Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2)

by Caroline Ashton

  After a minimal bow he stalked from the room. Unfortunately the long tails of his coat wrapped themselves around his knobbly knees and severely detracted from his dignity.

  Despite folding her lips tightly, Araminta could not stop a giggle bursting from them immediately the door closed behind the affronted practitioner.

  ‘Stop that at once, child,’ Wilhelmina ordered. She caught Araminta’s twinkling eyes and could not prevent herself from chuckling too. She lifted her feet back onto the sofa. ‘I should be cross with you for wasting your Papa’s money on such a pompous old stick but I suppose it was considerate of you.’ She leant forwards, trying to adjust the shawl across her legs.

  ‘Let me.’ Araminta

  ‘No, no. On reflection I think I shall retire.’ She stood up shakily. ‘Just lend me your arm.’

  Araminta installed Wilhelmina safely in her room with Hollins to watch over her, which pleased neither woman. Left to her own company, she paced about the sitting room. The book she had carried with her had lost its charm. The carriages passing outside the window had lessened and not even a decent piece of horseflesh appeared to spark a moment’s interest. With nothing to engage her attention she seated herself at the small table by the window and penned a letter to her father to announce their safe arrival. She signed her name with a flourish and blotted it dry. Staring at the page a smile lit her face.

  ‘Freddie,’ she said. ‘I’ll write to Freddie too.

  She drew a fresh page towards her. Dear Freddie, she wrote. She stopped and caught the top of the nibbed pen between her teeth. Was Freddie appropriate? That was what she called him but perhaps if she were writing it should be Frederick. Or even Lord Frederick? Wilhelmina would know but she must be asleep by now.

  ‘Drat it,’ she said. ‘Freddie will do.’

  How I wish we had not come to Bath, she continued.

  The journey has tired Miss Orksville and I fear there will be nothing to do but stay in and read or ruin handkerchiefs with my hemming. I wish we were still at Lidgate Hall. At least I could ride there. Even if there are stables here, Borrick is no horseman and I’m certain Miss Orksville won’t let me ride on my own. Oh well, I will have to learn patience no matter how much I wish it were otherwise.

  I hope your Mama and Papa are well.

  Your affectionate friend

  Araminta Neave

  She blotted the paper, folded it and affixed a wafer, doing the same to the short note to her father. ‘I’ll take them downstairs now. They’ll be gone all the sooner.’

  She went off happily, unaware how mortified Wilhelmina would be at the casual reference to Their Graces she had included.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  The next day had Araminta in a fresh fit of the fidgets and the rain forming large puddles in the street. She pulled a straight-backed chair up to the window and peered through the raindrops coursing down the glass.

  ‘Is this rain never going to stop?’

  Wilhelmina looked up from where she was reclining on a settee drawn closer to the sputtering fire. ‘It will be the hills, I expect. It always rains on hills.’

  ‘Well it’s raining on us too and . . .’ Araminta caught herself up, aghast at the petulant tone in her voice. ‘Heavens,’ she said. ‘I sounded just like a spoilt brat. I fear I am turning into a simpering miss.’

  ‘The day you simper,’ Wilhelmina said with some asperity, ‘is the day cats will grow wings.’

  Araminta chuckled. ‘I fear you have the right of it. I shall never be a proper miss.’ A frown pleated her brow. She swivelled round on the chair and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Do you think Freddie’s parents will take to me?’

  There was a pause before she was answered. ‘I think they will . . . eventually. Once they have come to know you I am sure they will learn to appreciate what you can bring to the family.’

  The frown deepened into something less innocently worried. ‘You mean Pa’s wealth?’

  ‘Oh, no. The Ellonbys stand in no need of that. No . . .’ Wilhelmina studied the wilful but charmingly disarming redhead. ‘You are courageous and spirited. Just what a family needs to enliven their blood.’

  Araminta’s laugh filled the room. ‘Am I a horse then? Or a dose of some restorative that dreadful Doctor Winterspoon would suggest?’

