by Cheryl Bolen
Girls like Maryann and Ellie didn’t deserve to die. They were young and harmless and without protectors. They should have many more years to look forward to, years that would see them marry and have families of their own.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Dot said as they walked along Bath’s stone pavement. “Reflecting?”
He nodded. “Did you see the terror on her face?”
“It was heart wrenching,” Dot said. “I’m so grateful not to live alone.”
Even though they were going uphill, Dot did not seem to have any problem matching him step for step. Annie was accustomed to it, but few London-bred ladies could tolerate this city’s hilly terrain. “You are accustomed to walking when you’re back in Lincolnshire?” he asked.
“I am. I’ve always preferred it to riding. I daresay you will not be surprised to learn that my father prefers riding. I find that always riding can make one lazy as well as corpulent.”
He couldn’t help himself. His gaze traveled over her pleasing figure. “I am happy you prefer walking to riding.”
“What you really mean is that you’re happy I’m not corpulent!”
“My brother has little practice speaking to respectable young ladies,” Annie said, shooting him a mischievous stare.
He glared at her. Were she younger, she deserved a good spanking.
As they walked along, he thought of how much his sisters disliked walking at their country estate, complaining about muddying their shoes and the hemlines of their dresses. Each of them preferred riding horses, and their very favorite mode of transport was being ensconced in a warm carriage. Dot was a most singular lady, to be sure.
And such an affectionate nature! He’d regretted allowing Annie to accompany them today. He rather looked forward to capturing another kiss from the woman he was going to marry.
Ah, marriage! For the first time, he found himself looking forward to marrying Dot . . . and sharing her bed.
Chapter 15
Early the following afternoon, the elder Mrs. Blankenship presented herself and her grandchildren at the Pankhurst residence, where the man of the house was delighted over the surprise visit.
“I’ve brought you a copy of my son’s book,” she said, placing the leather-bound volume in his hands.
His face brightened even more as he examined the title: Observations on a Parliamentary Government. “I shall begin reading it this very day.” He met her proud gaze. “It was very thoughtful of you, my dear Mrs. Blankenship.”
“Have the children come to play with the kitties?” Dot asked.
“If it’s not inconvenient for you.”
“Not in the least.”
This time Baby Gregory was not content to sit upon the sofa and have a docile cat placed in his lap. He took to chasing Lover Boy, the largest of Dot’s felines. When the cat politely allowed the toddler to catch up with him, Gregory almost took Dot’s breath away when he promptly straddled the cat in an attempt to ride him as if he were a pony.
Before Dot could be struck with apoplexy, Mrs. Blankenship snatched up the errant little lad. “No, no.”
Dot exhaled.
The grandmother then had her grandson return to the sofa whereupon Dot placed Preenie Queenie on his lap. To Dot’s delight, Preenie—the most indolent of her cats—was content to sit and allow the little lad to stroke her mass of fluffy fur.
“I’ve come to tell you,” Mrs. Blankenship said to Dot, “that I’ve spoken with my son, and he’s agreed to participate in your salon. He’s even coaxed his good friend Melvin Steffington to come. All you have to do is set the date.”
Dot eyed her father. “What do you think, Papa?”
“You’re to make all decisions regarding hostess matters.”
“Then I’d like to set it for Friday.”
“That should give you enough time to invite everyone,” Mrs. Blankenship said.
“Tell me,” Dot’s father said to their visitor, “how does one differentiate among the three Mrs. Blankenships?”
“An excellent question,” that lady said. “We are referred to by our husbands’ first name. Therefore, Glee is referred to as Mrs. Gregory, and my daughter-in-law as Mrs. Jonathan, and I’m known as Mrs. James, my late husband’s name.”
Dot could not see her father addressing the lady by her dead husband’s name. He was probably angling to be able to call her by her Christian name.
Preenie Queenie suddenly stood on all four legs and leapt away from Baby Gregory, who began to cry as he waved an index finger at the fleeing cat. Dot quickly snagged Lover Boy to replace Preenie, but she sat on the other side of the wee lad with a firm hand on the cat’s back to discourage him from taking flight.
