by Sally James
It all came back to Robert’s disastrous marriage. Selina had indirectly caused Robert’s death, and for that he could never forgive her. Yet she hadn’t seemed to care, telling him that Robert was a fool, and she wished she had never married him. Almost immediately after his death she had departed to France, at last free of Napoleon’s grip, with another lover. She had soon disposed of him, for now she was living openly back in London, with some Italian Count she had met somewhere on the continent.
He heard often about her doings from friends, though he’d never encountered her on his own visits to London. Ostracized by decent society, she flaunted herself in outrageous clothes. ‘More like a cyprian, the necks cut so low they leave almost nothing to the imagination,’ one had written after encountering her at Vauxhall.
He told himself firmly that not all girls were like Selina. She had used her fortune, and the huge settlement her father had insisted on, to do exactly as she pleased, knowing that her money protected her from the normal restraints a husband might put on her activities. Girls more dependent on their husbands would not have that sort of choice. He sighed. He was not wealthy. He had Dorney Court and his title, but he would be struggling for years to bring the estate back to what it had once been. Could he ask any girl to share the sacrifices that would entail? There would be no lavish pin money, no gifts of jewels, few visits to London, and probably none of the advantages any girl would have a right to expect.
Bella Trahearne would not be mercenary enough to care, he told himself. She might even be a great support in his efforts around the estate. Briefly he smiled as he thought of her tackling some of his more difficult tenants, perhaps instructing them on how best to farm the land, or treat their children and animals. Did he have any right to ask a girl like Bella to share such a life? Yet could he be parted from her?
* * * *
Bella was looking her best that evening. Her rose-coloured ballgown suited her dark looks better than the insipid pinks and blues most young girls favoured. Lord Dorney’s marked attentions had, as usual, brought a sparkle to her eyes and a gentle curve to her lips which caused more than one gentleman to remark that he didn’t know what it was, she wasn’t beautiful, but the little Collins girl was a deuced attractive wench.
The occasion was a ball at the Upper Rooms. Lord Dorney escorted her and Jane to it in his own carriage, claimed her hand for the cotillion, afterwards leading her into the tearoom.
‘You seem radiant tonight,’ he murmured as he settled her in a chair, then drew his own across to sit beside her. ‘I find you more lovely every day.’
Bella’s heart beat faster, but she made a huge effort to hide her agitation and chuckled. ‘Stuff and nonsense, I’m not beautiful,’ she declared. ‘There’s no need to flatter me, my Lord.’
‘I didn’t say beautiful,’ he replied. ‘Lovely is even more enticing, for it encompasses character and behaviour. Beauty can be cold and unfeeling. You don’t possess the classical beauty of form or features,’ he went on, as though speaking to himself, ‘though yours are well enough, not nearly so repellent as you seem to imagine - ‘
‘I didn’t say I was repellent!’ Bella interrupted indignantly, and then giggled. ‘You’re roasting me!’
‘You imply so often how disappointing you find your looks, I took it for granted that was how you regarded them,’ he teased. ‘I know you’re not the sort of girl who wishes for constant praise, deploring her looks merely for the pleasure of being contradicted - ‘
‘I should hope not, indeed!’ Bella exclaimed, aghast. ‘Is that how it seems?’
‘Not to me,’ he reassured her, but further private conversation was made impossible as Lady Andrews, towing behind her the tall, slender, and slightly embarrassed looking man who was her husband, bore down on them.
‘Dear Lord Dorney,’ the lady greeted him effusively, while barely acknowledging Bella. ‘Are you planning to accompany your cousin and Felicity tomorrow morning? She will take only gentle exercise, you know, since that terrible accident. A quiet drive in the company of people she trusts is ideal for her. Of course she trusts your cousin, he’s an excellent whip, as any pupil of yours must be, and naturally I shall ride with them.’
‘I have other rather important business tomorrow,’ Lord Dorney managed to say as she paused for breath.
