Mrs Sommersby's Second Chance

by Laurie Benson

  He knew what he needed to do. Excusing himself rather abruptly from her side, he strode through the crowd to a startled Miss Collingswood.

  ‘Mr Lane!’

  He gave her a very respectable bow. ‘Miss Col-lingswood. Always a pleasure to see you.’

  Her sister turned her head towards him and was eyeing him with her full attention. Apparently, she was aware her sister was beside her.

  Miss Collingswood bobbed a curtsy. ‘Have you seen Mrs Sommersby? She is here, you know. I spent a good portion of my time with her when I first arrived, but didn’t wish to take up all her time tonight.’

  ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded.’

  It appeared Miss Collingswood’s interest was with Mr Greeley after all. No woman with an interest in him would have tried to direct him to someone else. Greeley was sorely lacking if he had left her here alone tonight.

  ‘I actually came to find out if you might honour me with the next dance. That is, if your dance card is free.’

  With that, her entire face brightened and it warmed his heart to see genuine happiness in her eyes. ‘I am free, Mr Lane, and accept your very kind invitation to dance.’

  He held out his arm for her and in a few minutes found himself on the dance floor, trying to remember the steps to the damned minuet.

  ‘That was really very kind of you to ask me to dance. I was hoping that Mr Greeley would be here tonight, but the Dowager said that she heard he’d had to go out of town to Plymouth to tend to a family matter. Not that I am not grateful that you have asked me to dance. I just thought I’d mention Mr Greeley...and my interest in him.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘You never did say if you have seen Mrs Sommersby. She is here in a lovely green gown. It is very pretty and she looks so beautiful in it. I’m certain if you look around for her, you will find her. She is such wonderful company.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What are you doing, Mr Lane?’

  ‘Remembering the sequence.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘The steps.’

  They parted ways and he followed the gentleman on his right side as he walked around his particular group of four dancers.

  ‘You don’t know the minuet?’

  ‘I haven’t danced it in a long time.’

  ‘Yet you decided to dance it with me?’

  ‘My apologies for being a less-than-adequate partner.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Lane, I think you are the finest partner I have ever had.’ There was a brief shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes before she very quietly instructed him on the movements just low enough so only he could hear her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘It does my heart good to see her dancing,’ the Dowager said, taking Mr Lane’s seat beside Clara. ‘I spent some time with her—unfortunately, I was summoned into the card room to settle a debate between two old men with poor memories and couldn’t have her remain by my side. That was kind of you to suggest that he ask her.’

  ‘But I didn’t. That was all his idea. I was going to suggest that we ask her to join us, but he left before I had the opportunity.’

  The two women sat in silence as they watched Mr Lane and Harriet on the dance floor. His movements for the most part were smooth and measured. He had a presence about him, brought on by his perfect posture and the raised angle of his chin. It wasn’t too high to indicate a sense of superiority, but it was high enough to say he wouldn’t back down from a challenge. He was a fairly tall man. If she had to guess she would say he was about six foot, which, considering she was only five foot four, meant that there was a comfortable height difference between them and Clara didn’t have to strain her neck too much when she was looking up at him. His athletic frame and broad shoulders were shown to his advantage in the cut of his well-made clothing. And through his white stockings she could see a pair of very nice, very defined calf muscles.

  ‘He does seem to be concentrating quite a bit,’ the Dowager observed in a low voice.

  ‘I wonder what she is saying that he finds so interesting?’

  ‘Perhaps she is talking about you.’

  Clara eyed her friend. ‘I don’t know why he would find anything about me interesting? I am much too old for him.’

  ‘I doubt Mr Lane feels you are. The two of you have a way when you are together. One gets the sense that in a room full of people, the two of you feel as though you are all alone.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’

  ‘It means that I have watched you at the theatre and tonight sitting here on the benches. You have some type of connection to one another. It’s not something I see frequently. It’s not something one can manufacture. It comes from somewhere in the soul.’

  ‘Eleanor, have you been reading poetry again?’

  The Dowager waved her gloved hand at Clara and the diamonds in her bracelet sparkled. ‘That does not signify. I know what I see. I have been at this far too long to miss something as blatant as this.’

  ‘And what is it that you have been at?’

  ‘Why, matchmaking.’

  ‘We are not a match. I am old enough to be his...young aunt.’

  ‘Has it escaped your notice that I am the champion of unlikely matches? Just look at my grandson and his American wife. No other duke had ever married an American before. There was quite a to-do about his interest in her at the time. He knew there would be many things he would have to sacrifice if he married her. But they are happy. He is happy. Sometimes people just need a nudge. And when it comes to love, I know the early signs of it.’

  ‘I am not in love, Eleanor.’

  ‘Not yet. But you are on your way. Life is short, Clara. Take it from one as old as I am. Do not disregard what makes you happy. You don’t always get a second chance when it comes to love.’

  She opened her mouth to inform Eleanor that there was no place in her life for that kind of love, but Mrs Collingswood interrupted them when she approached the Dowager’s side.

