Carola Dunn (18 page)

“‘Although if I pleased I might marry with ease, For where maidens are fair many suitors will come, Oh, he whom I wed must be North-country bred And carry me back to my North-country home.’“

That wasn’t what she wanted, though. Married to Matthew, she wouldn’t care in the least where they lived. She consulted the elevation; the shutters were a nice touch. Perhaps they could find a cottage by the sea?

“‘The oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree, They flourish at home...’“

The door knocker sounded, followed by a sort of fumbling rush of feet that she recognized as Tad struggling into his livery coat on his way to answer it.

He appeared at the dining room door. “It’s Miss Pearson, miss.”

“Show her in, please, Tad.” Jessica rose as Lucy came in, carrying a withy basket. “My dear, what brings you back so soon?”

Lucy blushed. “I told Papa and Mrs. Woodcock how Sir Nathan dived into the canal to save Lord Peter, and Mrs. Woodcock gave me a receipt for a gruel to ward off a chill.”

“How kind of you to bring it.” Jessica omitted to point out that she could have sent a footman, and failed to inform her that not only was Nathan in the pink of health but he would not touch gruel if he were at death’s door.

“After you strain out the oatmeal,” Lucy explained, “you put in lemon juice and soda to make it fizz like champagne, so it has to be drunk as soon as it is made. I brought all the ingredients and I thought—in case your cook is busy—I might make it myself?”

“I’m afraid Nathan has gone...”

The door swung open and Nathan burst in. “Jess, is Lucy... Miss Pearson! I saw your carriage in York Street as I turned into the Abbey Yard, so I came back. Is anything wrong?”

“Oh no, sir, if you are well.” Lucy’s blush deepened. “I was afraid you might take cold so I brought a receipt for a special gruel. I wanted to make it for you myself, but I see you do not need it.”

“I do feel a slight tickle in my throat,” said Nathan heroically.

“Then off with you both to the kitchen,” Jessica urged, hiding a smile. “Mrs. Ancaster will be glad to see you.”

They were gone for nearly an hour. When they returned, Nathan reported that the gruel was not so bad after all, rather like fizzy lemonade, and that Mrs. Ancaster had fed them on blackcurrant tarts.

“And she gave me some blackcurrant cordial,” said Lucy, producing from her basket a small, corked bottle. “But she said she bought the currants in the market so it will not be as good as if you had picked them fresh in the gardens at Langdale, with the dew still on them. Did you really pick your own currants, Jessica?”

“Yes, but rarely early enough to catch the dew!”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It is, if you don’t mind having red-stained fingers for the rest of the day.”

“I should not mind. I think I should like to have a garden, and learn to make cordials and jellies and jams.” She sighed softly, with a sidelong glance at Nathan, but he was frowning down at Jessica’s half-completed sketch. “I must go now. It’s nearly time to change for dinner and the assembly.”

Nathan escorted her to her carriage. Jessica put away the drawings and was just leaving the dining room when he came back in. In his hand was a small, white, lacy square, which he regarded not with the annoyance of someone who has forgotten something but with a complacent smile.

On seeing Jessica, he quickly thrust Lucy’s handkerchief back into his pocket and said with a false air of nonchalance, “Mrs. Woodcock’s gruel worked. The tickle in my throat is quite gone away.”

“You surprise me,” said Jessica, laughing.

She was thoughtful, though, as she went up the stairs to her chamber to change for dinner. Nathan and Lucy were obviously made for each other. Nathan’s stubborn persistence in his prejudice against her father bid fair to ruin both their lives. He was much too sure of her, too. He needed a rival to spur him to action, but even Lord Alsop no longer paid his addresses to Lucy— at least in Nathan’s presence.

Jessica decided it was up to her to apply the spur, and she had an inkling of an idea how to do it.

She forgot all about Nathan and Lucy when Sukey asked which gown she wanted to wear to the assembly. Her thoughts flew to Matthew. Was he well enough to attend? If not, she didn’t want to go.

“Mrs. Ancaster sent Tad over to pay back the onion she borrowed,” volunteered Sukey, apparently reading her mistress’s mind. “Seems Mr. Walsingham’s up and about and his man’s a-polishing his dancing shoes.”

The nagging worry that had been hovering behind Jessica’s conscious thoughts vanished like a soap bubble. “I’ll wear the blue with the silver tasselled sash,” she said.

