‘That signifies nothing and I am certainly not looking to have an affair,’ Clara replied, not even trying to hide her indignation. ‘And he is much too young for me, regardless.’
Humphrey padded down between the rose bushes from where he had been by the garden wall. The small dog stopped near one of the pots on the edge of the border that held lavender. He raised himself up on his hind legs and proceeded to thrust himself against the clay pot a number of times, eliciting a laugh from the Dowager.
‘Humphrey, no!’ Clara called out to him, while a hot flush crept up her neck. She had to repeat his name a number of times before he stopped and looked over at her with those big brown eyes. She walked over to him and picked him up. When she returned to her chair, she placed his small body on her lap. ‘Please forgive him,’ she said to the Dowager. ‘He has developed a habit of doing that. I suppose I should be grateful he does that only to things and not people, but I don’t know how to get him to stop.’ The dog in question curled into a ball on her lap and lowered his head.
‘I’m afraid I cannot help you with his problem. I’ve never owned a dog. Would it help if you walked him some more? Perhaps if you tire him out?’
‘I already take him for a long walk every morning and then I walk him at four o’clock along the Crescent and into the park every day. It has done no good.’
The Dowager smiled up at Clara. ‘I am certain you will work out the best course of action to take. In the meantime,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘I need something to keep me occupied while I am here in Bath and playing matchmaker for your neighbour’s daughter sounds like the perfect challenge. Why don’t you join me in helping her find someone special?’
‘Harriet is a lovely girl. I doubt it will be a challenge. We just need to separate her from her sister.’
‘And hopefully your mystery gentleman from yesterday will still be in town and we can find out if he is a suitable prospect for her.’
The idea that he could still be in Bath shouldn’t have mattered. He was a stranger she had spoken to for less than thirty minutes—and yet the notion made her smile.
Chapter Three
Lane stood in the cellar of the coffee house that he had purchased with his friend and business partner the Earl of Hartwick and looked over at the man in question, who was holding a glass of hot mineral water up to the sunlight that was streaming in through the window.
‘When I told you to go to Bath because you might find something that would interest you, I didn’t mean the water,’ Hart said, narrowing his sharp blue eyes and taking a cautionary sniff of his glass.
‘I know what you meant.’
‘Women, not water. I meant go to Bath to find a woman...or two. I’m not one to judge. But this water...are you certain it is safe to drink?’
‘I had a glass of it myself only yesterday and I am here today.’
Hart peered at Lane over the glass. ‘Yes, but you appear agitated. I have no wish to become agitated.’
‘I am agitated because you have yet to tell me if you agree that turning this coffee house into a spa is a wise business decision,’ he replied in a clipped tone.
‘People truly do drink this hot water that smells like a pocketful of pennies?’
‘The room was full of people paying five pence per glass to drink it.’
‘And they go there every day?’
‘Some do and drink multiple glasses. And some bathe in the hot thermal water as well.’ Lane dug his hands into the pockets of his green-linen coat. ‘How is it that you were the one to tell me to go to Bath and yet you know nothing about the hot springs or the Grand Pump Room?’
Hart arched his brow. ‘In the seven years that you have known me, do I truly look like a person who would bathe with strange old men in ancient pools or drink water that appears to have been boiled with currency?’
‘Well, no, not really.’ Lane shifted in his stance.
‘Then what makes you believe I know anything about the water here?’
Lane had been introduced to Hart by Lord Boundbrooke, who was on the board of the Foundling Hospital and had helped secure Lane’s apprenticeship at a bank when he left the Hospital. In the years following, he had kept his eye on Lane and had told him that he thought both Lane and Hart would benefit from a friendship with each other. He was right. In Hart, he had found a rare aristocrat who didn’t care that Lane did not come from a family of consequence or that he didn’t even know what family he came from at all. But even though he was very fond of the man, there were times Hart could try his patience.
‘You must know of the reputation of the town, Hart, and you’ve seen the numerous visitors that come here by the thousands because of water such as that.’
Hart brushed a lock of his black hair out of his eyes. ‘Do I really have to drink this?’
‘Not if you don’t want to.’
‘What I’d prefer is a nice glass of brandy somewhere where we can discuss this further.’
Lane motioned to the white-skirted table with two chairs that was tucked against the stone wall and Hart followed. He broke out into a broad grin when Lane reached under the table and produced a bottle of brandy and two glasses.
‘You knew I wouldn’t drink the water.’
‘I suspected as much and, even if you had, you would need this to wash the taste out of your mouth.’
‘If that water is so vile, why are all these people drinking it?’
‘Because they firmly believe that that water is going to cure all their ailments.’
‘And, do you believe that?’
‘I am keeping myself open to the possibility.’
Hart poured himself some brandy. ‘Then why not just operate a place for people to come to drink the water? Why do we need to purchase the hotel as well?’
