When the set ended, she was escorted by Mr. Burke to some gilded chairs where Louisa, Almeria, and a group of their friends were sitting. He showed a tendency to linger by her side, but as there was no vacant chair for him there, he soon became swept away by Sir Giles and several other gentlemen going in search of refreshment.
“He seems to have taken quite a fancy to you,” whispered Almeria, who was sitting on one side of Henrietta. “Most unusual, I assure you, for he has always until now remained impervious to female charm. But you look so delightfully this evening, it’s small wonder. I don’t believe you’ve sat out a single dance so far!”
“No, but I mean to sit this one out, Almeria. Your friend Mr. Burke is no doubt an estimable man, but I must confess to having found dancing with him somewhat of a strain. Is he always so solemn?”
“Invariably. But as you say, he’s a worthy man. Come to think of it, the estimable ones nearly always are dull, though, don’t you think? The rogues are much more fun!” Her green eyes lit with mischief.
At that moment Almeria was claimed by a partner for the set that was forming. She had scarcely left her chair before Henrietta found herself being applied to by the young gentleman named Fortescue, to whom Captain Barclay had introduced her in the Pump Room on the preceding day. She excused herself civilly, saying that she was tired and would like to sit down for a while.
“Sit beside you, ma’am, if you’ll permit,” he replied promptly, barely waiting for her permission before taking the chair left vacant by Almeria. “Suit me very well. No caper merchant myself, but my aunt thought you might care to dance.”
“That is prodigiously kind in her.”
“Introduce you to her if you like,” offered Fortescue. “Don’t recommend it at the moment, though. She’s got that devilish female Miss Dyrham with her. Miss Dyrham’s been telling my aunt all about you.”
Henrietta followed his glance across the room to where Jane Dyrham, wearing an elegant pale lilac grown, was sitting engrossed in conversation with a rotund elderly lady dressed in unbecoming puce satin.
“Indeed?” she asked with a touch of hauteur. “As Miss Dyrham met me for the first time only yesterday, I cannot imagine she can tell overmuch.”
“Don’t you believe it, ma’am. That female knows everything about everybody in less time than it takes the cat to lick its ear! Told my aunt you’re a baronet’s sister, a friend of the Barringtons and Mrs. Fordyce, that you had your schooling here in Bath, that you’re unmarried, and you’re a considerable heiress into the bargain! Upshot was, Aunt Euphemia thought I should ask you to dance. Well, she would, of course,” he finished, in such tones of disgust that Henrietta was hard put not to laugh outright.
“I see — or I think I do,” she said in a stifled voice. “So it was not your own idea?”
“Lord, no. That’s to say,” he amended hastily, “very happy to lead you out, of course, ma’am, but dancing don’t just come natural to me. Cards are more in my line.”
He glanced ruefully at Henrietta’s face, and seeing that, far from looking offended as he feared she might, she appeared to derive amusement from his naive revelations, he felt encouraged to continue.
“Thing is, I wouldn’t be at a dashed Assembly at all if I had my way! But must turn the old girl up sweet, y’know, and nothing would do but that she must come with myself on her arm. Wouldn’t have minded that so much if I could have left her here to chat with some of her fusty dowager friends, then slipped off and collected her later. She wouldn’t have it, though.” He shook his head mournfully. “Says she wants me to get acquainted with eligible females. Not in my line, Miss Melville, and I ventured to say so. Might as well have told it to a brick wall for all the notice she took. I ask you, ma’am, what’s a fellow to do?”
Henrietta gave a little shrug and laughed. “Oh, it’s of no use to ask me, Mr. Fortescue! All I can say is that in my own experience, it’s a mistake to submit too readily to the demands of one’s relatives when they run counter to one’s own inclinations. Heaven knows I’ve made that mistake myself often enough.”
He shook his head again. “That won’t fadge,” he said in a melancholy tone. “Mean to say, don’t doubt you’re right — stands to sense — but not in this particular case. Thing is —” He broke off, searchingly scrutinising her face for a few moments. Then, evidently satisfied by what he read in her countenance, he continued in a lower tone.
“Think I can talk to you, Miss Melville. You’re — what d’ye call it? — sympathetique, that’s the word! And dashed if I know anyone else who is, in spite of having more brothers and sisters and other relatives than were begat in the Bible. None of ’em the slightest use to me, come to think of it. But Aunt Euphemia, now, she is useful to me. Fond of me in her way, y’see, and ready to come down handsomely when the dibs aren’t in tune, which I’m bound to say is a frequent occurrence with me, worse luck. So you can appreciate, ma’am, that it won’t do for me to run counter to her demands, whatever my own inclinations. Downright folly. Worse than backing a nonstarter.”
