Carola Dunn (8 page)

“A soldier cannot choose where to go,” she consoled him, with an oddly enchanting air of mingled wisdom and anxiety. “You did your duty, and wherever you were, it was very brave of you.”

They had reached one of the bridges over the Kennet-Avon Canal. Jessica and Walsingham were waiting for them, leaning on the ornamental iron railing to watch a string of barges pass underneath. Nathan was struck by how comfortable they were with each other. Perhaps his sister’s plan was not so outrageous after all, if it meant she was going to marry Walsingham. He could not think of anyone he had rather have for a brother-in-law.

“Miss Franklin has agreed to entrust herself to me in a boat on the canal one of these days,” Walsingham greeted them. “Are you brave enough to join us, Franklin?”

“Sir Nathan is brave enough for
anything,’’
said Miss Pearson, shy but firm.

“I am indeed, ma’am,” he said, smiling down at her, “if you will venture with me.”

She blushed and nodded. After settling on a day for the outing, they all turned to admire the view of the town, then started back down the hill.

Nathan was racking his brains. Miss Pearson was far too charming a young lady to be allowed to continue wearing gowns garish—if not décolleté—enough for an actress. As a gentleman, he could not decently make any suggestions, but perhaps Jess could manage something.

As they approached Tibby and Mrs. Woodcock, he said in a low voice, “Miss Pearson, if you wish to repay my sister for any kindness she has done you, perhaps you would go shopping with her. My aunt has not the least interest in fashions and fripperies and I know Jess would be glad of a companion.”

“I should be happy to accompany Miss Franklin,” she said diffidently.

“Jessica! I have been telling Miss Pearson how you love to shop and are always complaining that Aunt Tibby will not go with you.”

“Indeed, it is a sad trial to me,” his sister responded, meeting his eye with a quizzical look.

He gave the girl a gentle nudge.

“If you do not mind, ma’am, I will go with you one day.”

“A splendid notion,” Jessica said cordially. “I am in grave need of a bonnet I noticed in Milsom Street. Are you free tomorrow morning?”

Silently blessing her, Nathan treated everyone to tea in the Holburne of Menstrie pavilion.

Later, when they met at dinner, he thanked his sister for her cooperation.

“Just what was going on there?” asked Miss Tibbett suspiciously. “You know I am always perfectly willing to go shopping with you, Jessica.”

“I know, dear Tibby, but if I am not mistaken, Nathan has more in mind than a simple shopping expedition.”

“I hoped you might be able to influence Miss Pearson’s taste,” he admitted. “If you insist on befriending her, it will be easier on our eyes if she is more... er,
demurely
clad.”

“Precisely my own feeling,” she agreed, looking at him knowingly. “It is a shame to hide her light under a bushel, for she is a pretty child, is she not?”

He concentrated on carving the roast saddle of mutton. “Is she?” he asked. “I scarcely noticed.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I
never had the making of them gowns, miss,” Madame Guinevere assured Jessica as her assistant led Miss Pearson to a fitting room. “You may be sure of that. It’s my belief them London modistes’ll do anything if you pay ‘em enough. A crying shame, I call it, putting the poor young lady in colours as ‘d embarrass a peacock.” She bustled after them, calling for the lavender dimity.

Jessica would have liked to take her young friend to her own seamstress, but she suspected that the unknown Mr. Pearson would despise any but the most expensive modiste in Bath. At least Madame’s front shop was comfortable. While she waited, she looked through the latest issue of
Ackermann’s Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufactures, Fashions and Politics.
The section on fashion was the only one to show signs of wear.

Not ten minutes later she was called into the fitting room to give her opinion. Miss Pearson was clad in a white muslin walking dress with coquelicot ribbons threaded around the sleeves, hem and bodice, and a coquelicot sash at the high waist.

“Is it all right, Miss Franklin?” she asked anxiously. “Papa does so like bright colours.”

“Charming.” Jessica noted the bloom in her cheeks, which had seemed pale in comparison to her garish dress. She really was very pretty. “It suits you to perfection.”

The girl twisted to look in the mirror.

“Careful!” advised Madame Guinevere. “Them pins’ll fall out. I can have it ready for you in a half hour, miss.”

“I’ll take it,” said Miss Pearson decisively.

“And while we are waiting you can try on a few more,” Jessica suggested. “The lavender dimity would make a splendid carriage dress.”

