Gail Eastwood (7 page)

He didn’t seem as shocked as he ought to have been. “My sister Clemmy would envy you,” he said quite seriously. “She always wanted to have such an opportunity to expand her mind.”

“Clemmy?”

“For Clementina.”

“And why could she not?”

“Oh, my father forbade it, I suppose. He was rather conventional and quite strict with my sisters. And then she was married after that. She is the eldest of my sisters and has been married for eleven years now. It seems quite amazing to think of it. She has three daughters of her own.”

Gillian paused to consider what he had revealed. “Your father is dead?” she asked.

“Yes. I was sixteen when we lost him.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been quite a blow—to you and to all of your family.”

“I was angry for a while,” he admitted with candor that charmed her. “I wasn’t ready to become head of the household, and I didn’t think it was fair. But I learned quickly.”

“How many sisters have you?”

She watched his rather grim expression light up with a smile. Lord, he was handsome!

“Five,” he answered, “more than anyone ought to be burdened with!”

“You do not sound as if you really mind them.”

“No. If anything, I suppose I am overfond of them all, and I spoil them. But three are still unmarried, and husband hunting for them is not a job I relish.”

Gillian’s surprise at this remark was clear in her voice. “You do not seem to have objections to education for women. Why not allow your sisters to choose husbands for themselves?”

Brinton turned to her with an expression of mock horror. “What, have I been assisting a runaway radical all this time? Would you turn the world on its ear, woman?” He laughed.

Gillian was surprised at the depth of her disappointment in him. “Forgive me for thinking you might have an open mind. I see I am mistaken.” She bit her lip, but she could not leave the subject alone. “But why not—” she began, only to have him stop her words with a finger laid gently against her lips. He had gathered the reins into one hand again, and the horses had slowed almost to a standstill.

“Now you are trying to make me out an ogre,” he said, that enchanting smile lingering and the laughter still in his eyes. “Did I say that I would not allow my sisters to have some part in the choosing? Am I not helping you to defy the wishes of your own guardian?” His finger lingered at her mouth, brushing her lips gently before he withdrew it. “But truly, women are not practical creatures. You are ruled by your hearts, not your heads. And marriage is a practical matter. My sister Darcy, who I think is not even your age, would have run off with a poet she met last year if I had not intervened. They would have had to live on words instead of bread and meat like other mortals.”

“But if they loved each other . . .” Gillian tried again, but Brinton shook his head.

“It doesn’t signify. Love is a luxury possible only for those who have nothing to lose.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Gillian in frustration. “You men think you know so much! I am sorry for you and for your poor sisters! If you had only known my parents—” She was interrupted by a yelp of protest from the rear of the carriage.

“I say! Must we stop? If I wasn’t already thoroughly wet, this would do it! Or hadn’t you noticed it’s raining?”

Chapter Seven

The cries of street-mongers and the rattle of traffic on paving stones woke Gillian from a sound sleep the following morning. After staring at the sunlight leaking between the curtains of an unfamiliar bedroom window for a puzzled moment, she remembered where she was. Bath! She jumped out of bed and hurried over to let in the sights and sounds of the city.

As she watched the bustle in the street below her, Gillian thought back to her brief meeting with her hostess upon arriving the previous evening. Brinton’s friend, Mrs. Alford, had received the twins cordially, especially considering the unexpected nature of their visit, but then they had been hustled off to their beds. Gillian now found herself wondering just why they had been sent up so quickly, and just how much longer Brinton had stayed before departing to his own room at the Castle Inn.

She was still standing by the window when she caught the rich scent of chocolate and heard a noise behind her. She turned to discover a little maid hovering in the doorway with a porcelain cup on a tray.

“Good morning!” Gillian exclaimed, smiling at the girl and advancing to accept the steaming cup. “And it is, isn’t it? I do love chocolate to start off the day. Tell me, are the others up? Is there breakfast downstairs, or have I missed too much of the day already?”

The maid smiled timidly. “Oh, no, miss. We don’t start too early. There’s plenty breakfast all laid out. As for the others, I don’t rightly know.” She looked down quickly, shy again. Gillian guessed the girl was waiting to help her dress.

“I will confess that I do not . . .
did
not have an abigail to do for me at home,” she began, wondering how to put the girl at ease. Then she stopped, considering for the first time the sad state of her and Gilbey’s luggage and the fact that the house servants had surely been instructed to deal with it. There was no sign of her satchel in the room this morning. How shocked the maids must have been when they discovered the sodden, wrinkled mess of clothing stuffed inside!

She thought suddenly of her precious books inside the portmanteau that had gone to Gilbey’s room. And what had become of the clothes in which she had arrived? Would she get them back? How on earth had Brinton explained her appearance to their hostess? She set down her cup and looked doubtfully at the maid.

“Your things is all in the dressing room, miss. Shall you be wanting the blue dress, then?”

Did she want the blue dress? Brinton had introduced the twins to Mrs. Alford by their real names last night, so Gillian knew she would be expected to appear as a properly turned-out young lady today. “Yes, the blue will be fine,” she said, nodding.

