Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty Five

L
ord Frederick Alexander Danver lifted Miss Araminta Primrose Neave’s fingertips onto the side of his hand and led her into the drawing room of Lidgate Hall.

Miss Leanora Pencombe looked up from displaying several of her watercolours to Wilhelmina reclining, feet up, on the sofa near the middle window.

‘Frederick?’

Lord Frederick bowed. ‘Pray permit me, ma’am, to present my affianced wife.’

Araminta grinned.

Miss Pencombe gawped. Wilhelmina shot upright on the sofa. Neither lady spoke.

Araminta’s excitement faded. ‘Well say something.’

Wilhelmina rose rather unsteadily. ‘Come here child. Let me embrace you.’

Araminta lifted her hand from Frederick’s and hurried forwards. A few hawthorn leaves fluttered down from where they had caught on her gold velvet hem. The gaunt figure of Wilhelmina Orksville put its arms gently round the considerably less gaunt figure of her charge and received a crushing hug in return.

‘I am very pleased for you both. I thought all along you had such an interest in common you were bound to become friends.’

Araminta stood back and held her away. ‘Did you?’ She turned a laughing face to Frederick. ‘Did you hear that?

Frederick shook his head. ‘I wish we’d known it too, ma’am. And George. He’d have been off to the Continent weeks ago.’

Miss Pencombe collected her wits and then her sketches. ‘I hate to cast a shadow, but has Mr Neave given his permission?’

‘Of course he has, ma’am,’ Frederick bridled. ‘I’m not so lost to propriety as to approach Miss Neave without it.’

‘And your dear parents?’ his unofficial aunt queried. ‘I am sure Miss Neave’s character is all one would wish but . . .’ She allowed her voice to trail away.

‘Mama understands. I’m sure she will persuade His Grace.’

‘Let us hope so. When do you intend to break the good tidings to them?’

Frederick and Araminta exchanged glances. ‘We’ve decided I should go now.’ He omitted to say their decision was driven by an urgent suspicion that Archibald Neave might present himself at the Duke’s door to announce the news himself. ‘If you’ll excuse me I’ll tell Kidwall to start packing.’ He recaptured Araminta’s hand, kissed it and moved towards the door. It opened in front of him. A beaming Archibald waddled through it.

‘Ah, caught you, my boy.’

Frederick stood back. ‘Sir, I thought you were already gone to London.’

‘No, no. It crossed my mind that you’d want to tell your parents as soon as may be. Let us, I thought, travel together. My coach is speedy and we can use the time to become better acquainted.’

Frederick swallowed. ‘Indeed, sir. An excellent plan. Meantime, may I recall you to my aunt, Miss Pencombe?’

Archibald waddled forward. ‘Delighted, ma’am, to meet you again. Delighted. And at such an auspicious time too.’ He turned to Wilhelmina. ‘Ma’am, I must thank you for all your help.’

‘Not at all. Not at all.’ She folded her hands. ‘You will have no more need of my services now.’

‘Nonsense,’ Archibald said. ‘Have you forgotten –’

Araminta grasped Wilhelmina’s hand. ‘Oh no, ma’am. You must not think of leaving. You’ll come with us.’ She turned. ‘Won’t she, Freddie – I mean Lord Frederick?’

Freddie rose to the occasion. ‘Indeed, ma’am. Miss Neave has grown so accustomed to your company I would not dream of depriving her of it. Now, I beg you to excuse me. If we are to set off promptly I must find Kidwall.’

He bowed and left the room.

Miss Pencombe drew herself up to her full height. The top of her faded hair almost reached Araminta’s shoulder. ‘I think perhaps a dish of tea would be appropriate.’

‘Indeed,’ Wilhelmina said. ‘And we must make arrangements to remove you to St James.’

‘Why?’ Araminta’s brows drew together.

‘It is by no means suitable for you to remain here now you are affianced to Lord Frederick. Not even . . .’ Wilhelmina managed a slight inclination of her head, ‘with Miss Pencombe’s presence.’

