Amy Lake (23 page)

“If we went out toward the courtyard,” said Lord Davies, “we might rid ourselves of this liquid.  Perhaps in a potted palm or some such.”

“That would be terribly unkind to the palm.”

* * * *

Lord Davies ended up placing both glasses to the side of one of the Corinthian half-columns—I stood in such a manner to block the view of this misdemeanor from the rest of the assembly—and shortly we were walking down Westgate Street, my hand tucked under the viscount’s arm.  For awhile neither of us spoke, and I will confess that I spent the next several minutes imagining what it might be to have Lord Davies’ arm to rest upon more regularly.  Or forever.  The streets of Bath seemed uncommonly bright that morning, the people cheerful, and even the considerable evidence of passing horses—a part of life in every city, with London the worst in this respect—seemed to give off a nearly pleasant, homey smell.

Ah, Bath! I thought.  Ah, life! 

I loved him.  But if he did not love me—my high spirits tumbled as quickly as they had risen—those feelings did not signify. 

“Shall we make another attempt?” said Lord Davies, finally, as we made our way past small shops selling every kind of token and souvenir.

“An attempt at—?”

“Common conversation.”

I laughed.  Briefly.  “Is it possible?”

“I hope so.  It would be terribly dull to be unable to speak with one’s . . . friend.”

He hesitated on the word, and I nearly stumbled, because what I
heard
—or what I almost heard, and I vow I could see his lips forming the word, even though I was not looking at him, I was gazing straight ahead, at the people crowding Barton Street—was the word
wife
.

“And I am to be your friend?”  I tossed this off with the best tone of devil-may-care that I could manage.

“I would like it to be so.”

These were not quite the words a young lady hoped for.  Lord Davies seemed to realize this.

“Of course—” he began, but at that moment we were jostled by the crowd, and the viscount had to nearly pick me up to avoid my being pushed into the street.  And so the next words never came.

* * * *

Do not mope, I told myself later, sitting in my bedroom and slowly taking every last pin out of my hair.  At least we did not argue. 

Which might be thought an improvement, except for what
was
said between us.  Friends!  Pah, I thought.  I imagined the scene a few years hence in London, Lord Davies waltzing with his wife—the former Lady Anne Highsmith, let us suppose—and me, watching from the edge of the ballroom.  The waltz comes to an end, and the viscount smiles at me as he and the charming Lady Anne pass by, arm and arm.  Because he and I are
friends
.

Oh, go ahead and marry her, I told Lord Davies, in my mind.  She’ll lead you a merry chase, and well you will deserve it.  Because you could have had me.  And we would have been happy.

I started to sniffle.  Just a bit.

“Reggie!”

The voice, which came mixed with the excited yelping of several dogs, was Mrs Baxter’s; I thought of ignoring her, then sighed and got up, pulling my hair back into a quick mare’s tail.  I went downstairs, with no thought beyond the necessity of coping with whatever disaster had occurred this time, but I was to be pleasantly surprised, because a visitor awaited me in the hallway, three visitors actually.

Perry and Lucy were there.  And Cassandra Barre, nearly invisible behind a mass of jumping, bouncing dogs, their tails wagging in frantic welcome.  She was all smiles.

Chapter 46:  He Rode to Cumbria for You

What Cassie wants, Cassie gets.  Such was the happy explanation for Miss Barre’s appearance as, upon receiving my most recent letter, she had insisted to Sir Reginald and Lady Cynthia that she must visit me in Bath.  At once. 

“But—” I sputtered.  “What will people think?  Where will they think you’ve gone?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Cassie, shrugging. 

She has Lord Jeremy, of course, and Lord Jeremy would not care.  Really, the common sense and maturity of Cassandra’s relationship with her fiancé is enough to drive one completely mad.

Miss Barre and I had retreated to the salon, where we sipped tea and indulged in several of Edward’s delicious raspberry-and-honey scones.  The household left us alone, and were no doubt gathered in the kitchen, being informed by Lucy and Perry of all the goings-on in London.  In the meantime, I told Cassie of my most recent conversation with Lord Davies, and his rather uninspiring comment about becoming friends.

“He didn’t!” she exclaimed.

“Unfortunately, he did.”

“Oh, Reggie!  That’s too funny.”

