| |
BATH, NOVEMBER 1815, during the Season
Please, oh please, let him not see me. Selena Hartnell gently worked the bolt on the kitchen door away from the swollen timber of its jamb until it slid open. She glanced into the courtyard behind the house. No one waited there. Nothing moved. With one hand over her nose and mouth against the putrid smell of rotting vegetables and worse, she eased the door wider, slipped out into the fading twilight, and hurried along the side of the boarding house until she reached the roadway.
The grizzled man in a shiny clerk’s coat, who had been slouched near the front door of the house, rushed towards her shouting, “Mrs Hartnell, your debt! You must pay!”
She flung out her hand to hail a passing hackney carriage. It stopped and she clambered inside. The man shoved some folded papers into her hand. “It’s debtor’s prison for you if you don’t pay up. You’ve got four weeks, then I’m coming to get you.” He leered at her but stepped back.
Her heart pounding frantically in her chest, Selena slammed the carriage door on him and rapped on the ceiling for the driver to proceed.
“First, show me your fare, madam,” the driver demanded.
Selena wrenched some coins from her reticule, opened her hand to reveal them, and ordered, “Quickly!”
“Where to?” he asked, with bored compliance in his voice.
“To Brock Street. Please hurry!” The words croaked out of her constricted throat.
A whip snapped over the horses’ heads and the hackney lurched forward, pitching Selena against its cracked leather squabs. She sagged in relief as the carriage sped away from the debt collector. Selena read the letter in her hand. She had four weeks. A ball of dread lodged in her stomach.
Soon she was descending from the carriage in front of the Bath stone home of her widowed friend from school, Barbara, the Baroness De Ritz. With her hood pulled low over her face, Selena hurried up a short flight of stairs to the front door and rapped the brass knocker.
The door opened to reveal Barbara’s butler, a relic from her married days, who recognised Selena and pulled the door wide for her entry.
“Is her ladyship in, Sims?” Selena asked.
“She is to you, ma’am,” he replied with a short bow.
“Please take me to her.”
Within seconds, Selena was ushered into the sitting room on the second level. Barbara sat at a small escritoire angled to catch the sunlight falling fitfully through the bay window above the street. Her gown was cut in the latest London fashion, but Selena knew it was home-stitched. Corkscrews of dark hair fell from the topknot at her crown. Her face wore a wide smile of welcome, which collapsed when she saw Selena’s agitation.
“Oh, Barbara, they’ve come for me!”
Selena’s friend hurried over and guided her to a striped chaise longue. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened!”
Sentence by stumbling sentence, Selena confided the awful truth. She was pursued by the moneylender for the amount she had borrowed to send her twelve-year-old sons, George and Harry, into the navy as midshipmen. Her meagre investments were nowhere near enough to repay the interest on the debt and now they demanded payment in full. Five hundred pounds! What could she do?
“I will lend you the money to get rid of the bailiff.”
Selena’s chest tightened. “I could never repay you! Thank you, but no.”
“Then let me give you the money.” The plea in Barbara’s tone was copied on her face.
Never! Selena gave her a withering look. “I can’t allow that. Your husband left you this house and only just enough money to live upon. There must be another way!”
Barbara paced the room. “Is there no one you can call on from your husband’s family to help you?”
Alas, no. She shook her head. They wouldn’t recognise her on the street, let alone help her. Ralph had married down when they wed, and his family had never accepted her.
For a few moments, Barbara tapped a long, buffed nail against her still-white front teeth. “What you need is another husband, and fast!”
“Do I?” Selena felt a sob rise from her constricted chest. She knew Barbara spoke the truth. It was what she needed... but it wasn’t what she wanted.
Barbara rapped out some more home truths in her sergeant major manner. “You must put this blow to your finances behind you and think of your children. First, they need a home, then your sons need an education and your daughters need dowries so they may marry.”
Selena knew all these facts. Damn the stock exchange and her losses last summer when her man of business followed Rothschild in selling shares, but unlike him, hadn’t been savvy enough to repurchase them at the resultant low price. She wanted to go to debtors’ prison even less than to marry again! Selena nodded in acquiescence.
“I will help you.” The ribbons threaded through Barbara’s elaborate hairstyle fluttered with her assertive nod. “But first you and the children must move here. That way, Sims and my footman can keep any debt-collecting jackals from your throat until we resolve your problem.”
