Frederick slumped back into the chair and sighed. Everett sighed in sympathy.
Dejection lay heavy in the room. Minutes clicked by in silence.
Everett tapped his fingers against his temple. ‘Do you think,’ he said at last, ‘that you should make Miss Neave aware of the problem?’
‘No . . . well . . . I don’t know.’
‘She’ll have to know some time. Can’t be otherwise if you can’t present her to Her Grace.’ A small light crept into his eyes. ‘There is the chance that she’ll cry off.’
Several emotions swept across Frederick’s face, none of them happy. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not she. You’ve quite mistaken her if you think she’s the sort to decamp at the first hurdle. No. Her Pa might be a rum touch, despite being wise to the mark in the City, but she’s a thoroughbred.’
‘He’s not that wise to the mark. He was very keen to have Trelowen for her at one time.’ Disapproval covered every contour of Everett’s features. ‘Thank goodness you got there first and put a stop to it.’ He propped his elbow on the chair arm and wagged a finger. ‘Speaking of whom, I saw his man lugging a couple of portmanteaux down the stairs. Must be off somewhere.’
Nothing in Frederick’s demeanour betrayed the least hint of an interest in the Viscount’s movements. He remained scowling at the turkey rug under his feet. ‘You’re right,’ he finally remarked. ‘She should be told. I’d better go to Bath.’ He scowled ‘I offered to take Pegasus if she wanted him so she won’t think it odd . . . not until . . . I mean . . . .’ His words faded into another mix of depression and resentment.
The male subject of their conversation was at that moment urging his horses into the very city currently inhabited by Miss Araminta Neave. He coaxed his horses towards the house of a lady who was the occasional recipient of his intimate acquaintance, although lady might not be the most appropriate term.
He slowed his phaeton outside a narrow house in Little Stanhope Street. His new tiger jumped down ready to hammer on the door.
‘Don’t.’ Trelowen tossed the reins to him as he descended onto the pathway in a flurry of driving coat and capes. The lad caught them and watched, mouth drooping open, as his master entered the house without bothering to knock.
The lady of the house was not in evidence. A girl with her hair straggling out from under her cap rushed from the murky depths of the rear hallway, her eyes wide with apprehension. ‘Oo, sir,’ she gasped, trying to bar the way to the stairs with her crumpled pinafore stretched sideways between both hands. ‘You can’t come in. The missus is still in her undress.’
‘Taking her breakfast in bed if I know anything about it.’ Trelowen pushed the girl aside and mounted the stairs.
The girl squealed. ‘No sir, you mustn’t.’
‘Oh, yes, I must.’ He disappeared two steps at a time up the landing. The girl clutched her pinafore hem to her mouth, dreading blame for the scene that was sure to happen.
Trelowen opened the door to the chamber at the front of the house. His eyes scanned the room. A disquieting smile played across his face. ‘Well Cicely, up to your usual amusements I see.’
The straw-haired woman lounging on the disordered bed shifted her rounded figure voluptuously. The tangle of curls tumbled about her neck. ‘I think perhaps you misapprehend, my lord.’
The Viscount wafted an elegant hand towards the quaking curtain strung across the alcove by the chimney breast. ‘Never. Tell your beau I shall admire the view for a few moments. When I resume absorbing your delightful appearance he had better be gone.’
Good as his word, he walked to the window. Behind him there was a hurried scuffling followed by the sound of equally hurried bare footsteps across the wooden floor. The door opened and shut. Trelowen continued to stare out of the window. In a few moments a portly man, his clothes in some disarray, scurried across the narrow street below.
He turned. Cicely Tanner met his eyes. A smile curved her mouth. She raised her chin, well aware that the line of her smooth throat would cause Trelowen to follow it down to the frilled robe. A shrug sent it sliding gently down over her soft, rosy flesh.
‘No time for that, my dear. Not but we may come to it later. In the meantime there is a small service you can do for me.’
Cicely flipped the robe upwards. She turned a cold stare on him and reached to the nightstand to lift a half-drunk glass of ruby wine. ‘Oh yes. And what might that be?’
