Holiday in Bath (18 page)

Although it had been no problem for Cranford to keep up with the hurrying chairmen, the girl was another matter and she nodded her head and murmured, “Yes, my lady.”

There were tree-lined walks by artificial waterfalls, grottoes, thatched pavilions, and a sham castle among the attractions of the Gardens, in addition to two iron bridges in the Chinese style over the canal and a charming rotunda at the far end, but Lady Babthorpe’s goal was the labyrinth. From past experience she knew an ideal spot in it where one might count on no interruptions, since attaining it meant making almost every conceivable wrong turn in the maze. For the weary or discouraged there was a rustic bench to which she soon led her escort, though she was far from weary and quite the opposite of discouraged.

Cranford was amused by her determination but wary of her intentions. Years ago it had seemed nothing but a lark to be her lover, to cuckold that irascible old man who was her husband. Not that she was any less desirable today than she had been then; the violet eyes were still sleepily provocative, the sensual lips begged to be kissed, and she had a way of tucking her lawn handkerchief down the cunningly low front of her walking dress which made him long to retrieve it. Languidly she tapped the place beside her and eyed him with raised brows.

When he hesitated, she said, “No one ever strays this far afield, Cranford. Have you lost your nerve? You surprise me. Or perhaps I’ve grown haggard this last year and not noticed." The full red lips pouted invitingly.

“You know you haven’t, Drucilla.” Unsmiling, he took the seat beside her, calmly draping one leg over the other. “When I was younger I had no nerves, nor any prudence either. I have developed great stores of both these last years. Don’t mistake me, Drucilla. You are as desirable now as you were then and I’d as lief take up where we left off as not, if it weren’t for this confounded sense of responsibility I now labor under.”

“Hogwash! You haven’t a fiber of mortality in your body, Cranford; I should know.” Her eyes sparked with anger. “Who was it who led young Reedness to every gambling hell in London though he couldn’t for his very soul keep himself sober enough to know what he was doing? Who was the fire-eater who nearly fought a duel over the right to see me, a married lady, home?” Her tone became strident for her coup de grace. “Who was the man who lay in my arms the night he was supposed to be at Ashwicke Park, the night his mother died?”

Cranford’s face set in cold, hard lines, and a muscle in his cheek twitched. “I didn’t know she was dying.”

“You had faithfully promised to be there. I saw you write the letter at my escritoire.”

“I should have been, God help me. Things have been different since then.”

“Men don’t change, Cranford. That streak of wild abandonment is there just beneath your polished exterior, waiting for a chance to escape. Do you think I didn’t see the way you looked at me just now? Were you remembering those nights? There was an added thrill to think of Alfred in his room down the hall, snoring loud enough to wake the dead, drunk as a wheelbarrow. Admit it, Cranford. You loved every minute of it.” When he said nothing, merely met her eyes with an indecipherable gaze, she shook her head and said softly, “I don’t blame you for adopting this prudish air, just don’t think you can fool me by it. I know you too well. You’ll go on better in society acting just as you do; no more mothers will protect their daughters from your rakish advances, and no more fathers will protest their sons’ keeping company with you. But you needn’t maintain such virtue in private, my dear. Bath can be very dull for the virtuous, and releasing a little pent-up mischief will only help you maintain your image. I can be very discreet, as you well know.”

“Yes.” He withdrew his gaze from her face and contemplated the gravel walk absently for several minutes, almost unaware of her presence. Possibly she was right, but he thought not. His dissipated youth he had seen for some time as a rebellion against his father’s tyranny. Life at Ashwicke Park had not been easy for him and his inability to make the positions of his mother and sister easier had driven him in frustration to London. Not that he had thought of them much when he was there. It was all too easy to forget their uncomfortable plight under that petty dictator when one threw oneself into the frenzy of town life. All too easy to become enmeshed in gambling debts and sordid love affairs, which merely made life more difficult at the Park, but he was not there to suffer for his dissolution. Lady Chessels and Clare were the ones to send him what money they could from their allowances, and beg any necessary additional from his father. Even now he cringed to think of those years, and Lady Babthorpe was inextricably linked in his mind with that past.

Cranford was realistic enough to acknowledge her sexual appeal for him and yet determined that he was not willing to become involved yet again in such a situation. There was always Kitty in Kendal to satisfy his desires; he wouldn’t be in Bath that long. The wild rage in him which had exhibited itself in those London years was spent, or under control. If Drucilla was right—that it was just under the surface—he did not want her to call it forth.