Selena gave way to a few minutes of gushing tears, during which her friend hugged her hard. Then she took the lace handkerchief Barbara offered and dried her eyes. “Who will have me when they know I have five children, no money, and debts to pay?”
“Many a man would be glad to marry you despite that.” Barbara’s reply had a forced tone of cheerful positivity.
Really, she had no other choice. Her children deserved better than their mother giving them a debtors’ prison address.
“Besides,” said Barbara, “your suitors don’t have to know your financial position. Leave that aspect to me.” She was making her shrewd eyes again, like when she decided at age eighteen, fresh out of boarding school, that she would marry her late husband, the baron.
“But this is Bath, not London in the Season!” Selena protested.
“Ah, but this is Bath’s very own Season, when anyone who is anyone might be here. And if they’re here, they’ll attend the weekly assemblies during the winter, I assure you!”
***
FOUR DAYS LATER, SELENA arrived at the Bath Assembly Rooms with Barbara. Outside, a blustery wind blew a raw autumn evening. Sauntering through the foyer, her arm linked with Barbara’s as her friend nodded left and right, greeting friends and acquaintances, they progressed towards the ballroom. That room shone with the light of a galaxy of candles mounted in chandeliers.
Selena’s hand-me-down silk dress, courtesy of Barbara, shimmered rich red in the soft candlelight. Her modest bust was boosted skyward in a half-corset, an enticing portion of her breasts exposed for all to see by the low-cut bodice of Barbara’s gown. A borrowed ruby pendant nestled between their milky whiteness.
Altering the gown from her friend’s tall and lush proportions had taken Selena many hours. The colour set off Barbara’s black hair and was the perfect complement to her outgoing personality. Wearing it, Selena, with her chestnut hair and smaller build, felt like an imposter pretending to possess her friend’s composure and authority.
Barbara guided Selena the length of the room, ensuring they were noticed by the gathering social elite of Bath. They reached the furthest point and turned. Barbara raised her gilded fan in a lazy arc before her face, an affectation she had assumed after her marriage as part of her new façade, and surveyed the room.
“Ah,” Barbara said, “I see Lord Rushcroft and some of his acquaintances. What a good start.” She tapped Selena’s arm with her fan. “Stay here while I gather some dance partners for you.”
Selena stood beside the flickering flames of the fireplace in the end wall and watched the baroness march into action with a frontal attack on the nearby group of gentlemen. Barbara hailed one prospect and within a few moments had been introduced to all the others.
In her carrying voice, Barbara explained that she was here accompanying her dearest friend, Mrs Hartnell, and they had hopes of some delightful entertainment when the country dances commenced. With her fan spread to exclude the rest of the room from her confidence, Barbara whispered loudly that her widowed friend wanted to enjoy her stay in Bath now she had the time and money to do so.
Warmth prickled up Selena’s neck in response to that mistruth. From the corner of her eye, she saw several of the gentlemen glance her way with interest.
If they’re fortune hunters, they’ll be very disappointed.
The baroness fluttered her fan. “And she has a little something from her family as well.”
A little indeed! The settlement from her father, Reverend Erasmus Bartlett, God rest his soul, barely paid for coal.
One gentleman continued to look her way. He looked familiar. She frowned as she tried to place his face, his dark hair, his muscular form, and his direct gaze. When had she met him previously? She had led such a quiet, secluded life with her husband, Ralph, at the parsonage, that it must date from before her marriage.
The baroness returned, escorted by the two gentlemen. In size, form, and features, they were of the same pattern, so much so that Selena suspected they were brothers. There, however, the similarity ended.
One looked an austere man—his face unsmiling, his dark hair cropped close to his head and his clothes subdued in colour and presentation, although of the finest quality. Even the pin on his cravat was sombre onyx. The black ribbon of a quizzing glass hung from his waistcoat pocket.
In contrast, the other gentleman appeared far more flamboyant—from his blue silk waistcoat that matched his eyes, to his ready smile, and his dark wavy hair brushed á la Brutus. He was so familiar. Where and when she had known him hovered at the back of her mind, unwilling to materialise.
Barbara introduced them. “Lord Rushcroft, Mr Westaway, may I present my dear friend, Mrs Hartnell?” She turned to Selena. “This is Guy, Viscount Rushcroft, and his cousin, Mr Edward Westaway.”
Mr Westaway, he of the blue waistcoat, bowed over her hand and asked, “Will you do me the honour of joining me for the first country dance?”
