Elizabeth Mansfield (14 page)

She could not see her mother in the melee, but she soon spied her aunt Madge sitting on a bench near the renowned Tompion clock far to her left. Madge was sipping the waters and engaging in animated conversation with someone hidden from Kate's view by her considerable bulk. Just as Kate started toward her, Aunt Madge caught a glimpse of her and gave a beckoning wave. Kate made her way through the crowd to where her aunt sat. "Kate, my love." Madge said at once, "I want you to meet Mrs. Compton, an old friend of mine."

Kate made her bow to Madge's companion, an elderly lady half her aunt's size. Mrs. Compton would have had a pleasant, unexceptional appearance except for the enormous turban she wore. Not only was its size distracting, but it was decorated at the center by a huge jeweled brooch holding one brave little feather that wiggled like a beckoning finger.

After the how-de-dos were exchanged, Kate asked if Madge had seen her mother. "Not ten minutes ago," her aunt informed her, "your mother was discovered by an old friend who greeted her with loud cries of excitement and dragged her off without so much as a by-your-leave. We've not seen her since."

"Then perhaps I should go and look for her," Kate said.

But Madge grasped her hand. "Before you leave us, my love," she said, "you must give us your opinion on a delicate matter we've been discussing."
 

"Oh?" Kate asked blankly.

"You see, Mrs. Compton is a friend of Lady Landers. Lady Landers' second daughter, Gussie, has become ill, and Mrs. Compton tells me it's the fault of someone we know."

Kate stiffened. She remembered the name of Gussie Landers. Her mother had told her about the young woman whom Harry had caused to go into a decline. "Oh?" she asked again, but cautiously this time.

"Yes, we were discussing poor Gussie's situation when your aunt saw you," Mrs. Compton explained, the little feather-finger of her turban trembling with every movement of her head. "We both would like to hear the point of view of a young woman like you."

Aunt Madge patted the bench beside her. "Do sit down, Kate, and give us your opinion."

Kate, feeling weak at the knees, sank down.

"The problem is," her aunt explained, "that Mrs. Compton here is convinced that Lord Ainsworth, our own dear Harry, was responsible for poor Gussie's decline. But I say that, on the contrary, the man acted out of the kindest motives."

"I don't understand," Kate murmured in helpless confusion.

Aunt Madge prepared herself for the effort of relating the details by taking a deep breath. "You see, my dear, last spring, Ainsworth was attending a ball and asked Miss Landers to dance, and—"

"You mustn't omit the most important part," Mrs. Compton cut in, leaning forward to speak to Kate over

Madge's bulk. "It is most significant that the man hadn't asked any other young lady to dance. He hadn't danced all evening, despite the fact that there were several in attendance who would have been overjoyed to dance with him. Lord Ainsworth is, after all, quite a catch."

"Is he?" Kate asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Oh, yes, my dear, decidedly so. Besides being so very charming, I believe he's said to have better than ten thousand a year."

Madge snorted. "That may be, but our dear Harry is more than that. He is a man of the highest character and morals. I shall defend that character to the death!"

"Nevertheless," Mrs. Compton said, "he deigned to dance at last with Gussie Landers. And you can be sure, Miss Kate, that the moment they stepped out on the floor, the whole room was agog."

"Agog?" Kate asked. "Just because a man asked a girl to dance?"

"Oh, yes!" Mrs. Compton insisted, the bob of her feather accenting the vigor of the bobbing of her head. "I know, for I was there. You see, after Lord Ainsworth had done nothing more than standing about all evening—without even
speaking
to any of the eager females!—he chose Gussie to dance with.
Gussie!
Don't mistake me, Miss Kate, I mean no disparagement to her. Gussie is a dear child but not blessed with any real beauty."

"I can understand that the onlookers would be agog," Madge put in, "but one can't blame Harry for that."

"Not for that, no," Mrs. Compton agreed, "but for what came later."

"What came later?" Kate asked, feeling a bit agog herself.

"Nothing," Mrs. Compton said dramatically. "That's just it! He did nothing! After making Gussie the star of the evening—for you can imagine how overwhelmed she was, with all the other girls being jealous of her and crowding about her after her dance and making such a fuss over her—he never so much as paid a call on her."

