"— and unmarried, I presume . . . ." William hastened to cut off his confidence.
"Don't think it for a moment." Sir Reginald winked at him, then poked him in the ribs with his cane. "Give me your arm, boy, and I'll use this to clear us a path.
"Nasty old buggers," he mumbled loudly, as they reached the crowd surrounding Mattie. "Not a one of 'em under ninety. Ought to be ashamed of themselves."
William hid his grin at this gross exaggeration. He was doing his best to appear as if he had never met Mattie before. But he found this almost impossible when the group parted between them and her eyes met his.
The look upon her face nearly proved his undoing. First she turned pale, and then a rosy pink. A pulse beat rapidly at her throat, just above the spot he had so recently kissed.
"Lord— " the trembling word escaped her lips, before William interrupted, turning to Sir Reginald.
"Sir, will you present me."
"My dear— " In his loudest voice, Sir Reginald had already sprung to the task, enjoying the superior age that allowed him to be so familiar with her. "This young gentleman has begged me to make him known to you. As a suitor, I can recommend him highly, seeing as how his papa and I were friends, don't you know. He is Westbury."
During this speech, which was loud enough for all in the room to hear, Mattie had recovered much of her composure. Now, with only a little stammer, she was able to hold out her hand for William to take.
He did so, bowing to kiss it and resisting the temptation to linger over it. "Your Grace."
"My lord— " Mattie snatched back her hand and buried it in her lap, beneath her reticule and book.
William was happy to see that she was still trembling. "Have you been here long, Duchess?"
She glanced at him, seemingly unsure of the game he was playing, but William knew perfectly well what he was about. This time, he meant to court her in public. No more hiding for either of them.
"I have been here but a week."
"I, too. And do you find Bath to your liking?"
Now, she was surprised. She was probably wondering why he had not tracked her down before.
"Yes, indeed." Mattie fanned herself, though the room was rather chilly. "Yes, I like Bath very much."
"And how long do you plan to stay?"
"Through the season. I have taken a house," she said, stressing the last word in the way one might say he had climbed a mountain.
"So I have heard." When she raised her eyebrows in question, he added, "I, on the other hand, do not plan to take a house, but I find myself quite comfortably settled for the season at the White Hart, which is no more than a stroll from here."
"But why?" The words escaped her before she considered. "Surely you cannot wish to spend the entire summer at Bath?"
"And why not? Did we not just agree that it is charming?" William smiled at her obvious distress. "Besides, I have a purpose in coming here."
"You do?" Her voice was small.
"Yes, I came to find a particular person, a connection that seemed quite lost to me, but one which I am determined to recover."
"Oh." Now, she sounded breathless, but there was nothing she could say to discourage him, not with so many men around.
After a moment, she thought of something. "I have come to take the waters," she emphasized. "Like other people of an advanced age, I find I am in need of medical advice."
At the outrageous claim of age, a chuckle went up amongst her courtiers.
"What's that? What did she say?" one gentleman asked, and another repeated for him the duchess's delightful joke.
Doing it much, much too brown, William told her with his eyes, and Mattie had the grace to flush. But she had given him his opening. "Then, perhaps you would stroll with me to the fountain, where we both might sample the waters?"
Before she could refuse him, he took a step closer and proffered his arm, willing her to come with him.
Drawn by his compelling look, Mattie took his arm before she had time to think. The feel of his muscles beneath her palm caused her pulse to jump.
The gentlemen in her retinue must have felt William's superior claim, for they faded away as if in one body.
"William, you shouldn't have come," she whispered to him as they cleared the small group. "It is pointless."
"Surely, not pointless. I meant what I said, Mattie. I mean to convince you, so naturally I had to find you."
"But you cannot!"
"If I cannot, then you have nothing to worry about. And if I can, then we both may be happy. So don't let my presence disturb you. Just ignore me. Treat me like some annoying fly. With so many suitors, it is certainly your prerogative."
