Carola Dunn (9 page)

“Next time Wellington defeats Bonaparte,” Jessica promised saucily, with a giggle that she put down to the champagne going to her head.

As if he had read her mind, Hayes immediately brought tea to the drawing room. Tibby, who had partaken sparingly of the bubbling nectar, poured her a cup, and after she drank it her mind cleared.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully to Hayes as he removed the tray. “I hope you and the others will drink to the victory with one of the bottles we bought for this evening.”

The butler’s sagging jowls stretched in a smile. “Thank you, Miss Jessica, I already took the liberty of pouring us each a small glass, knowing you wouldn’t mind on such a great occasion. We’ll finish up the bottle later, when all’s done that needs doing.”

The gentlemen joined them a few minutes later. Mr. Walsingham came straight to sit beside Jessica on the brocaded sofa.

“Do you know, in the excitement I quite forgot the house plans. Your brother has sent your footman to fetch them. I hope you will not be disappointed—it is no grand mansion I have designed, merely a hunting box.”

“With Aunt Tibby’s expert assistance I have sketched a hypocaust for you.”

He examined her drawing with interest, comparing the Roman under-floor system to what he knew of hot air systems installed at Pakenham Hall, in Ireland, and Coleshill in Berkshire. Then Tad arrived with the building plans and they all moved into the dining room, by now cleared of dishes, and spread the papers on the table.

Jessica’s first interest was a depiction of the façade. She liked the informal modern asymmetry of it, and the huge windows that Mr. Walsingham said would look downhill to a stream, but there was something stark about it. Then she realized that there were no shadows, no trees or bushes to soften the outlines.

“It’s an elevation, not a work of art,” he explained. He had found in her sketch book her drawing of the Abbey and was looking from that to his own in a dissatisfied way. “I don’t know how to do all the shading and stuff that you do to make it look attractive, not just accurate.”

“I’d be happy to make an attempt at it,” Jessica said tentatively. “I’m not sure if I could do it without the building itself in front of me, but if you like... ?”

“Will you? Will you really? That would be splendid. There’s a wood behind the house, and Lord Ilfracombe was talking of putting in gardens in front, just something simple as it’s only for the hunting season.”

“Lord Ilfracombe?” enquired Nathan.

“He asked me to give him some ideas for building on a piece of land he bought in Leicestershire.”

“So this is not purely theoretical,” Jessica said, pulling a ground floor plan towards her. “This room must be the one with the windows facing the stream, is it not? You have it marked as a library. I would put the drawing room there—oh, but you have no drawing room on this floor.”

“That’s because drawing rooms are for ladies,” Nathan told her, “and gentlemen don’t invite females to their hunting boxes. Or at least, only...”

He broke off, and Jessica saw Matthew Walsingham give him a warning glance. She looked from one to the other with interest.

“Only?”

“Never mind!” said her brother hastily, and their guest diverted her to a discussion of his ideas for the servants’ quarters.

“Only demimondaines,” Miss Tibbett whispered to her a moment later, when Mr. Walsingham was explaining something to Nathan.

Jessica grinned at her. “That,” she said softly, “was perfectly obvious.”

Tibby shook her head in reproof.

At last they had studied and discussed every aspect of Lord Ilfracombe’s hunting box. Mr. Walsingham collected his papers, leaving the sheet with the elevation for Jessica to copy.

“For an amateur, you have gone to a lot of trouble over this,” she remarked, ringing for the tea tray.

“If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.” He looked oddly self-conscious as he uttered this cliché. “Besides, Ilfracombe is a good friend of mine.”

They went through to the drawing room for tea. Then Matthew Walsingham took his leave and the others accompanied him into the hall. Tad opened the front door. The evening mist from the river was creeping up the street like a housebreaker, peering in at ground floor windows and sneaking down area steps.

“I shall walk with you,” said Jessica impulsively. “I need some fresh air.” She stepped out.

“Jessica, your bonnet!” protested Miss Tibbett.

She waved dismissively. “I’m only going a hundred yards.” She set off, and Matthew hurried after her. They walked side by side through the cool, damp night, not touching, not speaking.

“Tad, take a lantern and light the way,” Nathan ordered, although between street lamps and house lights there was no dearth of illumination.

