Romantic Rebel Page 9

  My first reaction was dismay to hear Paton was present. It seemed extremely unlikely that he had dragged his aunt out to such an antique frolic as this. It must have been she who had done the drag­ging, but in either case, it had nothing to do with me. No matter, before anyone could stop her, Lady DeGrue raised her hand and bellowed to them.

  "Ag­atha. Yoo-hoo, Agatha." Then aside to me: "She is deaf as a bat, poor soul. Right here, Paton," she called louder. "There is an empty table beside Miss Nesbitt."

  I looked at Lady Forrest, because I did not wish to look at her nephew. She was of a different stamp altogether from Lady DeGrue, a fat, jolly-looking lady, wearing a mauve gown, rouge, and a great many jewels. I saw her make some derogatory com­ment to Paton, but in the end, tables were in short enough supply that they legged it to the empty one beside us. They stopped for a few words, and it was no longer possible to avoid looking at Paton. It would take a deal of imagination to see any vestige of admiration on his impassive face. He bowed, and showed exactly the same degree of pleasure to see me as to see Annie and Pepper, or the table, which is to say a very minimal amount, if any.

  "I am happy to see you have not come down with a chill, Miss Nesbitt," he said.

  "Thanks to Lady DeGrue, I am fine." I had not meant to sound so ingracious to Lord Paton in front of company. In the unlikely event that I was ever again alone with this man, it would be a different story, but in society I meant to remain ignorant of his former intentions.

  "Regrettable weather we ran into," he murmured.

  His aunt examined me with a pair of sharp blue eyes, undimmed by her age. There was no malice in her regard, which told me she knew nothing of her nephew's doings. She seemed curious, no more. I ex­pect the fact that Lady DeGrue was with us colored me pure and dull. She and Paton sat at their table and fell into some private conversation.

  Lady DeGrue never believed in being private, or allowing anyone else that luxury. The larger audi­ence she could muster, the better. "I say, Agatha," she called, "Miss Nesbitt tells me you are building some apartments."

  I squirmed under Lady Forrest's astonished stare. Paton glared. I shrank visibly. Pepper regarded us all and smiled his puckish smile.

  "It is on that parcel of land adjacent to Brandon Hill, is it, or Tyndalls Park?" Lady DeGrue shouted. Lady Forrest made some inaudible reply. "A nasty cold wind your tenants will get, but you need not bother your head about that," Lady DeGrue said.

  She put three quarters of the cakes on her own plate and carried the plate and her cup over to Lady Forrest's table without even saying good-bye or thank you. Miss Bonham smiled her customary apol­ogetic smile. I felt sorry for the girl, and passed her what remained of the cakes. She refused, to make up for her aunt's piggishness.

  "My aunt told me to ask you to a drum on Satur­day evening, Miss Nesbitt," she said shyly. "And Lord Paton, of course. She will be sending cards, but perhaps you will tell me now whether you are free."

  Only in Bath would a route still be called a drum! "I am free, and would be delighted to attend. I can­not be sponsor for Lord Paton's attendance, howev­er."

  "But you and your chaperone will come?" She seemed eager for my acquaintance. The girl was ex­quisitely dull, but rather pitiful. Her aunt must run her a wretched life.

  "We will be very happy to."

  "I am so glad. Perhaps we could drive out some afternoon you are not seeing Lord Paton."

  "My afternoons are quite free," I assured her.

  "Auntie does not like me to go out alone, and she is not much for driving about without a reason. Waxon accompanies me at times, but she is really my aunt's companion. Shall we say—tomorrow af­ternoon, if you are not busy, that is."

  "That would be lovely, Miss Bonham."

  "I shall call for you at Lampards Street." As this was said in a low voice, I understood Miss Bonham meant to deceive her aunt, the wicked girl. There was hope for her yet. "The team are really very sturdy," she explained, again apologetically.

  "I expect you have many friends in Bath, as you make your home here?" This was a cunning and un­worthy trick on my part. I had a pretty good idea she was friendless, and she soon confirmed it.

  "My aunt is very strict about whom she allows me to see. Any friend of Paton, of course, must be un­exceptionable."