Oh my, yes! She inclined her head in what she hoped was cool, self-possessed assent.
With a look of bemusement, the viscount turned to the baroness and sought her acceptance for the same dance. Barbara appeared surprised but agreed. Wearing a half smile, the viscount then sought Selena’s agreement to the second dance.
Behind him, Barbara raised her eyebrows and sent Selena an I-told-you-so smirk. Mr Westaway echoed the request to Barbara.
Before the formal dances began, Barbara introduced more potential dance partners to Selena.
They came in variations of the model man-about-town pattern. Fashion victim Mr Temby wore shirt points that threatened to poke out his eye whenever he moved his head, plus a blood-red, Chinese dragon-patterned waistcoat that clashed violently with his carrot-coloured hair. Mr Davidson, a portly gentleman whose corsets creaked when he bowed, spoke loudly about his carriage horses’ prowess. The harsh-faced Sir Charles Nowland’s shrewd, hooded eyes glittered with... what? Drink or avarice?
By the way in which her suitors purred and preened around her, Selena suspected they were already in love with her supposed wealth.
Each requested a forthcoming dance and Selena accepted the gentlemen’s proposals, as Barbara had meant her to do. After all, it would be unfair to dismiss them on the basis of her first impressions, wouldn’t it?
Eagerly Selena anticipated the first two dances with the dark and handsome Mr Westaway and his more subdued cousin, Lord Rushcroft. Meanwhile, there were the minuets to watch.
At their conclusion, Edward Westaway presented himself to her with a flourishing bow, and offered her his arm to lead her onto the dance floor. Selena placed her gloved fingers on the soft, superfine wool of his coat. Beneath that layer, she felt the warmth of his arm. Hard muscles played under her fingers as he drew her forward into the forming line of participants.
As the dance progressed, they met in the middle of the two lines of dancers and joined hands to promenade to the end.
“Mrs Hartnell, are you staying long-term in Bath?” His warm, liquid-gold voice sent tingles flowing up her spine.
“I moved here a few months ago so my son might attend school here as a day student, rather than a boarder. I hope to remain.”
“There are so many schools here from which to choose. You’re happy with your decision?”
“Indeed. He has settled in well. And you? Do you live here? Have children?”
“I’m staying with my cousin for an extended visit after resigning my commission in the army. I have neither wife nor children. I seem to have missed that boat, although I once had hopes.”
A sad history seemed to lie behind his words, but instead of pursuing that topic, she asked, “I know we have met in the past, so please remind me when, Mr Westaway,
His gaze lingered on her eyes and he murmured, “I thought you might remember me?”
If only she could bring to mind their previous acquaintance! “I do remember you, but I don’t recall the occasion.”
“It was fifteen years to be exact.”
Ah, as I suspected. “Before I married my husband.”
He inclined his head. “We met at Lord Traverson’s Spring Ball during your coming out season.”
The memories of that night came flooding back. Her first ball of the Season. Ralph had been introduced to her then, as had many other eligible men, but she had had eyes for no one but her future husband from the moment of their meeting. Heat flared across her cheeks as she remembered her all-too-obvious partiality for Ralph over her other suitors.
The following day, Edward Westaway and half a dozen young men had called on her, bringing flowers and requests that she reserve them a dance at the next ball, but she had been too distracted to pay them anything more than superficial attention as she waited for Ralph to walk through the sitting room doors. How heartless she had been after she had seen Ralph and instantly decided that he was the one and only man she wanted as a husband, despite all the warnings from her family. “I do apologise, Mr Westaway, for my callous behaviour at that time.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
He shrugged a shoulder. “You were young and smitten. There was no hope for the rest of us once you met Ralph Hartnell.”
He seemed to retain no bitterness towards her. “Shall we start again as though we only met tonight, and forget any prior slight on my part? I was single-minded in attention only to my future husband, and youthfully cruel to all others.”
He bowed his head in recognition of her apology. “Let us put the past behind us and begin our acquaintance again.”
Please! “I would be grateful.”
They circled one last time, as the dance dictated, before the music came to its finale. “Would you honour me with your company for the supper dance?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, but I’m already engaged by Sir Charles Nowland.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.
He dipped his chin in acknowledgement and escorted her to the baroness, who stood beside Lord Rushcroft. “Until another evening then, Mrs Hartnell,” he said, in a low murmur of invitation.