I looked at her, indignant.  “’Tis not funny in the least.  He will no doubt return to town and propose to some . . . creature there, and—”

“To be sure.  The Viscount of Cardingham spent a sennight riding to Cumbria and back, and then left the next day for a trip to Bath, all because of the
friendship
he feels for one young miss.  Yes, Reggie,” said Cassandra,  “do tell me another one.”

“Well—”  I stopped, frowning.  “Cumbria?”

Miss Barre was regarding her scone with some satisfaction.  “These are as good as Cook’s, I must say.”

“
Cumbria
?”

She looked up at me.  “Yes, didn’t I tell you?”

“You certainly did not.” 

“Your father put it about that you had been sent to Belvoir Manor to recover from your recent illness.”

“But Lord Davies never said anything about—   Oh, my goodness.  No wonder he was so annoyed!”

“Not so much annoyed as frantic, according to Carys and Isolde.  Apparently, by the time he returned from London he was half-convinced you were dead.”

I frowned, only now realizing the import of what I had heard days earlier, from the viscount.  “Carys and Isolde.  That’s why he knew—”

“I told them, yes.  Good heavens, Regina, someone had to take the situation in hand, and you and the viscount were making a complete botch of it.”

“The situation.”

“You love Lord Davies, Lord Davies loves you.  What more is there to explain?”

“Lord Davies,” I said, stubbornly, “believes we are to be friends.”

“Complete rubbish,” said Cassandra.  “Now, we must plan what is to be done.  One can surely find a suitable occasion for dance, I should think?  Even in Bath?”

“Umm—” I said, stalling, but Miss Barre was correct, of course.  The Upper Assembly rooms, just east of the Circus, were available for such an activity, and balls were held there regularly, alternating with others at the Lower Assembly rooms close by the Terrace Walk.  Aunt Sophie did not bother with dances and so, thus far in my sojourn, neither had I, but they were popular events in a social town.

’Twould be entirely unremarkable if Miss Barre and I chose to attend a ball.

“Yes,” I admitted.  “A dance can be found.”

“We must ensure Lord Davies attends as well,” said Cassie, tapping her foot thoughtfully while I rolled my eyes.  “Let me talk to Perry.”

* * * *

Perry and Lucy were having the time of their lives, the easy-going nature of my aunt’s household fitting them to a trice, and Miss Barre had already wondered aloud if she would ever convince them to return to London.  Perry had quickly become fast friends with William and Stephen, and these two in turn were well-acquainted with Dabbs, Lord Davies’ valet, who had accompanied the viscount to Bath and was staying with him at his lodgings on Lansdown Crescent.

Apparently at the man’s own insistence.

“Says his lordship can’t live without him,” said William.  “Says that his gentleman don’ care a tuppence for how his cravat gets tied.”

The other members of the household were shocked at this, since it was a matter of complete faith to them that neither blunt nor a title was the equal of a well-tied cravat in determining a gentleman’s worth.

Perry spoke to William and Stephen, they spoke to the valet, and before long we received word back that the Viscount of Cardingham was now planning to attend the next ‘dress ball’ in the Upper Assembly rooms, a dress ball meaning, in Bath, that one wore one’s best outfit.

“Excellent,” said Cassie at the news, which arrived less than a sennight after her arrival.  During that time I had seen nothing of Lord Davies, although flowers continued to arrive at 5, Sydney Place.  Cassandra found the gesture charming.

“No-one sends flowers in London anymore,” she said.

But I wondered why the gentleman had not visited in person.

* * * *

I suppose ’tis needless to say that Miss Barre had come prepared for her visit with a selection of fine gowns, several of which fit me suspiciously well.  I selected a lovely gauze over satin in the color of rich cream, and was unsurprised to find that it came with matching slippers and bandeau. 

The evening before the ball we tried on our gowns in earnest.  Cassie began circling around me, looking at my costume from every angle.

“Your hair,” murmured Miss Barre, thoughtful.

“Do not remind me.”

“No—I have an idea.  Something a bit new.”

“Lud.”

I had considerable trust in Cassandra’s sense of fashion, but still—a bit new?

“Sit down,” said Cassie, and armed herself with a comb and the bandeau.

