Authors: The Fortune-Hunters
How she had blushed when he had hinted at recalling her backward glance in North Parade! Of course he knew perfectly well that she had been looking at her brother, not at him, but he had every intention of continuing to tease her about it. She was not sure yet whether he had recognized her—as if he could have mistaken or forgotten that glorious ash-blond hair! Yes, she had been enchantingly abashed, yet in general she was a spirited young lady.
In that she differed from Miss Pearson. He had struggled to draw a response from Miss Pearson, and her rare replies to his remarks were spoken so softly he had not the least notion what she had said. She had worn a dazzling fortune in diamonds upon her person, but to his mind Miss Franklin’s sparkling hazel eyes were more attractive by far.
He turned the corner of the Abbey and there before him stood the subject of his musing, fresh and pretty in apricot muslin with white ribbons, a saucy leghorn hat, and a frilly white parasol. She was alone, gazing up in apparent fascination at the west front of the church.
It was not strictly correct to accost a young lady in the street unless she first acknowledged one’s presence, but he’d be damned if he’d pass by without a word. “Good morning, Miss Franklin.”
Starting, she turned to him with a smile. “Good day, Mr. Walsingham. Have you ever noticed the angels climbing the ladder up the tower?”
“A charming conceit, is it not? It’s said to commemorate the vision which inspired the building of the Abbey—a bishop called Oliver King who dreamt about a crowned olive tree and angels on a ladder and somehow interpreted it as a command to rebuild the place.”
“There’s no accounting for visions,” Jessica agreed. “I must bring my sketch book here one day. Bath is full of pleasant prospects.”
“It is, indeed,” he agreed, regarding her slim figure with appreciation. “Are you on your way to the Pump Room?”
“I was, but I seem to have mislaid Aunt Tibby again,” she said candidly. “I’m afraid the Abbey was built a thousand years too late to interest her. I stopped for a moment to admire it and when I looked round she was gone. To enter the Pump Room alone would be far from proper, so I suppose I must go home for my abigail.”
“I’ll be happy to offer my escort if it will save you from the frowns of the tabbies.”
“Thank you, sir, I believe that will serve, as we were introduced by no less a person than Mr. Guynette.” She took his arm and they crossed the Pump Yard. “You are going to drink your daily pint, I expect?”
For a moment Matthew was taken aback, then he remembered the tale he had spun the night before to account for his presence in Bath. He coughed dramatically. It was an expert performance, for he had perfected it as a child as an excuse to escape from his tutor.
Miss Franklin looked worried. “I hope the waters will be of assistance. What a pity that your uncle’s house is in North Parade, as the river mists surely cannot be good for a chest ailment.”
“On the contrary, ma’am,” he invented rapidly as they entered the Pump Room. “The doctors tell me that dry air is of all things the most to be feared, since the tissues of the lungs are liable to become desiccated. The humidity by the Avon is precisely what is needed in such cases.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.”
Embarrassed by her obvious concern for his imaginary illness, he gestured at the busy scene before them. “You see. Miss Franklin, the place is not always haunted by valetudinarians. At this hour it is a fashionable promenade and meeting place for gossipmongers.”
“You terrify me.” She laughed. “I should not care to be a subject of gossip.’’
“Alas, no young lady of your beauty can hope to escape comment, but one so charming need not fear unfavourable comment—provided she avoids any appearance of forwardness,” he said in a deliberately provocative tone.
She blushed in confusion, and he knew very well that she was thinking of their original encounter in the street. “I see the Barlows over there,” she said in haste. “I must bid them good day.”
They joined the merry group gathered round the sociable family. Plans were afoot to walk up Beechen Cliff that very afternoon.
“You will go with us, will you not, ma’am?” begged Mr. Barlow with what Matthew regarded as unnecessary eagerness. “We may not have another day so fine for ages, clear yet not too hot for the ladies.”
“Pray do, Miss Franklin,” seconded his sister.
“I shall be happy to join you,” she said, “but surely, Miss Kitty, we agreed to be on Christian name terms. You must call me Jessica.”
“Oh, yes, I’d like to. I was not perfectly sure... I did not wish to presume. I am very glad you are going to join us, Jessica. We shall meet at three at our lodgings, at 7, Westgate Buildings, if that is convenient? I hope you will bring Sir Nathan, too? And Mr. Walsingham, do you go with us? I vow the outing will be quite spoiled if you do not go with us.’’