  I smiled demurely. "Perhaps we could go to the Pump Room. My chaperone will be happy to come with us," I added swiftly when her eyebrows drew together in doubt at such rakishness.

  Her beaming smile showed her appreciation. "Or for a stroll in the Crescent Gardens, as we will be suitably chaperoned."

  We had a nice girlish chat after that. The "girlish" refers to Miss Bonham more than to myself. Although beyond girlhood in years, it was clear she was lacking in polish. The extent of her wickedness was driving and walking. She suggested the circu­lating library as another pastime, and I mentioned visiting the shops.

  Thus passed the tea break. By keeping up a con­stant guard, I refrained from looking at the adjacent table. Any glimpses accomplished from the corner of my eye convinced me that Paton was not paying me any heed. When tea was over, the two groups rose and stood together a moment. Lady DeGrue studied the program. "More Mozart. How I look forward to that," she said. Miss Bonham smiled submissively, and they returned to the concert.

  Lady Forrest turned a sapient eye on me. I had no idea what Lady DeGrue had been saying, but it was soon clear that she had given the idea that Paton and I were on close terms. "We must get together for a chat soon, Miss Nesbitt," she said with an assess­ing smile. "As you appear to be quite familiar with me, I am curious to know you better. You must call on me."

  I felt extremely foolish. "Lord Paton mentioned your building the apartments. I hope it is not a se­cret."

  "Nothing is kept secret long in this town," she replied with an arch look from Paton to myself. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me. "I have had enough caterwauling for one evening, sonnie. How about you?"

  Paton gave a conscious look at being addressed in this youthful fashion, but agreed he had enjoyed enough music.

  "We are about to leave as well," Annie said, and we all gathered up our bits and pieces to leave.

  The older group went ahead, with Paton and my­self trailing uncomfortably behind. I felt an instinct to apologize for having told Lady DeGrue about his aunt's building plans. A second thought deterred me. He had more to apologize for, and if he said nothing, I would not mention the solecism.

  "Did you enjoy the concert, Lord Paton?" I asked, purposely using the formal address.

  He avoided calling me anything, and said, "It is not my own favorite sort of music. My aunt occasion­ally likes an evening out."

  "I dare say she spends most other time at home, at her age, although she seems spry enough."

  "She prefers to have company visit her."

  "Yes."

  Not a syllable about Lady Forrest's invitation for me to call. I noticed his step was lagging, and won­dered at it. "About this afternoon, Miss Nesbitt..." he said. A slight flush crept up his neck.

  "Yes?" I gave a bright, inconsequential smile, de­termined not to reveal anything. Let him think I was ignorant of his intentions. It was the least em­barrassing course to take, and one that might allow us to meet without either of us having to blush. And since I was eager to enlarge my circle of respectable friends, no invitation would be declined. I would visit Lady Forrest if she set a date. She was a local; she probably knew everyone. Lord Paton would not be long with her, but I planned to live here perma­nently.

  His blush faded. Relief was written on every line of his handsome face. Soon he broke into quite a natural smile. "It was unfortunate about the weather," he said.

  I played along with him. "Indeed it was. You must have wondered that I was so eager to pitch myself into Lady DeGrue's carriage, but to tell the truth, I was freezing. I would have worn a pelisse had I known you meant to drive an open carriage."

  "I should have told you! I usually ke
ep a wrap in my curricle, but it happens it got muddied last week, and is being cleaned. Did you have a wretched drive home?"

  "Not at all." Nothing was said of having been dropped off at Milsom Street. "Miss Bonham is bet­ter company than her aunt, you must know."

  "Ah, you are a friend of Isabel's."

  This misconception was not disturbed. It was a tricky business, accepting Paton's friendship as he thought me close to Lady DeGrue, and vice versa. If they ever got together and compared notes, I would be revealed as a vixen of the first water. "We have been laying all sorts of plans to rush around Bath, buying up bonnets and ogling the gentlemen on the Crescent," I said airily.

  He smiled very nicely. It was different from the smile that quizzed me about Godwin and Rousseau. It was a smile reserved for ladies, and some­thing inside me still stung to remember that afternoon.