"I don't see why he should have," Madge declared firmly. "Merely asking a young lady to dance is not a contract for the gentleman to call on her later."

"Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree," Mrs. Compton said. "But in this case, with Gussie sitting behind her mama all evening like a wallflower and Ainsworth disdaining all the flirts who tried to inveigle him onto the dance floor, then walking up to Gussie, with all eyes upon him, and asking her to dance... well, it was far from an ordinary circumstance."

"I don't care if the circumstances
were
extraordinary," Madge said stubbornly. "It seems to me that Harry, seeing the poor girl sitting miserably on the sidelines, asked her to dance in order to be kind. It doesn't mean he was then obligated to
offer
for the girl! What do you think, Kate?"

"Yes, what do you think?" Mrs. Compton echoed.

Kate was taken aback. Her emotions were so confused she didn't know what to think. She needed to be alone, to make some sense of what she'd heard. She could not answer the question they were asking her, because she was asking herself the same question.

It was strange, she thought, how a simple act could lead to such complications. Harry had asked a young woman to dance. Had he raised a young woman's expectations by what could be interpreted as an innocent act, as Aunt Madge described it? Or was there an implicit promise in what he did that he failed to keep, as Mrs. Compton believed? Kate wanted to believe, like her aunt, that Gussie Landers was merely a foolish chit who'd set too great a store by Harry's kindly act, but she wasn't at all sure. Madge was making a loyal defense of a friend, but was she right?

Both ladies were looking at her expectantly. Mrs. Compton's feather-finger wagged at her as if in disapproval of her silence. But she had no idea what to say. Fortunately, at that moment, her mother arrived. Her appearance saved the day. "Kate, dearest," Isabel said, kissing her daughter in greeting, "and Madge and Mrs. Compton, too, I want you to meet Harriet Clarkson. Of course she's not Miss Clarkson now, she's Lady Tresfield. We've not seen each other since our school days, almost thirty years ago! Can you believe that after all these years she recognized me from across the room? And I knew her, too!"

In the excitement of the introductions and the reminiscences, the question Madge had wanted Kate to answer was momentarily forgotten. And to avoid having to face it again, Kate took the first opportunity to beg to be excused. "I must run over to Milsom Street to buy a pair of evening gloves," she told her mother. "I forgot to pack them." And leaving the ladies to their lively chatter, she made a quick escape.

As she walked up Union Street toward the Milsom Street shops, however, the question of Harry's behavior churned in her mind. Even if Aunt Madge was right in judging Harry's behavior as an act of kindness, had he been selfish and unfair afterward, as Mrs. Compton claimed? After all, Kate, too, had been a victim of his thoughtlessness. Had he not kissed her in the library that night and then promptly turned and flirted with her cousin? Such behavior surely belied Aunt Madge's judgment of his character! At best, his behavior had to be considered thoughtless. At worst, the fellow could indeed be deemed a rake. Whichever he was, she could not find him admirable.

Engrossed in these troublesome thoughts, she did not notice an approaching figure until she blundered into what at first seemed to be a blue coat with bright brass buttons. Startled, she looked up past a stiff white shirtfront and a neatly folded neckcloth into the very face she'd been seeing in her mind. She would certainly have believed him to be an apparition created by her brain, except that the thud of their collision was quite real. "Har—Lord Ainsworth!" she gasped.

"Kate!" he cried, obviously delighted to have stumbled into her. "What an amazing coincidence! I was just this moment thinking of you!"

TWENTY-FOUR

Kate, discomfited beyond words by the unexpected encounter at just the wrong moment, made Harry a hasty excuse about an urgent appointment and, with the barest politeness, hurried away. If his expression showed disappointment, as she imagined it did, she didn't let herself dwell on it. According to Mrs. Compton, too many women had hopes of snaring Lord Ainsworth, what with his charm and his ten thousand a year. She would not be one of them!

But he was in Bath. And he was well acquainted with the Quigleys, which meant that he would surely come to call. She would have to face him sooner or later. But by that time, she would be more composed and better able to handle the encounter with her customary aplomb.