Laughing at the attempted pout that ill suited Kitty’s lively expression, Matthew acquiesced. No doubt the minx had hopes of keeping both him and Sir Nathan on a string, and he had noted also the silent, almost skeletal figure of Lord Peter Glossop standing by Mrs. Barlow’s chair. Judging by their address in the Westgate Buildings, the Barlows were far from plump in the pocket and Miss Kitty must do the best she could for herself.
Mr. Barlow, too, was doubtless in the market for a wealthy spouse—and Jessica Franklin was laughing heartily at something he had just said to her. Matthew coughed.
She swung round at once. “Mr. Walsingham, you must drink your dose. Come, I shall go with you and make sure you don’t shirk.”
“Mama, you have not yet taken your glass today,” Mr. Barlow observed. “I’ll fetch it for you.”
“Then I had best go with you, Bob,” said Kitty with sisterly candour, “else you will likely forget it before you are half way across the room.”
The four of them set out towards the pump, but the Barlows were waylaid by another acquaintance en route.
“I wonder whether Mrs. Barlow will ever receive her glassful,” Jessica said with a smile as Matthew gave the attendant a shilling and accepted in return a tumbler of murky liquid.
“Lucky woman if she does not,” he said gloomily. With her admonitory gaze fixed upon him, he braced himself and gulped the foul stuff down. “Ugh! No wonder it made poor Uncle Horace bilious.” He shuddered.
“I would not drink it for the world,” she admitted, “though it cannot possibly taste as horrid as it smells.”
“That’s what you think. You are mistaken, I assure you.” In a mood for revenge, he happened to catch sight of the tongue-tied young lady he had danced with last night, just entering the Pump Room with her chaperon.
It would, in truth, have been difficult to miss her, since her green gown was embellished with a profusion of scarlet bows. However, far from making an effort to attract attention, Miss Pearson walked with head bowed, perhaps in contemplation of the ornate ruby brooch pinned to her bodice. Not to be foiled, for the second time that day Matthew ignored the gentlemanly code. “Miss Franklin, have you met Miss Pearson?”
Before she could respond, he led her up to the girl and her chaperon, a stout woman with an old-fashioned air. Startled, Miss Pearson cast him a nervous glance and curtsied as he performed the introductions.
“Miss Franklin, allow me to make you known to Miss Pearson and Mrs. Partridge.”
“Woodcock! The Honourable Mrs. Woodcock,” that lady corrected him sharply.
“I’m happy to make your acquaintance,” said Jessica with aplomb. “I saw you at the Upper Rooms yesterday, I think. Did you enjoy the ball?”
Miss Pearson murmured something in which only the word “kind” was distinguishable.
“If it were not for Mr. Guynette’s kindness, I should not have had a partner all evening, but it is sadly disconcerting to find oneself dancing with a total stranger, is it not?”
The girl raised shy brown eyes to Jessica’s face and nodded eagerly. “I thought I was the only one to feel so, ma’am. How much more comfortable one is with people one knows.”
“I daresay we shall both have friends aplenty in Bath in no time,” Jessica encouraged her. “I hope you will count me your friend. Perhaps we might walk together in Sydney Gardens one afternoon?”
“I should like that of all things, ma’am.” Miss Pearson smiled at last.
Matthew realized that she was really quite pretty, with her soft brown curls and delicate features. She was utterly lacking in countenance and taste, but with her obvious wealth to compensate for those deficiencies, she need not fear a dearth of suitors. Jessica, however, could have no ulterior motive for her kindness to the chit. The more he saw of Miss Franklin the better he liked her.
Having made arrangements to meet for a walk in the gardens, the young ladies parted.
“Congratulations, Miss Franklin,” said Matthew. “You extracted more words from her in a couple of minutes than I did in the course of an entire set last night.”
“Poor child, she is shockingly bashful. It was too bad of you to take her by surprise just now, and you need not pretend you did not have mischief in mind for I saw it in your eyes.”
He laughed. “I only meant to punish you a little for forcing me to take my medicine. I expected to see you struggling in vain to hold a conversation. Since you succeeded, my plot was an absurd failure.”
“You are an odious tease,” she said reproachfully, but unable to hide her smile. “Oh dear, I wonder what has become of Aunt Tibby? I cannot wait here for her forever.”