That lady was noticeably lost for any words of agreement during the several seconds it took her to realise that if Araminta were not there, she need not be either. ‘Oh, nonsense.’ She hurried into speech. ‘I am sure there can be no complaint about Miss Neave remaining, ma’am. Particularly as you are still recovering.’

‘That’s true.’ Araminta squeezed the hand she still held. ‘You aren’t recovered. Doctor Cuthbert said the air in Town was to be avoided.’

Archibald burst into speech. ‘I know . . . we shall go to Bath. It’s supposed to be good for invalids.’

Mild panic painted Miss Pencombe’s strained face. ‘I have heard the waters there can be too strong for a delicate constitution. You wouldn’t wish Miss Orksville to suffer a relapse. Why only last year –’

Everyone was spared an account of whatever mischance had happened in the previous year by Lord Frederick’s abrupt reappearance.

‘I’m ready, sir.’

‘Ah, indeed. Indeed.’ Archibald bowed. ‘Ladies, we must leave. ’Minta, I will send the coach back for you. Bath will be just the thing for Wil – I mean Miss Orksville.’ He bowed again and allowed Frederick to usher him out of the room.

Lord Frederick endured the journey to St James Square with stoicism. He answered every one of Archibald’s many questions with unfailing courtesy but it was with some relief he alighted from the coach the following day.

‘I must thank you, sir, for your generosity. There really was no need for you to stand huff for me at the inn.’

‘Nonsense, my boy. It was nothing to me.’

‘You’re too kind, sir. Won’t you take some refreshment?’

Archibald waved his hand across the square. ‘No, no. The house is only there. No need to fret your ma and Pa. I’m not going to descend on them at every minute now we’ll be family. If that frets them, you can set them straight.’

‘I’m sure, sir . . .’ Frederick began.

‘Yes, yes. That’s very pretty of you but I know how your kind views mine. Araminta’s fine but not me. Now, off you go to your Pa and tell him the good news.’ So saying, he pulled the door shut and rapped on the inside of the roof. Waiting only until Kidwall had safely alighted from the rear seat with the bags, the coach lurched away to the opposite side of the square.

Frederick mounted the steps with some concern. The shining black door opened ahead of him. Sallis himself bowed him into the house.

‘A pleasure to see you again, my lord, if I may be permitted to say so.’

‘You may, thank you.’ He strode into the hall. Sallis saw Kidwall clutching his master’s portmanteau and his own bundle, and scowled.

‘Is Her Grace at home?’ Frederick asked.

‘I regret not, my lord. She is gone out. His Grace is in his book room.’

‘Ah.’ Frederick looked across the hall at the Duke’s door. He debated the advantages of approaching his Mama first against those, if any, of an immediate encounter with his father. He had only ever entered that room when summoned as a boy for instruction in the consequences of a youthful misdemeanour.

Silence reigned for several seconds. Sallis cast a puzzled look at Kidwall.

After a whole minute the decision was made. Frederick strode forward to beard his father

Despite the late afternoon’s pleasant warmth, His Grace was seated in a tall wing chair before a glowing fire. His slight figure was dressed with restrained elegance in dark blue superfine. A book bound in red leather and tooled in gilt occupied his attention.

‘Good day, Your Grace.’ Frederick bowed. ‘I trust I find you well.’

Gerard Ellonby lowered his book. ‘Frederick. A rare visit, I think.’

‘Not at all, sir. I returned once Miss Orksville was safely established at Lidgate.’

‘Indeed? It seems to have taken an unconscionable amount of time. Perhaps the roads were bad?’

Frederick felt as if several lead weights were descending on his shoulders. ‘Well, I did perhaps stay over long.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But that was because I found how much I enjoyed Miss Neave’s company.’

The Duke place a ribbon across the page he had been reading and closed his book. He looked squarely at his younger son. ‘I hope you are not entertaining plans in that direction.’

Frederick’s fists bunched. ‘Why not, Your Grace? Miss Neave is an excellent young woman.’

‘So Her Grace has informed me. Her father, however, is a different question.’

Frederick’s growing anger betrayed him into a heated response. ‘I don’t wish to marry her father.’

His Grace’s brows rose. ‘Am I to take it you wish to marry Miss Neave?’

