Discreet Young Gentleman (23 page)

"Do you keep in contact with your brother?" Dean asked, after a time.

"He's dead."

"I'm sorry."

Rob lifted a shoulder. "Long time ago. I thought telling Erich about it might—I don't know—help somehow." Dean leaned forward. "Did he say anything? About himself." "No. But I didn't think it would be that easy." "He did thank you."

"Yes, but he might have just thought I was being friendly," Rob said. "I was mindful of you saying not to push him to remember that he's English, so I didn't ask anything about himself. I merely told him the story as best I could, in the hopes that it might encourage him to think about his own brother again."

"How did your brother die?"

"My lord," Rob said coolly, "that's among the things that you really have no reason to know."

Dean flushed. Again. And reminded himself that it was better to keep distance between himself and Rob, anyway.

Chapter Twenty

The woman in grey stumbled into the first public house she came across. She had remembered to put her hat on, but hadn't bothered with the veil, which now hung askew down her back. "Gin," she said to the bar maid, a sullen, pasty-faced girl of about fourteen. Picking up the glass, she threw back the contents in one practiced swallow. "Again."

"Summat to eat wi' that?" The bar maid was eyeing her cautiously.

"He ignored me," the woman in grey said numbly. "Looked right through me."

"Ah," the young girl poured an extra-large measure. "Men." Her glum, knowing tone was at odds with her extreme youth. She turned awkwardly to reach for a plate of small meat pies, revealing a belly about five months swollen with child. "Here," the girl said, placing a pie on the counter. "On me."

The grey lady lifted her eyes from her glass, trying to remember the manners she had been working so hard to master. "I thank you kindly, miss."

"I'd a given him a right set-to, bastard ignoring me an' all. Fact is, I did just that.

Fat lot o' good it done me." The bar maid set another glass on the counter, and helped herself to some gin as well.

"I couldn't speak to him. Not in front of the other man; not when he looked through me like that. All this time," the woman sipped at her gin, blue eyes focused elsewhere,

"all this time, I assumed that when I found him again, and gave him the news, that everything would be good again. Wonderful, even. But he didn't so much as acknowledge my presence."

"Other man, did ye say?" The girl nodded wisely. "They gets right snooty around others, don't they? Sweet words when yer alone in the middle o' the night; won't give ye the time o' day when the sun's up." She leaned forward and patted her stomach.

"'Specially if ye gots news for him."

"Oh." The woman blinked. "Not that kind of news. I—I came into some money, from an uncle who made a fortune in India. Enough so that his hoity-toity family might actually accept me now." She bit her lip, blinking back tears. "But they must have convinced him to deny me. Perhaps the annulment they were insisting on has even gone through."

"Annulment?" The barmaid's eyes grew round. "He's not yer sweetie, then?"

"No." The grey lady set her glass back on the counter with a thump, signaling for more. "He's my bleeding husband."

Chapter Twenty-One

Bath. Dean hadn't visited the charming little city since his father had come to take the waters during his last illness over ten years before. It hadn't changed much in the interval, still holding onto the grandeur bestowed upon it in the late years of the last century, when Beau Nash and his set had made it a fashionable resort. They skirted the large green mass of Claverton Down and came into the city from Bathwick, turning onto Great Pulteney Street to cross the bridge over the River Avon.

As usual when approaching a new town, Rob couldn't keep himself completely inside the carriage, hanging out the window to better see the honey-colored arches of the Pulteney Bridge. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, pulling himself back inside the coach. "I'd read that it was inspired by the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, but this is actually prettier. Smaller, too, of course—the Avon has nothing on the Arno, I'm afraid."

"Since you've never been to Bath before..." Dean leaned out the window himself, shouting directions to the coachman. Retaking his seat, he said, "I told Erich to drive through town so that you can see the Circus and the Royal Crescent. People who like architecture go wild for that sort of thing." Rob rested his arms on the window sill, absorbing the passing townscape. "What sort of thing?"

"Classical." Dean frowned, searching his memory. "Palladian, I think. Lots of tall windows framed by columns. Even I think it's nice."