Meanwhile, the perpetually-talking Joy had hiked Fur Blossom over her tiny shoulder and patted at her as if she were a real babe. Dot was shocked that Fur Blossom permitted it. “I believe Fur Blossom is vastly fond of you, Joy.”
“I know. She loves me. I wish she had a baby cat so I could get her and take her home. My papa said I could have my very own kitty.” She glared at her brother. “But I can’t get one until Baby Gregory’s big enough to have a doggie.”
Why was it that men always had to have their dogs, Dot wondered.
She spent the duration of Mrs. James Blankenship’s visit attempting to manage her cats with the two active children while her father and Mrs. James chatted like old friends.
When they left, Mr. Pankhurst walked them to the front door with nary a limp.
* * *
While Dot was adept at calling on pensioners of her father’s or the sick in cottages scattered around the Lincolnshire countryside, she was embarrassed to admit she had no experience paying a morning call on society matrons. At the advanced age of three-and-twenty, she could hardly beg her father to accompany her in returning the visit Glee Blankenship had so kindly paid to the Pankhursts. She had considered asking Annie to come with her, but she abandoned the scheme. If she were going to be the Viscountess Appleton, she needed to learn how to go about in society. By herself.
She rather tortured herself wondering if she should first send along a note telling the hostess to expect her call but remembered that Mrs. Gregory Blankenship and her sister had just popped in at the Pankhurst residence, as had Mrs. James Blankenship.
When Dot and her father had first arrived in Bath, he had seen to it that she had cards printed up with their Bath address upon them. “A proper lady will need these,” he’d told her. She had not needed them up to this point, but she had observed that callers at her house had presented their cards to Topham, who in turn used them in announcing the visitors to his masters. Mr. Pankhurst had told her the cards were also left when the hostesses were out to allow them to know who had called.
Therefore, after an inordinate amount of time spent on her toilette and having Meg assist her into a rose-coloured muslin she knew to be exquisite, Dot stuffed her reticule with new cards and began to walk to Queen Square.
She wasn’t sure she wanted Glee Blankenship to even be home because she wasn’t confident she knew the proper procedure for paying a morning call. But she did know that good manners demanded she return the call Glee had been so thoughtful to pay. She had another reason for calling today. She wanted to invite Glee to the Pankhurst salon on Friday.
As she drew near Queen Square, she found herself hoping Glee wasn’t at home. She would just leave a card, go on her carefree way, and would have fulfilled the social obligation.
Glee Blankenship was at home, and her drawing room was fairly bulging with callers, some of whom Dot knew and some who were complete strangers.
Glee and her sister, Felicity Moreland, greeted her warmly, as did Mrs. James Blankenship. “My dear Miss Pankhurst, I don’t think you’ve met my daughter-in-law Mary Blankenship,” the elder Mrs. Blankenship said. She indicated a plain, dark-haired woman who sat next to her. “She’s married to my son Jonathan. They’re practically newlyweds.”
“It’s been nearly two years now
, Mother,” the plain Mrs. Blankenship said.
Dot perked up. “Your husband’s the scholar! My Papa was reading your husband’s book when I left the house.”
The young wife looked pleased. “That’s gratifying—and I suppose my husband is a scholar to a certain degree.” She glanced at an exceptionally pretty blonde woman. “Though Mrs. Steffington’s husband is the true scholar.”
“Your husband’s Sir Elvin’s twin!” Dot said to the blonde.
The lovely woman nodded. “You’ve met Sir Elvin?”
Glee answered instead of Dot. “Of course she has! She’s to marry his best friend.”
Mrs. Steffington’s eyes rounded. “Oh, you’re the . . . the one who’s to marry Lord Appleton.”
Dot was almost certain she was about to say the heiress. Did everyone in Bath know Forrester was marrying the daughter of a very wealthy man?
“Forgive me for not making better introductions,” Glee said. She proceeded to properly introduce Dot to the assembled ladies.