She smiled encouragingly, but he was already greeting Barbara, a look of undivided attention on his face.
Lord Rushcroft stepped before her and gave a straight-backed bow, reminding her of a formal military presentation. His face was similarly full of gravitas, as though performing a weighty duty. Was he, like her, on a quest for a new spouse? And taking the task very seriously?
They danced in near silence for a few minutes, until Selena realised she must take the initiative and enquired why he was in Bath.
“I live not far from the city,” he answered briefly.
Clearly, he was not going to make her mission of getting to know him easy. “Do you have children, my lord?”
“Six, Mrs Hartnell.” He didn’t sound or look like a particularly proud and happy father.
“A sizable family. And your wife, she has accompanied you?”
“My wife died four years ago.”
So, Barbara was correct—he was a single man, of course in need of a wife. She expressed her condolences and said, “My husband similarly passed away several years ago. How have your children coped with the loss of their mother?”
“They have descended into barbarism, despite nursemaids and governesses aplenty.” His mouth formed a severe line.
Ah, he desperately wanted a new wife to bring order to his home. “Surely not!” Selena added an airy laugh to lighten her words. “I’m sure they’re delightful.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I can tell you’re an optimist, Mrs Hartnell. I applaud you.”
Selena gave a flustered, embarrassed laugh. Is he serious? Are they truly ungovernable? She didn’t know what to say. What would Barbara do? Capitalise on the circumstances, Selena. Turn this to your advantage! “I don’t believe you, my lord. I must meet your children before I believe a word you say of them.” She unfurled what she hoped was her most enchanting smile.
He circled away from her as the dance required. When he returned to her, he said, “Then meet them, you shall.”
Success! “I look forward to it,” she replied. Where and when? An idea came to her, so brilliant that she astonished herself with its perfection. “A children’s picnic! Let us organise one for our children—with games beforehand.”
A fleeting smile that could have been an apparition flashed across his face, transforming him into a younger, less careworn version of his current self. “A splendid idea. My home, Sylvan Park, should be the venue. Name the day, Mrs Hartnell.”
“Shall we ask Lady De Ritz and Mr Westaway? More adults in the party may be handy, as we will have nine children between us.”
He nodded his compliance. “So you are not burdened by a large family, Mrs Hartnell?” he asked.
“I have five children in all. Two sons are in the navy, while my two daughters and youngest son are at home with me.”
The dance parted them again and they lapsed into broken sentences of politeness. Their stilted conversation came to an end with the music.
The viscount had promise—although reserved and weighed down by cares, he seemed a pleasant man.
They returned to the baroness and Mr Westaway, and proposed the picnic. Barbara was quick to agree, but could not name a date without consulting her calendar. She promised to send a reply in the morning.
Selena’s next partner, the middle-aged Mr Davidson, creaked over her hand then proceeded to bumble his way through the complex steps of the country dance, taking several wrong turns.
She declined to accompany him out in his carriage the next afternoon to see how well his horses performed, by enumerating the many ways in which horses scared her—their size, their large teeth, their ability to bolt and tip one out of an open carriage—to name a few. But that did not deter him. He insisted that she would be safe as the Bank of England with him. With a forced smile, she gave in to his wish and agreed to take a short carriage ride with him the following afternoon.
Her next partner, Mr Temby, discussed the latest London fashions and fabrics with her as though they were long-standing acquaintances. He would have danced well if he could have moved his head without risking injury from his shirt points, but instead managed to tread on her toes several times. She did not encourage him, but nevertheless he promised to make a morning call the next day to continue their conversation about London fads. Good manners dictated that she accede to his wish, but Barbara must join her in the sitting room for his visit to ensure she could sustain the unfamiliar topic beyond a few minutes.
Selena hoped marriage to either Mr Davidson nor Mr Temby would never be necessary, as she had nothing in common with them.
The supper dance arrived at last. After two dismal country dance sets, Selena hoped for third time lucky. Instead, Sir Charles Nowland was worse—probably because he had imbibed far too much brandy. Whenever she was required to dance in his arms, he stood far too close. His hands clasped her to him and slid over her body in the most shudder-inducing, way.
Finally, the music ended, but she was not free of him yet. As was the custom, Sir Charles escorted her to the supper room. Instead of finding a table for them and bringing Selena some much-wanted tea and cakes, Sir Charles manoeuvred her into an alcove. There he snatched her hand and slurred, “I am captivated by your beauty, dear lady. You must marry me! I have a large estate in Oxfordshire, a knighthood that would make you Lady Nowland, and a great need of a wife.”