An hour later the young ladies were about to emerge from the shop, when Lucy—they were on Christian name terms by then—tugged on Jessica’s arm.

“Oh, pray wait a moment. There is that horrid Lord Alsop passing by.”

Jessica was only too pleased to comply. Lucy must stop wearing a king’s ransom in jewels, Jessica thought, then she would not be viewed as fair prey by every fortune hunter in Bath. For once she quite forgot that Nathan was one of their number.

“Have you any pearls?” she asked. “They would go best with your new primrose ball dress.”

“No, Papa never cared for pearls.”

“Perrin’s is next door, but I suppose your pin money will not stretch to such a purchase.”

“I have enough money,” Lucy assured her, “only I think I ought not to buy jewellery without consulting Papa. You see, he was a jeweller before he retired, or rather, a wholesale importer of precious stones and gold and silver.”

“And he does not care for pearls? Come, Lord Alsop is gone. Our next stop is the milliner, and then, I believe, it is time I had a word with Mr. Pearson.”

The jewel merchant had bought one of the larger houses in the Circus, in a part of the town to which Jessica had not previously penetrated. She admired the three curved terraces encircling a central open space, with their paired pillars between the windows, carved stone frieze, and ornamental ironwork. As befitted the elegance of the building, the Pearsons’ dignified butler was haughtily impassive. Not by so much as a blink did he suggest that he had noticed the change in his young mistress’s appearance.

Jessica decided she preferred dear old Hayes, with his wrinkled jowls and his devotion to the family.

Lucy led the way into a comfortable sitting room which smelled faintly of tobacco. In a chair by the table in the window sat a short, lean man, soberly dressed, reading a newspaper. He appeared to be in his sixties, considerably older than Jessica had expected.

“Papa,” said Lucy.

“It’s a terrible business, this in Belgium,” he said, still studying his paper. “We must hope Wellington can pull us through.” Then he looked up and sprang to his feet. “Why, I didn’t know you’d brought a friend with you, puss.”

Lucy performed the introductions, her father rubbing his hands and bowing repeatedly with an air of satisfaction.

“I take it right kindly in you, miss, to be inviting our Lucy to walk with you and all,” he said, beaming. “I see you’ve been doing some shopping, puss.” He chucked his daughter under the chin.

“Yes, Papa, do you like it?”

“It’s well enough, I daresay, but it’s not what I’d choose. I like a bit of colour on a young thing.”

Lucy’s face fell. “I have ordered several more. Shall I cancel the orders?”

“Certainly not.” Jessica decided it was time to take a hand. “Lucy, I should like a word in private with your papa.”

He gave her a hard look, his genial expression becoming noncommittal. Lucy kissed his cheek and pattered out of the room. Not waiting to be invited, Jessica took a seat at the table and waved to him to join her.

“Sir, I can see that you love your daughter. Surely you cannot be so cruel as to make her wear clothes that are quite unsuited to both her years and the station to which you wish her to aspire. In company, Lucy stands out like a purple thistle among lilies.”

He gave an involuntary snort of laughter, then glared at her. “I don’t wish my girl to fade into the background. Modern fashions are downright wishy-washy.”

“Nonetheless, a young lady who wishes to be accepted by Society must follow the modes. What is more, the paler colours suit Miss Pearson much better. Did you not notice her rosy cheeks just now?”

“Aye,” he said grudgingly, “she looked right pretty, but to my eye she always does.”

“Let her keep her new gowns, I beg of you. She will be much more comfortable if her clothes do not attract impertinent stares.”

“You’ve got something there.” He gave a martyred sigh. “I daresay the chit will want a whole new wardrobe.”

Sensing capitulation, Jessica smiled. “And a string of pearls. They are really the only jewellery proper for a young girl, besides simple beads.”

“Beads!” Mr. Pearson unexpectedly exploded, thumping the table. “Lucy has some of the finest gems in the country—in the world!”

“And she shall proudly wear them when she is an established matron. Do you
want
elderly roués like Lord Alsop gathering about her like flies around a honey-pot?”

“Pearls?” he asked in a small voice.

“Pearls. And a single strand, not some elaborate collar such as dowagers wear to hide their scrawny necks.”

“Pearls it is. She’ll have the finest matched set in the country. I’ll have Jack Perrin find ‘em for me.”