Trelowen chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Very well,’ he said, slipping his coat from his broad shoulders. His eyes gleamed. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
Monday’s visit from Eveline Sherland and Colonel Draige was worse than anything Araminta could have imagined.
Mrs Sherland was well into her later years and bore none of them well. Her figure had expanded and her choice of gown in the modern style did little to hide the fact. Her hat, with an alarming plume rising from it, framed a plump face undistinguished by a pair of noteworthy eyes. Colonel Draige was a wholly suitable companion, his width matching that of Mrs Sherland to the inch. When he bowed he creaked. Araminta knew that noise. A corset, such as her father wore, was hidden under his shirt. A sharp longing to hear her father’s plain speaking and see his affectionate smile stabbed at her heart.
Colonel Draige’s speaking was far from plain. Military terms littered it in an unending litany of his final days in India. He found the topic vastly interesting and apparently thought a young girl would think the same. When Araminta’s link to the sub-continent was discovered his conviction knew no bounds. He expanded his history until it occupied the entire time Mrs Sherland spent bringing Wilhelmina up to date on every whisper of Bath gossip.
Relief for Araminta finally came when one of the maids entered with the tea tray. The girl lowered it to a table by the window and dragged a crumpled letter from her apron pocket.
‘For you, Miss. Just arrived.’
Araminta snatched it, ignoring Mrs Sherland’s comment on the freedom today’s girls were allowed in the matter of correspondence. She excused herself to the Colonel and hurried out of the room.
‘Freddie,’ she said, biting her lip. Could he have received her letter already? What would he say of her offer to break the engagement? Was he so relieved he had rushed to reply?
Her worries and doubts stayed unresolved. The letter made no mention of engagements or parents or indeed anything but a brief offer to bring Pegasus down as soon as he could.
Sitting on her bed, she lowered the page into her lap. He cannot have had hers. Would he set off before he’d seen it? Would he have to be told in person? She pushed a hand over her trembling mouth. How could she manage that? He’d be bound to see her distress. Sighing heavily she took herself back to the sitting room and more of the Colonel’s histories interlaced with Mrs Sherland’s strictures.
When the last of the customary thirty minutes had dragged to its tedious conclusion, the visitors rose to leave.
Inaction rendered Araminta desperate but not so impatient that she couldn’t order her words into the sort of flummery Mrs Sherland would admire. ‘I wonder, ma’am, if I might prevail upon your company as far as Duffield’s? I have finished my book and am minded to borrow another.’
‘Of course, my dear Miss Neave,’ Mrs Sherland beamed. ‘I always patronise Duffield’s myself.’ She bestowed a gracious smile upon Araminta. ‘I hope you’ve only paid your five shillings for a quarter’s subscription. I take a yearly one, of course.’ She waved a hand to indicate that the annual rate of fifteen shillings was no inconvenience to such a person as she.
Araminta suppressed the urge to fall into boastful comment and stuck to her path of politeness. ‘How very kind of you, ma’am’ she said. ‘If you’ll permit, I’ll fetch my bonnet and be back in a moment.’ She paused by the open door. ‘I won’t take Hollins. It’s only two steps away.’
At the exit from the hotel Colonel
Draige insisted on proffering an arm to each lady, avowing himself signally honoured. His compliments continued in the same vein until Duffield’s was reached and Araminta could unclench her teeth.
At the threshold Mrs Sherland announced her intention of entering. There might be some new publication to interest her own particularly elegant cast of mind. Araminta managed to look delighted, an expression that turned genuine when something across the road caught the Colonel’s eye. He bowed and begged to be excused. Another pressing engagement, ladies. He bowed twice more and hurried between the carriages as fast as his portly shape would allow.
Mrs Sherland led the way into the library. Pausing in the entrance, she commandeered the attention of the short, thin assistant. ‘I declare, I am moved for some poetry today.’
The man hovering by the door unclasped his hands from across the tails of his coat, half bowed and begged the ladies to follow him, all the while shooting sidelong glances at Araminta. Mrs Sherland snorted her disapproval.
Araminta seized the opportunity. Her excessive politeness continued. ‘I must thank you, ma’am, for your company. I am minded to find an improving book. Or perhaps an account of some traveller’s experiences.’ She sketched a quick curtsey and took herself off in the opposite direction. In the farthest corner of the shop she opened a copy of Mrs Edgeworth’s Leonora.