Matthew arrived at Number 15 just as they finished dinner.

“I shall drive to the Assembly Rooms tonight,” he explained. “May I hope to be permitted to take up Miss Franklin?”

“Oh yes, the curricle is much more comfortable than a chair,” Jessica assured him.

“I was not inviting you,” he retorted, his eyes laughing at her. “I was asking permission of your aunt and your brother.”

She pouted at him.

“Very proper of you, Mr. Walsingham,” said Miss Tibbett. “I suppose you will take your groom?”

“Naturally, ma’am. I hoped that unfortunate incident had been forgiven and forgotten.”

“Of course it has, it was only the once, after all,” said Nathan, and added grandly, “You have my permission.”

Jessica snorted in a most unladylike manner. “The day I ask your permission, brother mine, will be the day pigs fly.”

The gentlemen exchanged glances.

“There’s a balloon ascension from Sydney Gardens next week,” said Matthew.

“I daresay I could find a farmer willing to lend a pig,” said Nathan.

“Odious wretches!” Jessica cried. “I wager you’ll not so easily persuade the aeronaut to take a pig with him! Give me five minutes, sir, and I shall be ready to go.”

She went to fetch her silver gauze shawl, her fan and gloves and reticule. When she descended the stairs, he was waiting in the hall, watch in hand. He looked up at her with what she trusted was bemused admiration.

“Five minutes to the second. Miss Franklin.” He offered his arm as Tad opened the front door.

“I hoped you were admiring my appearance, not my punctuality,” she said tartly.

“Punctuality is a virtue, beauty a mere attribute.”

“I see you arc in a teasing humour tonight, sir. I shall therefore regale you with a description of your appearance when you emerged from the canal this afternoon.”

Driving through the town towards the Upper Rooms, they laughed over the ill-fated expedition. Jessica was reluctant to mention the effect of the cold water on his injured leg, and she was glad when he brought up the subject himself.

“I feared for a while that the ducking had done for me,” he said with a rueful smile.

“So did I. It was a great relief when you turned up on our doorstep on your own two feet.”

“I shall not dance tonight, however. Will you mind sitting out the two sets you promised me? It is a lot to ask, I know, and I shall release you if you insist.”

“How can I decently insist when you put it like that? You ought to have released me from my promise first, so that I could be noble and offer to keep you company instead of dancing.”

“But you might not have been feeling noble, and then I should have lost the pleasure of your company,” he pointed out.

“Are you expressing doubts as to the nobility of my nature, Mr. Walsingham?” Jessica enquired archly, then wished she hadn’t. There was nothing noble about the part she and Nathan were playing. “No, don’t tell me. I might not like the answer. I shall certainly sit out two dances with you, if you will protect me from all the quizzing that is bound to come our way.”

“My way. I was the one who jumped in, after all.”

“On a noble mission of rescue. I wonder how poor Lord Peter will face the roasting—oh no, his mama arrives tonight, does she not? He will not come to the assembly.”

Bob Barlow met them at the door, a joyful beam on his round face. “Miss Franklin, pray stand up with me for the cotillion. I am deputed by my sister to give you her news.”

“You look pleased as Punch,” said Matthew. “Am I not to hear it?”

“A young lady’s confidences are not to be imparted to all and sundry,” Jessica informed him. “I shall tell you later as much as I consider fit for a gentleman’s ears.”

“Lady Leighton arrived early and it’s all settled,” said Mr. Barlow jubilantly. “Kitty is with her now. Come, ma’am, the music is starting.”

“Without prejudice to your sister,” Jessica said as they made their way through the crowd onto the floor, “I am amazed that the marchioness is so soon satisfied of her merits.”

“It all fell out most handily. Poor Glossop arrived at his lodging dripping wet to find her ladyship awaiting him.”

“How very disconcerting!”

Mr. Barlow laughed merrily and swung her into the dance. “Was it not? She retired to her hotel, sent for Kitty, and declared that if she really chose to marry an arrant mooncalf, she wished her joy of him.”

“With such a mother, it is not surprising that Lord Peter has so little to say for himself.”

“Poor fellow. Of course Kitty has no notion of being intimidated into holding her tongue. She up and said straight out to Lady Leighton that it wasn’t Glossop’s fault he fell in. She and Sir Nathan both distracted his attention at the wrong moment, she said. And her ladyship smiled and said, ‘I believe you will do, young woman,’ and invited Kitty and my mother to dine with her tonight.”