‘If we don’t offer bathing as well, it might not be enough of an incentive to draw people here. They could very well continue to go to the spas where they can have a drink and bathe. And, more importantly, there is more money to be made from people bathing in the water. Look here.’ He took out a paper with his financial calculations from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘I stood outside the King’s and Queen’s Baths and counted how many people went in over a two-hour period this morning. I used that number to estimate how many people go in each day.’ He pointed to the number of people and then the column beside it. ‘This is how much they charge for a person to take to the waters there and this is how much money they might have made today. It is not an accurate number, mind you, but it is a logical estimate.’
Hart’s blue eyes widened as his gaze travelled across the numbers. ‘Surely that can’t be right?’
‘It is. I tell you, we need to expand. It is the logical thing to do. We need to buy The Fountain Head Hotel and then construct a bathhouse on the property. It is as if divine providence has given us a gift with that water for a reason.’ He leaned in and rested his forearms on the table. ‘Hart, we could make enough money to start that racecourse you and I have dreamed about. The one that will rival Ascot.’
He knew that the mention of horses would be enough of an enticement to grab his friend’s interest in the project. They had been business partners for seven years. The investments he had orchestrated for them allowed his friend to live on a very nice income and not have to rely solely on his winnings at the gaming tables to support himself and now his wife as well. He knew Hart trusted his business sense, but he could still be unpredictable at times.
Lane rubbed his hand across his chin and waited.
‘While we might be able to afford to purchase the hotel,’ Hart said, ‘we certainly can’t afford the hotel and the construction of the bathhouse. Not after buying this place only weeks ago.’
‘Do you have any ideas?’
Hart took a sip of his brandy and then stared down into his glass as if he would find his answer
there. ‘Sarah and I are staying with Lyonsdale and his family for a few days. I will mention it to him tonight and, should he be interested, I will arrange a meeting with the three of us. You can lay this plan of yours before him then.’
Lane rubbed his hand on his thigh as if he were rubbing out a spot on the soft buckskin of his breeches. He didn’t want to have to wait to settle this matter. He wanted to approach the owner of the hotel now and begin searching for an engineer competent in the systems they would need to manage the flow of water. He would need a survey of the property next door to present to the engineers. But he couldn’t do any of that until he knew how much money they had at their disposal.
While Hart with his charm and pedigree was perfect at enticing investors to fund their projects, Lane was infinitely better at executing them—and this plan was exceptional. It was easy money. Once the new spa was complete, it would practically run itself. He would hire a competent manager and return to London in search of his next financial investment.
The Duke of Lyonsdale had helped them fund a few of their larger business ventures in the past. He would certainly see the potential in this one. If only Lane did not have to wait so long for his answer.
‘How much money do you think Lyonsdale will be willing to give us?’
Hart gave a slight lift of his shoulder. ‘How much money do you think we will need? I’m sure you have a number in mind.’
Lane pointed to another number further down the page.
Hart’s brows rose. ‘Yes, we will definitely need help with that. Let me see what I can do and I will let you know what he says.’
As he stood to leave, Lane checked his watch.
‘What time is it?’ Hart asked.
‘Half past three.’
‘I should be off. I’ll send word to you in the morning on the outcome of our discussion. In the meantime, don’t look at any more properties. We can’t afford for you to get another one of your brilliant ideas.’
‘I won’t. This idea has my full attention. I think I’ll go for a walk. After spending a good part of my afternoon in this dusty space, I could use the fresh air.’
‘Lyonsdale is up near the Royal Crescent. You might want to explore that area. I don’t believe there are any businesses to distract you.’
‘I’ll consider it.’
‘You might even consider finding a woman or two. That should keep you out of trouble until you hear from me.’
‘I have better things to do.’ But even as he said it, an image of the woman from the Pump Room popped into his head. He consciously pushed thoughts of her aside. ‘I’m determined to find a way to improve the productivity here at the coffee house. There is no sense in missing an opportunity to increase our income with this property until we change it to a spa.’
‘If we change it over to a spa.’
‘When we change it. I have faith that you will find a way to get us the money that we need.’
‘We shall see.’ Hart downed the rest of his brandy. ‘Even if we get the money, what makes you believe the owner of The Fountain Head Hotel will be interested in selling it to us? I’ve heard it’s the finest hotel in Bath and a haven for single gentlemen. With all the unmarried men visiting this town, it must turn a pretty profit.’
‘They’ll sell it. I’m good at brokering deals such as this and I want that property.’
Chapter Four
‘Really, Humphrey, this is not the time or place for such behaviour.’
The feminine voice came through the thick shrubbery in the wooded area with views of the Royal Crescent that Lane found himself walking in almost an hour later. After living in London all his life, he felt more at home on cobblestones or on horseback than he did walking along a wooded path. But the wide promenade in front of the Crescent was so congested with finely dressed people of all ages that Lane grew weary of the slow pace of those walking in front of him as they strolled along under their parasols and in their beaver hats. Something told him that he was better off heading out into Barton Fields, the huge expanse of lawn opposite the long curved row of honey-coloured terraced stone residences that formed the Royal Crescent.