‘Oh, have you?’ Lady Andrews said with a suspicious glance at Bella, and proceeded to monopolize Lord Dorney’s attention with a description of the concert she had attended the previous day, where the singers had all apparently been afflicted with an inability to sing in tune, and the instrumentalists had striven only to play louder than one another.
She talked until it was time for the next dance and Bella’s partner, a pleasant young man who lived in a neighbouring house in Henrietta Street, came to claim her.
He entertained her with a description of how Rags, being exercised by Jackson, had eluded the groom and proceeded to make decidedly unwelcome overtures to a fat, pampered King Charles spaniel out for its mild constitutional.
‘Unwelcome not to the spaniel, that is, but to the elderly maid who was trying to persuade it to move more than a few yards from its door,’ he explained. ‘Although I really believe if your man hadn’t captured them, they’d have been off into the Gardens, and it’s a moot point whether the spaniel or the maid would have had the first heart attack!’
Bella laughed. ‘He’s always been a plucky dog, but now he’s well fed he’s more than Jackson can cope with at times, always escaping from the kitchens or the stable. He really needs to be in the country. You don’t know anyone who’d be willing to give him a good home, do you?’ she asked, but without much hope. None of her acquaintances had volunteered to come to the rescue.
‘Won’t Dorney?’ her companion asked. ‘He’s beso - I mean, he has a huge estate nearby, and would surely be willing to take one small dog.’
Bella changed the subject. She had not brought herself to plead Rags’ cause with Lord Dorney, and she was at a loss to understand her reluctance to involve him. They chatted about other matters until the dance ended, and then Bella glanced over her shoulder, with an instinctive need to see where Lord Dorney was.
Instead she saw, standing close behind her, a slender exquisite of medium height, hair dark as her own, but with a pale, bony face and watery blue eyes.
* * * *
He bowed as she caught his eye and moved forward, his hand outstretched.
‘Well met, Miss -
‘Mr Salway! What a surprise! I’d no idea you were in Bath!’ Bella gabbled, in a desperate attempt to prevent him from uttering her name.
Of all the people she’d met in Harrogate the despicable nephew of her former duenna was the worst. It was a monstrous piece of ill-fortune to encounter him here, for he knew not only her real name but the precise extent of her fortune. His aunt had been careful to ascertain that before taking on the task of chaperoning Bella.
Her partner, with a glance of curiosity at the newcomer, bowed himself away. Bella knew she had paled, then felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. Mr Salway took her arm and led her, unresisting, to a couple of empty chairs in a discreet alcove.
‘My aunt still hasn’t forgiven you for the despicable way you treated her, Miss Trahearne,’ Mr Salway said quietly, but his eyes were cold, gleaming with malicious triumph. ‘But forgive me, I’m at fault. I understand that for some odd reason you’ve changed your name?’
Bella seemed incapable of speech. She tore her gaze away from his icy stare, glanced with a shudder at his unexpectedly fleshy lips, which had more than once descended on hers when she’d been unable to avoid him swiftly enough, and down his slim figure. He was correctly attired in a well-fitting, dark blue coat and black pantaloons, but they were adorned with an unusual and excessive amount of lace and fobs, and vulgar, ostentatiously large but probably fake diamond buttons.
‘I don’t intend to betray you, if you are sensible,’ he said, and she looked up at him with mingled hope and aston
ishment, followed by swift suspicion. If he agreed to keep her secret he would demand an enormous payment, and from the way he was permitting his glance to rove slowly over her figure she suspected it would not be a mere financial bribe.
But she had to gain time to think. She swallowed hard, and nodded.
‘Call on us tomorrow morning, early,’ she suggested faintly. ‘I - I would be grateful for an opportunity to explain what must seem decidedly odd to you.’
‘Odd?’ he mocked. ‘Deuced smoky, if you ask me. Dorney won’t be at all pleased, after what happened to his brother.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bella demanded, surprised, but he shook his head, smiled, and calmly took her dance card out of her hand.
‘Well, you are popular, Miss Collins,’ he sneered, and before she could protest calmly struck through the name written against the final dance and handed the card back to her.
‘You can’t!’ Bella protested. The last dance had been promised to Lord Dorney. ‘How can I possibly explain?’