“Gracious, it couldn’t have worked out better if it had been plotted beforehand.” Jessica was reminded of her own idea for a plot to bring Nathan and Lucy together.

Over Mr. Barlow’s shoulder, she caught sight of Lord Alsop, who was to play a vital role in her plans. He was clad in crimson velvet and gold lace tonight. With the addition of a periwig, doubtless he would have cut a fine figure in an eighteenth century ballroom. In these modern times he bore a distressing resemblance to a footman in livery, except that no footman would be seen dead with padded shoulders and a pinched-in waist.

He was watching the entrance. Jessica followed his gaze and saw Nathan enter with Lucy, followed by Tibby and Mrs. Woodcock. They must all have arrived at the same moment. She glanced quickly back at his lordship and noted his expression of mingled covetousness and resentment.

Most satisfactory. He hadn’t the nerve to compete with Nathan, but he still wanted Lucy.

“I don’t believe you have heard a word I said,” complained Mr. Barlow good-naturedly.

“I beg your pardon, I was distracted by Lord Alsop’s costume.”

He grinned. “Fit for a fancy-dress ball, ain’t he? A dunghill cock, all show, no go.”

“Just what I was thinking. But I was attending to you, too, sir. You were telling me that you and Kitty are to have a double wedding. I wish you very happy.”

Thus encouraged, Mr. Barlow continued to expound upon his plans, while Jessica silently devised the details of her own.

She managed matters so that at the end of the dance they were close to Lord Alsop. “Good evening, my lord,” she said with a smile.

Neither he nor Bob Barlow quite succeeded in hiding their surprise at her unwonted cordiality, but the baron was quick to take advantage.

“Do me the honour of standing up with me, ma’am,” he requested suavely.

Since that was precisely what Jessica wanted, she did her best to conceal her distaste, though she doubted his lordship had sufficient sensibility to notice. Fortunately the next set was a country dance that would keep him at a distance most of the time.

“I am very glad the weather is improved, are not you?” she asked as they stood waiting for the music to begin.

“Constant rain does become oppressive,” he agreed. “Nothing is pleasanter than to stroll in Sydney Gardens on a fine day with a fair lady on one’s arm. Perhaps you...”

“I miss my drawing when it is wet,” Jessica interrupted. “I prefer to sketch out of doors. How delightful was our picnic on Beechen Cliff—but I fear you found it tedious, sir. A ladies’ sketching party can hold little amusement for a man of the world.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, a man of the world such as myself is able to find something of interest in any company. In your company, of course, my dear Miss Franklin, one has not to seek far for entertainment.”

As his gaze was glued to her bosom, she did not suppose for a moment that it was her sparkling conversation that held his attention. “I enjoy drawing buildings,” she persevered.

“Bath is the ideal place to exercise your talents, ma’am.” His insinuating voice hinted at a
double entendre.

Jessica ignored it. “There are indeed many fine buildings here. I have not yet attempted the Royal Crescent.”

“A magnificent curve,” Lord Alsop leered.

“If the sun is shining, I mean to draw it tomorrow morning. The shadows will be just right at about ten o’clock, I believe. I shall invite Miss Pearson to accompany me, for it is useless to expect my brother’s escort when all I shall do is sit and sketch.” Lucy was unlikely to refuse to go with her, though sketching was hardly her favourite occupation.

The baron’s cold eyes brightened with a calculating look. He had taken the bait.

She endured the country dance, wishing she could inform Nathan of what she was suffering for his sake. He and Lucy were in a nearby set. When the final chord sounded and Jessica had curtsied to Lord Alsop’s bow, she slipped across to Lucy’s side, took her arm, and hurried her from the floor.

“Quick,” she whispered, “before his lordship has a chance to ask me for another dance. He was ogling me in the horridest way, and I fear he means to invite me to walk with him tomorrow.”

“You need not accept. That is perfectly proper, not like refusing to stand up with a gentleman.”

“But I shall refuse with more conviction if I can say that I have a prior engagement. Will you go with me to sketch the Royal Crescent? I have been longing for a chance at it.”

Lucy’s assent was notably lacking in enthusiasm.

Jessica’s next partner was Nathan, who was inclined to haul her over the coals for dancing with Lord Alsop. She diverted him with the story of Kitty Barlow’s triumph.