“I suppose you couldn’t learn to hold household?” suggested Henrietta, amused by the confidences of this feckless young man, who appeared to her a good deal younger than the two and twenty years credited him by the captain. “It would solve all your difficulties at one fell swoop.”
He shook his head. “No good. Haven’t the talent for it. I started outstrippin’ my allowance when I was at Eton, and I’ve never lost the trick of it since.”
“Do you mean to say,” asked Henrietta incredulously, “that you have been obliged to manage all these years on a schoolboy’s allowance?”
He gave a crack of laughter. “Good God, no, ma’am, not as bad as that! Though it might as well be, for all the difference it makes,” he added soberly. “Y’know how it is, though. One’s expenses have the most devilish way of rising with one’s income — dashed well outpacin’ them, in fact. Why, it’s a law of nature.”
“Law of your nature, at all events,” she said with an ironic smile. “Someone should take you in hand, Mr. Fortescue. Cannot your aunt or perhaps your parents —”
He interrupted her quickly. “That cock won’t fight, ma’am. Oh, they’ve all had a crack at it, and if endless jawing would do the trick, I’d be a reformed character today. M’father’s thrown in his hand this age past. Only Aunt Euphemia’s willing to frank me nowadays, and even she’s startin’ to flag, game ’un though she’s always been. What d’you think she says now, Miss Melville? The most dastardly thing!”
“I really can’t imagine,” replied Henrietta, wondering what measures would appear dastardly to this happy-go-lucky character.
“Marriage,” he pronounced in sepulchral tones. “Says it will steady me. Must be an heiress, of course, or we’d both be in the suds at the start. That’s why she wants me to meet some eligible females; why she suggested I should ask you to dance, as a matter of fact.”
He looked so relieved when he had made this admission that Henrietta gave him credit for some small degree of honesty; evidently he was not a natural fortune hunter, however pliable his morals might be in other directions.
“Presumably on the strength of Miss Dyrham’s information concerning me?” she asked, with a quiver in her voice.
He glanced at her apprehensively.
“Not up in the boughs, are you, Miss Melville? I beg pardon if I’ve given you offence. Only you seemed different from these other females — more — I don’t know —” he broke off, helplessly. “Got carried away,” he concluded lamely. “Do sometimes. Thought you’d understand, somehow. Crackbrained of me.”
“But I do understand,” she assured him hastily. “And I wasn’t at all offended. On the contrary, I was trying not to laugh! You must agree that this is a — a most unusual conversation between two new acquaintances.”
He looked into her eyes, brim-full of mirth, and they both dissolved into helpless laughter. No one paid any particular heed to them except Jane Dyrham and Lady B
ellairs, the former looking curious and the latter gratified.
“So marriage,” said Henrietta when she could command her voice again, “appears to you the most dastardly thing, to use your own words?”
“No doubt of it. Well, I ask you, ma’am, what man wants to get leg shackled at two and twenty? Even to a handsome young lady like yourself,” he added.
“Oh, now you’re trying to turn me up sweet. For shame, sir! But since you’re so delightfully frank, I don’t mind telling you in confidence that nothing is further from my own thoughts than marriage. To anyone,” she added, for good measure.
“It ain’t? Well, that’s capital!” he exclaimed with satisfaction. “Don’t you see, Miss Melville, if you’d only agree — But I dare say you’d not like it,” he added, downcast again.
Henrietta had quite a fair notion of what he had in mind, but she was looking forward with amusement to hearing him explain himself, so she refrained from helping him.
“Well, we shan’t know that unless you tell me what it is you wish me to do,” she replied, turning an ingenuous look upon him.
He ran a finger round his cravat. “Dashed awkward thing to ask, matter of fact,” he said hesitantly. “I was only thinking that if Aunt Euphemia got the impression I was making up to you, Miss Melville, she’d let me alone for a bit. And since you say there’s no danger — that’s to say,” he amended hastily, “you ain’t likely to take my attentions seriously, seeing that you’re as set against matrimony as I am myself, I thought perhaps we could make a game of it. Hoodwink the old girl. Might even be some sport in it,” he added with a brightening countenance.
“What a reprehensible notion!” exclaimed Henrietta with a grin that belied her words. “Mr. Fortescue, you’re a scheming wretch, let me tell you.”
“Well, perhaps so, but a fellow’s got to protect himself the best way he can. What do you say, ma’am: will you allow me to do the pretty without openly spurning me?”
“That depends. I wouldn’t want you forever hanging on my sleeve.”
“God forbid!” he interrupted fervently.
“Or frightening off any other gentlemen who might display a tendency to take an interest in me.”
“But I thought you said you didn’t want any suitors?” he protested, surprised.
“No, I didn’t say that. I said I wouldn’t wish to marry any.”
“Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch! Sounds to me, Miss Melville, remarkably like flirting!”