“If you wish to return home, pray allow me to accompany you, ma’am.”
“Will that be proper? I am not perfectly conversant with the niceties peculiar to Bath.”
“Since I am acquainted with your brother and we are near neighbours, I doubt the most ardent stickler will see aught amiss.”
“Well, I cannot think why I should take your word, sir, after the shocking disregard for propriety you have shown this morning, but thank you, I shall be glad of your escort.”
Passing by the Abbey again, she glanced up at the angels on their ladder. The changed angle of the sun now made the figures stand out in sharp relief.
“I believe this will be the best time of day to sketch here,” she said as they walked on. “I shall come back tomorrow at this hour, weather permitting.”
“It sounds as if you are a serious artist,” he said with some surprise.
“Heavens, no! I draw purely for my own pleasure, but of all the genteel accomplishments I was forced to acquire, it is the one I enjoy most.”
“Then you must bring your sketch book this afternoon. The view of Bath from Beechen Cliff is famous.”
“The trouble with distant prospects is that everything tends to fade into a haze. It takes a painter to do justice to a landscape. Is it far to Beechen Cliff?”
“Just across the river, where it swings to the west. There is a bridge at the end of Southgate Street. I daresay no more than half a mile as the crow flies, though the path winds up the steep part of the hill.”
“I was thinking, sir—perhaps you might drive your curricle lest any of the ladies grow weary? Pray don’t suppose that I mean myself,” she added severely when he grinned. “Estates in the North are so large that I’m accustomed to riding ten miles across the fells to pay a morning call. An afternoon stroll is scarcely to be regarded as exercise.”
“That is hardly an incentive to me to bring my curricle, if by driving I shall deprive myself of your company,” he pointed out. “However, I’ll have my groom bring it rather than risk having to carry some exhausted damsel home.”
“As a matter of fact it was Mrs. Barlow I had in mind,” she said, laughing, as they reached her front door. “Thank you for bringing me home, sir. I shall see you at the Westgate Buildings at three.” She held out her hand and he bowed over it. A liveried footman opened the door and she entered without a backward glance.
Matthew walked back the few steps to his own front door in a thoughtful mood. Whatever she said, he was convinced that the suggestion about his curricle was due to her concern for himself. There was nothing he could do about his limp, but he was beginning to wish he had never yielded to the impulse to invent a lung injury.
He couldn’t make up his mind whether to be gratified by her solicitude or annoyed by her presumption. He’d be damned if he’d let her bully him into drinking that foul water again!
CHAPTER SIX
“Sukey! Sukey, come quick. I’m going to wear the blue walking dress this afternoon and we must change the trim on my hat and parasol to match.” Jessica sped up the stairs to her chamber.
The maid followed more slowly, wiping her hands on her grubby apron. It was that confusing never knowing whether she was housemaid, chambermaid or abigail, and a good job Ma had taught her to set her stitches neat as well as polish brass. She glanced back at Tad, crossing the hall below, and he winked at her. Right handsome he was in his livery, even if she knew that rolled up under the braided coat was the apron he wore for bringing in the coal. Lucky he saw Miss Jess had a gentleman with her in time to put on the coat afore he opened the door.
Still an’ all, it was worth the masquerade if it meant Master Nathan—Sir Nathan as he was now—got to keep Langdale. There was no knowing which servants a new master would dismiss. ‘Sides, it wouldn’t be the same without Miss Jess. You couldn’t ask for a better mistress.
“There’s t’silk cornflowers I put in t’drawer, miss,” she said, entering the chamber. “I can stick ‘em on your hat in a trice and turn the brim down ‘stead of up.”
Jessica had already taken the new blue cambric gown from the wardrobe and was regarding it with approval.
“Yes, that will do very well. And I’ll fashion a bow of blue ribbon to tie on the handle of the parasol. I’m glad I bought the white one after all.”
“Mrs. Ancaster do say,” observed Sukey as she unpicked the stitches fastening the apricot feather to the straw, “as gentlemen don’t rightly notice what a lady’s wearing so’s she be neat and smart.”
“I daresay, but the other ladies certainly do, and news would soon spread if I wore the same clothes to walk up Beechen Cliff as I did to parade in the Pump Room. I’ve no doubt gentlemen listen to rumour quite as avidly as ladies, even though they affect to despise it.”