The footman grabbed a lantern from a hook by the door and lit it from a candle on the hall table.

Glancing back, Matthew saw him following, and beyond him the bright rectangle of the doorway of Number 15, with two watching figures silhouetted. He grinned to himself. Jessica’s independent spirit was not to be curbed by brother or aunt.

They reached his house and he turned towards her to say good night. Beads of mist glistened in her moon-pale hair, haloing her shadowed face. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her—and only the footman’s presence stopped him.

But after all, that was undoubtedly what Tad was there for.

CHAPTER NINE

Matthew woke the next morning to a rainy day, the first since his arrival in Bath. After breakfast he settled down to design a heating system for Lord Ilfracombe’s hunting box. Most of the work on his plans had been done while he was confined to bed by his mangled leg. Ilfracombe had liked what he had seen and had encouraged him to finish the project. Matthew had scarcely glanced at the plans, though, for the past six months until, arriving in Bath, he had returned to them as a possible means of subsistence and completed the work, despite grave doubts of its worth. The Franklins’ enthusiasm last night had renewed his faith in his ability and sparked new ideas.

Recalling Jessica’s reaction to the lack of a drawing room, he grinned, then his smile grew tender at the memory of her walking at his side through the mist. Was he in love? Could life possibly be so kind as to allow him to fall for a girl whose brother was a wealthy landowner? That she should love him, too, was too much to ask, but he dared believe that she did not dislike him.

He forced his attention back to his work. He had only known Jessica a few days—it was much too soon to dream of making her his wife.

* * * *

Jessica settled down after breakfast to work on the sketch of Lord Ilfracombe’s hunting box. The project intrigued her. She sat for some time pondering Mr. Walsingham’s—was ‘elevation’ what he had called it?— working out where to put the trees and the most appropriate angle for the light. The latter was not easy, as she had forgotten to ask him which direction the house would face.

It was set too square, she decided, the horizontal lines of the building parallel with the top and bottom of the sheet of paper. She would turn it a little, to give interesting lines of perspective. That, of course, gave rise to other problems as details of the façade not shown on the elevation came into view. She cast her mind back to the floor plans: did the modest portico have four pillars or only the front two? How much easier it would be if she could just pop round to Mr. Walsingham’s house to ask him!

Chin in hand, she gazed out of the window at the rain falling on the river, wondering what he was doing at this moment.

This distraction did not speed her work, which turned out to be more complicated than she expected anyway. She spent most of the day at it, then Nathan returned from a foray to a lending library carrying, along with a weighty volume on sheep rearing, Mr. Walsingham’s floor plans.

“I got tired of your complaints,” he said, “so I stopped by and picked them up for you. He needs them back, though. He’s working on the heating system.”

Jessica made quick copies of the parts that affected the façade and sent Tad to return the plans. To her annoyance she found that the new information necessitated a number of changes. She abandoned her pencil for the rest of the day and returned to work next morning.

By the time she and Nathan set out for the Pump Room she had produced a sketch she was not displeased with. Her brother, too, had announced his approbation.

“You and Walsingham ought to go into partnership,” he teased as they walked along North Parade.

Blushing, she kept her eyes resolutely from Matthew Walsingham’s front door. “It was an interesting project,” she told him defensively. “Besides, I find it admirable that a gentleman who wants for nothing should take up so useful an occupation. Many in his position would simply fritter away their time in frivolous pursuits.”

“True. He has mentioned that Lord Stone keeps control of the Stone Gables estate firmly in his own hands. Walsingham can hardly press for a say in the management—it would look as if he was in a hurry to inherit.”

The sun peeked between passing clouds, glimmering on rain-washed paving stones, and a damp, refreshing breeze fluttered Jessica’s skirts. They crossed Pierrepont Street and turned past the Abbey. As they approached the Pump Room, a young lady in a simple lavender walking dress and a straw hat with lavender ribbons emerged from the colonnade at the far end of the Pump Yard. Jessica recognized her at once but said nothing.

“By Jove,” exclaimed her brother, turning his steps towards the girl and her chaperon, “isn’t that Miss Pearson? Jess, you have worked a miracle.”

“There is an improvement, is there not?” she said modestly.