  The woman was dressed in a fashionably cut light-champagne-coloured gown with puce trim. The embroidery work alone projected how expensive the gown must have been. Three very large ostrich feathers, dyed puce, were attached to her champagne-coloured cap that rested on hair that was the same colour as Harriet’s. Each one of the feathers had to be about a foot long, giving Mrs Collingswood, with her already tall frame, the appearance of great height. She was hard to miss in a room even this large. And Clara found the boldness of her appearance matched the boldness of her personality.

  She curtsied to Eleanor, having been already introduced to her earlier in the evening, and appeared to be near bursting with suppressed excitement. ‘Mrs Sommersby, I couldn’t help but notice that the gentleman Harriet is dancing with was sitting with you a short while ago. Pray, can you tell me who he is?’

  ‘His name is Mr William Lane and he is from London. I introduced them the night I took Harriet to the theatre.’

  ‘London. Well, that is something.’

  By the slightly crestfallen look in her eyes, Clara could tell she was disappointed that Mr Lane was not in possession of a title.

  ‘I assume by the look of him and his manners that he is from a respectable part of town.’

  Clara had no idea where in London he lived. It had never come up in their discussions and the one time Harriet had brought up London when they were sitting having breakfast, he had left after barely acknowledging her comment. She also knew nothing of his family save for the fact that he had no brothers or sisters. For someone who had intended to arrange a match between the man and this woman’s daughter, she truly had been remiss in finding out the necessary details to determine if he would have been a respectable match for the girl. But based on his character, she was certain he would check off all the other necessary points on her list.

  ‘Will he be in Bath for long?’r />
  ‘I am not sure how much longer he is to remain. He is here on a business matter.’

  Mrs Collingswood turned to look at the dance floor once more. ‘A businessman. What kind?’

  ‘A respectable one.’ At least she hoped he was. What had they been talking about each time they were together that she didn’t know the answer to this?

  The vague response seemed to perplex Mrs Col-lingswood, but she didn’t press and once more she looked back at her daughter and Mr Lane. ‘Well, at least she is on the dance floor. Thank you for arranging this.’

  ‘Harriet is a dear girl. That dance was not done at my prompting.’

  ‘But you introduced them?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Well then, we still owe you our gratitude. Harriet does not show as well as Ann does. The gentlemen never seem to have an interest in her. I suppose if she tried harder we wouldn’t be faced with this situation. It’s nice to see your Mr Lane’s interest in her.’

  The woman was looking at her much too keenly. She was waiting for some kind of reaction. There was nothing that Clara could say to that. Mr Lane had no romantic interest in Harriet. He had made that very plain to her when they’d had a few moments alone in Sydney Gardens. She doubted their turn about the dance floor would change that. He had asked Harriet to dance because he was helping a friend in need. At least she assumed that was the reason.

  ‘I have advised Harriet to be more talkative like her sister is, but she simply refuses to listen. You know how children can be. They do try our patience at times.’

  ‘I don’t, actually. Mr Sommersby and I never had any children.’

  ‘Oh, forgive me. I did not realise. I assumed your children were off at school or perhaps had married young. I myself was a very young bride. I married Mr Collingswood when I was just seventeen.’

  After all these years, having to say that she was childless should have had no effect on her. However, when she did have to mention it the words still squeezed her heart for a life that at one time she assumed she would have had.

  The Dowager opened her mouth to say something, but Mrs Collingswood ploughed on.

  ‘Well, my dear, count yourself fortunate. They can be such a worry. For so long I have worried that Harriet would never find a man who would come to appreciate her unique charms. And now you have introduced her to Mr Lane. I would assume being a friend of yours that he is from a good family. One can tell he is in possession of a good fortune by the cut of his clothes.’

  There was no sense in getting this woman’s hopes up about Mr Lane and she might be able to save Harriet from being nagged by her mother about him if she could set the record straight. ‘From what we can tell, they are only sharing one dance. You may find there are other gentlemen here in Bath who appreciate Harriet’s charms and fine character. In fact, I am fairly certain of it.’

  ‘I agree,’ Eleanor said. ‘There are other gentlemen closer to her own age who I have noticed have shown an interest in her.’

  Mrs Collingswood looked sceptical. ‘With all due respect, Your Grace, I shall believe that when I see it with my own eyes. Perhaps Mr King might know more about Mr Lane. As the Master of Ceremonies here, he does make it his business to know about everyone who comes to Bath.’

  Just then the dance ended and Mr Lane returned Harriet to the vacant area of the ballroom where earlier her sister had been entertaining all those young men. Apparently Mr Ross had got up the courage to ask Ann to dance, because in a few short minutes they joined the couple and Harriet was extending introductions. Like a bee seeking some nectar, Mrs Collingswood excused herself rather quickly and made her way through the crowd to Harriet for her own introduction to Mr Lane.

  The Dowager’s gaze followed her as she approached the small group. ‘That poor, dear girl.’

  ‘Do you see why I have been avoiding them? That woman makes my head ache.’

  ‘I believe Mr Lane is in for a surprise. Hopefully, she does not scare the man away. We may never see him again.’