A rustle of petticoats sounded behind her. Mrs Sherland’s mittened hand snatched the book from her fingers. ‘Oh, no, dear Miss Neave, that will never do. Miss Orksville would never forgive me if I let you borrow that particular work.’
Araminta’s eyes sparkled. Politeness crumbled. ‘And why not, pray?’
‘My dear, it’s quite beyond all decency. It’s about a . . . well, the sort of lady you would not wish to know. The world is so unknown to you innocent girls.’
A description of how much of the world she had seen – unlike those who only knew Bath for instance – hovered on Araminta’s lips. She pulled the book back and flipped a page. ‘It’s just a series of letters. I don’t see why –’
‘No. No. I really must insist you be guided by me.’ Mrs Sherland reclaimed the book. She laid it down as if dropping a soiled cloth, unaware that only the arrival of straw-haired woman of indeterminate age but fashionable dress had saved her from a sharp response.
‘My dear Mrs Sherland,’ the woman said. ‘How delightful to see you again.’
Mrs Sherland rotated. ‘Mrs Tanner. I declare I haven’t seen you for an age. I heard you were keeping to your room.’
‘No. No. I am quite recovered now. A mere chill. Nothing more.’ Cicely Tanner turned her best smile on Araminta. ‘And who is your charming companion?’
‘Allow me to present Miss Neave, lately come to Bath with an old friend of mine, Miss Wilhelmina Orksville.’
Mrs Tanner inclined her head slightly. ‘I hope you find our little city to your liking, Miss Neave.’
Araminta produced a brief curtsey. ‘Thank you, ma’am, I believe it must almost be pleasant when the rain stops.’ She picked up the nearest book – a worn copy of Mr Fielding’s The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling and turned to Mrs Sherland said. ‘I must beg you to excuse me, ma’am. Miss Orksville will become concerned if I am away for long.’
Mrs Tanner looked about her. ‘You are unaccompanied?’
‘Indeed, but it’s only a few steps to York House.’
‘Ah. Then you are taking my direction,’ Mrs Tanner smiled again. It turned her face quite charming. ‘I shall walk with you so your Miss Orksville need have no concerns.’
Holding tightly to the book and her temper, Araminta gave her choice to the assistant, declined to have it wrapped in brown paper and bore with great deliberation Mrs Tanner’s lively conversation until they reached the hotel entrance. The lady produced a card.
‘Please be good enough to give this to your duenna, Miss Neave. I hope we may meet at the Pump Room.’ She executed a slight inclination of her head and turned away.
Presented with the card minutes later, Wilhelmina pondered. ‘Mrs Tanner, Mrs Tanner. I know the name but cannot think why.’ She put the card on a side table. ‘Ah well, if we see her tomorrow you must point her out.’
They did see Mrs Tanner on the following day. After Wilhelmina had swallowed more of the Pump Room’s reeking waters, the lady chatted so delightfully about the many diaries she had read by renowned explorers she procured a visit for Araminta to her house for the next afternoon to borrow one.
Relieved to have found some different company, and an excuse for a walk through the city, Araminta followed Mrs Tanner’s directions with enthusiasm. An unwilling Hollins trailed behind. She dragged her feet along the north side of Queen’s Square, hoping the young miss would tire and go back.
‘Keep up, do,’ Araminta said. ‘It’s a beautiful day for a stroll.’
Hollins regarded the sun smiling over the rooftops with disaffection. She crossed her fingers and wished under her breath for rain. Rain might mean a chair for each of them on the return. ‘It’s a long way, miss.’
‘Nonsense. We’re almost in Charlotte Street now. Little Stanhope Street is just beyond it.’
They turned into the street. The houses lining it were not as elegant as those in the centre of Bath. Araminta paused. Perhaps she had made a mistake in accepting the invitation. But Miss Orksville knew Bath. It must be suitable. She walked firmly on, passing a dusty carriage standing outside the first house until she reached number six. She knocked on the door. An untidy maid opened it.