Rather than being shocked by his behaviour, Selena couldn’t help but laugh. “I cannot accept your marriage proposal, Sir Charles, enticing though it is. We’ve only just met!”
“But madam, you must!”
Not even to pay my five-hundred-pound debt would I marry you! “Must I indeed?”
“Yes, I could not live without you, dearest Mrs Hartwell.” He patted her hand, held tightly in his.
She tugged at his grip. “I’m quite sure we wouldn’t suit! And my name is Hartnell, not Hartwell.”
“Whatever you say, my dearest.” He seized her other hand and pulled her towards him. His lips puckered to kiss her. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once!
She managed to escape the smack of his rouged lips. “Unhand me!” Her heart beat in her chest like the moving parts of a new-fangled steam engine.
“Not until you’ve agreed to be my wife!”
“Never! Release me now!”
A hand descended onto Nowland’s shoulder and heaved him backwards. Selena escaped his clutching hands and stood, chest heaving, dragging deep breaths into her lungs.
“The lady says ‘no’ and you must behave like a gentleman and accept her decision.” Edward Westaway loomed over the man, every muscle tensed and threatening.
“Stay out of it, sir!” He swung at Westaway, who ducked and landed a left cross on his opponent. The man staggered back, holding his face. The blow sobered him, and he drew himself upright and said in a cold voice, “You can have the vixen. Good luck to you!”
Twice in one evening Edward Westaway had had cause to think her behaviour wanting. Selena bowed her head in embarrassment. Could there be anything more humiliating than being rescued from one rejected suitor by a previously shunned one? Surely the irony of that would not be lost on him.
Into her line of vision came Westaway’s large hand, offering a linen handkerchief. She shook her head and the handkerchief disappeared from sight.
“Madam, allow me to escort you back to the baroness.” His tone was polite, calm, and indifferent.
Gulping air into her deflated lungs, she said, “No, I would prefer to catch my breath.”
“Then we shall promenade around the dance floor. If you’ve recovered enough to do that?” He held out his arm for her to take.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm with relief. “You know, I did nothing to encourage his attention!”
He looked down at her. “Your wealth alone is sufficient for some.”
Not that! A solid block of ice settled in her stomach, freezing her insides, as the consequence of the deception filled her with shame. And they were misleading not just fortune hunters like Sir Charles, but also kindly, worthy gentlemen like Edward Westaway.
“Let us talk about something else.” It was a plea. Anything that wouldn’t remind her of her debt, her deception, and her dread of the future. “Tell me about your life since we last met.”
He inclined his head in compliance. “Recounting my fifteen years in the army would bore you into Bedlam. Suffice to say, I’ve seen most of Spain and Portugal and spent some time in Paris after Bony’s defeat.”
They reached the far end of the ballroom. “Tell me more. Were you successful in your career?”
“If you mean was I promoted, then yes. I began as a lieutenant and left as a major.”
She smiled up at him. “Ought I to call you Major Westaway then? It sounds so dashing and would impress the young ladies, I’m sure.”
He gave a tight smile. “That’s as maybe, but I’m not here to attract young ladies. I’m here to support my cousin. I’m very set in my ways and attached to my independence.”
He couldn’t have issued a clearer warning to her that he was not one of her suitors than if he had placed an announcement in the Bath Chronicle and Weekly Gazette. A wave of inexplicable disappointment plunged her back into her recent melancholy. “Please take me back to Lady De Ritz.”
Without another word, he complied.
***
SELENA WANTED TO CALL the whole plan off by the time Barbara’s carriage had been summoned.
As they waited at the side entrance of the Assembly Rooms for the vehicle to rumble to a halt before them, a scruffy man emerged from the shadows beyond the lamps. He strode right up to Selena and grabbed her arm, leaning in close to her face.
Selena gasped and jerked away from him, but he held on to her with a grip of steel. His onion-soaked breath sprayed her face, “Mrs Hartnell, you’ve got three weeks to pay your debt.” He sneered. “If you don’t have the dosh, there are ways a nice-looking piece like you can work it off.”
Selena stifled a scream.
Barbara bustled around her frozen form. With a back-handed slash worthy of a fencing master, her closed fan raked the ruffian’s eyes.
“Damn you to hell.” He released Selena to clutch his streaming face.