Dean wasn't surprised that Rob was able to tell him more once he saw the Circus, a circle made of three curved sections of adjoined houses, all built of the same soft gold limestone as the Pulteney Bridge. "It's wonderful, isn't it?" Rob said. "Look— did you notice there's a different type of column on each floor?" He pointed. "Doric, Ionic, Corinthian up on top. Same as the Colosseum in Rome."

The Royal Crescent, just up Brock Street, was similar to one of the curves making up the Circus, only on a much larger scale. "Same architect?" Rob guessed. "They might go together—the Crescent being the moon to the Circus's sun."

Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure. Much of the city is in a similar style, though."

"Thank you for showing me. Where will we stay?"

"My Uncle Phineas keeps a set of rooms on Stall Street, not far from where we came into town. As long as he isn't in residence, anyone else in the family is free to make use of them. It's just a bedchamber and sitting room, but convenient to the Pump Room and the baths."

"Fancy," Rob said, shaking his head. "The same hot springs the Romans bathed in."

"And drank," Dean reminded him. "While we're here, you'll have to have your three glasses a day of Bath water." He grinned. "Although anyone who can choke down three glasses of the stuff is hearty enough so that they don't need it."

Uncle Phineas's rooms were empty, and the landlady, upon receipt of the proper family password (not to mention a sovereign for her troubles) soon gave them the key.

"I don't do meals for lodgers," Mrs. Waddhams said, huffing her way up the stairs before them. "But if you come downstairs to my parlor after eight o'clock in the morning, I can give you coffee and rolls. Just nine-pence each, and that's a bargain, considering what the tea shops on the High Street will charge you. There's a stable for your rig and horses one block up on Westgate Street—if there's no room for your coachie there, he can share with my handyman in the attic. And there'll be no fancy girls up here, understand?" She eyed them with pursed lips. "Couple of young bucks like yourselves."

"I assure you, Madam," Rob said with a straight face, "we'll bring no women back." "Hmph." Mrs. Waddhams was obviously unconvinced. "If you're late coming in, be mindful of the other lodgers and keep yourselves quiet. Understand?"

Dean sent Erich to settle the horses, then he and Rob unpacked their things as best they could in the cramped bedroom, hanging their new clothes in the wardrobe and setting toiletries out on the tiny dressing table. There was no help for it, they would have to share the only bed, as the furniture in the sitting room didn't extend to a sofa.

Rob, who had been making the bed with fresh linens provided by the landlady, finished with a final plumping of the pillows. "Do you have a plan?"

"Since we're so close by, we should start with the Pump Room. Everyone in Bath makes an appearance there at least once a day, and early afternoon is one of the busiest times, while the band is playing." Dean took off his jacket and began unbuttoning the shirt he'd traveled in. "We might find Minerva there at once, and I could be re-engaged by dinner."

"I wish you all the happiness in the world," Rob said quietly. "May Miss Lewis be exactly what you need."

Dean concentrated on his buttons. "Amen to that."

He and Rob finished dressing in proper afternoon-wear, Rob skillfully arranging their cravats into a simple but elegant style. "This must have a name," Dean said, touching the starched folds of white at his neck. "But I'm damned if I know it."

"It's called the 'Mathematical.'" Rob brushed a bit of lint from Dean's lapel. "Look at you—you look quite respectable."

Dean stooped to see as much of himself as he could in the inadequate mirror.

"Well, at least my clothes do."

"You'd be very handsome, without the black eye," Rob said with amusement. "Just tell the ladies you got it sparring with Gentleman Jackson instead of a bedpost, and they'll be all over you."

"Hmph." Dean scowled at his reflection. Mutton dressed as a baron of beef was still just as unappealing underneath.

"Honestly," Rob said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "you do dress up nicely."

As did Rob, who looked especially gorgeous in proper clothing, carrying himself with an easy elegance that seemed to bolster his claim to good breeding. And yet... "I preferred you in your shirtsleeves, the day we caught that blasted fish." Before the other man could read anything into his words, Dean continued quickly. "None of your old men will be here for the waters, will they?"

"I don't know," Rob said. "I wouldn't expect so, but I didn't imagine we'd meet anyone I knew on the road. I'm truly sorry we did, and that it embarrassed you so. If you like, we can split up when we reach the Pump Room, so that no one realizes we're traveling together."

"Perhaps that's for the best," Dean said, nodding. You'll signal me if you see the man who hired you to ruin me?" Anticipation made his breathing tight. It would be so satisfying to confront an actual, verifiable enemy.

