The Imaginary Gentleman

“There is no passion with which people are so ready to tamper
as love, although none is more dangerous.”

Dr. William Buchan, 1785
Domestic Medicine: or The Family Physician

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Imprint Page

Dedication

Epigraph: Dr. William Buchan, 1785

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Lyme Regis, 1806

L
AURA
M
ORRISON STOOD AGAINST THE
power of the wind as it whipped at her garments. One moment her brown coat wrapped tightly around her tall figure; the next it flew out, flapping her white skirts around her ankles. Behind her, the ends of her scarf streamed out, orange flags in the wind. She laughed, feeling the rush of salt wind in her mouth.

An autumn storm was invading the shelter of Lyme Bay. Away to her right, Laura saw battalions of waves rushing at the dark breakwater known as the Cobb. Like a great rocky arm, it reached into the bay and bore, in stony sullenness, the anger of the sea. Water threw itself over the Cobb, firing volleys of spray above, only to subside in defeat in the lee of its arm.

The briny smell of the ocean was strong in the air, and she touched her lips with her tongue, tasting their saltiness. Over her shoulder she cried, “Is this not a magnificent spectacle, Sarah?”

“I only know it be perishin' cold, miss,” said the girl, huddling in the slender shelter provided by her lady.

“Are you afraid of such a puny adventure as this?”

“I not be one for adventurin'.”

Laura turned, smiling at the piteous expression in the girl's eyes. “Why, Sarah, your nose is turning blue.”

“You'll catch your death, miss. Then the mistress will be angry with me.”

Miss Morrison laughed, her tone wry but affectionate. “Off you go then, Sarah. Await me at the library.”

“Thank'ee, miss.” The girl scuttled off, the wind at her back.

Laura walked a little way to her right along the sea wall, seeing a spear of sunlight shoot through a gap in the leaden sky, setting the waves alight in a shining trail.

“Ah, such splendour!” she murmured.

A glance backward showed her the waves there glowering greyly still, where their backs angled away from the light. She heard no sound but the wind and waves; there seemed no soul about but her. She turned again for a last fading view of the shimmering trail on the water.

Behind her, she heard a footfall and a voice deep and warm against the sounds of the sea.

“Seeing the light depends upon the angle of our vision.”

She felt her breath was blown away for an instant, then, looking over her shoulder, green eyes alight with humour, she replied, “Indeed, nature is illustrating that truth.”

“A lesson for the philosophers,” he said.

As she turned to him, her scarf blew across her face, so that she looked at him through an orange veil. Laura felt the softness of his kid glove brush lightly on her skin as he unwound the scarf and sent it spinning out behind her again. There was brilliancy in her complexion and her eyes were glass green in the wind. Yet, she knew not how to look at him while she still so vividly recalled the sensation of his touch upon her cheek.

“From whence I stand, I see only light.” She wondered at the intensity in his brown eyes.

The light faded from the sea and they turned away from the grey of it. She keenly felt their close proximity. Although he stood at over six feet, her chin almost reached his shoulder. For a moment, neither moved; then, as one, they stepped apart and he bowed.

“Good morning, Miss Morrison.”

“Good morning, Mr. Templeton,” she shouted, almost, against the wind. “You find me alone in this wild place, for my maid has run away from me. She is not made of the stuff that delights in being blown about by the gale.”

“Then she is not such as you and I,” he said.

Laura looked at him steadily.

“As you and I,” he repeated. His gaze openly expressed his admiration. He offered her his arm and they began to walk slowly along the stretch of paving above the sea wall.

“My sister—” she began.

“I did so hope to …” he said.

They both paused, wishing the other to go on, so that there was a little silence.

He gestured for her to speak.

“My sister is a little better today. She announces that she is equal to receiving callers.”

“Then I am cast down,” he said. “I regret that I am unable to make Mrs. Evans's acquaintance today.”

Laura shivered, the chill of the wind penetrating at last. They were turning back into the narrow little street that led steeply up through the town when she thought of her sister's displeasure: Mrs. Evans would take offence that a gentleman who had befriended her unmarried sister should fail to make himself known to her family.