He allowed his gaze to alight on her bosom, where the edge of the handkerchief just barely showed and he smiled regretfully. “You’re an enchantress, Drucilla, but I cannot afford to be enchanted just now. I’ve given my word to take care of the two Storwood ladies; and, believe me, the daughter takes a bit of looking after.”

Flattered by his praise, but disgruntled by his rejection, Lady Babthorpe pouted. “Is she an heiress then? And you mean to have her?”

“We’re neighbors and here on holiday,” Cranford answered noncommittally. “I’ll be expected to chaperone them to assemblies and parties.”

“I’ll be bound Mr. Wheldrake would willingly stand in for you.”

Cranford raised a questioning brow. The previous evening had seen him too occupied with old acquaintances to take note of Mrs. Storwood and Mr. Wheldrake.

“He’s a widower now and methinks with a lively eye for your neighbor’s wife. You could easily leave the escort duties to him.”

“I doubt that would overly please Mr. Storwood.”

“But it might please his wife. I know what it’s like to have a sick old man for a husband.

“Mr. Storwood is young enough to be Lord Babthorpe’s son.” Cranford rose and extended his hand to raise her. When she hesitated, an angry flush on her cheeks, he conciliated her by stooping to raise her hand to his lips and kiss it lingeringly. “I had no notion I would find you here in Bath, or I might have thought twice before arriving here encumbered. And I haven’t the least desire to make any of your admirers jealous, Drucilla. Do you remember Sir Lowell? He very nearly had me impressed into the Navy!”

Reluctantly she laughed. “You would have been if you hadn’t spouted Latin at that gang. Oh, Cranford, we had such a lovely time.”

“Yes.” He ran a finger around the oval of her face. “It’s not an easy life for you, Drucilla, but you chose it with your eyes open.”

She shrugged a negligent shoulder. “It has its compensations.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She had risen and he placed her hand on his arm. “I’ll take you home. Shall I get you a chair?”

“No, it’s only a step. Have you heard what happened to Sir Lowell? He’s the most incomprehensible fellow.”

They strolled back through the walks in reasonable charity with one another, picking up the maid as they left the gardens and progressed along Great Pultney Street. Lady Babthorpe was not pleased with the result of their interview, but she did not despair of bringing Cranford to heel. Her vanity did not allow for the disenchantment of her former slaves, and in his eyes and his touch she divined a reawakened interest. She enlivened their walk with a bright, sophisticated chatter interspersed with sultry glances and the sensuous play of her fingers on his arm. Amused, but not altogether unaffected by her presence, Cranford nearly forgot his mission.

The laughing, victorious sparkle in her eyes stayed him at her door. “Are you not forgetting something, Cranford?”

With the promptness of someone recollecting a face thought unfamiliar at first glance he replied, “The novel I wished to borrow.”

“Wait here, I don’t think my lord would appreciate your coming in: I’ll have Clothilde bring you the volumes.”

“Thank you, Lady Babthorpe,” he said for the benefit of the footman who opened the door to her. “I trust the walk has not tired you.”

“Not at all. I feel quite rejuvenated.” She flashed him a brilliant smile before disappearing into the townhouse.

Cranford was left to amuse himself on the stoop for an unconscionable period of time, during which he counted two curricles, three phaetons, and a barouche pass by, in addition to nine groups of strollers. He was about to depart, thinking she was toying with him, when the maid at last appeared at the door and delivered several volumes into his hands. “My lady hopes you will enjoy the book, sir,” the girl murmured, swiftly glancing about her, “and most especially the contents of Chapter Three.”

Irritated by the air of intrigue with which this was delivered, Cranford tucked the books under his arm and replied only, “I shall return the volumes as soon as possible.”

Being around the corner from Mrs. Waplington’s house, he had a good mind to take
Emma
directly to Trelenny and insist that she read it herself, but thought better of the plan. He refused, also, to look up at the window above him as he walked away, sure that Drucilla was there expecting him to do precisely that. Devil take the both of them, he thought, chagrined. Women are a plague bent on destroying the sanity of mankind. Cranford absently made the turn into High Street, where he accidentally brushed against a young man coming from the opposite direction. “My apologies, sir.

“Ashwicke? What the hell has brought you to Bath? When I saw you at Sally’s I thought you were ensconced at the Park for the autumn!” the fellow ejaculated.

