“Agreed, but only because you need some colour in your wardrobe, dearest,” she said to Anna in a stern voice. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that most of your dresses are half-mourning. It’s time to cast off your blacks, especially if you are going to force me to attend parties and the like with people I don’t know from Adam. The least you could do is dress your age instead of like an old matron.”
“Your generosity knows no bounds, my dear,” said Anna, ignoring the jibe with grace. “And for you, I’ll even submit to buying some new clothes.”
*
Arthur was feeling rather pleased with himself, truth be told.
The property he had recently won in that ridiculous wager was in Sydney Place, a fashionable address but not too showy. Unfortunately, the place was rather too large for his need as Mr Arthur, nobody-of-consequence and in possession of a not-particularly-large fortune. He had easily convinced the housekeeper that he was the cousin and agent of Lord Arthur Weatherly to explain his reluctance to live in the house, and shared with her his intention to rent the place out in the near future. That fence successfully cleared, he hit upon the notion of taking rooms at the York House hotel under his assumed identity.
His first business was a trip to a barber so he could get the most painful part of his transformation over with. Knowing that he was somewhat famed for his expertly tousled hair (derogatorily known as the Frightened Owl by those who could not achieve the volume required for the look), he forced himself to have it cropped short, a la Caesar, content in the knowledge that his own mother would struggle to recognize him as a result.
“Are you sure, sir?” the poor barber said, as each time Arthur saw the scissors come close to his head, he began to shudder.
“I am determined, my good man. The hair must go to suit my image.”
The barber had cast an eye over Arthur’s attire and struggled to keep his face in a pleasant expression. “May I suggest that you instead consider changing your… your sense of style to be in keeping with your hair?”
That, naturally, settled it. Arthur took a deep breath and then squeezed his eyes tight shut. “No, it is essential that I do this. Cut away, my good man, and then finish with a shave so I can at least pretend to be fashionable!”
Once that was over, it was time to engage the most indispensable member of a gentleman’s entourage: a valet. Although he’d fully intended to send for Jenkins once he’d settled on a destination, he considered how his valet would react to seeing that Arthur had cut off his beautiful, wild hair and opted for the severe, somewhat conservative Caesar cut.
He was not sure whether he would encounter wrath or weeping, but neither felt particularly desirable.
It seemed in his best interest to avoid that meeting for as long as possible, so instead, he’d stopped by an agency to hire a temporary valet. He was perfectly happy with the result. While West was not entirely incompetent, his aptitude for tying a neckcloth in anything other than a mailcoach left a lot to be desired, and his ability to shine boots was adequate at best.
In short, he was ideal for completing the image of Mr Arthur, a nobody visiting Bath for the first time.
Next, he stopped at the stationer's to order some calling cards of the cheapest stock they had, all in the name Mr Arthur, Gentleman. He decided against the garish embellishments that the shopkeeper assured him were all the crack, for although he wished to appear anything but the stylish and disgustingly wealthy Lord Arthur, even he had standards. It cost a considerable amount of blunt to have the things ready in such a short amount of time, but it was worth it, for his transformation was now complete.
It could not be more perfect. With his new valet and the staff at the Pelican referring to him as Mr Arthur, and by making vague remarks about having recently returned from abroad, he was dismissed by all who encountered him as nothing more than a younger son of a nobody, at best a chicken nabob, and generally unworthy of more than a passing nod.
It helped, naturally, that nobody of consequence was in town. Well, he supposed the Devenishes would be present, but as he was on no more than nodding terms with the Duke and his invalid mother, he was confident that he could avoid any flicker of recognition that they might feel upon a chance meeting.
Of course, there was still one obstacle to staying in Bath that would need to be addressed if his little charade was to work. Unfortunately, that obstacle was notoriously prickly and apt to cause a large stink should she disagree with his pretence.