  "Isabel needs a friend like you. She is kept under a cat's paw. It is very kind of you to befriend her," he said.

  I noticed that, although I was no longer considered a lightskirt, I was still held to be more dashing than Miss Bonham. "I mean to bring her out of her shell, never fear."

  "You are just the one who can accomplish it, Miss Nesbitt. I look forward to seeing you at Lady DeGrue's drum. You must not expect dancing, or even music, unless you or one of her guests are kind enough to oblige the party. Her drums are more muted than that."

  My hopes for Saturday's entertainment dimin­ished accordingly. This description was enough to make me wonder why Paton was attending. The two groups left with friendly au revoirs.

  The remainder of the week passed comfortably. The writing was going well. Miss Bonham proved more diverting once I got her away from her aunt. Lady DeGrue, Isabel confessed, was eager to see her bounced off, and was loosening the reins.

  We accom­plished all the plans we had discussed, i.e., drove in the carriage, walked in Crescent Gardens, went to the circulating library, and visited the shops. I learned by a combination of clever questioning and deduction that Miss Bonham was quite a rich heir­ess. Her aunt, on the other hand, was poor as a church mouse. This being the case, I wondered that Miss Bonham did not exert her will more forcibly. I had rather thought Miss Bonham kowtowed to her aunt to secure her fortune.

  On her third visit, I purposely left her waiting half an hour while I dressed, and handed her a copy of The Ladies' Journal to peruse. It was my intention to open the door of independence to her at least a crack.

  "Who writes such stuff?" she asked when we were installed in the carriage.

  Annie coughed nervously, to warn me against rev­elation. "My landlady, for one," I said. "Do you not think there is something in it?"

  "I have never had much to do with men," she con­fessed sadly. "I do not remember my papa at all. It seems to me that older ladies are the blight of most of our lives. They are the ones who won't let us do anything. Oh, I do not mean you, Miss Potter!" she added hastily.

  I laughed gaily. "Good gracious, if I had your money, I would live like a queen. It is true older ladies can be quite as repressive as men if you let them. It is foolish to let anyone else lead your life for you. Your aunt has no authority to bearlead you. She is your dependent, not the other way around. You are twenty-five, and in control of your own fortune—till you marry that is."

  "No one will ever marry me," she said dully.

  "I should like to know why not! You are very pretty—isn't she pretty, Annie?"

  "Pretty as a picture."

  "You have a sweet temper, and you are as rich as Croesus," I added.

  "I haven't the knack of attracting men."

  "Shall we go to the shops today?" I suggested. "A fashionable new bonnet would be a good first step."

  Miss Bonham looked remarkably better in a high poke bonnet with dashing feathers all around the band. Several heads turned as we strolled down Milsom Street, adding a few other elegant trifles to her wardrobe. She blossomed under the attention.

  "I wish I could wear my new bonnet to Auntie's drum tomorrow evening," she said just before she left us that day.

  "You could wear a new hairdo. That would be equally effective," I pointed out. She had never changed her style from the first day I met her.

  There was a new light in her eyes. They sparkled in a mischievous way that made her appear five years younger. "Perhaps I shall," she said, and laughed.

  "Not 'perhaps '! Do it. Call Jean Leclair. He is the most sought after stylist coiffeur in Bath. You would look ravissante in a cherubim do. Would she not, Annie?"

  "Where would I find him?" Isabel asked.

  It was amazing to me that an heiress did not even know the best hairdresser in town. I gave her the address, and we waved Miss Bonham, whom we now called Isabel, off.

  "I'll write this evening, to make up for all these outings," I said to Annie. "You can amuse yourself for a few hours, I dare say?"

  "Arthur is dropping by," she replied.

  Annie was making strides in her romance. Isabel was beginning to realize she had a life of her own. It occurred to me that everyone was bettering her position except myself. I had at least convinced Cousin Geoffrey that I was not returning. There had been no letters from him for some days. It was high time I looked about me for a beau. Perhaps the drum to­morrow evening would throw up someone.