“Tony Bodford! Lord, the place is crawling with familiar faces. What brings you here?”

“Royal command. The old man sent me down to find him lodgings for the winter, says he couldn’t last it out if it’s like the last few years.” At his companion’s look of concern, he laughed. “Oh, it’s just a whim of his. Really, I’ve not seen him in finer fettle in years. Where are you putting up?”

“At the White Hart, though Rissington has offered me a room in his place here in High Street. I’ve escorted some neighbors here. The Storwoods. Do you know them?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Staying long?”

“I hardly know. A few weeks, a few days. It may be necessary for the Storwoods to return sooner than expected. Join me for a glass, Tony. I should send a note off to Mrs. Storwood and I can pen it while they bring up a bottle.”

When they reached his room Cranford tossed his hat on a table and carelessly discarded the volumes of
Emma
beside it while he waved his friend to a chair. “I won’t be a moment. Help yourself when they bring the Lisbon.” He broke the seal of a letter handed to him on entering to find that his friend, Lord Rissington, insisted on his removing himself to High Street without delay. “Tony, Rissington has found a place for the Storwoods, but they’re staying with Mrs. Waplington. Maybe it would do for your father. Here, see what he has to say about it.” Handing over the letter, he seated himself at the desk and pulled forth a sheet on which he quickly penned a note to Mrs. Storwood asking if he might escort them somewhere that evening. If their stay was to be short, Trelenny certainly deserved to do as much as possible before they left.

In the hours which followed, Cranford visited with his friend Tony and removed his belongings to High Street, where he took dinner with Lord Rissington and received a note from Mrs. Storwood (thanking him for his thoughtfulness and saying that she felt quite up to going to the Upper Rooms if he would be so good as to accompany them). Not once did he glance at the volumes of
Emma
which he had brought with him and, since he had to hurry in dressing, he completely forgot that there was doubtless a message from Lady Babthorpe inserted in Chapter Three.

The Upper Rooms were crowded by the time the Storwoods arrived. Trelenny had never seen so many people in one place in her life, and she shrank closer to her mother as they entered the long room with its Corinthian columns and fireplaces, brilliant chandeliers and musicians’ cove. There were so many people that it was difficult to move about, and the sea of faces contained no familiar one for Trelenny, outside of their party, which consisted of ‘the Waplingtons, Mr. Wheldrake, and Cranford. Mrs. Waplington seldom attended the assemblies, which had become, so she said, “infested with the common folk, and far too crowded for real enjoyment,” but her cheerful demeanor belied any negative feelings she might have. She knew everyone, or so it seemed to Trelenny, who was introduced to dozens of people whose names she could not catch in the constant roar of voices, and whose faces soon merged in her mind with one another.

Helplessly she looked to Cranford for encouragement, since her mother’s attention was claimed by Mr. Wheldrake, but he was acting distant with her because of the morning’s contretemps and she gave a resigned sigh, feeling very much on her own. Mr. Waplington soon deserted them for the card room and, after one set with her, Cranford stood back with a detached expression on his face as if to say, “Well, get on with it. Let’s see what you can make of yourself.”

The smile remained frozen on Trelenny’s face as young men were presented to her and led her off for the country dances. She was not used to the stilted conversation which the movement of the dance necessitated, but she refused to be tongue-tied under Cranford’s critical eyes. Several times she attempted remarks on riding and life in the country, but her partners seemed surprised and not altogether pleased. When they spoke of prominent figures in the ton she could do little more than disguise her ignorance. The evening began to stretch out to uncomfortable lengths.

And then Mr. Rowle appeared with his mysterious eyes and adventurous air. He was elegantly dressed in a coat of blue superfine, which set his athletic figure off to advantage, for though he was not a tall man like Cranford he had a set of broad shoulders and a well-turned leg which could evoke only admiration. Mr. Rowle came first to Mrs. Storwood to make his bow, reminding her solemnly that they had met that morning in the Pump Room. Had he assumed that she would have remembered him, she would probably have been less pleased at his appearance, but he presented to her a very proper diffidence which she found altogether acceptable. He was unknown to Mrs. Waplington, and on being presented was highly respectful, though he soon made her laugh with his clever observations on the company. Cranford regarded him impassively and Mr. Wheldrake with no more than ordinary interest, but Trelenny waited impatiently for the moment he would turn to her and request the honor of a dance.