The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) (19 page)

“No, it is not worth bringing up.”

“Is it because I was talking with Jane Holcomb?”

“It is…only because you seemed so happy to talk with Jane Holcomb.”

“I had no choice. She was my dinner partner.”

“And yet you were so engaging with her, so very charming.”

“She is nothing to me. She is a girl.”

“A pretty one, at that.” Cassandra’s eyes began to sting and she cursed herself for becoming emotional.

“I cannot believe you are jealous of her. She is less than nothing compared to you. You are the love of my life, Cassandra! I would do anything for you, go anywhere, risk anything. Do you not understand that?”

Cassandra turned her head to him, surprised at the vehemence in his voice. “No, perhaps I did not.”

He looked out his window. “Surely you must know that by now.”

She looked out her own but said nothing. The moon shone full in the sky and lit the ground like daylight. They turned into the drive of Sorrel Hall.

“Cassandra,” he said after several moments. “I have been very patient. I will continue to be patient. But I want you to know that this love affair of ours is not a game to me. The only logical conclusion is marriage. I will wait for you as long as I have to wait, but I will not accept any less than you becoming my wife.”

She looked at her gloved hands. The carriage rattled to a stop in front of the house. Ben flung the door open and leapt out, then came around and opened the door for her, offering his hand. His expression was severe. As she stepped down, he said, “I will see you in Bath.”

She nodded and hurried into the house, fighting back tears.

After James and Edward left for Bath, the remaining members of the party departed within a few days, each on their own schedule. Cassandra offered her carriage to Lady Holcomb and Jane; the Charles group came the next day. She had not heard from Ben, but knew was planning to bring his phaeton to use in and around Bath when he finally did come.

When Cassandra arrived with the Holcombs on the tenth of October, James was waiting for them in front of the hotel. When she stepped out of the carriage to behold the Royal Crescent, the perfect semi-circle of four-story townhouses, all attached and uniform of which their hotel was a part, she marveled that three hundred years in the future, it would not have changed at all. The Crescent overlooked a
handsome
park, one of the favorite gathering places of the townspeople on fine days, and on the afternoon of their arrival, it was alive with ladies and gentlemen strolling in the sunshine.

As the Holcombs arranged to have their luggage taken to the suite above the Franklins’, James led his mother to the third floor to inspect their own rooms. He opened the door for her onto a small foyer with golden yellow walls and a diminutive chandelier hanging from the ceiling. To the left was a circular space with four doors positioned around it. These were the entrances to the two bedrooms, the water closet, and bathing room. James led his mother through the farthest door to the right, where Cassandra found a perfectly feminine room: a four poster bed with white lace covers and bed curtains, a white vanity and wrought iron chair, and a painted white dresser and armoire.

Her luggage was brought up, accompanied by one of the hotel maids assigned to their suite. Cassandra directed the luggage to her room and left instructions for the maid to begin to unpack. She and James then continued with their tour. He led her back through the foyer to a large parlor, sunny, with tall windows that overlooked the Crescent. The furniture consisted of a pale green, satin sofa and two armchairs to match, with curved, carved legs and arms. There was a grey marble coffee table in the center of the seating area. Another grouping of stiff-backed chairs huddled around a card table. Cassandra’s eyes settled on the finely carved, rectangular piano of golden oak, occupying a position just before the parlor windows. She went to it and ran her hands over the keys.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

“I knew you’d like it,” replied James.

Moving towards the dining room, she stopped in front of the gold-framed mirror hanging over the fireplace mantle to arrange a stray hair; then touched the cool green-veined marble that made up the mantle and front-piece. The double doors connecting the dining room to the parlor were now open wide, creating a feeling of spaciousness between the two rooms. In the dining room was a smaller fireplace. The walls were painted a robin’s egg blue, and on the ceiling were murals of angels and clouds. Cassandra looked up at them and smiled.

She went to dress for the evening, donning a white, silk gown with a low neck and capped sleeves and a slight train. She added long gloves, drop earrings, a fan, and a warm silk and woolen shawl patterned in red and purple flowers, with long purple fringe. She met James in the parlor, he wearing the same suit of clothing he had for the Darrington ball, only with a blue cravat instead of red. They ate a light repast in the dining room, then descended to find the Holcombs waiting for them in the lobby.

The theater they attended on their first night in Bath was a grand venue with many tiers of seats and boxes for the upper class. The entire party had been invited to join Lady Charles and her two girls in a box situated on the second level above the ground floor, so near the stage Cassandra felt she could almost reach down and touch the top of the actors’ heads. Once the play started, Shakespeare’s
Twelfth Night
, she and James looked around at the audience who would not quiet their loud whispering conversations. Though Cassandra knew that a night at the theater was more a chance to see and be seen then to take in the offering, she found it very distracting.

She felt bad for her son, and kept looking over to catch his eye. This was an experience of a lifetime, and it was hard to take in because of the chatter. Although the actors spoke their lines in a stilted and overblown style, Cassandra felt that, as was true throughout history, the British had a grasp on Shakespeare that actors of other nationalities could never really master. More than once Lady Holcomb tried to engage Cassandra in talk about a woman’s gown in the box across the way, but the American merely smiled at her friend and turned her head back to the stage. She watched James rebuff the attempts at conversation by both Elizabeth and Jane, who were seated on either side of him, with only a friendly nod. At the end of the performance, she and James burst into wild applause, and it took the rest of the audience a few moments to catch up to their level of enthusiasm.