She had brought with her only the smallest quantity of her own clothes, depending on the walking dress of slate blue
gros de naples
and a pale green muslin morning gown to fill her needs when she first got to Scotland. For a moment her confidence wavered, but she pushed her fears aside. They were in Bath, hopefully among friends, and altogether things could have been much worse. She resolved to trust Brinton and ignore her troubles for this one day.

A short time later Gillian descended and, after inquiring the way, strode energetically into the breakfast room. Gilbey was seated at the table and, to her surprise, Lord Brinton was helping himself to sausages at the sideboard. Upon her entry Gilbey stopped cold, a savory bun suspended in midair en route to his mouth. Brinton turned and stared in open admiration.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, smiling brightly for their benefit.

“Good God, I have a sister again,” Gilbey said, struggling to his feet.

Brinton turned to him with a teasing look in his eye. “May I beg an introduction? I am sure I have not made this lady’s acquaintance. Certainly I would remember such a vision of loveliness!”

Gillian blushed, but threw off the compliment with easy humor. “Serving butter with the sausage this morning, are we? Thank you, but that is a bit rich for my taste.”

“Madam, you wound me!”

“You may roast me all you wish this morning,” she declared, choosing a place at the table across from her brother, where she could turn her back quite deliberately on the earl. “Such a good night’s rest has made me immune to your flummery. The sun is shining, and it is going to be a delightful day!”

She took a seat across from her brother and was relieved to see him sit down again. “How is your knee this morning, Gilbey?”

“Tolerable. It seems to be in working order, although it still hurts like the devil.” Clearly, the restful night had done him good as well.

The footman who had been standing so stiffly by the door hurried over to the sideboard to serve her, but Brinton firmly took the plate from him and silently dismissed the young fellow. The earl served Gillian himself, loading her plate with shirred eggs, toast, and a section of beautifully grilled trout.

Gillian did not see the exchange that took place behind her, so she was startled when Brinton placed the food in front of her, his sleeve brushing against hers. He was so close to her, she could make out the faintly musky scent of lime she remembered from Taunton.

“Perhaps the unaccustomed sunshine has blinded you to a compliment sincerely meant,” he said reprovingly.

Caught off guard, Gillian looked up. Sparks were already racing through her veins from his proximity, and when she saw the warm look in his eyes, they all burst into flame at once. Her eyes widened in alarm at the sensation.

Brinton smiled and moved away. He took up his own plate and, to Gillian’s dismay, sat down across from her next to Gilbey, where she could not avoid his disconcerting gaze. She bent her head to her plate, pretending to look for bones in her fish. Could he possibly sense her reaction to him? Did she somehow betray herself, or did men have some way of knowing?

“Gillie, you do look very fine this morning,” her brother said, filling the awkward pause.

“You are too kind,” she replied, finding her voice. Bravely, she raised her head to address Brinton. “And how is it we have the pleasure of your company this early in the day, my lord?” It came out sounding like a challenge.

The earl leaned back in his chair. “I could risk another set-down and say that I simply could not stay away from your shining presence, or I could take the coward’s way out and admit that the offerings at the Castle cannot begin to compare with Mrs. Alford’s table.”

Gilbey chuckled, and Gillian could not hide a smile. “Where is our intrepid hostess this morning?” she asked.

“Alice and I have been friends since childhood, and early hours have never agreed with her,” Brinton informed them. “I am sure we will see her later in the day.”

Gillian gave herself a mental slap for questions that were none of her business and changed the subject. “Upon your recommendation, my lord, we have changed our route and, one might say, have gone to cover here in Bath. We have you to thank as well as Mrs. Alford for a very comfortable night. But what would you suggest we do now?”

“I have business to attend here, and I think you may safely spend the day. It is a shame the shops are not open, for I am sure there are necessities that you have had to leave behind. However, we could tour the city a bit if that would please you.”

“Could we?” Gillian’s enthusiasm for the idea blinded her to any question about what sort of business Brinton might need to conduct on a Sunday. She turned to her twin. “Gilbey, do you think we would be safe? Is there anyone who would know us?”

“I don’t recall that we have any connections in Bath. And who would suspect a pair of runaways to be taking in the sights?”

“Can we see the Roman antiquities? My father read to us about them. Can you imagine digging in the dirt and finding a head of Minerva! It gives me chills of excitement just to think of it! Does one have to take the waters to see the baths? And I’d love to see Pulteney Bridge—they say it is like a little piece of Italy.”

Rafferty found Gillian’s childlike eagerness a refreshing change from the studied boredom practiced by the
ton
. He gave her the wide, brilliant smile that lit up his whole face. “What, not asking for the shops or the Pump Room first? But, of course. History and architecture it is.” He turned to Gilbey. “Will your knee bear walking today?”

Gilbey thought that walking might relieve some of his stiffness, so after their meal the trio set off. They agreed that if anyone inquired, the twins were to pose as Brinton’s visiting cousins from Devonshire.