A giggle welled up inside her, and she felt her cheeks warming. "They are not my suitors," she said, though she knew they very well were. It had been a new experience to have the attention of so many men. New, and not altogether displeasing.
At first, Mattie had thought they were only being kind to her. Then, she had noticed the admiration in their eyes, a sight she might not have recognized if she had not first seen it in William's. At the thought of William, all her pleasure had diminished, for none of the men could touch her heart as he had.
Reacting belatedly to his last comment, she said, "And treat you like a fly, William? Do not be absurd. You must know I could not do that."
"Then you do love me, and you had better face it and come live with me, my love."
Mattie did her best to squelch the inevitable feelings of pleasure and pain his words aroused. By now, they had reached the alcove where a fountain spewed water from several openings into a great marble basin.
"I am far too old for marriage," she said. "All this furore has overset me, and I do need a cure." To prove this to him, she turned to the attendant and asked for a dipper of the waters.
"How much is it, please?" she said, raising her reticule.
"Shame on you, Mattie." William took the cup and served her himself before pulling a coin from his pocket and pressing it into the attendant's palm. "Do you mean to say," he asked, turning towards her as she raised the cup to her lips, "that you have been here a whole week and have not yet tasted the waters? I thought you were here on a cure?"
Mattie flushed under his teasing gaze just as a mouthful of warm, brackish water assaulted her tongue. It was all she could do not to spit it out.
William laughed at the look on her face. "Don't you care for it? You had much better let me serve you champagne, Mattie. You should always drink champagne."
The beautiful vision his words conjured up was so tempting, Mattie felt her knees begin to quake. "I have not taken the waters because I have not yet consulted a physician, but I will as soon as possible. I have not been well."
She would be firm with William, she told herself. She would be firm, and when he saw that she was determined in her refusal, he would go away. Or, much better yet, he would ask her to be his mistress after all.
Only why, she thought as she turned back towards the room and saw several people staring at them speculatively, why did he have to pursue her in public? He might have come to her house under cover of darkness when she could have kissed him instead, and no one the wiser.
This naughty thought surprised her and told her she must strengthen her resolve.
"Where is Pamela?" William asked quickly, as Mr. Pickering— a new admirer, rather short and perky— perceived her across the room and started towards them.
Mattie had smiled to welcome the older man, whose presence would put a stop to this distressing interview, but at the mention of Pamela's name she recalled the touch of anxiety she had experienced that morning.
"My daughter," she said, feigning a distance from William as soon as Mr. Pickering was close enough to hear them, "is here with me in Bath. I had hoped she would join me on my walk this morning, and indeed, she was on the point of doing so, when she suddenly developed the headache. I would have stayed with her— " Mattie turned to William, unable to keep herself from admitting her concern to him— "but she insisted upon staying behind alone. She said she would read."
This behaviour had been so unlike Pamela as to worry Mattie who, wrapped in her own sorrows, had not noticed until that morning that Pamela had not acted herself since their arrival in Bath. Normally cheerful and energetic, she had seemed increasingly dull and listless.
All this, Mattie would have liked to confide to William, except that Mr. Pickering had reached them, and with a look much like a bantam rooster itching for a fight, he was waiting to be presented.
Mattie performed the introduction, wishing that Mr. Pickering would take himself off, so she could hear William's thoughts about Pamela. Then, realizing the uncharitability of her wish— seeing as how, with a smile, she had invited the man to join them— she smiled even more warmly upon him. William's courtesy matched her own, but a softening in his eye told her that he sympathized with her anxiety.
After a few moments of innocuous chat, William turned and said, "Duchess, I have brought my younger brother with me, and if you permit, he would like to call upon your daughter. He has brought a mount, and if you would let me lend Lady Pamela my own, there are some lovely rides across the hills around Bath."
"Oh!" Gerald is here! Mattie caught herself before she cried it aloud. "That would be just the thing. I think she has been missing her horses."
