Only when the door was closed behind them did she speak. "Walter hasn't been feeling well. I know it is only a cough, but he seems calmer when I'm around. Besides, I hadn't much interest in going to Mrs. Grimshaw's card party, though I hope I haven't left her numbers uneven. And what brings you here, Hugh?"
As she spoke she turned and led him toward the little room she'd set aside for writing letters. There was a small chaise which she chose and a comfortable chair beside it for him. "I had thought John and I might be cozy in here," she remarked with a wistful sigh. "I would be surprised if he's been in this room above twice since we've been in Bath."
"He does seem to have been remarkably busy," Hugh said, cautious. "And not very communicative about his business, I gather."
"Ha! One would think he were involved in something illegal." Emily's eyes pooled with unshed tears. "You don't think he is, do you, Hugh?"
"Of course not. You mustn't let your imagination run wild, my dear."
"I try not to. But he is so secretive, it is hard not to wonder why. Could he not confide in his wife? The only reason I can think of that he would not is because... because he is ashamed of what he's doing."
"Nonsense. Emily, most men think their wives shouldn't be burdened with the details of their business dealings. You know that."
"But John seems different now than he did when we married. Have you noticed it, Hugh?"
Hugh didn't know how to answer her. He certainly wasn't ready to tell her about seeing John that afternoon. "I think your husband is the same man he has always been, but perhaps he has concerns which are distracting him. I shall make an effort to get him to confide in me, Emily, though that won't mean I'll be able to tell tales to you. I can, however, do my best to assist him with whatever troubles him."
"I would be so grateful, Hugh. He'll listen to you."
Hugh somehow doubted that, but he was ready to deal with the other matter he'd come to discuss. "Mrs. Luther found my godmother's letters to Mama and sent them along."
Emily's brows rose in query. "And what did you discover?"
Hugh sighed. "More than I could have wished." And he proceeded to tell her, in broad outline, just what had happened between Lord Westwick and Miss Longstreet all those years ago. Emily looked disbelieving, and then distressed, and finally confused.
"You think your godmother has some intention of disgracing the earl?" she asked, incredulous.
"I very much fear she does. It was Nell's original concern about what Miss Longstreet was up to that had me send for the letters, and certainly one can see why she would be up to mischief in light of their revelations."
"But why would she have waited so long?"
Hugh shrugged. "Her father had made her act as though she broke the engagement. And then, of course, the earl's wife died only last year. One hesitates to suggest that Miss Longstreet was prohibited by the countess's presence, but it must certainly seem easier to carry out her plan now that dear lady is gone."
"True. Even the Bath quizzes would have hesitated to excoriate Lord Westwick when his wife was alive."
"And do you think they will now?" Hugh asked.
"They're fickle; they might." Emily's chin came up. "But I shan't. The earl has been kind to me and I certainly will not cut him, or make any change at all in how I approach him."
Her brother smiled. "Good girl! I'm sure it will help to have a few people stand by him."
"Have you told him about the letters?"
"No, but I plan to before the assembly tomorrow. Since my godmother has invited Mrs. Dorsey to join us, I'm certain that’s when she plans to set her scandal in motion."
"You know, Hugh, it was very wrong of him. No wonder Miss Longstreet is such an ogre. I would have been devastated if John had done something like that to me."
"I fancy Westwick tried to get out of the engagement by hinting to Miss Longstreet that he'd fallen in love with his cousin, but she either did not understand or refused to accept the situation. And I think his father was exerting pressure on him to ally the two families, while his mother was very much against it and threw his cousin in his way after his father's death. Of course it was wrong, but I see him as a torn and confused young man, trying to please everyone and obviously being unable to do so."
"Yes, and though he ended up doing what he felt compelled to do, he must have suffered severely for the loss of his honor. Leaving his estate in that fashion would have been excessively difficult. Think how you would feel about leaving Fallings forever."
"I
have
thought of it, my dear." An understatement, Hugh knew, but he was not willing to burden his sister with his financial problems. It occurred to him then, and for the first time, that John Holmsly might be doing precisely the same thing. Hugh was not aware of Holmsly having financial problems, but what more likely explanation for his odd behavior?