  Clara’s stomach dipped with the thought that once again he would accuse her of playing matchmaker. She heard his voice inside her head.

  ‘We want different things. I want to kiss you and you want to match me with Miss Collingswood.’

  But she did want to kiss him. She wanted to desperately. And now, thanks to Miss Collingswood, she might not be able to.

  Ladies and gentlemen were continuing to move off the dance floor and find their places alongside it to talk in small groups which made Clara shift her seat on the bench in order to maintain a view of what Mrs Col-lingswood was doing. By the stiffening of his body, she could tell the moment Mr Lane realised he was meeting Harriet’s mother. Did he believe that she had made some sort of arrangement with the woman to find a husband for her daughter?

  ‘I do hope Mr Lane is not regretting asking Harriet to dance,’ Eleanor said from beside her. ‘The woman could have waited to be introduced to him. It was just one dance and they are in the middle of a public ball. Nothing untoward will be happening to Harriet with our eyes upon her even if Mr Lane was of questionable character. And if she is trying to entice him into courting her daughter, I fear she is off the mark. A gentleman like that needs to be approached with a bit of finesse.’

  ‘I’m not sure the woman knows the word.’

  ‘Well, I think I’ll try to find a way for Greeley to spend time with Harriet away from the girl’s mother for just a bit longer if I can. We don’t need to have him running for the hills as well.’

  Was Mr Lane going to run? Is this how their evening would end?

  Eleanor nudged her arm with her pointy elbow. ‘Ah, there is just something about a bachelor of a certain age,’ she observed with amusement in her voice. ‘They do become experts in extricating themselves from situations with matchmaking mothers.’

  Mr Lane wasn’t leaving. At least not yet. He was striding towards them in a purposeful manner.

  Eleanor stood and adjusted her reticule on her wrist. ‘That didn’t take very long at all. Well, I see an old friend across the room. Do give Mr Lane my best and if, by some chance, I do not see you for the remainder of the ball, do have a lovely evening.’

  ‘I’m sure you will see me. I always stay to the end.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’ And with that, Eleanor left her to face Mr Lane alone.

  The sight of him with his eyes locked on hers, stalking across the room, was stirring a heat inside her. From the look on his face he appeared to either want to grab her in his arms and kiss her, or ring a peel over her for pushing Mrs Collingswood in his direction. She was fervently hoping it was the former. Snapping open her fan, she attempted to cool any flush of passion that might be ready to colour her cheeks at the thought of it.

  Eleanor was correct in her assessment of him. Mr Lane did not appear to have any qualms about expertly excusing himself from situations he did not want to be in. She had experienced that first hand on a number of occasions. The question was, would he be doing it again when he reached her? Was he just going to bid her a goodnight and leave out of exasperation?

  The minute he reached her there was a palpable intensity radiating off of him as he looked down at her. Without even thinking about it she moved her fan faster.

  ‘I had nothing to do with that.’ It came out of her mouth so quickly that it was as if someone else had stated it. She tried to take deep, steadying breaths to fill her lungs so she wouldn’t run the risk of rattling on and embarrassing herself.

  His eyes narrowed before they dropped down and studied the movement of her fan. ‘I think you and I need to find a place to talk.’

  A knot formed in her stomach and it made its way up her throat. Unable to say anything, she motioned to the chair Eleanor had vacated. At least he could not yell at her in a room full of people.

  He shook his head. ‘Somewhere private.’

/>   ‘There is nowhere private in this building. The card room is always filled. The staff will be placing the finishing touches to the tea room and, if I know Bath Society, even the library upstairs will have small groups of people gathered in there.’ Swallowing the lump in her throat, she prepared herself to defend her statement to him.

  He held his hand out for her. ‘The cloakroom.’

  How in the world were they to have this discussion in the cloakroom? There were attendants there. People would still be arriving. It was no more private than anywhere else she’d mentioned. Still, as if by a force of its own, she placed her hand in his. Through the fine white cotton of his glove and the silk of her own, heat ran up her arm and across her breasts.

  His fingers tightened around hers as he helped her to her feet and assisted her out of the row. But the minute she stood beside him, he dropped her hand, leaving it feeling cold.

  They walked side by side through the crowd out of the ballroom, across the corridor and into the vestibule outside the cloakroom where two liveried attendants were there ready to take the coats, hats and walking sticks of the people attending the ball. No one else was about.

  This did not constitute being alone in Clara’s eyes. The two attendants were right there and people could enter the area at any moment. However, just as she was about to point that out to Mr Lane, he walked up to one of the attendants and whispered something to him while he placed something in the man’s hand.

  While he strode back to Clara, the intensity of his gaze bore into her sending butterflies around her stomach. Before she was able to ask him what he had said to the man, he pulled her by her hand through the doorway that was a few feet away on her right and closed the white panelled door behind them. The small room he dragged her into was painted a celery green and was lit by four sconces on the wall. Tables lined the walls with stacks of coats and beaver hats and walking sticks on them. They were in the actual cloakroom. In all the years she had been coming to this building she had never seen this room before since only the attendants ever went in here.