Amanda Scott (5 page)

“All that’s been turned over to Charles long since. I’ve kept only my private fortune, augmented by certain investments I’ve made, but the main source no one would guess if he were to speculate from now till the millennium.”

“Then I shan’t try. Do you mean to tell me?”

“I never meant to do so—never thought it would be necessary—but the case is altered now. My right hand’s of no use to me since that fool seizure, but Borland has all he can do to look after me and I refuse to have my privacy invaded by an outsider, so you are the logical answer to my problem.”

“I suppose you mean for me to manage your investments,” Manningford said, “but I know nothing about such things. You would do better to hire a proper man of affairs.”

“The investments are part of it, certainly,” the old man snapped, “and since, if you behave yourself, you stand to inherit this house and a tidy fortune when I’m spent, you’ll do well to learn how to keep it all and not give me a lot of backchat. I’ll see to it you get a proper power of attorney, but that ain’t even the heart of the matter. There’s still the novel.”

“What novel?”

Sir Mortimer’s glare faltered, and he looked away, saying gruffly, “That’s what I’ve been doing this past quarter-century. I write books.”

“Good God, sir, what sort of books?”

“Popular ones, damn your eyes! Gothic romances. And you needn’t poker up like that. You’ve been willing enough to take the profit, damn you; the time has come to do some of the work.”

Twenty minutes later, fiercely indignant and hoarse from arguing, Manningford stormed down the stairs and into the library, startling Mr. Lasenby so much that he spilled his wine.

“By Jove, Bran, look at that! My best waistcoat!”

“I don’t give a damn, Sep. We’re leaving Bath. But before we go, we’re going to abduct ourselves an heiress!”

B
Y THE FOLLOWING MORNING
, the last of the rain clouds had departed and the sun shone brightly as Nell walked along the path near the bowling green behind the Sydney Gardens Hotel. There were no bowlers to be seen just then, for the peaceful gardens were nearly empty of people. The air smelled fresh and clean, and the birds sang cheerfully, their songs combining in a chorus from the shrubs and trees lining the smooth, well-raked gravel path, but the only other sound was the crunch of Nell’s sensibly shod feet as she walked.

Her great-aunt, having entrusted her with the subscription card that served as a ticket of admission to the gardens, had told her that a significant part of the social round in Bath included a daily stroll along the gardens’ paths and promenades, where to be recognized and to be bowed to was confirmation of one’s approval by Bath society. For this purpose, however, Lady Flavia had pointed out in her acerbic way as Nell placed the card carefully in her bulky, knitted reticule, it was generally considered an advantage to be strolling at a time when there were other strollers about. Nevertheless, in Nell’s own opinion, since her primary purpose in visiting the gardens had been to think matters out for herself, her timing was excellent.

Ahead of her, to her right, was a pair of tennis courts, but they too were empty, and she wandered on, adjusting the strings of the unwieldy reticule over her arm and wondering what she ought to do about her future. Remaining with her great-aunt was clearly ineligible unless she could think of a way to contribute to the expenses of the household. And since Lady Flavia objected strenuously to any plan put forth with regard to Nell’s possible employment, she could think of no way to accomplish that end.

She was not, she realized forlornly, much suited to employment, anyway. She had been given an adequate education, but she did not think anyone of sense would hire her as a governess, nor did she imagine for a moment that she would enjoy such a position. That was the rub, that she did not, in all honesty, think she would enjoy a menial position, for the simple reason that her temperament was more determined in nature than most employers would tolerate in a dependent. She smiled, remembering her brother, Nigel’s, description of her.

“But I am not obstinate,” she informed a scampering squirrel that paused to look at her, sitting back on its haunches, nose a-twitch. “Really, I am not. A bit willful at times, I suppose, perhaps even a trifle recalcitrant when I think someone is attempting to take advantage of me, but I should prefer to think of myself as resolute, persevering, or tenacious, rather than just tiresomely stubborn.”

