As Jeffries drew the carriage to a standstill outside of Lord Benjamin’s residence, and Dominic prepared to alight. Bodkin peered over the side of the boot. He’d seen the name Royal Crescent written on the first house in the curve and could hardly believe his luck that his unknowing transport had brought him to the very street he sought! The brownie gazed along the pavement, belatedly wishing he’d thought of asking Polly the number of Beddem’s residence. Nutmeg was in one of these houses, but which one?
Suddenly the front door of the house by which the carriage had halted opened, and several footmen emerged to attend to the unloading of the luggage. Bodkin jumped hastily down with his bundle and the pumpkin, and bent low as he hurried to the unlit entrance of the property next door, and from there he watched as Dominic entered his house. As the last item of luggage was carried inside, and Jeffries drove the carriage around to the nearby mews, the brownie emerged from his doorway to consider what to do next. How was he going to find out which house it was? Inspiration struck almost immediately. All he had to do was find the mews and ascertain which coach house contained Hordwell’s carriage! The coach house would surely have the same number as the house to which it belonged! Yes, that was it. He swung his cumbersome belongings over his shoulder again and set off along the pavement. Soon he went around the large house at the beginning of the crescent, and then disappeared from view.
It was very dark indeed when Polly’s carriage reached Bath and was obliged to take the same circuitous route to the crescent. At Lord Benjamin’s house, Polly paused apprehensively before alighting. Oh, how she was going to loathe the coming hours, for being anywhere near Lord Benjamin was always purgatory to her. He was a true scion of that long, long line of philanderers, clammy and lascivious, always eyeing her, whispering supposed compliments, and trying to brush against her as if by accident. If ever there was a prime example of the house of Beddem, it was he! She climbed reluctantly down to the pavement and braced herself for the ordeal ahead. The air was cold, and her breath was visible as she went up to the door to rap the gleaming brass knocker. She felt a little embarrassed, realizing that unescorted ladies who called at doors after dark were frequently not ladies at all, but at least her name would soon dispel any such unwelcome conclusions.
After a moment a footman answered, but her name did not seem to convey anything at all. “Er, is Sir Dominic expecting you, madam?” he inquired.
“Sir Who?” Polly was startled, and further dismayed to see that the footman’s livery was an unfamiliar green and gold.
“Sir Dominic Fortune, madam. This is his residence.”
She glanced hastily at the number painted in black beside the door. Yes, she was at the right address. “There must be a mistake, I—” She broke off on a gasp as she saw Dominic descending the staircase at the end of the entrance hall. He had changed out of his dirty clothes, and after a good hot bath now wore a long gray paisley dressing gown.
He paused on realizing something was amiss at the door. “What is it?” he inquired.
“A Miss Peach has called, sir.”
Dominic approached reluctantly. He inclined his head to Polly, not recognizing her at first. “Sir Dominic Fortune, your servant, madam. May I be of some assistance?” he murmured.
His eyes were a clear, steady gray; disconcertingly steady. She found herself blushing before their gaze, for she was again obliged to judge him the most handsome man ever. The intense feeling of attraction returned quite unnervingly, and she felt her pulse quicken with anticipation. Oh, this wouldn’t do! She forced herself to recall his manner earlier in the day. He might be handsome beyond belief, but he was also unpleasant!
“Have we met?” he asked, beginning to realize he’d seen her somewhere before.
“Er, no, sir, we haven’t. I... I was seeking the residence of Lord Benjamin Beddem, where my uncle is staying, but I’ve come to the wrong house. If you’ll excuse me ...” She turned to leave, but he spoke again.
“If we have not met, you seem strangely familiar, Miss Peach.”
“Well, you may have noticed me earlier today,” she confessed, facing him again.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, when you drove through Horditall.”
His expression cooled. “Ah, yes, the gardening goddess who could so easily have spared me the ignominy of the pig farm.”
Her eyes flashed at that. “And you, sir, could quite easily have omitted to be so disdainful when you passed.”
“So I
deserved
to be covered in filth and rooked by that villain. Is that what you’re saying?” he answered stiffly.
She didn’t reply, but her expression spoke volumes.
