as you may note, are none of her business.”
A Rival Heir Page 6