It was a game of hers, to think of words, to play with them in her mind, to find exactly the right one to suit the moment. Reading had been her chief joy for many years, and she had also enjoyed writing little tales for her own amusement, but since neither interest could provide her with employment, when the squirrel dashed on, disappearing through a shady grotto into what appeared to be a vast, hedged labyrinth beyond, she drew her mind inexorably back to the problem at hand, ignoring a strong temptation to fling her cares aside and follow the squirrel, to explore the labyrinth to her heart’s content.

The enormous maze was not the only distraction the gardens offered, for they had been designed in imitation of the famous Vauxhall Gardens in London, with artificial waterfalls, grottoes, thatched pavilions, and even a sham castle with cannon. Ahead of her now, built over a section of the Kennet and Avon canal, diverted to flow through the gardens, was an iron bridge in the Chinese style. She approached it, mentally sorting through a list of genteel occupations, discarding one after another.

Her great-aunt would suffer an apoplectic fit, she was sure, should she apprentice herself to a milliner or a modiste, or try to find a position as a lowly shopgirl. And Lady Flavia would approve even less of anything that smacked of Nell’s reducing herself to the servant class. About the only thing she could imagine that might possibly find acceptance in the old lady’s eyes was hiring herself out as lady companion to some elderly, albeit not impoverished, gentlewoman.

Stepping onto the bridge, Nell paused a moment in its center to look down at the clear water flowing beneath it, and sighed at the thought of spending her future days at the beck and call of an imperious employer, who would no doubt demand that she fetch and carry and listen to all manner of megrims and complaints. And what if the employer were sickly or, worse, a hypochondriac? Her recent history made it impossible to imagine herself fortunate enough to find employment with a paragon.

On the other side of the bridge, the gravel path wound south to follow the canal for a time, and she suppressed her cheerless thoughts for a few moments to enjoy the sight of a sextet of baby ducks who, under the watchful eye of their dignified mother, floating nearby, were flinging themselves from a low rock near the shore into the water, then swimming back and, with their wings aflap, clambering up the rock again to repeat the action with the same gleeful abandon that children might have shown.

Smiling, Nell wandered on, following the path along the canal, stopping briefly to admire a swing wide enough for two people to sit upon. A few yards beyond, the canal disappeared into an underground tunnel, and the path, crossing over it again, joined the hard-packed earthen ride that encircled the gardens, where horsemen exercised their steeds early each morning and others rode to be seen in the late afternoon. Shortly after that she came within sight of the labyrinth again and realized that she had made her way around a full half of the gardens.

The labyrinth at this point appeared to be divided by the ride, with a portion continuing into the shrubbery between the ride and the high wrought-iron fence that separated the gardens from the Sydney Road. She could hear carriage traffic from the road. Indeed, it sounded surprisingly nearer than that.

With something of a start, she realized as she came to the place where the ride passed between the two sections of the labyrinth, traffic was nearer than she had thought possible—for surely carriages were not allowed within the gardens themselves. Yet approaching now from the direction of the main gate was a crane-necked phaeton of the sort the bloods called a high-flyer, rattling along at speed behind a team of powerful-looking, perfectly matched bays.

Nell hitched her reticule more securely onto her arm and drew well aside, for the ride was not intended to accommodate wheeled vehicles or pedestrians—and certainly not both at the same time—and she noted that the single occupant was a well set up gentleman with fair hair beneath his high-crowned hat, broad shoulders beneath his well-cut, many-caped driving coat, and an irritated expression on his handsome face.

He caught sight of her just then, and his expression lightened as he pulled up his team with a flourish, bringing the carriage to a standstill right beside her. Then, to her complete astonishment, flashing a charming smile, he spoke to her.

“I do hope that you are Miss Bradbourne.”

“I am,” Nell replied in quelling accents, hoping that gentlemen in Bath did not often accost unknown ladies in public.

He swept his hat from his shining locks and made her a bow. “Sorry to disturb your walk, Miss Bradbourne, but the fact is that I’ve come here on purpose to find you. There’s been—”

“Aunt Flavia,” Nell exclaimed, her eyes widening in fright. “Something’s happened to Aunt Flavia! Oh, sir, pray tell me.”

He looked a trifle disconcerted by her reaction but recovered quickly, saying, “It is nothing dreadful, merely that she asked me to fetch you. I know it is not at all the thing when you do not even know me, but perhaps …” His voice trailed off, and he watched her hopefully.