‘Indeed I do. I have approached her father and, with his permission, I am happy to say she has accepted my offer.’

‘I find that most displeasing.’ He allowed a heavy silence to develop while he examined his son from head to toe. ‘Your ancestry goes back to the Conquest. Certain standards are due to it. Those standards require you to marry in your class. Not below it.’

‘Sir, Miss Neave may not be born into the class of which you speak but she is nevertheless an excellent young woman. Furthermore she is the one I intend to marry.’

‘No,’ the Duke announced. ‘I will not permit it.’

Frederick’s jaw clenched. ‘Then, Your Grace,’ he said stiffly, ‘much as I regret it, I shall marry her without your permission. I am four and twenty and may clearly do so.’

The Duke’s pale face whitened. He folded his equally pale hands on the book’s leather cover. His eyes grew cold. ‘And by what means will you support this wife?’

‘Mama has always said she will grant me Frampton Manor. It is hers and we shall live there.’

‘It may be hers but if I require her not to admit you to it, she will not.’

Ice gripped Frederick’s heart. ‘And will you do so, sir?’ he asked in a croaking voice.

‘Indeed I shall.’

Frederick stared at his father for several seconds before he spoke. ‘Then it is with the greatest regret that I must inform Your Grace that we must henceforth become estranged. I will marry Miss Neave and if I must take up some sort of occupation to support her, then so be it. I shall remove from your house immediately, sir. I hope you will permit me to return to take leave of mama.’

‘I regret to tell you that once you leave my roof you will in no way be permitted to return.’ The Duke raised his book, opened it at the marker and continued to read.

Frederick stared at his father for several seconds, unable to move. The Duke appeared to have forgotten he was here. At last he turned and left his father’s presence.

Kidwall was still in the hall, heavily engaged in avoiding any direct answer to Sallis’s questions about events at Lidgate. Both men turned when Frederick reappeared.

‘Pack every one of my things, Kidwall. Take them round to Mr Blythburgh’s set.’ He rubbed a hand across his temple, took one lingering look at the stairs leading to the family’s rooms before turning on his heel and leaving. The front door banged behind him.

Kidwall and Sallis exchanged glances.

‘Well I never,’ Sallis announced. ‘Now you’d better tell me what’s been going on.’

Frederick betook himself to White’s in search of Everett Blythburgh. Mr Blythburgh was not there. Almost no-one was. Fists and jaw tightening, Frederick marched out again. He headed up St James Street to Piccadilly. A slight acquaintance bade him good-day. Frederick failed to notice and the man walked on, miffed at the perceived snub. Turning right, he continued his charge, oblivious to everyone and everything. A smartly driven curricle nearly ran him down when he crossed the road to the Albany.

‘I say, dear boy, take care.’ A flick of his sleeve dragged his attention back to his surroundings. ‘If you show such little concern for your person as that, dear George will have to be brought home post-haste to wed and breed before His Grace expires from worry.’

‘What?’ Frederick found himself facing Lord Trelowen.

A faintly amused smile hovered around the Viscount’s mouth

‘I merely expressed the slight concern for your safety but I see you are preoccupied.’

‘I’m looking for Blythburgh.’

Lord Trelowen glanced over his shoulder at the elegant façade of the Albany rising behind him. It was the most favoured apartment building in London where every gentleman of means, however slender, wished he could put up.

‘You might have the good fortune to find him. I have not been so privileged. But then I rarely rise before three of the afternoon and might have missed my chance. Pray allow me to offer my feeble services in his absence.’

Frederick bowed stiffly ‘Thank you, Trelowen, but if he’s away, I will see if his man knows where.’

Trelowen gazed over Fredrick’s shoulder. He raised his eyeglass. ‘Speaking of men, I see yours – or someone I believe to be yours – arriving with a number of bags.’

The observation brought colour rushing to Frederick’s face. He had very little interest in Lord Trelowen’s habits and did not welcome Trelowen’s interest in his. He produced the briefest of silent bows and walked into the building.