  While Pepper and Annie courted, I wrote on my novel. Before retiring, I caught up with my journal. When I began it, it was my intention to keep the tone high, dealing with the question of a lady's position in society circa 1817, but I was so fatigued that I found it sinking to a mere diary about my various outings that day, and my feelings toward Lord Paton. Still, an astute student might read something between the lines regarding a nobleman's character. It was a subject Hannah More had not found beneath her. Query: Are noblemen unscrupu­lous because of their wealth and position, or is a lack of scruples the way one acquires wealth and posi­tion?

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  I prepared myself for Lady DeGrue's evening party with only moderate hopes that anything interesting would come of it. Paton's attending gave hope that he might bring some of his set, who would be con­sidered the ton of sociable Bath. In an effort to win favor, I struck a rather pretty jeweled pin in the shape of a feather in my curls. The bronze taffeta gown that had set Milverton on its ear might still impress Bath. At any rate, I looked as good as a new hairdo, my best gown, and a discreet touch of rouge could make me. It was Annie who had bought the rouge—a great divergence from her usual toilette.

  Miss Bonham lived, appropriately, on Quiet Street. The street is only one block long, its chief attraction being that it debouches on to Milsom Street, just a few blocks north of the Pump Room. The house was large but gloomy. The gloom was enlivened on the evening of the drum by lights in every window, and a scurry of carriages in the road­way.

  I was happy to see, upon entering, that there was a good crowd present, not all of it gray-haired. It seems an heiress, even if she has no town polish, can get out the bachelors. Isabel looked quite radiant with her sable curls now framing her face. I rather feared Lady DeGrue might take me to task for the transformation. It was no such a thing.

  She got me aside early in the evening and said, "I can never thank you enough, Miss Nesbitt. You have contrived in a week what failed me for more than two decades. You have forced Isabel into bloom. It is a wonderful relief to me to know she is able to get about without my company, and still be well chaperoned. I shall hobble over and thank your Miss Potter."

  Her gait was more a prance than a hobble, but she did go to Annie and said something that made her smile. The party gathered in a dark, brown-colored room which Lady DeGrue called the Gold Saloon, and spilled over into an adjoining room. There were forty or fifty people present, which created a pleas­ant buzz of voices. No sooner was I seated in the Gold Saloon than I discerned the younger set were in the other room. To rise up with no excuse and desert Reverend Morton in the middle of his monologue on the Trinity seemed rude, so I
contented myself by just looking through the archway.

  I was soon convinced that Paton, the one member of the young ton whom I knew, had not yet arrived. I had already had a word with Lady Forrest, and began to think Paton was not coming. The only rea­son I mention it, of course, is that I had thought he might bring his bachelor friends along.

  But at any rate, there were interesting men there, and Isabel had her share of them. She sat with a handsome specimen, dark of hair and eyes, with pale skin and the languid, wounded air of a poet. She gazed into his eyes dreamily, as if she were falling in love. A young maiden's first bout of love will often settle on some such handsome poseur as this gentleman.

  After perhaps fifteen minutes, there was a shift­ing about of guests, and Lady Forrest, brilliant in diamonds and puce silk, beckoned me to a chair be­side her.

  "Miss Nesbitt, I took pity on you, stuck with old Morton. You can hear his sermon on the Trinity any Sunday at Holy Trinity Church. You must not waste a party in such tedious company. You ought to slip into the next room with the other youngsters. I won­der Miss Bonham does not arrange some dancing, since she has rooted out all the bachelors."

  "Lord Paton tells me we must not expect either dancing or music, ma'am."

  "No doubt that is why he is not here, the wretch. Where the devil is he tonight?"

  I was astonished that she should ask me. I had not seen him since the concert. "I have no idea."

  "You should keep closer track of him than that," she teased. "When are you coming to visit me, Miss Nesbitt?"

  I found myself in the absurd position of apologiz­ing for not honoring a nonexistent invitation, for I am not such a flat as to go calling on such a vague hint as I had received at the concert. "I have been spending a deal of time with Isabel," I explained.

  "I can see the good effects of your company," she said, glancing into the other room. "You might just give her the hint that young Etherington is a gazet­ted fortune hunter."