He was stung into an accusation he knew had to be unjust. “I can only presume you are the ruffian’s accomplice?”
She bridled indignantly. “I certainly am not, sir!”
His glance was filled with the disdain of which she’d accused him a moment before. “I’m relieved to hear it. Well, madam, unhelpful
you
may have been, but I will not stoop to that level. Since you reside in Horditall, I can only imagine your uncle to be Mr. Hordwell Horditall. Am I correct?”
“Yes, sir, you are.”
“Then in a manner of speaking you have the correct address after all. Lord Benjamin is indeed the leaseholder here, but he has temporarily rented the property to me.”
She was taken aback. “Then please, sir, can you inform me where I may find my uncle?”
“Lord Benjamin’s father, the Duke of Lawless, has taken 1 Royal Crescent in readiness for the Christmas season, although he himself will not take up residence until nearer that time. Lord Benjamin decided he preferred the extra grandeur of that property to this, so he moved there a week ago, and naturally your uncle went with him.”
Polly had noticed that the crescent’s end houses were very regal indeed. How prudent of Lord Benjamin to go there, and let someone else take up the lease here. Not only did he not have to pay a penny for the larger property, but could further impress Uncle Hordwell. She wondered about Nutmeg. Was the brownie here, or had Lord Benjamin taken her to 1 Royal Crescent? Momentarily she pondered asking Dominic, but then discarded the notion, for not only did he seem the sort of man who would dismiss any suggestion of brownies even existing, but she could also see his luggage in the hallway, signifying he hadn’t merely been in the Horditall area for a day’s excursion out of Bath, but had come by that route on his way here. He was therefore unlikely to know about any of the staff, let alone an invisible brownie! She made herself look at him again. “Thank you for your assistance, sir.” But as she turned away once more, he stepped quickly after her.
“Allow me to attend you to your carriage, Miss Peach.”
“There is no need. Sir Dominic,” she replied, not wishing to be in his debt for even so small a service.
“There is every need. Miss Peach, for in spite of your prejudgment, I am a gentleman.”
“I did not question that, sir. I merely found fault with your conduct.”
“As I in turn found fault with yours, so I believe we are even, Miss Peach,” he said, taking her hand and drawing it firmly over his sleeve.
Polly said nothing as he escorted her across the pavement to the waiting carriage. He handed her inside, then bowed coolly before closing the door. He turned to instruct the coachman to turn around at the far end of the crescent in order to return to the first house on the comer with Brock Street. He remained on the pavement as the carriage drew away from the curb, but had gone inside by the time it drove past again. Polly felt that not only had she been somehow bested, but also that in spite of everything, she still found him diabolically attractive. Oh, how very vexing! She wanted to loathe every inch of him; instead she wondered what it would be like to be in his arms!
Chapter 5
The carriage halted once more, this time at the much grander entrance of the end house. Polly alighted again, forced aside all thought of Sir Dominic Fortune, and then went up the flight of stone steps to the pedimented front door. She employed the gleaming brass knocker, and the sound echoed through the house beyond. At last she heard footsteps approaching, and a footman in the crimson and silver colors of the Beddems opened the door.
When she gave her name this time, it was recognized immediately; indeed the footman’s reaction was such that she could not help but realize indignantly that Lord Benjamin’s offer of marriage was common knowledge below stairs. And the footman’s deferential manner suggested her acceptance was thought to be a mere formality! She stepped a little crossly into the warmth of a stone-flagged entrance hall with walls that had been painted to resemble pale golden marble. Various doors led off on either side, and at the far end there was a curving stone staircase carpeted in green. A glass-sided brass lamp was suspended from the ceiling, with four bright candles that cast a good light.
“Is my uncle at home?” she asked the footman.
“Indeed so, madam, but Lord Benjamin has been called away to London and will not be back until the morning of Halloween.”
She could hardly believe her luck. “Oh, well, it cannot be helped,” she murmured, for to give a whoop of delight would hardly be the thing.
“Mr. Horditall is in the library, so if you will please be seated, I will announce you.” The footman indicated a dark mahogany chair.
“There’s no need to announce me, er...?”
“Giles, madam.”