“Good God, what have you done to yourself, Arthur?” demanded Lady Seraphinia Harden as he entered her drawing room. There was a letter in her hand, which she tossed onto the side table as he approached. She regarded him through an oversized monocle that only served to accentuate her disapproval.
Arthur made his bow deep if only to buy enough time for the footman to close the door and establish some privacy for them.
“Great-Great-Aunt Seraphinia! It gives my heart and head joy to rest these tired eyes upon you, my love.”
“Farradiddle,” snapped Lady Seraphinia as she put her monocle away. “And why on earth did that fool of a servant announce you as mister, rather than lord? Don’t tell me I have to fire another footman for incompetence!”
“Nothing of the sort,” replied Arthur as he kissed her proffered hand. “He was merely doing as I instructed – and I daresay it is a great comfort to me to know that none of your servants has ever met me before!”
“And yet I know you well,” said Lady Seraphinia Harden’s companion with a laugh in her voice. Jane Lindon, a pretty-enough woman only a few years older than Arthur, extended her hand toward him, which he took gladly.
“But you are practically part of the family, my darling Miss Lindon,” he said.
Lady Seraphinia snorted.
“Jane is the eldest child of my goddaughter and thus holds a place in my heart, while you are only related to me distantly, and through a marriage at that. A mercy I thank the Lord for daily, I might add! What have you all been up to in London? It seems your family is intent on making a mockery of the Lexborough name!”
“But as we are only related via marriage, it is really nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Arthur replied, forcing himself to retain a smile.
Seraphinia studied him for a long moment, the hawkish intelligence for which she was known evident in her piercing gaze. The widow of the late Viscount Harden and daughter of the first Marquess of Bidston, the octogenarian had long ago taken over the rule of Bath society, all the while forcing the world at large to call her Lady Seraphinia rather than the Dowager Lady Harden. Rumour had it that this was, in part, due to her loathing of her daughter-in-law, the new Lady Harden, who Seraphinia had openly speculated had tricked her late son, Lionel, into marriage. The thought of sharing a name with someone she referred to as That Harpy – and everyone else in the Ton called Old Bat – was too much. Seraphinia had been incensed enough to permanently damage her daughter-in-law’s social standing, and she was not above doing to others that she took in dislike. Her disapproval had resulted in more than one family being cast out of the Ton, but anyone under her patronage found her to be a staunch advocate for their success.
She was equally described as terrifying and wonderful. Arthur thought they were both entirely accurate descriptions.
She gave a sudden bark of laughter. “I knew there was a reason I tolerated you despite your dandified ways. There’s more of a backbone than most give you credit for.”
“There may have been a compliment in there, I’m not sure,” he said to Miss Lindon in a stage whisper.
“There was,” she assured him, “but as she gives so little credit to anyone, she wasn't particularly kind to you, either.”
“Hush, child,” said Lady Seraphinia with an impatient wave of her hand. “Lord Arthur must explain himself to me. Why do you look like a poor merchant, and why did you not use your title when you arrived? And come to think of it, what in the name of the Lord have you done to your hair?”
“I’m afraid it’s a bit of a notion that came into my head at Darlington,” he said as he settled down into a chair beside his distant relative. “I assume you have heard about my, err, good fortune in London?”
“You mean, do I know that you made the most ridiculous bet imaginable on the most preposterous shooting contest I ever heard about? Yes, news of it has reached us, even here in the wilds of Bath.”
“Capital! Then you know I’m richer than Croesus in my own right.”
“And currently next in line to be Duke,” said Lady Seraphinia. Arthur winced at the thought.
“Hopefully not for much longer now that Alex is home. However yes, my status as his heir seems to be very important to a substantial number of matchmaking mamas now that I’m in possession of a considerable fortune.”
“You’re making yourself sound attractive even to me,” laughed Miss Lindon. Arthur, knowing her of old, threw her a pained look.
“It’s not something to joke about, Jane – I’ve been hunted from hedge to highway ever since the papers printed the dashed story. Even Katie, I mean Her Grace, has been encouraging them by inviting every family with an eligible daughter to stop by the Park.”
