“All this modern trumpery,” Sir Hugh said dolefully, “will become the heritage of the next generations, ma’am. No way to stop the march of progress.”
“Progress, ha! Degradation, more like.” Aunt Longstreet observed the items which the serving girl placed upon the table and frowned. “I want nothing but tea,” she protested. “As I told you.”
“Indeed, ma’am. But my own appetite is healthy, and I believe your companion shares my appreciation of fine bakery goods.”
Nell eyed the collection of items with something like awe. He had ordered the plum cake, and the gingerbread, and the Scotch shortbread, and a Savoy cake, as well as their tea. She was not quite certain if she was to be allotted more than one choice of these delectables, and she glanced inquiringly at her host.
“Please help yourself,” the baronet urged. “Between us we should be able to polish off the whole, don’t you think?”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” she said, a smile blooming on her face at his obvious determination to provide her with what he must know was an unaccustomed treat. Well, so it was! She helped herself to the gingerbread and took a daintily greedy bite. The thick square was still warm and the taste of treacle delighted her tongue. “Oh, Aunt Longstreet, it’s better than Cook’s!” she exclaimed.
“I doubt that very much,” her aunt said crossly.
“Well, just as good,” Nell temporized. “And Cook’s never comes to the table warm.”
“No wonder,” Sir Hugh interjected. “The kitchens at Longstreet Manor must be miles away from the dining parlor.”
“Oh, you’ve been there, have you?” Nell asked innocently as she forked another bite.
“Of course he has!” Aunt Longstreet snapped. “He’s my godson.”
“But I’ve been with you ten years, aunt, and he hasn’t come while I’ve been there.”
“Very true,” the young man acknowledged, that wicked twinkle back in his eyes as his gaze held Nell’s. She felt an odd little flutter in her breast. “I fear I have displeased my godmother and the open invitation I used to enjoy has been withdrawn. But in the past I spent many happy days at the Manor.”
“Hogwash,” his godmother said. “You always found it sadly flat there. No chance for the racketing about you delighted in elsewhere.”
He nodded. “And I was terrified to bring my cattle there, you know, Miss Armstrong. Shabbiest stables I’ve ever seen, and if the groom is under fifty I should be vastly surprised.”
“He
is
a trifle old,” Nell agreed, “but he’s been there forever and knows just what my aunt wishes. Of course, with only the one helper, it’s no use Aunt Longstreet attempting to stable a visitor’s horses. But then,” she said matter-of-factly, “we seldom have visitors.”
“Never, I should have thought,” he murmured.
“Mind your tongue, young man,” Aunt Longstreet said. “I’ll have that Savoy cake after all, since Helen doesn’t need anything else after that enormous chunk of gingerbread.”
Nell hid her disappointment with a perfunctory smile. When Sir Hugh placed the shortbread in front of her, she shook her head. “No, no, that’s for you,” she insisted.
“Not at all! It’s what you asked for to begin with,” he said, leaving it where he’d placed it. “Personally I’d prefer another plum cake, and I shall summon one up.”
“Pure indulgence,” grunted Aunt Longstreet, who was in the process of demolishing the splendid little Savoy cake in three bites.
“Yes, but that’s precisely what you can expect of the youth of today,” Sir Hugh confided to Nell. “I’m sure your Aunt Longstreet has mentioned that.”
The corners of Nell’s mouth twitched, but she returned no answer.
“I’ve had better Savoy cake,” Aunt Longstreet announced as she regarded her empty plate with disfavor.
“Naturally,” her godson said.
“And better tea. A little on the weak side for my taste,” she said mildly, disposing herself comfortably in her chair. “But we’ll come again, Helen, for I see that this establishment is patronized by a very good class of people. Better than the pump room, I dare say.”
“You’ve been to the pump room already?” Sir Hugh asked, looking surprised. “I thought perhaps you’d just arrived in Bath.”
“We’ve been here a week,” Nell explained when her aunt seemed to ignore his remark. “Aunt Longstreet has taken a house in Queen Square.”
“Queen Square! Lovely, I’m sure, but the oldest of the squares in Bath, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Which is precisely why we’re there,” Aunt Longstreet informed him. “Built in 1734 and therefore has some history. No doubt it seems old-fashioned to you.”