“So does your husband look exactly like his twin?” Dot asked Catherine Steffington.
“That’s what everyone says. I, too, thought so until I . . . fell in love with Melvin. Now I could never, ever get them mixed up.”
“I must confess,” Dot said, “I cannot wait to meet Bath’s resident scholars. Coming from so rural an area, it’s thrilling for me to think I’ll have the opportunity to meet someone who’s published a book. Please thank your husband for agreeing to come to our salon Friday night.”
“I’m greatly looking forward to it,” Mrs. Steffington said.
Dot addressed Glee. “I wanted to personally invite you to the salon, and it looks as if I’m going to have the opportunity to invite your sister and the others all at once.”
“I will own,” Catherine Steffington said, “I was surprised when Melvin told me he had agreed to read from his work at your salon, Miss Pankhurst. My husband normally lacks social instincts.”
“Is that why I haven’t seen you at assemblies?” Dot asked the pretty blonde.
Catherine Steffington nodded. “Melvin abhors dancing.”
The younger Mrs. Blankenship concurred. “Jonathan’s not fond of assemblies, either.”
Glee directed her attention to Dot. “Mary was my school friend long before she ever met and fell in love with Jonathan, and I can vouch for the fact she, too, was not enamored of assemblies.”
“How fortuitous that your old friend has become your sister,” Dot said.
“It is indeed,” the quieter Mary Blankenship said. “I was an only child.”
“It’s the same with me,” Dot said.
Glee turned to her sister-in-law. “And, like you, Mary, Miss Pankhurst has already become quite close to Annie Appleton.”
“Indeed I have. Since coming to Bath my good fortune knows no bounds.”
“Lord Appleton, I am sure, will make a wonderful husband,” Mrs. Steffington said.
Such a comment gladdened Dot. “It strikes me,” she said, regarding Mrs. Steffington, “that your husband and Sir Elvin are vastly different.”
Every person in the chamber broke into laughter. Catherine Steffington laughed so hard tears streamed from her huge blue eyes. “The twins are as dissimilar as a tortoise to a hare.”
“And I daresay your bookish husband is the tortoise,” Glee said.
Catherine Steffington nodded. “Indeed, the scholarly tortoise.”
“I think Miss Pankhurst’s idea of a literary salon sounds delightful,” Mrs. Moreland said. “I’m sure Thomas will enjoy it.”
“My son’s not nearly as shy as Mr. Steffington,” Mrs. James Blankenship said. “I do believe Jonathan might even enjoy reading from his works in front of a room full of admiring friends.”
Dot no longer felt out of place. Every woman here made her feel welcome.
Then the butler entered the chamber and handed Glee three cards at once. “How exciting! All the Appleton sisters have come. That must mean Agnes and Abby are back in Bath.”
Just when Dot was getting comfortable. What would Forrester’s other sisters think of her? Would they be as gracious as Annie?
Her pride was minimally bruised. They’d come to see Glee Blankenship instead of her. And she was soon to be a member of their family.
Her insides fluttered as she watched the doorway. Annie came in first. The second sister looked remarkably like Annie, and of course, they both looked remarkably like Forrester. The third one, though, looked vastly different. She was short and plumper and was possessed of blonde hair. Dot immediately thought of Mrs. Steffington’s comment about the twin brothers being as dissimilar as a tortoise to a hare. That’s how the smaller sister looked compared to Annie and the other one.
Annie’s face brightened when she saw Dot, and she came straight to her. “Your father told us you’d be here! I’m ecstatic that you will finally get to meet my gallivanting sisters—soon to be your sisters.”
The one who looked so much like Annie was Agnes, and the short one, who was also the youngest, was Abby. Agnes not only resembled Annie, she adopted her mannerisms and was possessed of the same graciousness Annie always exhibited—without quite as much exuberance.
“Oh, I declare,” Abby exclaimed upon being introduced to Dot, “she’s much prettier than . . .” She paused for a moment, embarrassed, then recovered and said, “than the women who normally appeal to Timothy!”