"I'll consider it, if you promise not to make a scene right there and then."

"I promise."

Rob gave a tight smile. "Then let's go."

Dean stood just inside the doorway to the Pump Room, looking around in dismay.

More than sixty feet long and forty-five across, and every inch filled with laughing, chattering, gaily-clad people. When he'd been here with his father, the elegant, colonnaded room had been much less crowded. But the Season had ended in London, and the ton had few choices this time of year: retire to their country estates for grouse hunting, or recuperate from the demands of the social whirl at one of the spas.

Brighton, in higher fashion these days, was probably even more crowded. Dean made a few aimless circuits around the room before realizing that everyone else was circling it, too. He'd have better luck observing the throng if he stayed in one place and let them pass.

Which was, Dean noted, exactly what his companion was doing. Rob had taken a post at the south end of the room near the pump itself, a marble vase from which the water issued, and was standing there sipping a glass of the waters while watching the passersby. An older man looked up from filling his own glass from the fountain, peering at Rob intently. Dean watched with dismay as the man smiled and approached Rob.

"Lord Carwick, isn't it?"

A man, vaguely familiar, had stopped to speak to him. Dean placed the pudgy young face with difficulty. "You're Minerva's cousin, aren't you? How are things at school, Mr. Lincoln?" He smiled and nodded as the other man responded, not failing to keep an eye on Rob and his gentleman on the other side of the Pump Room. Were the prostitute's patrons everywhere? Only thirteen, Rob had claimed. And yet Dean was supposed to believe the man had never lied to him. The two spoke for a long moment before the elder took his leave, shaking Rob's hand warmly.

Dean tried to pay attention to his own conversation. "Are you in Bath for long?"

Lincoln was saying.

"A few days, I suppose. Minerva's still in town, isn't she?" Across the room, Rob looked smaller when the elderly man was gone, pulled into himself somehow.

"Well—yes, she is. Until the end of the week, anyway. Then she and her..."

Dean didn't care where Minerva and her aunt were going next. Rob had found and locked eyes with him, and Dean felt a tangible pull in his direction. What's wrong, Rob? What did he say to hurt you so?

"I'm sorry, excuse me. If you see Minerva, tell her I'll call on her tomorrow." He found himself crossing the room, heedless of his earlier resolution to keep separate from Rob in public. Dean managed to restrain himself from pushing roughly through the crowd to get to his target. Just. The closer he got, the less he liked the look on Rob's face. At last he reached the pump. "Rob. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Rob smiled, unconvincingly. "Have you found Miss Lewis?"

"No. She's not here, but she is still in Bath." Dean put his hand on the other man's arm. It shook beneath his touch. "Do you want to leave?"

"Yes, please."

"Rob, what is it? Was that one of your gentlemen?"

"Oh. No. Something much less expected, actually. It turns out..." Rob sipped from his glass. "God, this stuff is dreadful. Here's hoping it really has some health to it." He looked at Dean. "It turns out I resemble my father more than I thought. The man who spoke to me was a good friend of his."

"He recognized you as a member of your family?"

"Yes." Rob's laugh was tremulous. "Somehow, being known for who I am is worse than being known for what I am, if that makes sense. If anyone ever put the two together, it would be a terrible embarrassment for my family. Mortifying. I couldn't stand that."

"Come on," Dean said gently. "Let's go."

Rob shook his head. "You should stay: the band won't stop playing for almost an hour. If Miss Lewis should come in, you'll miss her."

"We'll go to her aunt's house tomorrow. What's another half day?" He took Rob's forearm and guided him from the Pump Room. What could he do to make Rob feel better? Given their location, there was one obvious possibility. "Let's go to the baths.

A good long soak is just what you need."

It did seem to help, Dean thought shortly later, sitting next to Rob in the hot room of the New Private Baths. Dressed in coarse canvas smocks and trousers supplied by an attendant, they wallowed up to their necks in steaming water. The baths were all but deserted at this time of day, several of the larger establishments already having closed after the morning rush of business. Dean welcomed the privacy as much as the bone-penetrating heat. After so many days spent jostling around his uncle's old coach, the water was an unimagined pleasure, melting away the physical aches of the journey.