She needed that aplomb that very evening. Uncle Charles had arranged for the whole household to at tend a concert at the Upper Rooms, where the Holzinger String Quartet would be performing Mozart. Deirdre refused to go, having arranged for Percy to escort her to the Sydney Gardens to see a fireworks display. The others, however, were all happy to attend.

They'd no sooner entered the building when they encountered Harry. Charles greeted him with boisterous affection, Madge clutched him to her bosom with motherly enthusiasm, and Isabel offered both her cheeks to be kissed. Kate, when her turn came to greet him, merely bowed. He returned the bow with equal coolness, although she noticed that he'd raised one eyebrow in understated surprise.

A few moments later he managed to draw her aside. "You ran away so quickly this morning," he said, "that I wasn't able to ask how you've gone on."

"Very well, thank you, my lord," she answered. "I take it you and Lady Ainsworth are also well?"

"Yes. Grandmama is with me here in Bath. She thinks she benefits from drinking the waters. I hope you'll call on her. She'd be pleased to see you."

"Yes, I will. But tell me, how's Benjy? Is his arm healed?"

"Yes, it is. He's back at school and delighted to be there. I think you'll be pleased to learn that he was invited by a young lady to a Christmas fete and acquitted himself quite passably on the dance floor."

She had to smile at that. "Oh, I am glad," she said. Then, regretting this lapse into friendliness, she turned away. "I see my family is moving in. I must go. Good night, my lord."

Charles, however, insisted that Harry join their party. When they took their seats, Harry, with expert subtlety, managed to acquire one right beside hers. He said nothing until the others focused their attention on the entering musicians. Then he leaned over to her. "What have I done?" he asked her quietly.

"I don't know what you mean," Kate answered, fixing her eyes on the musicians' platform.

"Yes, you do. You're behaving as if I'd poisoned your favorite chestnut mare."

"If you'd poisoned my mare," Kate retorted, "my behavior would be a great deal less restrained than this. I would have shot you on sight."

He laughed. "I believe you would, headstrong female that you are. So that means I
have
committed some infraction, but not grave enough to be shot for it. What can it be?"

"I've no notion of what you're speaking, my lord. I haven't accused you of any infraction."

"That's just what I mean. You're 'my lord'ing me again. When last we spoke at Claydon, you called me Harry quite easily and even said something very kind to me. What can possibly have happened since? In the intervening months we've not set eyes on each other, so how can I have offended you?"

"You haven't offended me at all," she said, but her manner remained cool.

"Are you saying that time and distance have turned us into strangers?" he asked, plainly hurt.

The musicians, having finished tuning up, began to play. A lady in front of them turned her head and cast them a forbidding frown.

"I don't... I can't..." Kate whispered awkwardly.

"I know. This isn't the time or place," he whispered back. "I'll call on you."

"No!" It was almost a cry of fear. The lady in front threw back another glare.

Harry turned and stared at Kate in disbelief. "Kate! What on earth has happened between—?"

She shook her head and put her finger on her lips. He had no choice but to face front and pretend to listen to the music.

Kate was glad this troublesome exchange had come to an end, for she didn't know how to explain her behavior. It wasn't, as he'd suggested, time or distance that had made her feel cool toward him. It was her growing conviction that he was a rake. But how could she tell him that? The flaws in his character were no business of hers. Her only choice was to discourage his attentions, no matter how pleasing those attentions might be.

She would have liked to concentrate on the music. The musicians were playing a quartet called the "Dissonance," which she particularly enjoyed. Sitting there beside Harry, however, made concentration on the music impossible. The closeness of his arm on the armrest beside hers was a dreadful distraction. She tried to ignore it, but it caused a tingle along her own arm that did not diminish all evening long.

At the Sydney Gardens, meanwhile, the connection between Deirdre and Percy was taking quite a different direction. The fireworks display had been delightful, but soon the evening had become chilly. A wintry wind blew in, making it unpleasant to remain outdoors. To escape its bite, they started back to the house on Queen Street almost at a run. The wind whipped at Deirdre's cloak and twice sent Percy's beaver flying across the street. They arrived at the house tousled, red-cheeked, and laughing like children. Since the family was not expected back from the concert for two hours or more, Deirdre invited Percy to keep her company until they returned.