Barbara grabbed Selena’s hand away and pulled her towards the open carriage door. She bundled her into the vehicle and followed. The door slammed closed and Barbara snapped the blind down over its window. She rapped on the wall for the driver to start, then slumped back against the squabs of her carriage with a sigh and turned her head to Selena. “That was a close call. What did that wretch say to you?”
Selena shuddered and clutched her frigid hands in her lap to stop their shaking. “That I could work off the debt.”
“The bastard.” Barbara leant forward to press her warm hands over Selena’s in a gesture of reassurance. “It will never come to that. I will pay your debt!”
“No! I cannot repay you. Better that I marry—an honest, up-front marriage of convenience.”
Barbara nodded once and her ostrich-feathered headdress dipped in agreement. “You’ll soon be safely married to the viscount. I’m sure of it.”
When Selena’s shaking had ceased, Barbara said in a controlled, calming voice, “Now I can tell you all that Lord Rushcroft confided to me while we danced.”
In the flickering light of the street lamps, Selena could just make out her friend’s eager look.
“His wife died four years ago, leaving six children, the youngest a baby. They now range from four to twelve years. His heir is as yet too young for boarding school. They are of an age and number that they need a mother figure and someone to bring stability and management to his home. He doesn’t want any more children, therefore is searching for an older widow. He says he has done all his grieving and must find a suitable wife, preferably not one from the schoolroom! In short, he seems absolutely perfect for you.” Barbara looked as smug as a cat lapping cream in a dairy.
Ah, a man with a similar predicament to herself, albeit without the unpayable debt she carried. “And his cousin, Edward Westaway?” She aimed for polite disinterest in her voice, as though merely seeking a holistic understanding of the duo. “What is his intention by attending the assemblies this season?”
“Edward Westaway accompanies his cousin to the Bath Assembly Rooms this season to give his moral support. He is a dedicated bachelor and has no interest in finding a wife. There was some tale of having had his heart broken some time ago by a young woman.” The baroness dismissed him with a wave of her closed fan.
Selena’s face warmed with remembered embarrassment. Had she been that young woman?
“So, if you are willing, I think you should direct your efforts towards fascinating the viscount. I will do all I can to promote the match.”
“And he is an acquaintance of yours, Barbara? What do you know of him?”
“He was an acquaintance of the baron’s. As they were both members of the House, I met him a few times at political soirees in London.”
“Ah. And does he not want his new marriage to be a love match?”
Barbara looked at her as though she had lost her sanity and should be locked up. “I believe he seeks companionship, primarily.”
“Of course.”
“To relieve his loneliness, and for the children’s sakes. The latest governess has left to marry, and he doesn’t care to hire another without a wife in residence first.”
What a joyless match it sounded. “That is very practical and right-minded.”
Barbara nodded her agreement. “He has asked me for assistance with introductions to suitable ladies. Of course, I have recommended you.”
Selena was grateful for her friend’s assistance, but a tiny regret that it was not Edward Westaway seeking a wife had lodged itself in a small bolthole in her brain.
Barbara continued, oblivious of Selena’s distraction. “Does the viscount not sound perfect for you? So much in common. And he’s so sensible and logical. Shall you try to captivate him? I don’t see any other man of to his calibre available this season.”
Of course, Barbara was absolutely right. He was the most outstanding candidate. If only he wasn’t quite so severe and restrained in his manner, and didn’t have so many children. Beggars indeed could not be choosers. “Yes, Barbara, he is the only candidate of note. I will set my cap at him and be more than grateful if I’m successful.”
Barbara shot her a pained look. “Then I suggest we proceed with plan A—to meet the viscount and his children, and his dashing cousin, for a joint family picnic at Sylvan Park, as soon as possible before the weather turns truly dismal.”
“It’s an excellent idea.” If only she didn’t have reservations about such a cold-blooded scheme.
“I’ll send a card to the viscount’s residence in the morning proposing a date a few days hence.” Barbara twirled her fan on its ribbon. “Then we’ll begin our campaign in earnest.”
***
LATE THE NEXT MORNING, Sims announced Mr Temby. The gentleman minced into the room and swept an awkward bow. His waistcoat today was daffodil yellow, his cravat not a simple starched linen one but a matching yellow silk anchored by a garnet pin. “I’ve come to see the two most fashionable ladies of Bath,” he flattered.
“And surely you must be the most à la mode gentleman in town,” Barbara answered.