What did a young man of Holmsly's position do if he needed to refill the family coffers, provided he was not a gambler or a thief? Hugh
knew
Holmsly wasn't a gambler, and he assumed his brother-in-law was not a thief. Emily was regarding him curiously and he said, "I need to do some hard thinking about all this, Emily. I know you'll do your best to see that Nell doesn't suffer from her aunt's vindictiveness. I should hate to see her tarred with the same brush her aunt will be. For people will believe Miss Longstreet, I have no doubt, but they will also scorn her for having brought this old disgrace up and forcing them to take sides against a man they've always respected."
"I shall consider it just one more reason that Nell should come to live with me!"
Hugh gave her a long, penetrating look and said, "I don't think that will be necessary."
Emily stared at him, but said only, "Oh."
"Good night, Emily. I hope Walter is perfectly well by morning."
"Thank you. I feel certain he shall be."
Chapter Sixteen
Nell had expected to visit Mrs. Dorsey as soon as Sir Hugh called the next day. But Sir Hugh did not call. Instead, about midday there was a note from him advising her that Lord Westwick was not at home and would not return at least until evening.
So, please,
he wrote,
take no action. We can hope that he won’t attend the Lower Rooms and therefore won’t be the object of your aunt’s vengeance.
Whether Lord Westwick came to the rooms or not was immaterial, so far as Nell was concerned. Rosemarie Longstreet did not need the man’s presence to start spreading her tale of his duplicity and broken promises. All she needed was Mrs. Dorsey’s verification of her story, and Mrs. Dorsey would most certainly be there. Nell chafed under the need to take some action, but her aunt was proving particularly demanding that afternoon and made it difficult for Nell to slip away from Queen Square.
What Rosemarie wanted was for Nell to work on her aunt’s gown to make it look more fashionable. “You’ve looked at the fashion plates,” her aunt insisted. “You know what is in style today. Surely you can do something with my gown, if you have some help from my dresser.”
“But, Aunt Longstreet, the fabric is the major difficulty. It’s so heavy and stiff that it doesn’t lend itself to the wispy, flowing designs they’re wearing now. Perhaps if you were to wear an open robe of a lighter material over it, with your gown as a petticoat…”
“I cannot think that would be at all flattering,” Rosemarie protested. “I wish to appear to advantage this evening.”
“Is there any particular reason for that?” Nell asked, not meeting her aunt’s gaze, but continuing to contemplate the dress hanging before her.
“Why shouldn’t I wish to appear to advantage? You will be wearing the green gown again, I suppose. You might as well get as much service from it as you can before we return to Westmorland.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Dorsey has a gown she would be willing to lend you. The two of you are of a size. I could run round to her house and find out.”
“Nonsense. I will not be reduced to wearing someone else’s clothing.”
“Hmm.” Nell stepped back from the gown and turned to consider her aunt. “There is a shop on Milsom Street where I have seen some particularly handsome India scarves. Worn across the shoulder like so…” Nell proceeded to demonstrate with an old shawl she plucked from her aunt’s wardrobe. “You might look quite fashionable. However, the scarves were very dear.”
Rosemarie narrowed her eyes. “How dear?”
“There was one for three guineas…”
“Three guineas! You’re mad.”
Nell shrugged. “Some were more expensive, some less. I could take you there to see if any of them appealed to you.”
Her aunt snorted. “As though I would be willing to spend three guineas on an India scarf! But perhaps I could look at them. These shopkeepers are notorious for overcharging. I could talk them into lowering their prices.”
Though Nell very much doubted that, she sighed and agreed to accompany her aunt.
Under gloomy skies the two women walked briskly to Milsom Street, as her aunt saw no reason for dawdling, and her gout, whether because of the waters or simply on its own, had abated. She once again professed her astonishment when Nell pointed out the scarves in the shop window and told her what prices they were.
Her aunt regarded her suspiciously. “Why did you go in to find out their cost? Surely you had no intention of purchasing such an expensive item.”