“No, no, merely quiet and without some of the conveniences of the more recent squares and the Crescent. If you’re headed in that direction, I should be pleased to escort you home.”
Aunt Longstreet hesitated and Nell did nothing to indicate her preference in the matter. Her aunt was so contrary that if Nell were to say, “Oh, that would be kind of you,” her aunt would probably dismiss the young man on the instant! But Aunt Longstreet must have had a reason to accommodate the fellow, for she said at length, “Very well. We were through with our errands for the morning.”
The distance between Milsom Street and Queen Square was no more than a few blocks. Aunt Longstreet, despite the cane, was not one to dawdle, so they covered the whole of it in less than ten minutes. Nell would have enjoyed strolling along looking into the shop windows and thus extending for a few more moments what had proved ultimately to be an exceptionally pleasant excursion, but her aunt scorned such a waste of time. Sir Hugh kept up a steady stream of inconsequential chatter about the town and its pleasures.
“I trust you’ve signed the Master of Ceremony’s book,” he said as they came within sight of No. 10.
“No, why should we?” Aunt Longstreet demanded. “We’re not here for the dancing.”
“You don’t intend to visit the Lower Rooms?”
“Certainly not. Too expensive, too crowded, too hot. I know what these rooms are, and I cannot think I would find any pleasure in them.”
Sir Hugh frowned. “Perhaps you would not, Miss Longstreet, but your companion most assuredly would. Miss Armstrong is young and needs to meet others of her age. You cannot bring her from the wilds of Westmorland to such a lively place as Bath and expect her to do no more than dance attendance upon you.”
Nell flushed at such a harsh rendering of the situation. Though it was more or less true, she would never, ever have said anything of the sort. She was wholly dependent upon Aunt Longstreet and she had known from the time the expedition was planned that her aunt could no more be expected to put herself out to chaperone her niece to the assemblies in Bath than she could be expected to fly. At the time the arrangements were made, however, Nell had believed that it would be quite enough for her to see all the glories of the town. She had never suspected how much she would long to partake of the glamorous entertainments.
Aunt Longstreet was unaccustomed to criticism of her actions. She scowled at Sir Hugh and informed him that it was no business of his what she did. “Helen has neither the inclination nor the wardrobe to be gallivanting off to dances in strange towns with strange men for partners. She is of a serious, not a frivolous, disposition.”
Sir Hugh turned to Nell, but she lowered her gaze before his intense scrutiny, and said nothing. “I see,” he murmured at length. “Well, I wish you a pleasant stay in Bath, Miss Longstreet. Please do not hesitate to call upon me if I may be of any service to you.”
“I’m sure we shall not be in need of any services which you could provide,” Aunt Longstreet sniffed as she thumped her cane against the door of their rented house.
“Your servant, Miss Armstrong,” he said, bowing politely.
After such a pointed rebuff, Nell doubted the would see the man ever again. She felt an unaccountable pang, whether from continuing embarrassment or regret, she wasn’t sure. “Thank you for the lovely pastries, Sir Hugh, and for seeing us home.”
“My pleasure.”
He turned then, as though easily dismissing them from his mind, and strolled off down the street.
Chapter Two
But Sir Hugh was far from dismissing the two ladies from his mind. He had been acquainted with Miss Longstreet from the moment of his birth, and he had a good knowledge of her character. Though she had doted on him as child and young lad, she had pretty much dismissed him when he reached an age to join the adult world. Sir Hugh suspected that Miss Longstreet wasn’t over-fond of men in general.
He did remember with pleasure the summers he had visited at Longstreet Manor as a child. Of course, Miss Longstreet’s parents had still been alive then, and with their complicity he had been indulged most shamefully. They kept a pony for him when he was very young, and a horse as he grew older. Perhaps that was the lure which drew him to Longstreet Manor—that horse he had been so fond of.
His own parents were kindly but not so indulgent as the elder Longstreets and their spinster daughter. Every treat was provided for his entertainment and enjoyment—games of cricket with the neighboring boys, visits to the closest market town to find him a special pair of riding gloves, an extensive library put at his disposal. They were halcyon days, remembered with great fondness. His sister Emily had greatly envied him those visits, as she was not included in the annual invitation.