Mr Temby swelled with pride at the compliment.
“Let us peruse the fashion books over a cup of tea,” Barbara said.
Their visitor assented, and they settled down to a delightful half hour turning the pages of the latest picture plates, exclaiming at the styles that caught their fancy.
By the conclusion of Mr Temby’s visit, Selena was sure she was safe from any hope of an offer from him, but she expected more such chatty visits from their new acquaintance in the future.
At two o’clock, Mr Davidson halted his high perch phaeton in front of Barbara’s house. Selena knew better than to keep the gentleman’s horses standing idle in the cold, and hurried from the house after a knock on Barbara’s front door by his groom.
Selena looked at the fidgeting pair of chestnut horses. Of course, they were tall, sleek, and glamorous, as she suspected, but they champed on their bits and tossed their heads in an alarming way. The bow-legged groom assisted her into the vehicle, cast a frowning look over the horses, then tugged his forelock to his master and walked in the direction of the mews to wait for Davidson’s return.
“How d’you do, Mrs Hartnell. Are you ready for the ride of your life? The day is fine, the roads are empty of traffic, and my beauties are raring to go,” he said, pointing his whip at the restless horses.
“A gentle and safe drive, I’m hoping for, Mr Davidson,” she answered, gripping an arm of the bench seat.
Within seconds, the vehicle surged along Brock Street at an alarming pace.
All proceeded well until they swept into The Circus. A crowd of children played in the centre, creating an echoing din that rebounded from every direction, magnifying its intensity.
The horses were amongst the racket before Selena realised there was a problem. They plunged and ducked their heads, desperate to flee the commotion. The vehicle lurched towards the nearest exit, careening into Bennett Street, cutting across the gutter and tipping the carriage towards the roadway.
Selena screamed and clutched the armrest, leaning towards the footpath as much as she could to counter the terrifying tilt that threatened to overturn them. Pedestrians scattered up house entry stairs to avoid the lurching vehicle. Davidson hauled on the reins, but to no effect. The horses tossed their heads from side to side, their eyes white-rimmed with terror.
Davidson struggled to return the carriage to the almost empty road. His stays groaned savagely from the fight. The phaeton righted itself as they flashed past the side of the Assembly Rooms. Were they ever going to stop? Selena clung with both hands to the seat, her feet clamped against the splashboard.
Ahead, an oncoming curricle drew larger by the second. Then it swerved across the road, between two stationary grocers’ carts, blocking their path. Surely Davidson’s horses would plunge straight into it, sending them all to their maker? The driver of the other vehicle, reins in hand, vaulted to the ground and sprinted to his horses’ heads. The road was completely blocked. Davidson sawed and hauled on the reins, trying to work on the horses’ mouths. Foam flecked their flanks and flew from their mouths, splattering the phaeton and Selena.
The horses saw the blocked road ahead. There was nowhere for them to go. Their hooves scrabbled on the cobblestones as they tried to slow their frantic progress. The carriage slid to a halt, the brake finally doing its job. The horses’ heaving chests touched the curricle before them.
“Hush. Hush.” The curricle driver—Edward Westaway—walked steadily forward to their heads, soothing the beasts. They snorted in fear and distress. Then their rescuer took the phaeton’s harness in his hands.
Never had Selena been so relieved in her life.
Davidson creaked down from the vehicle, his face blanched, his steps unsteady.
“Your horses,” said Westaway. “Take their heads.” Davidson took Edward’s place and that gentleman stepped to the side of the phaeton. “Mrs Hartnell, let me assist you down from there.”
Selena set her shaking hand into Edward’s and tried to stand, but collapsed back into her seat. Edward lifted her from her perch and carried her to his waiting curricle.
“I’ll escort Mrs Hartnell home, Davidson.”
Davidson grimaced. “Send my groom to me, Westaway. He’s waiting at the baroness’s residence.”
Edward nodded.
Davidson couldn’t have looked more cowed and deflated. “I sincerely apologise, Mrs Hartnell. I hope you’ve sustained no injury.”
Selena didn’t have the heart to say more than, “No injury at all, just shaken.” Never again would she be coerced into such an escapade.
“If I walk the horses, will you be able to bear being in another vehicle so soon after such an event?” Edward asked her.
“I feel safer already! High perch phaetons are not for me.”