Lucius Renford watched him depart. ‘My,’ he remarked to himself. ‘I fear our young lordling has much on his mind.’ He extracted a snuffbox of exceptional charm and thoughtfully extracted a pinch. His indulgence complete, he permitted a reddening Kidwall to edge past with a collection of bags and a large portmanteau then wandered after him. There was a particular servant he wanted to see. One he could trust to find out almost anything that occurred in the building. For a trifling cost, of course. Within very little time he would know the reason why Lord Frederick Danver was apparently vacating his parents’ roof to put up with his friend and confidant, Everett Blythburgh.

Chapter Twenty Six

A
rchibald was disappointed with his head clerk. Wixhill had been unable to find a suitable house to rent in Bath at such short notice but he had managed to procure a suite of rooms at the York House Hotel on George Street. It took the combined efforts of Araminta and Wilhelmina to persuade him that this arrangement was most satisfactory and that a house on The Crescent or The Circus would be much less convenient. His face had continued to glower until Araminta had been inspired to say that those fashionable locations were further away from the Pump Room where, of course, Wilhelmina would have to attend.

After two days in a coach and one night at a coaching inn, Archibald Neave’s carriage bowled into Bath as the afternoon sun dropped low enough to shine into Pilton’s eyes. The golden brilliance did not much hinder him. After his former time as coachman to Sir Cuthbert Harrison of Poole, he could find his way to George Street with them shut. Borrick, crushed on the box beside him, had no such knowledge. He consequently stayed lost in the dark mood that had claimed him since they had departed St James Square. He wrapped his arms around his thin chest and squinted.

‘How much longer’ll we be? I’m fair done to a cow’s thumb. Wish I’d not been sent here. London’s my place. Not gallivanting around these country parts.’

Pilton flicked the reins and turned the horses into George Street. The four outriders followed him. ‘We’re here now so you can wipe off that Friday face. And I wish as you’d stayed in London too. You ain’t been no companion these last days.’ He pulled to a halt by the main door of the long elegant building on the corner of the street. ‘Get yerself down and tell ’em inside we’re here. Then you can help the women out.’

The hotel, after one look at the style of the carriage and outriders, the elegance of the females and the excessive number of rooms booked by Mr Neave’s man of business, exerted itself mightily. The manager himself conducted them to the premier suite of rooms reserved for them on the first floor, closely followed by three maids.

Araminta inspected the accommodations minutely. The manager blanched when she dragged back the bedcovers to test if the sheets were damp. Satisfied, she ushered them all out of the sitting room, nodding her thanks at his repeated assurances of every attention. The door clicked shut behind him. ‘These rooms are quite acceptable,’ she said. ‘Much better than taking a house.’ She saw Wilhelmina press a pale hand to her drawn face. ‘Let me help you to a seat, ma’am.’

Three steps away from her, Wilhelmina Orksville waved away her concern. ‘There’s no need to fuss. I shall be fine in a moment.’

The pallor of Wilhelmina’s skin did not escape Araminta. She guided her to the sofa, settled her down and lifted her feet onto the cushions. ‘There. You compose yourself. I’ll send Hollins for some tea.’

By the time the tray arrived, Wilhelmina was snoring gently. Araminta had such fidgets in her toes she was desperate to go for a walk. She forced herself to sit and take a dish of tea.

Eventually the clattering of the china disturbed Wilhelmina. She struggled up, skirts askew. ‘You haven’t taken off your bonnet,’ she said, eyeing the confection of straw and primroses and moving the cushion Araminta had propped under her head.

‘I thought I’d take a stroll. Walk the cramps out of my legs.’

‘You shouldn’t go out on your own. You’ve never been to Bath before and you might get lost.’

Araminta was prepared. ‘No I won’t, ma’am. I spoke to the chambermaid. She said if I go straight out of the door, I’ll almost be in Milsom Street where the shops are. I can buy myself a new ribbon for my bonnet.’ A finger flicked the rather limp Paris green bow tied by her jaw. ‘I’ll take Hollins with me. It won’t take long.’