“She’s pretty as...oh, as a picture, though that’s a dashed inadequate expression. Good day. Miss Pearson. Your most obedient, ma’am.” He bowed briefly to Mrs. Woodcock before turning back eagerly to her charge.

The ladies uttered polite greetings, Lucy’s decidedly disjointed. Her shining eyes never left Nathan’s face. Around her delicate throat she was wearing ivory beads, Jessica noted with approval, intricately carved, doubtless expensive, but suitably modest. She looked altogether charming; no wonder Nathan was dazzled.

How extraordinarily lucky if her unthinking kindness to a shy child should lead to Nathan’s falling in love with an heiress!

They continued into the Pump Room. Abandoned to Mrs. Woodcock’s muttered platitudes, Jessica was delighted to see Matthew Walsingham standing near the door. Apparently he was watching for their arrival for he stepped forward at once, though his first words were for the chaperon.

“Good morning, Mrs. Partridge,” he said blandly. “I trust I see you well?”

“Woodcock! The Honourable Mrs. Woodcock.” Her name seemed to be the only thing the lady really cared about. She gave him an affronted stare and turned back to speak to Lucy.

Jessica met Matthew’s sparkling grey eyes. “Wicked!” she murmured.

“Irresistible!” he responded, his voice somehow conveying a double meaning that made her drop her gaze, feeling flustered. “I want to talk to you about the drawings,” he went on. “Will you allow me, at last, to take you for a drive?”

“Later, perhaps.”

“That’s what I thought you would say, so Hanson is bringing round the curricle in half an hour.”

“I did not give you permission to read my mind, sir!” she said indignantly, then had to join in his laughter. “How dare you lead me on to make such a ridiculous statement. Oh, there is Kitty Barlow waving to us.”

Mrs. Woodcock, with a glare of dislike for Mr. Walsingham, confided Lucy to Jessica’s care while she went to speak to an acquaintance. The four young people went to join the Barlows’ usual merry group. Jessica was glad to see that no one now looked askance at Lucy.

Maria Crane was one of the party. The pert red-head greeted Matthew with a flirtatious flicker of the lashes. “Have you taken the waters yet today, Mr. Walsingham?” she enquired archly, in a blatant attempt to ape Jessica’s concern for his health.

“My cough is much improved, Miss Crane,” he answered. His face was grave, but Jessica caught the amusement in his voice. “I have decided to give up drinking the stuff—on Miss Franklin’s advice.”

“Indeed, I gave you no such advice!” she said, startled. “You must not impute to my influence your own preference. If you are truly determined to abandon the treatment, we can only trust that you will not suffer for it.”

“On the contrary, I feel better already at the very prospect of a day without the foul liquid.” He turned to reply to a question from Mrs. Barlow.

His cough did indeed seem to have vanished, thought Jessica, not that it had ever been frequent. In fact, she had not heard it more than three or four times in a week. She frowned in puzzlement, but was distracted from consideration of the oddity by Kitty’s request for her opinion of a new style of gathering a sleeve.

A half hour passed in chatter and strolling about the room, then Matthew drew her aside.

“I’m just going to see if Hanson is here yet with the carriage. He may not have found anyone to hold the horses or to bring a message. I shall be back in a moment.”

She nodded, and he went off while she looked around for Mrs. Woodcock. “Lucy, I am leaving shortly and I must return you to your chaperon,” she apologized. “I see her at the far end of the room.”

“You need not go, Jess,” said Nathan firmly. “I shall escort Miss Pearson.”

Lucy looked up at her with sparkling eyes. “I have
so
enjoyed myself this morning.
Thank
you, Miss Franklin—Jessica.” She took Nathan’s arm with an almost possessive gesture.

Jessica watched them walk away, smiling at the slight spring in the girl’s step. She was not at all surprised when Nathan failed to return immediately.

But so did Matthew Walsingham. He was gone at least a quarter hour, and Jessica was beginning to wonder—no, he would not desert her; something had occurred to delay him. Then she saw him crossing the room towards her.

He was tight-lipped, his expression sombre, and his limp was more pronounced than usual. When he reached her side, his smile was effortful. He made his excuses for keeping her waiting and offered his arm. “Shall we go?”