“What did you do to upset her?” asked Miss Lindon.
Arthur grinned despite himself. “Well to be fair, I may have turned up to her ball wearing a powdered wig and clothes last in style half a century ago. While inebriated.”
“Good God, why would you do such a thing?” demanded Lady Seraphinia.
“It was only for the most desperate of situations, I swear to you,” he said, wincing at the memory of how his own stupidity had led to his current fate. “Although it’s hard to say what part of it made her the angriest; my placing all those ridiculous bets on her to win the contest or casting up my accounts all over her husband. Suffice to say, her revenge is to ensure I’m hunted everywhere I go by young ladies and their conniving parents.”
Lady Seraphinia held up a hand to pause conversation as the butler brought in refreshments. She waited until they were alone once again when she instructed Jane to serve for them.
“This still does not explain why you have had a gardener attack your locks with a pair of shears. You had better tell me everything, you young jackanape. I will know if you lie, and if you do, then I will write to the Duchess and command her to send every eligible female of her acquaintance to lay siege to your lodging. Leave nothing out.”
Arthur did as bid. He even went so far as to include his fortuitous meeting with the Clydes, and how they had appeared singularly unaware of his identity. Lady Seraphinia’s eyes narrowed for just a moment, and she cast a quick glance at the letter laying on the small table beside her.
“Mrs Clyde, you said? And she’s young?”
“Yes, with a remarkably pretty stepdaughter to boot,” he said. He got the feeling that his relative was hatching a plan of some sort, but since she had a mind as complex as a spider’s web, he gave it little more attention. No doubt she was plotting to marry the poor woman off to some acquaintance of hers. Lady Seraphinia liked to meddle.
Eventually, his tale came to an end, and a brief silence fell as the two ladies appeared lost in thought. Lady Seraphinia was magnificent in her long waisted round gown, despite it not having been a fashionable form of dress for almost two decades, and a ruffled fichu that came high along the neckline. Her open robe was of a thick grey stripe, well cut and of expensive silk. Arthur, always one to take note of the skill with which another person dressed, looked approvingly on this ensemble. Lady Seraphinia was well aware of her age, and that the modern lines would not be a flattering look. However, she had not clung to the ridiculous hairstyles and extravagancies of her generation, either, and had somehow managed to arrive at a becoming style that was all her own.
Jane, on the other hand, was dressed in the height of style, with a well-made, if simple, cream muslin gown devoid of all ornament. Her hair was fashionably cropped a la Brutus, and a simple locket at her throat made the best of her sharp, angular features.
In fact, thought Arthur with considerable glee, compared to the two ladies, he looked like a positive bumpkin.
“To summarise, then: you believe that by dressing like an idiot and calling yourself mister rather than Lord, you’ll throw everyone off your scent?” asked Lady Seraphinia, looking less impressed now she had thought over his tale. “You may have some backbone, but not very many brains.”
“Well I’ve been here two days already, and you’ve not heard of my presence in Bath,” Arthur pointed out. “And let’s face it, nothing happens in Bath without your knowledge.”
She preened a little at that, but her gaze remained hard. “True, but I recognised you the moment you walked in even with that awful haircut – and I’ve barely seen you these past three years.”
He ignored that jibe, knowing that to engage would result in his death. She was not called the Dragon of Bath for nothing.
“Well, that’s why I must enlist your aid, my dearest Great-Great-Aunt Seraphinia.”
“I’ll consider it if you stop reminding me of my age.”
“Agreed!” he said, grinning at her despite her oppressive gaze. “My hope is that you will introduce me to your acquaintance as Mr Arthur – a cousin of Miss Lindon, perhaps? Or one of your distant relations from the other side of the tree? Even if anyone has some inexplicably feeling that I am, in fact, the younger brother of the Duke of Lexborough, they’ll dismiss the notion if you insist I am just some insignificant chicken nabob. After all, you know everyone. You’re not likely to make a mistake.”
