The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance (66 page)

He tugged. The fingers on his arm resisted a moment and then he was reluctantly released.

“Thank you, thank you, Miss Howitt,” he said fervently, as they moved away. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I feared I was to be Mrs Russo’s prisoner for life.”

Clarinda bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Mrs Russo is one of our long time residents, Mr Quentin.”

“Is that what happens to someone who lives here too long?” he demanded, wide-eyed, but with a teasing smile.

This time she did laugh.

“She said I had a smell of London about me, which sounded most unpleasant.”

Miss Howitt gave him a shy smile. She had the sweetest mouth and he wished she would smile more often. If she were his, he would make it his goal to see her smile each and every day.

“I think she meant to imply you had a certain style, sir, that can only be found in London.”

He nodded soberly. “Thank you for explaining that to me, Miss Howitt. I thought she might be insulting me, but I hardly liked to fight a duel with a woman of her age. Indeed with a woman of any age.”

“No, duels are frowned upon in Bath society. Although I believe Mrs Russo is quite an expert with a crossbow.”

Her blue eyes were sparkling delightfully and a frisson ran through him and centred itself on his heart. It was a sensation he had not experienced in a very long time and he could not ignore it, no matter how urgent his current mission.

“Miss Howitt …” he began rashly.

But she was already speaking.

“Mr Quentin.” She took a breath, as if her words were somehow momentous. Did she feel it too? This sense of the meeting of two beings who were destined to meet? He leaned closer and breathed in her scent, drowning in visions of Clarinda lying in his arms quite naked. And then he heard what she was saying.

“I want you to meet my sister, Lucy. She is standing over there, by the vase of flowers. Do you see her? The girl with dark hair?”

Confused, he glanced in the direction she indicated. There were a number of girls gathered in a group, girls who looked as if they were just out of the schoolroom. One of them did seem to have dark hair.

She was watching him with anticipation, and because he didn’t want to disappoint her, he said, “Delightful.”

He was rewarded with a beaming smile, her eyes shining up at him. “Yes, she is delightful. I think, although of course I am biased, she is the loveliest girl in Bath.”

“Indeed your sister is very pretty, Miss Howitt.”

“Come and I will introduce you, Mr Quentin.” She began to make her way towards the group of schoolgirls. He stood a moment, watching her go, absorbed in the graceful perfection of her figure and the elegance of her bearing. Why did no one else in the room realize what a treasure she was? When she glanced back, surprised he was not following, he had to hurry after her.

The introductions were made, although James hardly heard them, but he must have said all the right things for no one gave him a peculiar look. Lucy was indeed an engaging girl, and smiled and chatted about Bath and then laughed when he lamented the weather. And all the time Clarinda beamed upon him like a fairy godmother who had just granted him his dearest wish.

When an older woman in a striped silk gown joined them, she was introduced as Lady March, Clarinda’s aunt. She examined him coldly through her quizzing glass as though seeking fault.

“How do you do, Lady March?” he said politely.

“Particularly ill, sir. My niece misled me as to your identity.”

“Aunt, I’m sorry, I thought you were speaking of Mr Quentin when you—”

“As I recall I said, ‘Who is that handsome gentleman?’ and you told me it was Mr Quentin. In fact it was Mr Collingwood I was referring to.”

“Aunt, please …” Clarinda’s eyes met his and darted away. She flushed scarlet.

“Mr Quentin is handsome enough,” her aunt went on, as if he wasn’t there, “but he is rather too healthy looking for my liking. Mr Collingwood has some very interesting ailments — he quite puts the rest of us invalids in the shade.”

“You are an invalid, Lady March?” James said with an air of surprise, trying not to enjoy the fact that Clarinda thought him the handsomest man in the room. “You disguise your suffering well, I must say.”

She gave him a stoic smile that did not reach her steely eyes. “There is no point in complaining, Mr Quentin. Now, come along, Clarinda. You too, Lucy. I have discovered there is a shop where it is possible to purchase wheeled chairs. We have no time to waste. I really must have one. Mr Collingwood says his sister pushes him everywhere in it,” she added with satisfaction.