She knew that Pamela had developed a great friendship with Gerald. Perhaps she was missing her friends.
To Mattie, who had never had a chance to develop friendships, this was a new concept, but during her past week in Bath, she had missed William so much she had been given a new understanding of such things.
William was smiling at her now with that familiar teasing twist to his lips that made her want to cry.
Mr. Pickering interrupted, saving her from the embarrassment of doing so. "Duchess, may I procure a glass of the waters for you?"
The prospect of drinking another sip of the foul stuff under William's eye made her stammer, "No, thank you, sir. I think I should consult my physician before drinking too much of the waters for my particular condition."
"To look at you, Duchess," Mr Pickering said, sweeping her a bow in the most courtly fashion, "one would think you in the pink of health."
"Yes, wouldn't one?" William agreed wickedly. "One would find it almost impossible to believe that she could have anything at all the matter with her."
"Well, I do," Mattie said, surprising Mr. Pickering with her defiant tone. Out of William, she got nothing but a falsely sympathetic look that a simpleton could see through.
And, of course, she was lying, but how dare he think he could shame her into owning it. Mattie would have made some reference to the aches and pains of age if her last attempt had not been greeted with such hilarity. But she must make William see that even if she were not so very old, strictly speaking, she was not of an appropriate age to be his wife.
Just let him hear what these others would say if they only suspected her of loving him.
This thought made her sick with anxiety. She felt truly pale. "I think I had best get home to Pamela."
Mr. Pickering seemed disappointed, but he bowed and moved aside to let her pass.
William bowed, too, but he offered her his arm to walk her to the door. She could not refuse him without appearing churlish.
Mr. Pickering hesitated in mid-bow as if he had just caught himself in a mistake. He took a step in front of them. "Shall we see you at the assembly this evening, Your Grace. You and your charming daughter?"
For all the world, Mattie would not have wanted William to be by her side at that moment. She had promised Mr. King to attend the assembly, but she did not want William to know.
"That will depend upon the health of my daughter," she replied, thinking that Pamela might provide her with an excuse. "If she has not recovered from her headache, we shall have to miss it."
William said, "I have taken a subscription to the Upper Rooms which includes two additional tickets for ladies only. I would be honoured if you would accept them from me, Your Grace."
Mattie faltered. But . . . she couldn't. What would people say if she did? Why, Mr. Pickering was looking daggers at William already, just at the suggestion.
"That is very kind of you, Wil— Lord Westbury, but I have already procured tickets for the season."
"You have?" As William swept her past Mr. Pickering with a slight nod, he seemed anything but cast down. "Then I will be certain of seeing you some nights there, shall I not? I shall have to tell my brother Gerald. He is very fond of dancing."
Mattie was at pains not to laugh at this outrageous lie, which had clearly been designed to undermine her dignity. "William," she whispered as they walked towards the door, "I will not dance with you, so you must not even think it."
"No?" He tsked. "It is a pity, but you know, I think we should only waltz together— it is much more intimate— and no one is permitted to waltz in Bath. That is why Bath is so devilish flat."
Mattie felt an absurd giggle burgeoning inside her again. Why,oh, why did William have to be so charming?
She knew she would have to consult a physician and get him to prescribe the most disgusting cure, so that William would be brought to think she was too infirm to marry him.
Chapter Twelve
That night at the assembly, Mattie and Pamela sat in the chairs reserved for peeresses— Pamela all in white, as befitted her age, and Mattie in a soft grey gown and a white cap, which she insisted befitted hers. They watched the dancers perform their dainty steps out on the dance floor. On Mattie's left, a gaunt Lady Repton in a mauve turban ran a constant commentary upon the ladies and gentlemen who swept before them.
"That is Lady Whitmore's niece," she said, making no attempt to conceal the object of her discourse. "Twenty-eight years if she's a day, and still on the shelf. Her parents have brought her down from London in the hope she will catch a more elderly suitor before they give her up for lost."