Mr. Templeton looked at Laura keenly. “I have received an odd request to attend upon a dying man some distance away, at a place near the Axminster Road. The family goes by the name of Whichale.”

Laura rallied her spirits. “You can scarcely refuse, Mr. Templeton. Yet, is it not wild weather to travel so far? I am sure that it will rain heavily soon.”

“It is eight miles off—the family must have their own parish clergyman nearby.”

She frowned. “It is odd that they sent for a stranger at such a moment.”

“I cannot refuse my attendance in this case—indeed I do not wish to, while the patient may need assistance to make his peace.”

“How selfish I must appear!”

“If you are displeased at my going away, then I am gratified.”

Laura hesitated at Swan's Library door, safely shut against the wind.

Mr. Templeton looked embarrassed. “It is an awkward business that I have still to present myself to your family.”

“It is not your fault that Fate plays so with us.”

“I am pleased that your sister is rallying now.”

“She recovers as well as she lets herself.” Their eyes met in wry understanding.

“The interval before our next meeting will gape sadly,” he said.

“Not while you have your race with the rain to amuse you, surely?”

He smiled, gazing into her eyes, and the deep timbre of his voice resonated in her. “I will see you very soon—tomorrow if I possibly can.” He bowed and went away alongside the high stone wall of the inn stable yard, blown away from her, until he disappeared through the gate.

Laura stood still in the wind, as her senses recovered and her heart ceased its hammering.

A short time later, she went up the stone staircase and along the wide flagged cloister that skirted the inner courtyard of the inn. Over the stone balustrade she saw that the cobbled yard of the stables was empty, with nought but scraps of straw blowing about.

Laura went into a sitting room, which was half-panelled in timber and cozy under its low ceiling. Two small windows overlooked the street. Candles on a table illuminated a pretty view of Mrs. Evans, reclining upon a sofa. Her white cap was edged with a narrow band of black, which, by happy chance, looked rather well against her fair hair.

“Oh, Laura,” she whimpered. “I thought you would never return. I feared you had slipped into the sea in this frightful wind.”

“Ha! Slipped into the sea, indeed! The only storm to be had just now is in your fervid sensibilities, Elspeth.” Laura removed her bonnet, giving it to Sarah, and unbuttoned her coat to reveal her white muslin gown, which was close-fitting in the bodice and fell gracefully from its high waist almost to the floor. Her brown hair was arranged in the classical style, held in a bandeau of apricot silk.

Elspeth touched her own fair locks and sniffed into her lace handkerchief. “I hope that you did not walk out along the Cobb, Laura.”

“On the breakwater—in this wind? Hardly.” Laura arranged her shawl on her shoulders, and sat on a chair near the sofa.

“I don't wish you to walk upon the top of the Cobb at all,” said Elspeth. “It looks very rough and slopes away into the sea.”

“It was not built with the clumsy in mind, but I am not afraid of it.”

“The redness has quite gone from my nose, has it not?”

Laura regarded the shapely little knob in which her sister took much pride. “You are almost presentable enough for me to be seen with you,” she said.

“I take care to appear to advantage. I ought never to have gone sea-bathing, my constitution is too delicate.”

“As long as you coddle yourself, it will remain so. I enjoy bathing immensely.”

Mrs. Evans looked a little cross at the introduction of that theme. “Pray ring the bell. I wish to be ready for Mr. Templeton,” she said.

Calmly, though she felt a clench of disappointment, Laura said, “Mr. Templeton will not see you today. I met him near the Assembly Rooms and he says he cannot come.”

Elspeth stared, offended. “I call that very poor of him! I particularly wish to meet him.”

Laura jumped up and went to the window, looking down on the almost-deserted street. “He is worthily detained by a mercy visit to a dying man,” she said.

“In such weather as this?” Elspeth waved her lace handkerchief at the windows. “I call that dying man most inconsiderate!”

Laura turned back to her, laughing. “You think he should delay his dying until we see an improvement in the weather?”

“You understand my meaning.”

“I confess that I do not have that pleasure. You didn't object to Mr. Templeton coming from Charmouth in the wind to see
you
.”