  She won a smile from the faded face. ‘That’s all very well but you must remember to speak more properly about Their Graces. And Lord Frederick too.’

  ‘What? I’ve never said anything impolite about them. Nor has Freddie.’

  ‘Now that comment is what I mean. You must always take care to refer to them as Their Graces, or His or Her Grace. Your parents shows too much familiarity. Nor should you refer to Lord Frederick as Freddie.’

  ‘But we agreed we should call each other by name.’

  ‘That’s as may be but in company you must be proper. I doubt you will hear Lord Frederick refer to you as Araminta when others are present.’

  The titan curls tossed. ‘Well all I can say is the sooner we are married and removed from London society the better.’

  Wilhelmina watched her charge slump an arm over the back of the chair and balance her chin on it. ‘I think you brought your paints with you. Why don’t you sketch the view?’

  ‘No. It’s too drab. All grey and wet. I like colours.’

  Remembering the burgundy striped dress that was her first view of Araminta’s preference for colours, Wilhelmina believed her. She settled herself to a day of impatient girlishness, if not downright missishness.

  The next morning the skies had cleared. A stroll to the Pump Room to enter their names in the Book as convention dictated was possible. Wilhelmina declined a chair most forcefully.

  ‘It is not far. The exercise will be beneficial.’

  ‘At least take this shawl.’ Araminta draped a length of fine wool about Wilhelmina’s shoulders before they set off down Milsom Street.

  They made slow progress. Entering the Pump Room at last, Araminta stared around her. It failed to impress. Yes it had tall windows, all closed at the moment, with fluted columns between them but the ceiling was quite plain. She bent her head to Wilhelmina’s ear. ‘How disappointing. It’s not even as pretty as the Tiverton’s ballroom.’

  She received a sharp tap on her wrist. ‘No names. Dropping names into one’s conversation is the sure sign of a social climber.’

  Araminta’s voice lowered. Her eyes twinkled. ‘Be honest now, that’s what pa wants for me.’

  Wilhelmina was tempted to bestow another tap but her honesty overcame her. ‘Very true,’ she smiled. ‘Now behave yourself.’ She walked on, bowing to a slight acquaintance but not pausing. ‘I shall take a glass of the waters.’

  Heads followed her passage, or more correctly, that of Araminta. Two women were standing behind a counter stationed between a pair of pillars. Glasses of the famous water stood on it. Wilhelmina lifted one and sipped it. The striking aroma reached Araminta.

  ‘Ugh.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘Do you really drink that?’

  The elder of the two serving women stared at her. ‘It is very beneficial, ma’am. Even Royalty take it.’

  Araminta’s opinion of Royalty did not improve. She stood patiently until the foul-smelling water had been consumed with a shudder. When the glass was lowered she said, ‘What would you like to do now?’

  ‘I think we shall leave. Unless I’m mistaken there’s a retired colonel near the third window with whom I’m acquainted. He appears to be puzzling over whether to approach.’

  Araminta turned her head.

  ‘Don’t look round or he will.’ She led the way to the door.

  ‘But if he’s an acquaintance you could talk to him and I could . . . well, I could do something else. There must be someone here I can talk to.’

  ‘No you may not. You know no girls here and now you’
re betrothed it is absolutely forbidden for you to engage in conversation with any other gentleman.’

  ‘What?’ Araminta’s exclamation brought several glances in her direction. ‘Oh, that really is too bad. Do you mean I mayn’t even talk to Mr Blythburgh?’

  ‘No-one could object if you do so privately in Lord Frederick’s company but not otherwise. It would open you to suspicion.’

  ‘Well that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Surely being affianced should make one less open to suspicion, not more?’

  ‘It’s the convention. You must accustom yourself to it.’

  The remark was greeted with a silence that would have caused her father to worry.

  Outside the Pump Room, the pace of Araminta’s steps increased. She stared about her with angry eyes, trying to see a woman talking to a gentleman. She saw only one. Stooped and wearing a gown of a style that had not been fashionable for some years, a woman tottered unevenly along the pavement, her arm through that of a grey-haired man. They looked to be over seventy. Apart from him, there were very few other men. Any there were showed no interest in the females clustered around shop windows, nor those lingering to chat in pairs or groups. No chance of breaking with convention here. It was all female nonsense, Araminta decided. A restriction decreed by nothing more than jealousy.