“Earrings are acceptable,” Jessica conceded graciously, “and perhaps a second string to twine in her hair. Strictly for the ballroom, mind!”

He reached across the table and patted her cheek, just as Lucy returned, followed by Mrs. Woodcock and a tea tray borne by a footman in eggshell blue and gold. For a moment Jessica wondered whether to suggest that Mr. Pearson repaint his barouche in some nice conventional colour like maroon. She decided enough had been accomplished for one day.

Half an hour later, the blue, gold-curlicued barouche returned her to North Parade. Nathan happened to arrive at the same moment.

“Well?” he enquired as he handed her down.

“Wait and see,” she said smugly. She had no intention of telling him that Lucy’s papa was a Cit, but she felt he needed some explanation for the girl’s oddities. “Mrs. Woodcock has not been in Society for thirty years, it seems, and her notions of what is suitable for a debutante are positively Gothick. Lucy is lucky to have avoided being forced into hoops!”

“You have been successful, I collect. Well, I shan’t make you wait for my news. I went round to see Walsingham this morning...”

“What a surprise. You do so every day, do you not?”

“You really must get out of this habit of interrupting a fellow!” He opened the front door and followed her in, dropping his hat and gloves on the hall table. “I’m sure it’s deuced unladylike. As I was trying to say, he showed me some drawings he’s been doing—plans, I suppose you’d call them—and he mentioned that you had expressed an interest. Being a bachelor he can’t properly invite you to his house, so I asked him to dine with us and bring the plans for you to see.”

“To dine! Gracious heavens, I must consult Mrs. Ancaster. It is late in the day for marketing. And you must ask Hayes for suggestions about wines and send Tad out to buy what’s needed. And Sukey must press my blue silk, and I must make sure Aunt Tibby is not planning to spend the evening with her retired clergyman and his wife, and...”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t mean to throw you into high fidgets. I hope I know better than to spring such a thing on you at the last moment—I invited him for tomorrow.”

“Wretch!” she said, hugging him. “Why did you not say so sooner? We absolutely
must
put on a good show.”

Jessica began her preparations early the next day. Everything must be quite perfect, and in view of their minimal staff she and Nathan and Tibby all had to lend a hand. For several hours the household was at sixes and sevens, but by the time she went up to change for dinner, order was emerging from chaos. The dining room table gleamed with crystal and silver on a snowy cloth, and appetizing aromas drifted from the nether regions, where Mrs. Ancaster was putting forth her best efforts.

“You’d think it was the Prince Regent hisself coming to dinner,” she grumbled to Sukey as she added a last pinch of seasoning to the gravy. “Here, taste this.” She held out a wooden spoon.

“Mmm, that’s one o’ your best for sure, Mrs. Ancaster. Mr. Walsingham’s more important to Miss Jess nor any prince,” the maid replied, and they exchanged a look of complicity.

His livery coat freshly sponged, Tad was stationed in the hall. The moment the door knocker sounded he sprang to open the door, and as Mr. Walsingham stepped across the threshold, Hayes appeared as if by magic to usher him into the drawing room. The butler found himself with a bedewed bottle of chilled champagne in each hand.

“Sir?” he said, startled.

“Haven’t you heard the news?”

The commotion his report elicited was audible in the drawing room, but when he entered Jessica pretended she had not heard it. She looked up, rose and came forward to greet him, surprised by his look of elation.

“Miss Franklin, have you not heard the news?” He took both her hands in his, beaming. “Miss Tibbett, your servant, ma’am. Franklin—it’s victory! Old Hookey has rompéd the Corsican and sent him scurrying with his tail between his legs!”

In the astonished pause which followed, a sound like a gunshot was heard from the dining room next door. A moment later Hayes came through the connecting door with a silver tray of champagne glasses full of sparkling golden liquid. How fortunate, thought Jessica as she raised hers in a toast to the Duke of Wellington, that the house came equipped with the correct glasses for every occasion.

Naturally the talk at dinner was all of Napoleon’s defeat, the two former soldiers bemoaning their absence from the conflict. Nonetheless, Mr. Walsingham did full justice to Mrs. Ancaster’s good, plain North-country cooking.

“My compliments to your cook,” he said when the ladies withdrew at the end of the meal, then added with a teasing look in his grey eyes, “and tell her that I hope to be invited again.”