“Sort of like the Emperor’s New Clothes,” said Jane, looking impressed at the idea. “If Aunt Seraphinia insists you are my distant cousin, no one will daresay otherwise and simply believe her instead.”
Lady Seraphinia made a noise that sounded like it could have been a vulgar swear word.
“Don’t be an idiot, Jane. He needs no encouragement.”
Jane just shrugged, but the smile tugging at the edge of her mouth suggested that she found Lady Seraphinia’s crotchetiness amusing more than anything else.
The old dragon turned her gaze back to him. “You gave this ridiculous plan no thought at all, did you? Why on earth would you have decided to choose an idiotic name like Mr Arthur if you don’t wish to be recognised?”
“I’m rather used to being called Arthur,” he replied with a shrug. “And while using Weatherly was out of the question, it seemed best to keep things simple, so that I don’t inadvertently give someone the Cut Direct if I forgot something only slightly less familiar to me, like Paragon, or Adonis.”
“Or Narcissus,” snapped Lady Seraphinia.
He grinned. “You see my point, though.”
“I see that you are an idiot.”
Jane, darling that she was, seemed to believe this was a good time to intervene.
“Why not fully admit that he is related to His Grace?” she said, causing both Arthur and her employer to look at her. “Think about it! It’s perfectly common for gentlemen to be named for branches of their family tree. Could we not pretend that the Dowager Duchess had a grandfather with the family name Arthur?”
Lady Seraphinia looked thoughtful. “It could work. That would make you a third cousin to the Duke and yourself; close enough to explain the familiarity of appearance as well as the name.”
Arthur grinned. “Capital suggestion, Jane! And let’s face it; if anyone can convince the Ton I’m my own cousin, it’s you, Aunt Seraphinia. Why you could convince the Ton that a monkey was the rightful King of England and they’d fall over themselves to agree with you.”
“You both overestimate my powers,” said Lady Seraphinia.
Miss Lindon and Arthur shared a look.
“No,” he said eventually. “No, we really aren’t.”
His relative seemed to ignore this comment as she drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair.
“It seems an awful lot of effort to go to just to avoid being known,”
she said. “Why not just retire to the Continent, or go somewhere up North where you could easily slip into being a nobody? There are plenty of small market towns you could visit.”
A vision of Mrs Clyde came into his mind unbidden, but he did not mention it out loud.
And especially not the pug.
“Why deprive myself of your wisdom and support in my hour of need?” he said. “Please, my darling Aunt Seraphinia. Have I ever asked you for anything before?”
“No, but then you’ve never been this stupid before.”
Jane leant over and placed her hand over that of her godmother.
“Oh please, Aunt Seraphinia. Were you not saying only last week that you are bored of Bath Society, and how much you wanted to kick up a lark this summer? How better than pulling the wool over the eyes of the entire town?”
“And if Arthur’s identity is uncovered?”
“Then you simply state you were humouring the silly boy because he was sick of being the target of matchmaking mamas, and state that if they weren’t such ninnyhammers, they would have recognised him in a trice. So long as you act all superior, no one will ever dare to criticise you for it. Besides, what you did to the General was much worse in the scheme of things, and look at how well that has turned out!”
Aunt Seraphinia looked amused by this recollection, and it took every last bit of Arthur’s willpower not to enquire who the General was, and what his relative had done to the poor man.
“Oh very well – but on your head be it!” said Lady Seraphinia, pointing a bony finger toward Arthur. “We will begin tomorrow when you can escort us to the Pump Room. If you want me to help you with this ridiculous charade, then I expect you to act as our protector in payment. Besides, Jane could do with some sensible conversation with someone her own age – although I could never accuse any member of your family as being sensible. What my grand-niece saw in your uncle I will never know.”
Arthur smiled broadly, ignoring her insults as he wondered if Mrs Clyde and her stepdaughter would be out and about the following day.
The Alter Ego Page 3