‘This way if you please, miss.’ She stood aside in the narrow hallway. ‘Mrs Tanner says to show you in then take your maid to the kitchen.’
Hollins cheered slightly at the prospect of a sit down. There might even be enough of yesterday’s leaves left for a dish of tea.
Araminta entered the front room. The door closed firmly behind her.
Mrs Tanner rose from her chair by the empty fireplace. ‘Good day, my dear. I’m delighted you have come. I have a surprise for you.’ She indicated the opposite corner. Araminta turned.
A tall, darkly handsome man regarded her with amusement.
‘Lord Trelowen. Whatever are you doing here?’
The Viscount bowed, reminding Araminta to curtsey. ‘Why else but to see you of course? Mrs Tanner told me you had met so here I am.’
‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with her, sir.’
‘Oh we go back many years.’ Trelowen smiled at his hostess whose straight look indicated displeasure at the timespan claimed. ‘She tells me she has a slight headache today. Rather than put you off she begged me to drive you up to Sham Castle. I doubt you have seen the view from there.’
‘No. I can’t. I –’ Araminta frowned. ‘I didn’t see your phaeton outside.’
‘Don’t concern yourself. It’s mere feet away.’ Trelowen walked towards her. His mouth smiled but his eyes stayed cold. ‘Shall we go?’
‘I said I can’t. I’m betrothed now. Miss Orksville says it’s not proper for me to keep company with any other gentlemen. It’s ridiculous but she’s been most insistent. ‘
‘Oh, now that is tiresome’ His lordship shook his head sadly. ‘I’m afraid it means I shall have to insist.’ He strode forward.
‘Insist?’
‘Yes.’
Araminta backed away until the closed door stopped her. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘This.’ Trelowen grabbed her round the waist and hoisted her off her feet.
Araminta gasped. She struggled in his hold, raining punches and kicks onto his head and shins. Trelowen turned her ungently round.
‘Hollins,’ she yelled.
Trelowen clamped a hand over her mouth. Cursing, he manhandled her away from the door. Cicely Tanner dragged it open. Araminta braced hands and feet against the frame. Trelowen gripped her tighter and dragged her sideways through it. Her le
ft knee hit the wall. She kicked out again. His curses grew louder.
Cicely Tanner squeezed past them in the narrow hallway to open the front door. Araminta punched her on the cheek. The woman yelped. ‘For God’s sake, be quick,’ she panted. ‘Someone might see.’
Bundled out of the house and into the street, Araminta saw the dusty carriage pull up in front of her. She bit Trelowen’s hand to the bone. He pulled it away with a curse.
Araminta yelled as loud as she could. ‘Hollins. Hollins, help me. Help.’
Sounds of a different struggle emerged from the house. Hollins staggered out, dragging her arm free of the maid to the sound of tearing dimity.
‘Run for help,’ Araminta shouted, landing a backwards kick on Trelowen’s kneecap. ‘Run. Before they get you.’
Cicely Tanner let go the carriage door. She grabbed for Hollins. The maid slapped her firmly across the face. Regardless of the torn sleeve flapping, Hollins lifted her skirts and fled down the street yelling, ‘Murder. Murder,’ at the top of her voice.
Chapter Twenty Nine
In the hotel, Lord Frederick forced his features into a pleasant expression and bowed to Wilhelmina Orksville.
‘I am pleased to see you so well recovered, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Wilhelmina surveyed his uncrumpled coat and excellent cravat. ‘But I suspect you are less than pleased at Araminta’s absence.’
‘I . . . er, I . . .’
‘I take the liberty to tease you, my lord.’
‘Ah.’ He bowed again. ‘I’d offered to bring Pegasus to her so I have.’
‘I am sure she will be grateful though I fear she may be some time yet. She has gone to visit Mrs Tanner.’
Frederick’s face whitened. ‘Mrs Tanner? Of Bath? Mrs Cicely Tanner?’
‘Indeed, yes. Are you acquainted with her?’
‘No I am not.’ His complexion turned from white to red. ‘Are you aware, ma’am, that she is . . . er, was . . .’ He took a deep breath and directed his gaze over Wilhelmina’s shoulder. ‘Is a friend of Trelowen’s?’
Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) Page 24