Dot could feel the heat climbing up her face. The sisters must have been told—possibly in a letter?—about Dot’s plainness. Thank God her father had averted even more painful humiliation by indulging her with a fine wardrobe and a talented maid to dress her unruly hair.
Still, she felt awkward—even humiliated. Either Forrester or Annie—both of whom she had come to love—must have written about her to their sisters. And what they’d written could not have been flattering.
“That’s a positively wretched thing to say about our brother,” Annie scolded her younger sister. “We hardly know what kinds of women he’s been attracted to since he’s never before deigned to bestow his affections on one. I’m exceedingly proud of the choice he’s made in Miss Pankhurst.”
“But what about Mrs. . .” Abby began but was cut off by a vicious glare from her eldest sister.
“And how, Miss Pankhurst, did you come by the name Dot?” Agnes asked in a smooth attempt to divert attention from the taboo subject of Forrester’s mistress.
Dot could see that the gracious Agnes was like Annie in every way. “It’s actually a shortened form of my given name, Dorothea.” Even her voice trembled. She found herself wanting to cry and desperately trying not to.
“I should have known.” Agnes directed a warm smile on Dot.
“Did you bring your cats today?” Abby asked. “How fortunate you are to possess several.”
More crimson rose to Dot’s face. Had everyone in Bath found her to be a laughing stock? Had Forrester or Annie written with amusement about the crazed newcomer who paraded about the city with her coddled felines?
Now that he had united himself with Dot, did her humiliation extend to Forrester?
How she wished she’d never come here today, never subjected herself to such continued humiliation. If she had never come to Bath, never met Forrester, never strung up herself for ridicule and heartache, she wouldn’t be suffering as she was now. Her life had been so much simpler, so much more comforting back at Blandings.
She couldn’t be angry with Forrester’s youngest sister. She was only voicing what she’d heard about Dot.
All Dot could think of was her powerful desire to race home and weep, away from these pitying glances. She could only barely manage to respond to Abby. “My cats are at home, but you’re welcome to come and meet them. I have four.”
Abby’s youthful face brightened. “That would be delightful.”
“My sisters will come to know you and adore you as much as I,” Annie said to Dot.
“Thank you.” Dot got to her feet. �
�I must be going now, but before I do I should like to invite everyone in this chamber to come to our house on Friday night for the salon to feature our two scholars, Jonathan Blankenship and Melvin Steffington.”
Annie stood also and turned to the hostess. “I must go as well. I particularly need to speak with Dot, but my sisters will stay.” She glared at her youngest sister.
Dot had not wanted to be with anyone, but the last thing she wanted was to make a scene, especially after reminding everyone of how unfit she was to be in their society. She was even more unfit to be Viscountess Appleton.
Outside, Annie fell into step beside Dot, who was speeding along at a brisk pace. “I must apologize for Abigail. We cannot blame her thoughtless tongue on her youth. She’s always been thoughtless and always a source of consternation to our family. I daresay ten years hence we’ll still be apologizing to those whom she’s not already alienated. I cannot tell you how unimaginably improper it was for her to allude to Timothy’s mistress in such a setting. The girl wants for a brain.”
It was impossible for Dot to withhold her tears any longer. She made not a whimper as they slid down her cheeks.
“Oh, Dot, dearest, dearest Dot. I am so sorry for Abby’s foolish words.”
“I have been the object of ridicule, have I not?”
Annie did not respond.
Her silence hurt more than confirmation. For Annie was too much like Forrester. She could not lie.
Now Dot wept in earnest as she angrily strode toward the Circus, nearly blinded by the onslaught of her own tears.
“I am so sorry. It was just that you were different. But once we came to know you, we both came to care deeply for you.”
Dot stopped, swiped away her tears, and faced Annie. “He knew about my dowry, did he not?”
Annie shrugged. “How am I to know what knowledge my brother possessed?”
Again, Annie could not tell an outright lie.
But she had unmistakably answered Dot’s question.
Chapter 16