Mayhem in Bath (27 page)

Apart from all this, the usual business of the Vauxhall was also in progress. People strolled on the walks, laughter issued from the labyrinth, and horsemen and women exercised their mounts on the rides. A breeze stirred, and some autumn leaves fell, shining like polished brass and cooper in the bright sunlight. Polly caught one as it drifted past.

“Is that how easy you think it is to capture what you want, Miss Peach?” inquired Georgiana’s voice from just inside the writing room.

Polly turned. “You wish to see me, Lady Georgiana?” she inquired coolly.

“Yes, Miss Peach, I certainly do.” Georgiana’s dark eyes glittered as she stepped into the sunlight. She still wore her cerise pelisse and leghorn bonnet, but the spoiled butter-cream muslin gown had now been replaced by one of the softest ice-green silk. “It grieves me to have to speak with you on such a delicate subject, but I fear there is no alternative.”

“What delicate subject might that be?” Polly inquired, but knew it could only be Dominic. She braced herself for whatever was about to come.

“Why, Dominic, of course. Strange to say, I wish to spare you the humiliation that undoubtedly awaits if you keep your assignation with him.”

Polly drew back uneasily. How did Georgiana know about that? The answer followed swiftly, for it could only be because Dominic himself had told her. Polly’s self-confidence faltered. Compared with Georgiana’s glorious raven beauty, what chance had Polly Peach’s pale prettiness ever had?
Oh, fool, fool!

Georgiana smiled. “You can hardly be surprised that I know, Miss Peach, for he was bound to tell me.”

“Bound to?”

“Of course, for he has proposed, and I have accepted. He came to me before dawn today and spent several very passionate hours in my arms. At your, er, assignation, he intends to tell you quite bluntly that he has been leading you on. My advice is to stay inside and save your dignity.”

Polly’s heart plunged. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie? Why would I come here to warn you?”

“For spite?” Polly suggested.

Georgiana gave a light laugh. “Well, I suppose you would think that, wouldn’t you? However, I have proof that he is mine, although I trust you will forgive me if I don’t reveal the full contents of what is a very tender and loving letter.” She took a folded sheet of paper from her reticule and held it up so that Polly could read the top portion.
October 30th, 1800. Royal Crescent. My dearest Georgiana. . .

His dearest Georgiana? A lump constricted Polly’s throat, for the letter had been written only yesterday. A snatch of words from the ball rang through her consciousness again. Her own voice speaking to Dominic, “
I
was wondering about your feelings for Lady Georgiana.”
His reply,
“What feelings?”
He had avoided a direct answer, and she, poor idiot, had let her emotions run free.

Georgiana came to stand beside her, resting cool gloved hands on the balcony rail. “Spite is not my motive, Miss Peach. I am genuinely concerned, and have no wish to grind you with my heel.”

“Lady Georgiana, given your attitude hitherto, I find your apparent magnanimity now impossible to believe.” Polly’s emotions were spinning. After all last night’s kisses, Dominic had so far dismissed Polly Peach from his mind as to invite the greatest cat in England to be his bride? More, he intended to humiliate her when she kept their assignation?

Georgiana smiled again. “If you will not believe what I say, or the loving evidence of his letter, at least you must accept that I could only know about your noon assignation if he told me.”

Polly didn’t respond. Her heart was thudding so wretchedly that she was sure the other would hear, and she had to place her hands very firmly on the rail in order to hide their trembling.

Georgiana went on. “He found you amusing, my dear, that’s all. You were nothing more or less than a passing conquest. That’s the way of it, I fear, green young creatures like you so often fall prey to a talented seducer.”

“He didn’t seduce me!” Polly cried, then turned away in embarrassment as the musicians nearby all turned to stare.

“No? He says he did. He says it happened last night, after you left the ball together.”

“It’s not true,” Polly whispered.

“Possibly, but the fact is that he
says
that’s what happened. Men will boast of their conquests—imagined or otherwise—will they not? And I fear that we women pay with our reputations. So you see, if you keep that appointment with him, you will feel very foolish indeed.”

“Dominic wouldn’t say such things of me,” Polly said in a choked voice.

Georgiana straightened. “You think not? Well, go out there at noon and find out. Take this visit of mine as the friendly gesture it is, Miss Peach, and be advised to stay inside. He’s mine, and the truth is now sealed with a betrothal.” She removed her glove to reveal a dazzling diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “It was his mother’s,” she murmured, turning her hand so the jewels caught the sunlight.