‘How can you possibly not?’ he mocked. ‘Tell him an old friend, a very dear old friend, has unexpectedly just arrived in Bath. I’m sure he’ll understand.’
‘I won’t!’ she declared angrily, rising impetuously to her feet.
‘You will, Miss Trahearne, indeed you will,’ he said softly, rising with her.
* * * *
He mockingly offered her his arm, but Bella swung away from him and walked rapidly towards the tearoom, where she hoped to find Jane.
She would escape, she vowed to herself. She would plead the headache and ask to be taken home. Then she straightened her back. No, she would not! She would not give that odious little man the satisfaction of knowing he’d driven her away. She’d ignore him.
She halted suddenly, oblivious of the strolling couple who almost collided with her, and deaf to their apologies as she stood still, her mind a turmoil of desperate plans.
She dared not ignore him. She was not by any means certain of Lord Dorney’s intentions. She could not risk him discovering her deception until after he’d spoken, if indeed he was considering proposing to her, as the Bath gossips were predicting and expecting daily.
Firmly she suppressed the rising panic and forced herself to review the position. She loved Lord Dorney, although she had admitted this to no one and always brushed aside Jane’s anxious queries with flippant remarks. She thought he loved her, but wondered forlornly whether this was hope rather than a reasonable expectation. If he did not, the deception she had practised, understandable though she considered it to be, might give him a disgust of her. If he loved her he’d forgive her. But did he love her?
Slowly she resumed her progress towards the tearoom, unaware of the curious glances cast after her, noticing nothing until an avuncular man, nearer her father’s age than her own, touched her gently on the arm.
‘Miss Collins, my dance, I believe?’
Somehow for the next hour she contrived to dance, talk about unimportant matters, and even to laugh. Beneath the surface calm her mind was wrestling with the problem, but without reaching any satisfactory conclusion. There was no opportunity to talk with Jane, and as the time for the last dance grew inexorably closer she sank into a lethargic acceptance. She would have to use the excuse Mr Salway had provided for her, and beg Lord Dorney to excuse her so that she could dance with the man she was beginning to hate.
‘I’ve just met an old friend - acquaintance,’ she amended quickly, suppressing the shudder all thought of a closer relationship with Mr Salway produced. ‘He’s from - from Yorkshire,’ she explained haltingly when Lord Dorney came to claim her. ‘He begged for this dance, so would you be kind enough to release me from my promise to you?’
‘How can I refuse you anything?’ he said gallantly. ‘Much as I deplore this unknown rival I cannot deny you the opportunity of talking with an old friend.’
Bella gulped, smiled tremulously at him, and wished the floor would swallow her. It was too bad of that wretch to force her into such a horrible situation. Fleetingly the thought crossed her mind that it was her own doing she was masquerading under an assumed name, but she pushed it angrily aside. It had been a necessary deception if she could ever hope to find a man who loved her and not her money.
She could say no more, however, for Mr Salway arrived beside her. Lord Dorney moved away, clearly not anxious to be introduced to the interloper, and Bella permitted her persecutor to lead her into the centre of the room.
‘I propose to call on you in the morning,’ Mr Salway announced as the musicians struck up.
Bella wanted to refuse, but she knew it would be to no avail. He could easily find her, and his enquiries might lead to unwelcome speculation.
Coldly she gave him their direction, and for the remainder of the dance they were silent. Bella had no wish to talk, for she was afraid if she did her anger would overwhelm her and betray her into an unseemly argument. Mr Salway seemed content to watch the other dancers. It occurred bleakly to Bella that Lord Dorney, if he were watching, could not help wondering why such declared old friends had so little to say to one another.
To Bella’s relief Lord Dorney made no comments as they drove to Henrietta Street, and Jane was tired and wished to retire straight to bed. She went up to her own room and threw off her ballgown, then pulled on a wrapper and sat down by the window, looking out towards the hills where flambeaux lit up the buildings, and a full moon shone down on the elegant new crescents and squares which sprawled up the steep slopes.