  Not a word was spoken until she realised that her stride up the gentle incline of Milsom Street was defeating Wilhelmina. Her heart was immediately contrite.

  ‘I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’ve raced ahead and tired you. Please take my arm.’

  ‘Thank you, I believe I will.’ The words came with a small gasp. She rested her uninjured arm on Araminta’s raised one. Their progress to York House hotel was slow and slowing. Araminta studied her chaperon’s face with concern.

  Wilhelmina kept to her bed the next morning, causing Araminta more concern and a lot of guilt. Her offer to read from her novel or even the day’s journal was declined with a small wave of a hand.

  ‘I fear you must endure another day indoors.’ Wilhelmina lay on her pillows, her cap askew and her grey hair fringing from it.

  ‘Oh, I shan’t mind. At least the sun is shining today. I might even paint the view.’

  The comment won a slight smile. ‘Now I know you’re being pert. There’s no view worth painting from any of our windows.’

  ‘Don’t fret about me. I’m sure I can survive another day’s confinement.’ Araminta bent over the bed to straighten the covers. ‘Call me if there is anything you need.’

  Her false bravura faded as she moved from the bedroom to the sitting room. She exhaled a heavy sigh.

  Every moment of the morning dragged until Hollins scratched on the door and entered with two letters in her hand. Both of them bore the inscription Miss A Neave. Araminta grabbed them. She waved Hollins away and settled by the window eagerly ripping the wafer of the one with the writing she recognised.

  My Dearest Girl, it began.

  I am missing You sorely and Hope this finds You well. And Miss Orksville.

  I have spent much Time in Bond Street. It has become quite the Place to meet. Wilh Miss Orksville’s idea of a Tea Room has proved to be Very Well-Founded. We have more Ladies taking a dish than I have ever seen in the one place.

  I have seen your Freddie once and he is well. He tells me I may contact him at The Albany where he is staying with his Friend Blythburgh.

  Araminta frowned. Why was Freddie staying there?

  Lord Freddie is as Cheery as ever though I fear he may be contracting a Rheum or some such. He lapsed quite quiet while Mr Blythburgh engaged me in chat. Mr Blythburgh quite surprised me. Apparently Freddie is minded to find some Employment. Odd. I made sure he had Elegant Means from his family but you never can tell.

  A blot marred the page.

  Wixhill has just come in with the latest Manifest so I must close.

  Take care, Dearest Girl

  I hope to see you soon

  Your ever loving

  Pa

  Araminta sat with the letter folded in her lap for several moments, staring at nothing in particular. The horrid notion that Freddie’s parents had been displeased by his news could not escape her. Her small teeth chewed at her bottom lip. She tried to remember everything she had ever heard of the ninth Duke. None of it reassured her. Her fingers clenched on her father’s letter until she remembered the second one and they flew to open it.

  Dear Ma’am

  I write to tell you I am arrived safely as is your esteemed Father. I learnt much of the shipping business on the journey.

  If you wish to contact me, please use the direction

  Care of the Hon Mr E Blythburgh

  The Albany

  Piccadilly

  London

  Your ob’nt servant

  Frederick Danver

  The words drove Araminta’s worries to greater heights. She was certain the Duke had refused his consent. Tears sprang to her eyes. Now it was under threat, the pleasure in Freddie’s company was greater than she had acknowledged. Not even in the stunning moment he had offered for her and her heart had leapt with understanding and delight. One salty drop slid over a lid and down her cheek. She could not, in all honour, be the cause of an estrangement between Freddie and his family. The tear dropped onto his signature. Another followed until the ink blurred and his name faded into greyness.

  Araminta spent a restless night and a morning so filled with agitation Wilhelmina grew anxious in her turn. Every one of her gentle enquiries elicited no response. They succeeded only in sending the fretting girl to her own room to spend tortured hours attempting to write a letter to release Freddie from his engagement.