‘You really should not.’ Discomfort from her injury overcame Wilhelmina. Her forcefulness evaporated. She slumped back on the sofa, waving a limp hand. ‘But I suppose you will do as you wish. As usual.’ The tired eyes sharpened briefly. ‘Bath is full of fortune hunters and shabby-gentile persons. They try to scrape acquaintances with anyone who appears to have means. Make sure none such approach you.’ She eased herself round so she was propped comfortably against the sofa’s back. Her eyes drooped then opened again. ‘We will go to the Pump Room tomorrow to enter our name in the Book. There must be acquaintances of mine here. Mrs Bentham, perhaps. Once our name is down, they will be sure to call.’

That news hardly filled Araminta with joy. She surveyed the tired woman who had valiantly refused to complain at any point during the journey despite the discomfort that had shown in her face. Respect and no little affection had her asking, ‘Is there anything you need before I go?’

‘No, no. By off with you if you’re going. Just be sure to be back before the light fades completely.’ She settled herself. ‘I think I shall have a little doze.’

Araminta watched Wilhelmina’s eyes slowly droop and close for the second time. She crept to the door and lifted the iron latch. Hollins was hovering in the passage outside. ‘Come along, we’re going to the shops.’

‘Oh.’ Hollins was used to some areas of London. Even though pickpockets and worse hovered there, she knew her way about. And about the Perlethorpe’s country seat but she had never visited Bath before. Nor, truth to tell, any other town. Everything here was strange. Her London-bred superiority deserted her. ‘Are we allowed, miss?’ She gripped her hands together, her knuckles whitening. ‘Won’t the missus be cross?’ Desperation edged her voice.

‘No she won’t. And don’t call her the missus. It’s impolite.’

Hollins coloured furiously.
The missus
and
the chit
was how Wilhelmina and Araminta were named below stairs. ‘Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.’ She bobbed a curtsey and crossed her fingers to guard against the possibility of instant dismissal without a character. Even employment with someone who smelled of Trade was better than none and she wasn’t getting any younger. Maid to the girl would be a comfortable situation as she aged.

Ignorant of her maid’s opinion of her status, Araminta hurried to the top of the centre staircase. In a flash she was in the entrance hall and out of the door. Hollins arrived on the flagway beside her, panting and gnawing at her bottom lip. The hasty departure disordered the muslin round the neck of her gown. She smoothed it flat over the blue and white striped cotton. Her glance travelled anxiously from side to side. Her teeth worried her bottom lip.

Araminta looked about her with eager eyes. Milsom Street was barely a few steps opposite. She stepped off the flagway then drew back into a squeaking Hollins. A smart carriage drawn by two gleaming bays trotted along the street at a smart pace. The horses earned her approval. When the equipage had passed, she dashed across behind it.

The elegance of the tall buildings descending the gentle slope impressed her. Not all were shops; some were obviously private residences. Such shops as there were, were many and varied. To Araminta’s critical eye none matched her father’s emporia in Bond Street but they had their own attractions. At least if the crowds staring into windows, chatting in groups and stepping across the road to see whatever had taken their fancy were anything to judge by. Araminta walked into the throng with Hollins stalking closely behind. Heads turned. The appearance of a new face, particularly one with such stunning titian curls aroused a fair degree of interest. All of the ladies strolling along the street and most of the men regardless of age took note. Speculation mounted. It was not long before whispers of a new resident at the York House hotel drifted into the afternoon’s promenades. A resident, furthermore, who had taken a whole suite and whose maid and footman were housed, not up in the attic with the other servants, but in rooms on the same floor. What superior and demanding employers they must be to insist they be in easy call. No doubt plump in the pocket too.

The speculation escaped Araminta’s notice. She passed a happy hour searching for a length of green ribbon to replace the spoilt one. The shopkeepers had all been delighted to see such a fashionable young lady enter their shops. By the time she had departed, one was pleased to have sold two yards of green-striped ribbon with a picot edge from the multitude of ribbons spread along her counter. Further along the street, another had, at last, sold a pair of lace mittens she had regretted buying for her stock. They had proved quite beyond the purse of her usual customers. A third had carefully wrapped a charming silver vinaigrette shaped like a seashell, avowing all the while that it was guaranteed to revive the most delicate of constitutions. Her suggestion of adding a slim bottle of lavender water to endow such a person with restful sleep met with success. It brought a gratified smile to her face and several extra coins to her purse.