Sir Hugh had not intended to head for his apartments in the Crescent, but he found himself turning from Gay Street into the Circus, and, shrugging, continued around the circle to Brook Street. Even now he could have changed his mind, as his friend Hopkins had rooms along that very block, but Sir Hugh found himself unwilling to disrupt his train of thought. There was something most unusual about finding his godmother in Bath, and he had every intention of figuring out what had brought her there.
No one was going to hoax him into believing that she was there for the waters. He was well aware that Miss Longstreet suffered occasionally from the gout, but he believed he knew her well enough to realize that she would not come such a distance away from her home on the off chance that the mineral waters would dissipate her goutish pains. She was far too complacent about her own physical condition to make any such effort. It was his impression that Miss Longstreet prided herself on her ability to withstand any amount of discomfort. Attempting to alleviate it by such an exercise as taking the waters in a town so far from Longstreet Manor simply didn’t ring true.
And there was the niece—Miss Armstrong. He had known his godmother had taken in an impoverished relative, but he had believed the woman to be much more advanced in years than the young lady he’d met in Milsom Street. He had, in fact, supposed her to be much closer in age to her benefactor. Sir Hugh was not at all sure he liked the idea of Miss Armstrong, who could be no more than twenty-four or twenty-five, ingratiating herself with
his
godmother.
An odd sort of girl she was, too. Not willing to speak up for herself, and yet not entirely cowed by Miss Longstreet, he thought. Sir Hugh suspected that there was more to the young woman than appeared beneath her air of quiet composure. No doubt Miss Armstrong had learned to “manage” her patron, neither opposing nor distressing the cantankerous lady, but not giving Miss Longstreet a dislike of her by proving mealy-mouthed, either. Rosemarie Longstreet would not tolerate a weakling around her.
Yes, Sir Hugh suspected Miss Armstrong had used her many years with that good lady to advantage; she had determined to a nicety just how far she dared go with his godmother and yet retain that woman’s esteem. And, loath though he was to admit it, he felt a certain anxiety.
Sir Hugh had long believed that he was to inherit his godmother’s estate. That had been the intention when his own parents chose Miss Longstreet as his godmother. His mother and Miss Longstreet had become fast friends during their comeouts in London lo these many years ago. And apparently by the time Hugh was born there was no question but that Miss Longstreet was become an old maid and that she would inherit Longstreet Manor. Since that delightful estate must devolve somewhere, why not to Sir Hugh? Now it had come as something of a shock to realize how much he’d come to count on that expectation.
“Oh, Hugh, I had thought to catch you at the library,” a lilting voice informed him before he had raised his frowning gaze from the pavement to notice that his sister was approaching.
“Had you, by Jove? And why had you reason to believe you would find me there, Emily?”
“Because you told Hammer that is where you were headed.” She cocked her head at him, her blue eyes, so like his own, challenging. “I trust you found something enlightening there, for I know you would scorn to waste your time reading a novel.”
“Actually, I found my godmother there, berating the librarian because she could not carry off the current Peerage.”
“Miss Longstreet is here, in Bath?”
“You may well be shocked, my dear sister. Who would have thought it, eh? But indeed it was she, accompanied by a Miss Armstrong, the woman who has lived with her these past ten years.”
Emily’s gaze sharpened. “A woman not to your taste, Hugh?”
“As to that, she’s a trifle tall for my liking, but it was her age that surprised me. She cannot be more than five and twenty.”
Her brows rose. “So young? And how does she cope with Miss Longstreet’s vile temper?”
“That’s what I’ve just been musing on, my dear.” He glanced at the footman who was following to accompany his mistress on her errands. “Send Williams home and I’ll walk you to the library if you wish.”
“Very well.” When the footman had been dismissed, Emily Holmsly linked arms with her brother, peering curiously up at him. “Something you didn’t want Williams to hear, Hugh?”
He shrugged. “I have less tolerance for being the subject of servants’ gossip than you do, Emily dearest.”
A flush rose to her cheeks. “Really, Hugh, that is unjust. I have never given my servants the least reason to gossip about me, I assure you.”
“Have you not? I wonder, then, that one should hear your name bandied about so freely in the Pump Room. Yesterday, there was something about a cicisbeo being slapped by you, I believe.”