“To make the acquaintance of a lady, a widowed lady, moreover? He ought to be willing to endure a little discomfort on my account.”

“He came in person to apologise when he might have sent a messenger. Encountering me has saved him half an hour—time to hire a carriage before the rain comes in.”

“You have met this gentleman while wandering about in a gale. What must he think of us?”

“I believe he thinks well enough of me,” said Laura, with a secret smile.

All of Elspeth's soft weakness evaporated as she sat upright.

“Laura! What has happened?”

“I only meant that we are excellent friends,” she said.

Elspeth fell back upon her cushions. “It is ever your lot, Laura, to be excellent friends with eligible men who then propose marriage to someone else. A lady has no use for an ‘excellent friend'—what is required is a husband.”

Laura went to pour herself a glass of water at the sideboard.

“Are those not the most horrid, thick glasses you ever saw, Laura?”

“They do very well when one is thirsty.”

Elspeth looked around crossly. “I know not why my brother ordered rooms for us here—people of fashion stay at the Three Cups.”

“You told Edward you could not abide to stay there as it was so close to the sea.”

“If I did—what then? Why can he not comprehend when he is required to read between the lines?”

Laura shook her head. “Sometimes there is no understanding you, Elspeth.”

Her sister responded with, “Why are you so tall, my dear Laura?”

Laura adopted a look of mock apology. “Pray excuse my want of restraint. I shall endeavour to be shorter in future.”

“Do not be so foolish. If you were to adopt a more elegant manner, you might turn your height to more advantage. That orange scarf is too bright, my love.”

“I like it.”

“At Lady Clarydon's last month—”

Laura pretended breathless attention. “Lady Clarydon!” she said.

“Unfortunately, you fail to comprehend that attention from a countess gives one consequence.”

“If I have not learnt it by now, there is no hope for me.”

“Precisely my point, Sister. At Clarydon Castle, last month, I
encountered a young lady of your stature or more. She has engaged herself very well to a colonel, no less, and a handsome one in his regalia, I must say.” A tiny frown creased Elspeth's forehead. “It can be done, Laura!”

“Are those the chief requirements in a husband? Good looks and a splendid uniform?” said Laura.

“I cannot see anything wrong with either. A true woman will always favour a military man!”

“Is there no other character trait that appeals to her?” asked Laura, thinking of Elspeth's more worldly precept when accepting the hand of Mr. Evans, whose personal charms had eroded into querulous old age by the time Elspeth met him. The feature that had recommended Elspeth's suitor had been his considerable estates.

Her sister understood her at once and said snappily, “You would do yourself good to spend time in Lady Clarydon's company, Laura. I wish I could bring her young guest's name to mind. She dressed all in rich trimmings—an ironic mustard—and once in a kind of subdued and knowing red.”

“I know not how one discovers a length of silk to be ‘knowing', let alone discern an ironic humour in a velvet,” replied her sister.

Elspeth shrugged. “I wish I could have known her better, but was obliged to keep in the background, in my sorry circumstances.” She raised her lace to her eyes to perform what could only be assumed to be the wiping away of a tear.

“Widowhood is a sorry trial,” said Laura. “Men are not called upon to extend the appearance of their grieving so thoroughly. You ought to go out more, Elspeth. You might have come to the Assembly ball last week.”

“And sit about in my black gown and jet ornaments, looking as if I knew not how to enjoy myself? I think not!”

Peeping across at Laura, Elspeth discovered her to be laughing silently, her blue eyes narrowed.

“At least Lady Clarydon's friend is no longer to be a charge upon her relations,” she said. She could not quite read the expression that passed across Laura's face.

“I am perfectly prepared to live with Aunt and Uncle Fielding, Elspeth.”

“No, no, dearest!”

“It would not look well, would it, Elspeth?”

“What should I care for the look of it, dear one? I cannot have you boarded out upon more distant relations.”

“What would you have me do, Elspeth? If you wish me to marry a man whom I find repulsive, I can no doubt secure such a one.”

“My darling, no, never that!” Elspeth stretched out her white arms from a froth of black ribbons and lace. “I am well able to maintain us both. Come here, my love.”