It seemed as if the sun had drawn everyone in Bath into the streets. As the twins and Brinton progressed through Laura Place and across Pulteney Bridge, the pedestrian traffic on the pavements grew thicker and thicker, far surpassing the congestion of vehicular traffic in the roadways.

“If ‘everyone of consequence’ is in London for the Season, how can there still be so many people here?” Gillian asked Brinton playfully.

“Clearly, Bath hosts an immense population of inconsequential persons, including ourselves,” Brinton replied, and they both laughed.

Gillian found she was quite enjoying herself, walking along with her hand resting lightly in the crook of Lord Brinton’s elbow. Propriety had demanded that she borrow a shawl and bonnet from Mrs. Alford, so she felt rather stylishly turned out. The crowds had made it impossible to walk three abreast, and Gilbey had dropped behind them, stopping here and there to examine details of the scenery that caught his artist’s eye. They paused along the river’s bank for a view of the bridge. The sound of the rushing rapids blocked out the noises of the city.

“
Now
I can see something to admire in it,” Gillian said, gazing back at the celebrated structure. “When we walked over it, it seemed nothing more than a charming street of shops!”

“If you ever travel to Venice, you will have had a preview of what you will see there,” Brinton commented. His eyes were on Gillian, not the view.

“I will be happy if I can get to Scotland,” she said sharply, turning away. She did not wish to be reminded of the uncertain future, or even the limitations of the present.

The earl stayed a moment as she began to move away. Gillian could sense that he was still watching her. Then she heard him move, and he was beside her again, taking her hand and gently tucking it back in the crook of his arm.

“I did not mean to upset you,” he said apologetically. “In fact, I was wondering if you might not be happy, here in this place, at this moment, on this day.”

In this company
, thought Gillian, but Brinton had not said those words.
I almost could be
, she added to herself. She did not dare to tell Brinton that, however. It alarmed her to think how much she was enjoying being with him.

They turned toward Bath Abbey, towering above the other buildings in this oldest part of the city. Prudence suggested that they avoid the services underway inside, but they found much to admire in its rich exterior, including the famous sculptured angels clambering up celestial ladders on the west front.

“They do not appear to have the least interest in interceding for us mere mortals, do they?” Gillian asked.

Brinton caught her reference to
Tristram Shandy
right away, “Your education is showing again, Miss Kentwell. Have a care, or someone may take you for a bluestocking!”

“In Scotland they are not averse to educated females,” she said with a defensive toss of her head.

She started off ahead of the two men, but Brinton caught her hand before she had taken a second step. “Don’t you know that I meant that as a compliment?” he said softly.

“Gillie thinks they read Laurence Sterne in Scotland,” Gilbey teased.

“I have heard that they teach a good deal more than embroidery in their female academies. One day they will have women in the universities,” she declared staunchly.

Looking down into Gillian’s earnest face, the earl knew he did not want to talk about Scotland. He felt his emotions swirling in a confusion of warmth and sympathy that he thought he saw answered in the blue-green depths of her eyes. She made a lovely picture in her blue dress with the borrowed shawl and bonnet. She was charming and intelligent, and he wondered if, after all, his uncle had known exactly what he was doing in choosing her. If it was all an act on her part, it was a damn fine one.

He steered the twins up Union Street. “I judge the Pump Room will be too crowded to suit us at this time of day,” he said to both of his companions, “but I believe it is required for all ladies to take in the shops on Milsom Street. Even, or perhaps most advantageously, when the shops are closed.”
And we will be less likely to run into anyone who will wish to converse or ask questions
, Brinton added to himself. He hoped Alice was having some luck with the inquiries he had asked her to make for him while he kept the twins occupied.

In front of a milliner’s window they halted. “Gilbey, look! There’s a little cork riding hat almost exactly like the one I bought in Kingsbridge!” Gillian exclaimed. “Perhaps I was a trifle overhasty in consigning that hat to Hector’s use, although it did sail on the wind just beautifully.”

“Who is Hector?” the earl asked in surprise.

“He is Gillie’s spaniel,” Gilbey explained. “He got too old for hunting, but she liked to indulge his fantasies by throwing her hats out into the wind on the cliffs for him to chase. It’s no wonder she hasn’t a bonnet of her own.”

“It takes a soft heart to be concerned about the fantasies of aging dogs,” Brinton replied quietly.

Gillian turned to go on. “I believe in Scotland a lady may go out uncovered without causing a major scandal, Gilbey.”

“Gillie thinks that in Scotland she’ll be free to do anything at all that she wants,” Gilbey explained. “She plans to dance barefoot in the streets.”

“I’d like to know where she has gotten these ideas about Scotland,” Brinton muttered.

The little group toiled up the hill, stopping for the earl to catch his breath and Gilbey to rest his knee partway up Bartlett Street, and soon they found themselves outside the Upper Assembly Rooms.

“From here we will go across to the Circus and the Crescent, which I know you will admire,” the earl said. “By the time we make our way back down through Queen Square, it will be far less crowded at the baths.”