* * * *
Her brain seemed numb, apart from the bewildered repetition of questions. Why had Mr Salway come to Bath? What would Lord Dorney say when he discovered her masquerade? Did he love her? Would he make her an offer, or had she misunderstood his attentions? Would this revelation kill his love, if it existed? And, through it all, what could she do?
After several hours she rose, her limbs cold and stiff, and crept into bed, but sleep refused to come. It was almost dawn, and when the first faint gleams of sunlight crept through the window she gave up all attempts to sleep, threw off the tumbled bedclothes, and dressed hurriedly in an unfashionable but warm woollen gown.
She seized a shawl and ran down to the kitchen where Mrs Dawes was sitting with Lizy, enjoying a pot of tea.
‘Why, Miss Bella, is anything wrong?’ Mrs Dawes asked anxiously.
‘No, except that I couldn’t sleep,’ Bella replied. ‘Where’s Rags? I’ll take him for a walk.’
‘In the stables. Will you not have some tea first, and a few slices of bread and butter? Or I could make some chocolate,’ Mrs Dawes offered, but Bella felt as though food and drink would choke her.
‘No, thank you. I just want some fresh air,’ she replied, and escaped through the door, making her way towards the stables where Rags was accommodated in an empty stall.
She decided to walk along the bank of the river, which would be deserted so early in the day, and had gone for almost a mile before she saw anyone else.
A horseman was coming towards her, ambling rather aimlessly, and with a sense of inevitability Bella recognized Lord Dorney. She felt a moment’s panic, longing combined with apprehension. What could she say?
He recognized her at the same time and urged his horse into a trot until he reached her side. Dismounting, he tied the reins to the branch of an overhanging willow.
‘Miss Collins, I’m surprised to see you so early in the morning,’ he said, giving her a particularly sweet smile.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she confessed. ‘My bed became so uncomfortable it was easier to abandon it,’ she added with a brave attempt at a laugh.
‘Sleeplessness appears to be a common problem,’ he said easily. ‘I too was restless. Are you ready to go back now?’
Bella sighed. ‘I ought to,’ she admitted.
‘Then I’ll walk with you. I know Bath’s considered a safe town, but I don’t like the thought of your being alone.’
‘Rags is excellent protection,’ she av
owed, but was inwardly warmed by this show of concern for her welfare.
They walked back with just a few remarks about things they saw, a clump of late violets, the first tentative cowslips, a scavenging squirrel, the burgeoning leaves on the trees, and the noisy birdsong. At the end of Henrietta Street, when Lord Dorney was preparing to leave Bella, he smiled down at her.
‘May I call on you later in the morning?’ he asked, and Bella looked up at him in some surprise.
He was being unusually formal. It had become his custom to call on them at least once a day, often to make arrangements for some entertainment he was escorting them to, or to suggest a ride or a drive. He did not as a rule ask for permission, and if they happened to be out when he called he would follow them to the Pump Room or Milsom Street.
‘Of course,’ she replied, forgetting in her astonishment that she was expecting a call from Mr Salway that morning, and with a brief smile of thanks he mounted his horse and rode towards the bridge.
* * * *
Jane was eating breakfast when Bella found her.
‘You’re out early,’ she commented. ‘I haven’t the energy. Tell me, Bella, who was that strange man you danced with last night? Lord Dorney looked black as thunder while you were dancing. Several people remarked on it.’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten!’ Bella exclaimed, realizing that Jane knew nothing of the problems besetting her. ‘He’s calling on me later. Oh, no, and I’ve said Lord Dorney may call too!’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jane complained. ‘Who is he, and why should Lord Dorney need permission to call? He comes almost every day without asking. And why shouldn’t they come at the same time?’
‘He’s Lady Salway’s nephew, and he knew me in Harrogate,’ Bella explained. ‘He forced me to dance with him.’
Jane was gazing at her in dismay.
‘Then he’ll betray you? Why did I ever agree to this masquerade?’
‘I won’t allow him to ruin everything!’ Bella declared vehemently. ‘Jane, we must think of a way to stop him telling everyone.’