The air was fresher and cleaner here in Bath and being outside exerting oneself through a brisk walk felt invigorating. Because of that, when he reached the end of the field, Lane uncharacteristically decided to continue on to the wooded area beyond. And it was there that the voice of the unknown woman caught his attention. The tone she used to address her companion had him slowing down. What behaviour had this gentleman committed that warranted such exasperation?
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she continued. ‘You know that I am right.’
The privet hedgerow between them was about ten inches higher than his six-foot frame and too lush to peer through the leaves to the other side.
‘Honestly, I would have stayed at home if I knew this was your intention.’
The gentleman in question remained silent. Or, if he spoke, it was too low for Lane to hear. He stepped closer to the hedgerow and listened intently for any response. He heard a bit of rustling, like the sound of the fabric of a lady’s skirt being moved. Although he devoted his attention to business, Lane wasn’t a monk. He had lifted a skirt or two...or three or four, in his time. That was a sound that a man didn’t forget.
‘Oh, now you have me in a tangle. I do wish you would stop.’ The woman’s tone had shifted from that of exasperation to pleading.
It was in really bad form to listen to what was happening a few feet away from him. He should walk away. He should not be picturing the escapade those two were having in the woods—in the very public woods.
His thoughts flashed to an image of the woman from the Pump Room and how he had been picturing the two of them together yesterday—in the very public bath. At least his fantasy involved an empty building, after it had been closed for the day.
‘Humphrey, no! Don’t you do it. Humphrey!’
There was an urgency in her voice that gave him pause. Perhaps the silent Humphrey was manhandling her. Suppose she did not want him to lift her skirts here in a public garden. Lane’s right hand drew up into a tight fist.
‘Is everything all right?’ he called through the hedge. ‘Are you in need of assistance?’
The rustling stopped and there was a marked silence. The only sound now was the faint chirping of birds in a far-off tree.
‘Now do you see what you’ve done?’ Her voice dropped and, if he hadn’t been standing with his ear practically in the bush, he wouldn’t have heard it.
‘What am I to do about you?’ Her faint voice continued. ‘You are incorrigible. I should give a swat to that backside of yours.’
Lane’s brows rose. They were more of a daring couple than he had originally thought. Perhaps she wasn’t coming to any harm after all. Perhaps he should just go on his way and forget he had ever said anything. This would teach him to venture out into wooded areas. No one would be having these types of assignations in the middle of the day on public pavements. He turned to walk further down the path when the woman called out to him.
‘Sir, are you still there? I could use your assistance.’
What had the silent Humphrey done now? And did Lane really want to see? This was what he got for having no tolerance for brutes who thought they could exert their power over others.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Lane made his way around the hedgerow and stopped.
‘It’s you.’ It came out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself.
There, before him, was the woman from the Pump Room wearing a jonquil and white dress with a deep blue shawl draped over her right arm, her brown eyes widened with apparent surprise when she saw him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You said you needed assistance.’ He scanned the surroundings for the persistent Humphrey, but the man must have had the sense to leave be
fore Lane made it around the hedge or he was hiding somewhere while he set his wardrobe to rights.
Apparently, this woman would probably think nothing of having a scandalous encounter in the public baths. And that thought only served to have him picturing her smooth skin glistening with the steaming bath water once more.
* * *
It was bad enough Clara was in the predicament she was in. Did she really need to be stuck like this in front of the handsome gentleman from the Pump Room?
Humphrey’s leash had got tangled in the privet hedge and, if that wasn’t annoying enough, when she went to try to untangle it the back of her dress had got caught on a branch as well. She had tried to release it, but that particular section of lace was at a point of her back that she couldn’t reach.
When the gentleman called out to her through the hedgerow, she hesitated at first to answer. A scoundrel could take advantage of her very precarious predicament. She could be robbed, or worse. Hoping that if he tried anything, her small puppy would bite his ankles and scare him off, she accepted his invitation of assistance. Only now her puppy had disappeared into the hedge and the possible scoundrel turned out to be the man the Dowager wanted her to introduce to her neighbour.
‘How can I help?’ he asked, tilting his head a bit as he looked at her with a furrowed brow.
‘I’m stuck.’
‘Pardon?’
‘On the hedge.’ She motioned to her back with her gloved hand. ‘The lace on my dress is caught on a branch and I can’t move. Would you be so kind as to release me?’
He glanced around the small wooded area she was in and even appeared to peer over a few of the lower hedges as he made his way closer to her. When he stood a few feet away, the faintest scent of his cologne drifted across her nose as it travelled on the soft breeze.
Clara was petite in stature and had to look up at him as he stood less than two feet from her. Facing him, without the busyness of the Pump Room, she was able to get a better look at him. His firm and sensual lips rose a fraction in the right corner, softening the angles of his square jaw. Although he was clean shaven, there was a hint of stubble on that jaw and on his cheeks. She appreciated impeccably groomed men so it was surprising that she had the urge to brush her fingers against his skin to see what that stubble felt like.
Mrs Sommersby's Second Chance Page 3