Nell did not hesitate. “Of course I will come with you. Can you give me a hand up? How dreadfully high these carriages are! Oh, sir, what has happened to her?”

He did not answer at once, apparently being too much concerned both with holding his horses and with helping her to ascend to the seat to make explanation. Helping her, in itself, was no easy task, for her skirt was narrow and the step was set high from the ground, intended to accommodate a gentleman, not a lady. At last, however, the deed was done, and Nell discovered that she was not his only passenger when a toffee-colored hound lying on the floor under the seat lifted its head from its paws and gazed curiously at her as she stepped across the gentleman’s long legs to take her seat beside him.

“I trust your dog is well-behaved,” she said.

“Better than I,” he replied. “Hang on!” With that, he whipped up his horses again, and the phaeton sprang forward.

“Oh, sir,” Nell cried, “is it not a shorter distance if you turn around and go back to the entrance the way you came?”

“I suppose it is,” he replied, “but if you can turn this rig in this narrow ride, you are a better driver than I am, which I take leave to doubt.”

She grimaced, saying, “No, of course I could not. ’Twas a foolish thing to say, but I am dreadfully troubled about my aunt, sir. You still have not told me what has happened to her.”

“Nor have I introduced myself,” he said glibly. “Brandon Manningford, at your service, Miss Bradbourne. You are newly come to Bath, I believe.”

“Yes, sir, but though it is pleasant to make your acquaintance, I confess I have no wish to exchange civilities just now. Pray, do tell me about my aunt.”

There was more color in his cheeks than she had noticed before when he said, “The situation is not grave, I promise you. Only a slight indisposition. But it frightened her sufficiently enough that she asked me to go in search of you, and of course I said I would. I can tell you, I was glad to see the gardens were nearly empty, for I had not the least notion what you looked like. As it was, I accosted two other females before you and nearly a third. Fortunately, I saw that the latter was of such age and countenance as to dismiss any possibility that she might be the Lady Flavia Bradbourne’s beautiful niece.”

“Her husband was my grand-uncle, Mr. Manningford,” Nell said, “but I do thank you for your compliment, little though I deserve it.”

They were approaching the entrance to the gardens now, and Nell saw that the wiry gatekeeper had opened both gates in order to allow the phaeton to pass through. Manningford raised a hand in thanks, and the gatekeeper saluted him. Once beyond the gates, Manningford negotiated the narrow, crescent-shaped entrance road, and emerging into Great Pulteney Street, urged his horses to greater speed before raising his voice above the clatter to say, “You slight yourself, Miss Bradbourne.”

“What, in refusing to lay claim to beauty?” She smiled at him, certain he was talking nonsense, trying to take her mind off Lady Flavia until he had delivered her to her side, but she could not let his accusation stand. “I speak no more than truth, sir. Few persons admire carrot-colored hair or the temperament that is thought to accompany it, and while soft curls are desirable, thick, wiry ones that tangle like a blackthorn hedge at the least motivation to do so are not. Furthermore, I am much too small for beauty. I know a truly beautiful girl who lives near my home in Trowbridge. She is tall and slender with masses of shining black hair, rosy cheeks, and eyes the color of sapphires.”

He shrugged. “I, too, know a woman who looks like that. Have done for a good portion of my life, for that matter, but I cannot say she suits my notion of what is beautiful. She is married, which might account for it, though now that I come to think of it, I never thought her beautiful when we were younger either. A madcap she was then. Sobered up a bit since she married Sydney and saddled them both with a pair of high-spirited children. He is also a friend of mine, Sydney Saint-Denis. They live at Bathwick Hill House.”

“I have heard of him,” Nell said, flushing when she remembered the context of that particular conversation.

Manningford glanced at her. “Have you now? And what might you have heard that turns your cheeks the color of ripe cherries, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

Flustered, Nell said quickly, “My great-aunt merely mentioned his Chinese servant … that he … Oh, dear, you will think me very odd, to be sure, if I do not explain, but it was all so silly. She was talking about mysterious things …”