“What of the Marquess of Hightower? Were you toying with him as Sir Dominic would seem to have with me?” Polly asked, struggling not to show how devastated she was.

“No, I wasn’t toying with him. Indeed I had every intention of marrying him, but true and passionate love outranks everything, my dear, even one of the grandest titles in the land.” Georgiana slipped her hand back into her glove. “Ah, well, my good deed is done, and whether or not you pay heed to my advice is up to you. Good-bye, Miss Peach, for I doubt we will meet again.” With that she swept from the balcony.

Cruel heartbreak grasped Polly, and she closed her eyes as tears began to well down her cheeks.

Meanwhile, as his niece’s happiness crumbled into misery, Hordwell sat in the library at Royal Crescent. He was trying to read the daily paper as he waited for Lord Benjamin to arise, that gentleman having been brought home from the ball in such a drunken stupor that four footmen were needed to carry him to his bed. Hordwell was anxious to start searching for Nutmeg’s belt, and so was far too agitated to concentrate on the newspaper. He didn’t know Bodkin and Ragwort were in the room with him. They were seated on the pelmet, and would have indulged in much mischief at his expense, had not Ragwort been still so much the worse for wear that all he could do was sit with his aching head in his hands. Never again would he touch alcohol! Never! And as if a headache and churning stomach were not bad enough, he knew he’d cooked his goose with Caraway. Oh, why had he drunk so much?

The wretched brownie closed his eyes as he thought of all the things he’d done. Not that he remembered anything; his mind was a blank from the moment he’d spoken to Caraway. Bodkin told him he’d swung from the ballroom chandeliers, breaking one of them, and that Caraway had been so disgusted with him that she’d walked off in a huff. He felt unutterably awful!

At last Lord Benjamin came downstairs. He, too, was suffering the aftereffects of the night before, having had far too much cherry brandy. Wearing a gray-and-gold embroidered dressing gown and a tasseled cap, he came gingerly into the library, intent upon some hair of the dog. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Hordwell,” he grunted, pouring a hefty measure of cognac.

“Still here?” Hordwell replied brightly. “Why, of course, my friend. Why should I not be?”

“Because of my trials at the uncaring hands of your niece.” Lord Benjamin flung himself on the sofa. “God, I feel ill.”

“Then drink up and you will soon be a little better,” Hordwell advised, smiling in a way he hoped was disguising the blistering rage he felt toward his host. Lord Benjamin sipped the cognac, then looked across at him. “I’m told she’s gone to the Sydney Hotel. Is this so?”

“Yes. I’ve already been to see her.”

“Then you’ll know my supposed crimes. None of what she says is true, you know.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

Bodkin glowered at his former master. How like the miserly old curmudgeon to dismiss Polly’s word and believe Lord B instead.

Lord Benjamin sat up suspiciously. “What’s going on, Hordwell? Why are you being so amiable?”

“Because Polly has explained everything. Oh, I did indeed think the worst of you at first—it was natural that I should—but after I visited her this morning, and we spoke a while, I am sure it can all be resolved.”

“Resolved?”

“The match, dear sir, the match.” Hordwell eyed the pockets of Lord Benjamin’s dressing gown, wondering if either of them contained Nutmeg’s belt.

Bodkin watched him curiously. What was the old skinflint up to?

Lord Benjamin gave a mirthless chuckle. “The match? Hordwell, she won’t even hear of such a thing. You know it, and I now know it, too, so pray do not insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise.”

“Polly’s mind isn’t finally made up on the matter. She feels she may have acted a little precipitately last night, and now wishes to be reconciled with you.”

Lord Benjamin stared at him. “Eh?”

“Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she wishes to start again. You see, I believe she has reconsidered the advantages of becoming Lady Benjamin Beddem.”

“Maybe I don’t want her anymore,” Lord Benjamin replied churlishly and emptied his glass.

“I concede that Polly herself may not be to your liking, but what of her fortune?” Hordwell ventured.

Lord Benjamin got up to replenish his drink, then looked at the other again. “I say, Hordwell, if she
is
coming around ...” he murmured, stroking his chin, which had yet to be shaved.