“’Twill all be for naught,” I complained to her.  “I don’t know any of the young gentlemen in town.”

“You know one.”

“Yes.  My good
friend
.”

“Stop saying that.  He rode to Cumbria for you, you sound ridiculous.”

Miss Barre was working with my hair as we spoke.  I was turned from the mirror and could not see, but I did not need my reflection to tell me that the bandeau was now drawn around my head, and tied at the nape of my neck.  Cassandra worked for several minutes and finally pronounced herself satisfied.

“You should always wear your hair like this,” she told me.

I looked in the mirror.  Tendrils of hair framed my face, escaping from the bandeau, and the rest of the heavy locks were drawn up slightly in back, from there to cascade over my shoulders in a mass of curls. 

I smiled.  It really did look quite nice, and such a relief from the pins.

“You have a new occupation in hair-dressing,” I told her.

 “I know,” said Miss Barre, smugly.

* * * *

I lay in bed late that night, sleepless, and wondered again why the viscount had not come by since Cassie’s arrival.  William and Stephen said that they had seen neither Lord Davies or his valet for several days, but that they were quite sure that he would be at the dress ball, tomorrow.

I wondered if I would waltz with him, tomorrow.

He rode to Cumbria for me.

Chapter 47:  A Dance in the Upper Assembly Rooms

The day of the ball arrived, and Cassie and I suddenly realized we had a problem we would never have encountered in London.  The Barre carriage had been sent back with the coachman to Sir Reginald and Lady Cynthia; how were we to arrive at the Upper Assembly rooms?

“I suppose one could walk,” I said, doubtfully.

“Walk!  In a gown and slippers?”

The shoes intended for dancing were inadequate to the task of managing city streets.  We were mulling this over when a note arrived from Lord Davies, saying that he would be pleased to send round a carriage for us that evening.

“How thoughtful,” said Miss Barre.

I was merely relieved that his lordship was unquestionably here in Bath.

* * * *

The household became involved in our preparations, with Edward sending up tisanes and biscuits to calm our nerves—

“If I eat all these,” said Cassie, “I will not fit into my dress.”

—Mrs Baxter clucking over the time, and Janie and Alice both underfoot in my bedroom.  Eventually we had to shoo them out.

“We will stand a pose for you before we leave, I promise,” I told Janie.

And so we did.  Cassandra wore a lovely white crepe with tiny roses embroidered on the hem, and I felt nearly her equal in the cream satin-with-gauze.  Everyone crowded into the hallway to see us off.  Janie and Alice exclaimed—and Lucy did as well, despite having seen both of us in ball gowns many times before—the boys applauded, and Mrs Baxter was nearly teary-eyed, as if we were her daughters.  Even Mr Elliott was there.

The carriage arrived.  Lord Davies was not in it, which suited me entirely well.  A few minutes rattling over the streets of Bath would give me more chance to compose myself; despite one of Edward’s strongest tisanes, I was all nerves.

* * * *

The details of a ball in the Upper Assembly rooms will have to be described at some other time, as I could tell you very little about this one.  Nothing of the ladies’ fashions, the music, or the decorations.  The room was large, I believe, and terribly crowded.  I walked through it in a half-daze. 

Where was he?

This was not a London dance, where I was well-known, where I had friends with which to pass the time, and acquaintances constantly passing by to be greeted.  Cassandra was the only person familiar to me; I felt a deep unease, and for a moment almost regretted that we had come. 

Well, I must know
someone
, mustn’t I?  All those hours spent in the pump rooms with Aunt Sophie couldn’t have gone entirely to waste.

And where was he?

Miss Barre, of course, was completely at her ease, and I noted several young gentlemen circling us warily and preparing to ask for introductions.  Then, to my intense relief, Mrs Polkinghorne greeted me, pushing her way determinedly through the throngs of waiting dancers.  She was accompanied by her daughter Maisie, the girl who wanted to marry a young man without money—a Mr Howarth, as I recalled.

Miss Polkinghorne was all smiles that evening, and with Maisie and her mother as an
entre
, so to speak, Cassandra and I were soon the center of a small and lively group.  London habits sustained me as I focused on remembering names and making conversation.

“Does one waltz in Bath?” asked Cassie.

“La!” answered Miss Polkinghorne.  “Of course!”