  Writing a version she could bear to read let alone send cost her many tears and many fresh starts. With crumpled paper littering the floor she could finally do no more than dash off her heart-felt thoughts.

  Freddie,

  Why are you staying with Mr Blythburgh? I fear it is I’ve caused a rift between you and your p their Graces. I beg you will tell me as soon as may be for I have no wish to be such an imposition. Were it possible to gain their approval I would be so happy but I cannot bear to be such a burden to you. I am sure it would become intolerable as time passed. It would tear my heart to see you suffer. Perhaps it is best we part now while there are fewer happy memories to hold.

  Tell me the truth I beg you.

  Araminta.

  In great anguish, she folded it, sealed it with a wafer, inscribed the address and rang the bell for Hollins, telling her to give it to footman Borrick to send it off post haste.

  Untouched by the curious glance Hollins gave her pink face and puffy eyes as she pulled the door closed, she flung herself on her bed. Tears spilled into her pillow.

  At breakfast next morning Wilhelmina declared herself quite recovered. The discovery that one, Mrs Eveline Sherland, had left a card was responsible for the announcement in no small measure.

  ‘I haven’t seen Eveline since . . . oh, since we were girls at the Academy in Kirkby. I believe I shall invite her to take a dish of tea tomorrow.’ She paused. ‘Oh no, tomorrow is Sunday. Monday, then.’ A scrawl on the back of the card caught her eye. ‘Why she says a Colonel Draige begs leave to accompany her.’ She tapped the card against her cheek, concentrating. ‘Now I do believe he was in India.’ Her face brightened. ‘Perhaps he is acquainted with Mr Neave. How pleasant for you.’

  Pleasure was not the first emotion to cross Araminta’s mind. All of her thoughts were focussed on the possible – the certain – arrival of a letter from Lord Frederic Danver that would bring her new-found happiness to an end.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Lord Frederick lounged in his best superfine in the club chair in Everett’s set in a way that earned his valet sympathetic glances from Everett’s man. That each glance was delivered with a dist
inct edge of superiority added to Kidwall’s chagrin.

  Frederick himself was the recipient of a significant glance from his host. ‘I don’t see what you can do, dear chap. If His Grace is set upon it, then you’re in the very devil of a quandary.’

  There was no reply to the observation. Frederick thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. He slouched further down until his chin was buried in his crumpled cravat.

  ‘Mind you,’ Everett continued, gazing absently at the window, ‘your pater always was rather high in the instep.’ He pulled his attention back to Frederick. ‘You can’t please him and you can’t cry off from Miss Neave.’ The carefully nurtured fair curls shook. ‘No. I can’t see a way out.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m mighty grateful.’ The hands were dragged out of the pockets. Frederick pushed himself out of the chair. ‘I’ll just have to find some employment.’

  ‘Employment?’ Everett gasped as if he had been punched in the chest. ‘But what?’ He surveyed his friend as he paced the room. ‘It’s not as if you’re exactly top-notch at anything. Other than horses. And you couldn’t go as a groom. The girl’s not going to share some country hovel with you. She’s been used to the best money can buy. And plenty of it.’ An expression of intense concentration formed on his face. ‘Of course you could always apply to her father. He must have dozens working for him.’ Enthusiasm flooded his features. ‘Yes . . . apply to be his secretary. He’d go for that.’

  ‘That’s all fudge.’ Frederick’s brows drew together. ‘First, he wouldn’t want me and second, I’m not going to hang on his sleeve. As if I would!’

  ‘There’s no need to fly into a dudgeon. It was only a notion. Anyway, I think you’re wrong. From what I’ve seen of him, he’d be delighted to have a lord bear-leading him around. You’d impress any Cits he met for certain.’ His eyes assessed the crumpled superfine coat. ‘At least you would if you stop ruining your man’s best efforts.’ He sighed, uncertain if the state of his friend’s attire or his current dilemma concerned him most. He gave himself a shake. It was the dilemma, of course.