In the mornings, they attended the Pump Room, a cavernous space fitted with columns and arches, a great chandelier hanging from the center of the high ceiling, and walls painted in soothing pastels. This is where the Bath high society assembled. At one end of the room the healing waters, hot and sulfurous, were distributed in cups by an attendant. At another, an orchestra played. Cassandra and James met their friends there, and were soon introduced to many more of the Holcombs’ and Charles’ acquaintances. By the end of their first week, Ben had still not arrived.

October 17, 1820—I recall a simulation I did as I prepared for my journey, of the public bathing experience in Bath. The men and women sat together in the great Roman bath, speaking little. The men all wore brown, linen suits, the women brown jackets and petticoats, slightly different than the bathing costume James bought for me in Bathingstoke. I was wearing one of these outfits, getting ready to submerge myself, looking around at the room of rough, stone walls, etched with worn-down carvings of suns and other Roman symbols, taking in the high, arched ceiling. I had difficulty summoning up the desire to get wet and hesitated before stepping in. The clothes felt like they would be heavy and clingy. Some of the people in the water looked up at me curiously. The warm, moist air swirled around me, and I knew I would only get hotter as I stood there. I moved to the steps and descended into the murky water. Once in, almost up to my chest, the warmth of it was, indeed, quite relaxing. The fabric alternately clung and billowed away from my body. Bowls of pomanders and sweet oils floated on the water, but didn’t make much of a dent in the sulfurous odor of the place. It didn’t take long for me to feel like I’d had enough. How long should I stay in, I wondered? It was not only boring, but not exactly what I long for in a spa experience.

As the people all faded away, and the ancient Roman bath turned into the black simulation room, I became miraculously dry. I removed the porous sensory mask covering my entire head, and, looking down, now saw only the sensory jump suit I was wearing. Since I had such a vivid simulation of the experience, I now actually have no desire to get into that icky looking water in real life. James says he’s going to give it a try
—
I say, have fun.

In the evenings, the group from Selborne usually attended the Upper Rooms for dancing. The ballroom was a vast hall with tall ceilings, windows on the second story, and no less than five crystal chandeliers. On those evenings Cassandra found herself appealed to by many partners but took no pleasure in the dancing, always looking around the room, hoping for Ben to suddenly appear.

The night of the eighteenth, Cassandra was dancing with an officer of the navy who was in town with his regiment. He’d been introduced to her by Lady Holcomb. He was a tall man, with dark hair, graying at the temples. His face was weathered, but Cassandra found his dark complexion handsome. His features were chiseled, his teeth straight and white. They spoke about Jeffrey as they danced; the man, Captain Wayne, had known him during the young man’s training. Another couple came into view and Cassandra immediately saw that it was Ben dancing with Jane. She almost missed a step. He glanced at her, then looked away. Cassandra got through the end of the dance, making only the cursory responses to Captain Wayne’s remarks. She curtsied and hurried to grab her cloak from the coat room. In moments, she felt a touch on her shoulder and looked around. Ben stood before her. He put his hand on her wrist.

“Wait, Cassandra,” he whispered.

“What is the meaning of your behavior, Ben?” She said in a low voice as people milled around them. “I do not understand. Why have you waited so long to come to Bath? Why have you not at least written?”

“I was angry because you will not marry me.”

She sighed, frustrated.

“Come.” He tipped the coat check man, took her cloak, and wrapped it around her shoulders. They moved through the crowd and out onto the street. They walked through the plaza towards Bath Abbey, not speaking until they were in the shadows of the great church.

“If you cannot accept that marriage is not in my immediate future, then we have nothing else to say to each other.” She felt a choke in her voice.

“I do not want to be estranged from you. I have been in agony. I will not press you, Cassandra, I promise. I was going to wait for you to come crawling back to me, but seeing you dancing with that man threw me into fits of jealousy.” He took her in his arms.

“You have me,” she whispered. They kissed hungrily, their bodies pressed closely. “Enough.” She finally said, pushing him away. “We cannot be seen like this. Tomorrow night there is a private concert at the home of Lady Rochester’s, a friend of Lady Charles—”

“Yes, an invitation came to my parents’ townhouse where I am staying.”

“So I will see you then.”

“I love you, my angel.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Good night.”

The concert the next evening was of operatic songs performed by a large soprano with bright, blond hair and waggling upper arms. Cassandra and Ben were seated far apart, but spent the majority of the evening stealing glances across the room. Cassandra thought it would never end. But once the singing was finished and they’d all partaken in wine and sweets, the crowd began to file out of the stuffy parlor. As Cassandra passed near Ben, he took her elbow and drew her aside, a look of excitement sparkling in his eye.

“Mrs. Franklin,” he began, “I think that before we leave Bath, you and I should put on a musical performance at my place.”

“What?” she exclaimed, then dropped her voice. “And expose our collaboration to public scrutiny?”

“We did as much at Sorrel Hall when we played at your garden party.”

“But that was just the neighborhood, and Lady Charles was not even there.”

“You do not think word got back to her about that?”

The lady in question was moving near them just then, her eyes firmly fixed in their direction. Cassandra instinctively moved a step away from Ben and lowered her gaze. They waited until she passed by.

“Let us do it, why not?” he pressed. “It will be a formal evening, with a dinner included. And only our close acquaintance—nothing public. Let us show these people what we are together. They think we are lovers, perhaps; let us show them this other, very precious part of our relationship.”

“I do not know.” Cassandra glanced across the room and nodded to Lady Holcomb who was gathering her wrap.

“We have been practicing together so long,” Ben continued, ignoring all others in the room, “we must have some outcome for it all.”

“But we have not played together for nearly two weeks!”

“Then we had better get to practicing.”