For a moment there was anguish on Clarinda’s face, so heart wrenching that James took a step closer, but the next moment her face assumed a resigned expression.

“Yes, Aunt. Goodbye, Mr Quentin. Will we see you at the ball in the New Assembly Rooms on Thursday night?”

“Oh yes,” piped Lucy, “you must put your name down in the book, sir. No one is allowed to attend unless their name is down in the book.”

“Then I shall do so post-haste,” he assured her, with a quizzical smile. “Where is this book?”

Aunt March was hurrying them away, showing amazing resilience for an invalid.

“Ask Mrs Russo!” Clarinda called back to him, and for a moment her smile was back, though less brilliant than before.

James watched them go. The old woman, Lady March, seemed to have Clarinda in her clutches and would not easily let her go. Well, he would see about that. At Waterloo he had helped defeat Napoleon; Lady March didn’t stand a chance.

“And who, pray, is this Mr Quentin?” Lady March demanded, when they were safely back in Sydney Place.

Clarinda turned from the soft patter of rain on the window, where she had been staring dreamily into the afternoon shadows. “He is lately arrived in Bath,” she said, but when Lady March continued to glare at her impatiently, she added, “He is a gentleman, and his manners are good. He is putting up at the Good King and planning to stay for some time. He—”

“He is wealthy.” Lady March liked to get to the point.

“It would seem so,” Clarinda replied cautiously. She glanced at her sister, who was reading upon the chaise longue. “What did you think of Mr Quentin, Lucy?”

Lucy set down her book and yawned sleepily. “Lord, I don’t know, Clarinda. He’s amusing enough but he’s quite old, isn’t he? Not like Monsieur Henri,” she added dreamily.

“You can’t prefer the hero in that book to Mr Quentin,” Clarinda declared with uncharacteristic crossness. “Really, Lucy, he’s charming and sophisticated and perfect in every way.”

Lucy’s pretty face took on a mulish look. “If you think that, Clarinda, then you must be falling in love with him yourself.”

There was a silence. Clarinda felt too shocked to reply, not so much at Lucy’s temper but at the idea that she should be falling in love with a man when her future was already set.

“I am most disappointed about my wheeled chair,” Lady March announced in a loud voice. “Sold out indeed. I cannot believe there are so many people in Bath requiring them at this present time. I am sure no one needs one as urgently as I do. Perhaps I could send up to London for one. What do you think, Clarinda?”

“I think you should wait and see if you can find one closer to Bath, Aunt,” said Clarinda, knowing who would be pushing her aunt around in the wheeled chair.

“Humph!”

“Perhaps Mr Collingwood could help you find one,” Lucy added, with a bland look on her face and a naughty twinkle in her eye. “Do you know where he is staying, Aunt?”

“He has a disease of the lower limbs that makes them swell up enormously,” Lady March said with relish. “He has invited me to tea, to examine them.”

“Poor man.” Lucy could not help but feel sorry for him.

“I wonder how he contracted it?” Lady March gazed into the fire.

Clarinda and Lucy exchanged a speaking glance, and Lucy gave a shudder. “I’m sorry I was cross,” Lucy whispered. “I did not mean to snap at you.”

“I know you did not.”

“You only want what is best for me,” Lucy went on in a dull voice.

Clarinda looked at her sister in surprise. “But you must want to marry and have a fine house and fine clothes and … and … Surely every young woman wants to live grandly?”

“I suppose so,” Lucy agreed, but she didn’t sound very certain. “But I want to fall in love first, Clarinda. I would hate to marry a man simply because he was wealthy or had a title. I do not crave to wear pretty dresses or ride in a fine carriage as much as that.”

“You are very young,” Clarinda began, as if this was an excuse.

“You speak as though your own life were over,” Lucy retorted.

“We owe Aunt March a great deal,” Clarinda said, as if this were an answer, glancing at the older woman now dozing in her chair.

“You have spent ten years caring for her,” Lucy said, suddenly seeming far older than Clarinda knew her to be, “and it is time I took my turn.”