Nell flushed. “I had rather hoped they were more reasonably priced.”
“You’ve been beguiled by the glamour in this town,” her aunt scolded. “It’s a good thing we won’t be staying here much longer.”
This was news to Nell. “When had you intended to leave, Aunt Longstreet?”
“Soon, very soon. My gout is gone, isn’t it? What other reason could prolong my stay in Bath?”
What indeed? “I’m a little concerned…” Nell began.
But her aunt was already pushing open the shop door. A bell tinkled excitedly and within the dark interior Nell could see the shopkeeper already moving forward, a smile firmly planted on his face. “In what way may I be of assistance, ladies?” he asked, all unsuspecting.
“I’m interested in an India scarf,” Rosemarie declared, “like those in the window. Nothing expensive.” Nell hovered behind her aunt, near the door, where she might make a hasty retreat.
The man seemed taken aback. “They are very fine scarves, madam, shipped directly from India and made of the finest materials. I believe they are priced quite reasonably.”
“You do, do you?” Her aunt directed an imperious finger toward the most opulent of the lot. “How much, for instance, would that one cost?”
“Four guineas. But, madam, that is the finest of them all. This one,” he said, running a hand lovingly along the soft fabric, “is three guineas.”
“Four guineas! Three guineas! You should be ashamed of yourself. Why, I daresay the poor heathen who wove them didn’t earn a ha’penny.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know about such things,” the man said stiffly. “But I assure madam that they are worth every penny of their price. You wouldn’t find finer quality material or workmanship even in London. The most select items find their way to my shop. Ladies from all over the kingdom come to me for their India scarves. If you are not interested in the first quality, I can recommend a shop further down the hill which will satisfy you.”
Rosemarie did not like having the tables turned on her. She would not admit to being in search of lesser quality than the best, but she was determined not to pay such exorbitant fees. She glared at the man before picking up each of the scarves in turn and examining it minutely.
“How much is this one?” she asked finally, holding up a beautiful gray scarf with red, yellow and blue threads in a soft, fanciful design.
“Two guineas.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes narrowed and she turned the scarf over to exhibit a snag which had pulled the material into a bunch in one spot. “For defective merchandise? And you claim to be a purveyor of quality goods!”
The man reached out to take the scarf from her. After examining the material he set the scarf aside. “It is a small flaw, indeed, but I do not sell damaged merchandise. I will remove it from the display.”
“I would be willing to purchase it for a guinea,” Rosemarie informed him.
“A guinea!” The man shook his head. “No, no, madam. Even damaged it is worth a great deal more than that.”
The two bickered for several minutes before settling on a price that Rosemarie was willing, if not pleased, to pay. “Here, Helen,” she said, waving the package triumphantly, “you shall carry it for me. Carefully, now. We don’t want any
more
damage to it.”
Nell could only be grateful when the shop door had closed behind them. Acknowledging her aunt’s persistence and determination, she decided there was really no sense in attempting to dissuade her from whatever course she had chosen for the evening. Best to let it happen and get it over with, no matter how distressing it proved to be.
* * * *
The flambeaux outside the Assembly Rooms cast bright light on the gleaming carriages, and allowed deep shadows beyond them. If it hadn’t been for her worry about her aunt’s plans, Nell would have felt like a princess that evening. She was aware of being fashionably dressed, of being escorted by a man as elegant as any she had known—and of an emotion in her heart for him that nearly overwhelmed her.
The hard reality was that she had fallen in love with Sir Hugh, as impractical and presumptuous as that was. Back at home in Westmorland she might fantasize about being with him—as she had done so many times with imaginary men—but this man was real, and all her daydreaming would not bring him back into her life.
As he gripped her hand to assist her from his carriage, Nell allowed herself to smile at him in an unguarded way to express the gratitude she felt toward him for his thoughtfulness and his care of her. In return she felt the pressure on her fingers and thought that he perhaps intended to lift them to his lips.
But there was Aunt Longstreet leaning forward, muttering, “What is taking so long? Have you no consideration for an old lady’s sensibilities? We are still cooped up in this cramped space, you know.”