Edward climbed into his vehicle and turned it in the direction from which he had arrived, then up Russell Street to bypass The Circus back to the baroness’s home. Every few moments, he glanced down at her catatonic form next to him. The shaking started in earnest as they turned into Brook Street. She hugged her waist, desperate to contain the shivers.
In front of Barbara’s house, Edward secured the reins and leapt into the roadway. He lifted her from the carriage and carried her to Barbara’s door. Ever aware, Sims opened the door as they approached.
Edward didn’t wait to be shown into the sitting room, but demanded, “Her bedchamber, man, where is it?”
The butler closed the front door and hurried to lead them upstairs.
“No, no, take me to the drawing room, Mr Westaway.”
“You’ve had quite a scare. You need to rest.” His usually upturned mouth was a grim line of concern.
“Please take me to Barbara. She will be in the drawing room.”
He halted at the top of the stairs to the first floor and looked to the butler for direction. Sims opened the nearby double doors and announced them to his mistress. Pausing only to pass on Davidson’s message for his groom to Sims, Edward entered the room.
“Back so soon, Selena?” Barbara asked, then cried out when she saw her. “What has happened? Where is Mr Davidson?”
Edward answered for Selena. “Davidson’s horses bolted, but we managed to stop them before any real damage could be done. However, Mrs Hartnell has had a severe shock. I think she should go to bed and rest.”
“I’d rather stay here and regain my equilibrium with a cup of tea and some conversation. That would restore me far quicker.” And then you could remain here with me.
“We’re so very grateful for your assistance, Mr Westaway. Were you alone when you came across Davidson and Selena?” Barbara hurried to pull the bell rope to order tea.
“Quite alone.”
“But so very quick-thinking,” Selena added. She knew Barbara was wishing that the viscount had been with Westaway to share his heroic deed, or indeed to have been the lead rescuer. “Please stay for some tea. Unless you were on your way to another engagement?”
“I was, in fact, on my way here.”
Selena gave a short, brittle laugh. “Then we’re very glad to be at home to see you.” Her rescue was another debt she owed Edward Westaway. Better to him than to anyone else. But how would this re-acquaintance with him end?
***
THE NEXT MORNING, BARBARA sat beside Selena as she served tea and cakes to Mr Temby when Viscount Rushcroft and Edward Westaway strode into the morning room, full of masculine energy.
After greeting everyone, the viscount took his seat beside Barbara on a sofa, while Edward sat beside Selena on the striped chaise longue, facing Mr Temby. His cosy chat with the ladies disturbed, that gentleman pouted, and when the conversation turned from fashion, Barbara sympathised with his frustration at being gazumped by Mr Westaway, but couldn’t condone his open display of peevishness.
Barbara couldn’t help but frown in annoyance at the way Westaway monopolised Selena, and how she leant towards him more than happy for that to continue.
The viscount soon had Barbara laughing as he shared in his dry-as-dust way, the latest stories of his children’s escapades. However, their conversation did not last. She wouldn’t allow it! He had to talk with Selena and become besotted with her.
Ten minutes later, Edward Westaway rose to refresh his tea cup and with a subtle lift of his left eyebrow to his cousin, relinquished his seat on the sofa with Selena to the viscount. Barbara occupied the next few minutes refilling Edward Westaway’s cup, then reorganising the tea service in front of her while she counselled herself out of her envious thoughts.
The Viscount angled himself on the sofa towards Selena, effectively cutting Mr Tenby from their conversation.
With his competition for Selena’s attention silenced, the viscount asked in a concerned voice, “Mrs Hartnell, I was distressed to hear from my cousin of your narrow escape from serious injury yesterday. I trust your nerves have fully recovered.”
“It was frightening at the time but I am myself today, although a little more wary of carriage horses.”
“Tell me what happened—I have only Edward’s version of events and that is very brief.”
Selena recounted her misadventure for a second time, downplaying the extreme danger she had been in and earning the viscount’s praise for her level-headedness. Trying to hear their conversation, Barbara only caught some of Mr Westaway’s banter directed to her and failed to respond on cue. He turned his attention to Mr Tenby, who took up the topic of the continuing good weather with enthusiasm.
Twenty minutes later, when the gentlemen had departed, Barbara was convinced that their plan of engaging the viscount’s interest in Selena had succeeded. She was sure she had seen a glimmer of attraction in his eyes when he had bid them farewell. She leant back in her seat to enjoy the victory. Why she had a niggling feeling of discontent, when their plan was succeeding, she didn’t know.