Clarinda opened her mouth, closed it again. Suddenly everything seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. Slyly, the image of herself and James Quentin crept into her head. How could she dare to believe such a thing was possible? That she should be granted the chance of such happiness?

If she were to allow herself to begin to believe only to have her dreams snatched away from her, it would be too cruel. Clarinda knew she would rather lock them away now, before they could gain purchase, than be shattered by the dashing of her hopes.

“We shall see,” she said firmly.

Lucy sighed. “That means you intend to have your own way,” she murmured. “But this time, Clarinda, you will see. I intend to have mine.”

“The Pump Room went well, My Lord?”

Dunn’s curious gaze took in his master, as if trying to decide what there was about him that was different.

“Well enough, and please do not call me by that title.” Dunn took his coat. “I am sorry, sir, but you are Lord Hollingbury.”

“I know I am, Dunn, I just … Oh dash it, I suppose you’re right. I’ll have to get used to it one day.”

“Did you learn anything to your advantage, My Lord?”

“To my …?” James repeated, momentarily dazed. “Oh, you mean … No, Dunn, I didn’t.”

James poured himself a brandy. He felt the need of it. The water in the Pump Room had been as nasty as he feared, and he told himself the brandy was to wash the taste out of his mouth. In truth it was to settle his nerves, which were rattled far more than he liked to admit.

Mrs Russo had clutched hold of him again after Clarinda left, and she had been most forthcoming. She had informed him, with false sympathy, that Lady March’s two nieces were only with her because she had kindly offered them a home after they were destitute. “Poor as church mice,” she added, with a sly look. “Good looking, I grant you. The younger one may make a good marriage. Miss Clarinda is obliged to remain with her aunt, but she has expressed a wish that her sister may have an independent life. So unselfish of her, don’t you think? What did you think of the youngest Miss Howitt, sir? She is generally thought to be quite a beauty.”

James frowned. Now he recalled the moment when Clarinda introduced her sister and there had been something watchful in her gaze as she beamed at him. He almost groaned aloud. Clarinda thought he would fall for Lucy and she was happy with that. She did not want him for herself. Acknowledging it made him damned angry.

Now James shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of Clarinda. He had come to Bath with one object in mind and here he was being diverted. It would not do at all.

“How can I find her?” he muttered. “Does she even want to be found?”

Dunn looked concerned. “If she is in Bath, then we must discover her, sir, whether she likes it or not. It is not such a large town and there is a great deal of gossip.”

“But she has hidden herself away. Will she understand how much I want to find her and restore her to her proper station in life?” His face darkened. “My brother had a great deal to answer for, Dunn.”

“It was unfortunate you were away in the army when it happened, My Lord.”

“But now I have a chance to amend matters.”

If only Clarinda would stop distracting him.

No, he told himself, he would put her from his mind.

But he found he couldn’t. She came to him in his dreams. Clarinda Howitt was perfection, well perhaps not entirely, she did want him to marry her sister after all. But he knew he wanted her by his side when he began his new life as Lord Hollingbury.

Which was why he found himself in front of her house two mornings later, waiting for his card to be taken upstairs, and permission given for him to meet Clarinda face to face.

Clarinda felt her hands shaking as she smoothed her skirts and pinched her cheeks. She looked wan, with great dark shadows under her eyes. Her aunt had taken a turn in the night, claiming her limbs were swelling like the hot air balloon they had seen flying overhead in the summer. Clarinda knew it was all nonsense, that she had taken the idea from Mr Collingwood, whom she’d visited during the day. But when Lady March decided she was ill there was nothing to be done but ride the wave to its conclusion.

Dr Moorcroft had come and was upstairs with Lady March, listening patiently to her symptoms. At first, when there was a tap on her door, Clarinda had thought it was the doctor wishing to speak to her, but instead it was the maid with a card from James Quentin.

Her
James Quentin.

No, no, that was not right. He was not hers. He could never, ever be hers. Her life, her future, was fixed. Lucy could never handle Lady March, no matter what she said. No matter how much she wished it could be so. Whatever he wanted she must send him away and as soon as possible. To let him linger was only to cause herself more pain and suffering.

With a new iron resolve, Clarinda descended to the vestibule.