“Oh, she is, I’m sure of it. In fact, she intends to send you a note of some sort, by way of an olive branch. She trusts to see us at Sydney Gardens tonight, and I think you may be sure of a gracious and encouraging reception.” Hordwell got up painfully from his chair and grasped his walking sticks. “Dear heaven, I think the cure has made me worse, not better,” he muttered, smiling at the other. “My dear sir, you know what women are, their minds are in all directions at once, but then, they are the weaker sex.” Determined to glance inside Lord Benjamin’s dressing gown pockets as he passed, he made his way uncomfortably toward the door.

“The weaker sex? That’s true,” Lord Benjamin replied, not noticing the surreptitious inspection.

Hordwell paused at the door, feeling a little foolish. What point was there in just
looking
for the missing belt—it was invisible! He’d have to feel around for it, and certainly couldn’t do that in the pockets of a dressing gown Lord Benjamin was wearing. He’d take himself up to the fellow’s bedroom and try there. But only if Benjamin intended to stay down here.

From high on the pelmet, Bodkin continued to watch him. The brownie’s curiosity was now truly stirred, because he had observed the old man’s interest in his host’s attire. Why on earth would Hordwell be interested in Lord Benjamin’s pockets? And why was he standing by the door with such an odd expression on his face?

Hordwell cleared his throat. “I say, Benjamin, are you about to have breakfast?”

“Eh? No, I had mine served in my room. What I could eat of it. Why do you ask?” Lord Benjamin looked inquiringly at him.

“Oh, nothing.”

Lord Benjamin grinned. “Hordwell, old friend, your news about Polly has made me feel so much better that I think I will dress and go for a stroll. But first I’ll have another glass.”

Plague take the fellow, Hordwell thought, for the belt was bound to go out on the walk as well. But he said, “Oh, how excellent. Well, I think I’ll go and sit in the garden.” Then he hobbled out.

Bodkin had already clambered down the curtains and slipped from the room with him. The brownie was astonished to hear Hordwell muttering under his breath. “Curse the villain for deciding on a walk!” He then made his slow way along the passage toward the door to the gardens, and Bodkin followed, determined to find out what was going on.

In the library, Lord Benjamin waited until he heard the garden door close, and then rang for a footman. The sound of a bell aroused Ragwort briefly from his sufferings. The brownie looked blearily around, wincing as his poor head thumped relentlessly.

A footman came quickly. “My lord?”

“I want you to go to the White Hart and secure one of their fastest post chaises for an hour after nightfall. It is to wait by the canal at Bathampton. Is that clear?”

“By the canal at Bathampton, an hour after nightfall. Yes, my lord.”

“And tell them I wish refreshments to be provided in the vehicle, for I intend to make a long journey.”

The footman bowed and withdrew. Lord Benjamin then raised his glass. “Why wait upon a woman’s caprices, eh?” he murmured, and drained the glass in one gulp.

Ragwort’s wits weren’t sufficiently about him for the significance of what he’d just heard to make sense. He longed for sleep to make his headache go away, so he shuffled into a more comfortable position on the pelmet, lay on his side, and put his hands beneath his head.

Chapter 35

It was an hour before sunset, and Polly was still in her room with the curtains drawn. She had been there ever since Georgiana’s departure, and at first had wept heartbroken tears into her pillow. Just after noon, a maid had come to the door to tell her Sir Dominic Fortune had called, but Polly had declined to see him. He’d sent the maid back twice, but in the end had gone away. After a while Polly’s tears subsided, and now she lay gazing at the leafy shadows moving against the curtains, but the dappled light reminded her of the diamonds in Georgiana’s betrothal ring. She felt so terrible that she no longer knew if she could even attend the Halloween celebrations, let alone carry out the plan regarding Lord Benjamin. She didn’t want to face anyone right now, not even her uncle. She certainly didn’t want to encounter Dominic or Georgiana—that would be too much.

She got up and went to the washstand to dab cold water on her face. Through a crack in the curtains she saw that the sunlight was now rich and golden, tinged with the first hint of crimson, signifying the gradual closing of the short October afternoon. There was about an hour of daylight left. Perhaps a little fresh air would restore some of her courage, she thought, and went to the wardrobe to take out her cream silk gown, gray velvet spencer, and the pink straw hat that providentially had a little net veil to hide her tearstained face. When she was ready, she picked up the pink pagoda parasol, intending to raise it the moment she was in the gardens. If held at a calculated angle, it would provide another shield from curious glances.