“I’ll announce myself, Giles,” she replied firmly. If the fellow thought she was to be Lady Benjamin Beddem, she might as well use the authority bestowed by that mistaken belief. “Where is the library?”
He was a little uneasy as he indicated a door on the right, for there was a glint in her eye he knew did not bode well for her uncle. But what could a mere footman do when confronted by Lord Benjamin’s bride?
As he turned to beckon another footman waiting by the door to the kitchens, Polly realized they were about to attend to her luggage. She spoke quickly. “Oh, no, please don’t unload the carriage, for I intend to stay at a hotel or inn.”
“I beg your pardon, madam?” Giles gaped at her.
“I believe I made myself quite clear,” she replied, still making full use of her supposed future rank.
“Very well, Miss Peach.” Bemused, he bowed, and then he and his companion withdrew below stairs.
Polly drew a deep breath before opening the door. The library was warm and cozy, with dancing firelight moving over the fawn silk walls and biscuit-colored carpet. Two very fine mahogany secretaire bookcases stood on either side of the white marble fireplace, and there was a garniture of Bristol delftware on the mantelshelf. Above the fireplace was a portrait of one of the royal princes, she wasn’t quite sure which, and on other walls were various landscapes, some watercolor, some oil. The furniture was upholstered in chestnut velvet, including the elegant sofa, and the Hepplewhite fireside chair in which her uncle reposed asleep, his mouth open as he snored.
In appearance, Hordwell Horditall wasn’t at all what one would have expected of so miserly a character, for he was plump and rosy-cheeked, and outwardly seemed very amiable indeed. However, in his case appearances were definitely deceptive. He was dressed in a beige velvet-collared coat and gray breeches, and his marcella waistcoat buttons were strained across his ample middle. His walking sticks rested against the chair, and his gouty foot was cushioned on a stool before the fire. His small gray wig was askew on his balding head, and his muslin neck cloth was undone, resting crumpled against his stomach. On the table beside him were the remains of a cold chicken supper and an empty decanter of port, which was hardly to be recommended for someone suffering from gout. Nor would costly port have graced his evenings at Horditall House, where his suppers consisted of bread, Cheddar cheese, and a tankard of ale.
She was cross. He was supposed to be here to cure his gout, not make it worse! She needed no further proof that he’d come to Bath to negotiate her marriage to Lord Benjamin. She bent to speak loudly in Hordwell’s ear. “Good evening, Uncle!”
He sat forward with a jolt. “Eh? What? Dear God above!” he cried, and then his jaw dropped as he saw his niece. “Polly?”
“The same.”
“Whatever brings you here?” he asked, snatching off his napkin, and tossing it guiltily over the telltale supper.
“Don’t attempt to gull me with napkins. Uncle, for I’ve already observed your sins. You
know
you are forbidden port. Why are you so willfully disobeying your doctor’s instructions?”
“It is but a single fall from grace,” he muttered, testing his gouty foot with great care on the floor. Then he seized his walking sticks and began to make much of hauling himself to his feet.
He expected her to rush to spare him such painful exertions, but she left him to struggle. If he was well enough to gobble chicken suppers and guzzle decanters of port, he was well enough to stand up to greet her! She eyed him heartlessly. “Be honest, Uncle, admit that you’ve really come here with marriage contracts in mind.”
He ignored the remark as he hobbled over to peck her on the cheek. “Is all well at the house?” he asked.
“As well as might be expected under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” he asked quickly, fearing an imminent assault on his purse.
“I wish to know about the agreement you have with Lord Benjamin concerning Nutmeg.”
He was momentarily taken aback, but then recovered. “How do you know about that?”
Her heart sank that he did not deny it. “You forgot to padlock your study door. Bodkin found it open and went in to tidy up for you. The ledger was open on your desk.”
“He had no right to go in there.”
“I know, but he did, and so the truth is out. What have you to say?”
He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Well, it’s all nonsense, of course,” he said then.
“Nonsense?
Oh, Uncle, how can you dismiss it like that? Nutmeg was Bodkin’s sweetheart, and you allowed Lord Benjamin to take her like a piece of furniture!”
“It wasn’t like that, my dear. Oh, please sit down, for my poor foot is very sore tonight.”