Presented later with the prettily wrapped gift, Wilhelmina’s appreciation was expressed with her usual acerbity. ‘You really had no need to bother. I shall be quite well in an hour or so.’

She was to be proved wrong. As afternoon faded into evening she became more and more feverish. Araminta decided to send for the doctor.

Doctor Winterspoon was recommended by the manager. His appearance, however, did not inspire confidence. He was a tall, gangly man with thin hair that had a tendency to stand on end. Added to which his age suggested he had been practicing for so many years and his patients might now be better served were he to cease.

‘Well really,’ Wilhelmina said, easing her legs off the sofa so she could sit upright. ‘There was no need to bother. I shall be quite well once I am rested.’

Doctor Winterspoon advanced angularly across the room. ‘Now ma’am,’ he said, bending over Wilhelmina and lifting her nearest wrist between a gnarled finger and thumb. ‘One can never be too careful. Travel can be so tiring for ladies.’

The patient’s flushed face flushed even pinker. Her amber eyes flashed. ‘I can assure you sir, that I am no feeble female. Had it not been for those ruffians in London, I would have walked to the top of Beechen Cliff this afternoon.’

Two spots of crimson flared on the doctor’s pallid cheeks. ‘I have been in practice here for more than forty-seven years. I think I am a better judge of a lady’s condition than you. If you think otherwise . . .’ He let the statement fade, as if waiting for reassurance. When none came, he turned a rigid face to Araminta. ‘It would appear, miss,’ he said stiffly, ‘that my services are not required. I shall send my man round with my account.’

After a minimal bow he stalked from the room. Unfortunately the long tails of his coat wrapped themselves around his knobbly knees and severely detracted from his dignity.

Despite folding her lips tightly, Araminta could not stop a giggle bursting from them immediately the door closed behind the affronted practitioner.

‘Stop that at once, child,’ Wilhelmina ordered. She caught Araminta’s twinkling eyes and could not prevent herself from chuckling too. She lifted her feet back onto the sofa. ‘I should be cross with you for wasting your Papa’s money on such a pompous old stick but I suppose it was considerate of you.’ She leant forwards, trying to adjust the shawl across her legs.

‘Let me.’ Araminta

‘No, no. On reflection I think I shall retire.’ She stood up shakily. ‘Just lend me your arm.’

Araminta installed Wilhelmina safely in her room with Hollins to watch over her, which pleased neither woman. Left to her own company, she paced about the sitting room. The book she had carried with her had lost its charm. The carriages passing outside the window had lessened and not even a decent piece of horseflesh appeared to spark a moment’s interest. With nothing to engage her attention she seated herself at the small table by the window and penned a letter to her father to announce their safe arrival. She signed her name with a flourish and blotted it dry. Staring at the page a smile lit her face.

‘Freddie,’ she said. ‘I’ll write to Freddie too.

She drew a fresh page towards her.
Dear Freddie
, she wrote. She stopped and caught the top of the nibbed pen between her teeth. Was Freddie appropriate? That was what she called him but perhaps if she were writing it should be Frederick. Or even Lord Frederick? Wilhelmina would know but she must be asleep by now.

‘Drat it,’ she said. ‘Freddie will do.’

How I wish we had not come to Bath
, she continued.

The journey has tired Miss Orksville and I fear there will be nothing to do but stay in and read or ruin handkerchiefs with my hemming. I wish we were still at Lidgate Hall. At least I could ride there. Even if there are stables here, Borrick is no horseman and I’m certain Miss Orksville won’t let me ride on my own. Oh well, I will have to learn patience no matter how much I wish it were otherwise.

I hope your Mama and Papa are well.

Your affectionate friend

Araminta Neave

She blotted the paper, folded it and affixed a wafer, doing the same to the short note to her father. ‘I’ll take them downstairs now. They’ll be gone all the sooner.’

She went off happily, unaware how mortified Wilhelmina would be at the casual reference to Their Graces she had included.