“And what if it is?” she demanded. “Are you to be the only one allowed to indulge in a little fun?”
“I suppose not,” he conceded reluctantly. “But well-bred females aren’t supposed to do such things — though I’ve seen plenty of ’em at it. Thing is, they don’t admit to it quite so — so —”
“Brass faced?” supplied Henrietta, laughing. “I might not admit to it with anyone else, but I thought you and I had decided to be frank with each other. I have led a monstrously dull life, Mr. Fortescue, and I intend to permit myself a little fling while I am in Bath.”
Mr. Fortescue found himself in complete sympathy with her and readily promised not to monopolize her attention.
“Trust me,” he concluded. “Won’t overdo it. Too dashed fatiguin’, anyway. Just enough to keep my aunt from tryin’ to fob me off with other females.”
As the dance had now come to an end, Henrietta’s companions returned to their seats, displacing Fortescue, who seemed ready enough to go.
He departed well pleased with the bargain he had struck. As for Henrietta, reflecting on the idea with considerable amusement, she intended presently to share the plan with Louisa, knowing that her friend’s discretion could be relied upon.
Chapter XI
“Might I prevail upon you to come for a walk, Louisa? Or shall I go alone? I simply must have some fresh air and exercise.”
“What a restless creature you are. Anyone may see that you’re best suited to a country life!” teased Louisa. “Well, I’ll take you round the Sydney Gardens. It’s only a step away, and you may roam around the walks for hours if you wish. For my part, however, I shall be entirely content to sit quietly on a bench and wait for you.”
The Sydney Gardens, situated at the opposite end of Pulteney Street, offered a pleasant promenade to the citizens of Bath. Henrietta was charmed by its tree-lined walks, artificial waterfalls, hidden grottoes, and thatched pavilions. The Kennet and Avon canal, which ran through the grounds, was crossed by two elegant cast-iron bridges in the Chinese style. From one of these, the two friends looked down upon a number of small rowing boats making slow and inexpert progress. Finally Louisa declared that she was fatigued to death and must find a seat at once. Accordingly, they made their way to a bench nearby.
They had been sitting there for some time when they noticed the sound of regimented feet approaching along the broad walk. Looking round, they saw a crocodile of some twenty or so schoolgirls, walking sedately with a first mistress at the head of the line and a second bringing up the rear.
“Oh, Louisa, that carries me back!” exclaimed Henrietta.
“Yes, so it does. What frightful ordeals we endured in our youth! Only look at their faces, Hetty. I’ll wager the poor dears would give anything for a chance to run amok!”
Henrietta studied the schoolgirls as they passed, and suddenly discovered one she recognized.
“Why, it’s Anna Florey,” she said in a voice that carried to the glumly silent throng. “I’d forgotten that she was at school here.”
Several heads, including Anna’s, at once turned their way, and Anna ventured to raise a timid hand in greeting. Even this small exuberance was firmly checked, however, by one of the mistresses in charge of the party; any communication with members of the public while out walking with the school was firmly discouraged.
“Poor Anna, what a shame!” said Henrietta. “I must call on her and see if I cannot gain permission to take her out for a treat. It should not be too difficult, for she’s at our old school, Louisa, and Miss Mynford is still in charge there.”
“Never say you actually desire to renew your acquaintance with that old harridan!”
“Oh, she was not so very bad, after all. It would never do to be too indulgent when one has charge of high-spirited girls, and I have known her look the other way on occasions.”
“I detest constraint of any kind!” said Louisa vehemently. “How one envies men their freedom from interference!”
“I think we only suppose them to be more free. And surely you have less to complain of in that way than most females, my dear? You do as you choose, do you not?”
“I do now. But there was a time —” She broke off and shivered. “I’ve become chilled, sitting here out of the sun, Henrietta. Let us return home.”
They rose and set off in the direction of the park gates. Louisa, now seeming quite in spirits again, chattered away inconsequentially as they walked, but Henrietta answered absentmindedly.
She was reflecting on Louisa’s reticence whenever any reference was made to the four years during which they had been separated. Something in that part of the past had hurt Louisa so deeply that she obviously felt unable to speak of it, even with her intimate friend from girlhood, in whom she had always been able to place her trust.
Of course, Henrietta was too scrupulous to attempt to force her friend’s confidence. She sighed, impatient with herself. Must she always become involved in other people’s troubles? She had come to Bath with the intention of discarding all responsibilities and making a new life for herself. This was surely not a very good beginning.
The afternoon brought several callers, the first of whom were Lady Bellairs and her irrepressible nephew Fortescue. Henrietta had already recounted the extraordinary conversation with Fortescue at the Assembly ball, so Louisa was not surprised to see them, although considerably amused.
Lady Bellairs seemed frankly interested in Henrietta’s family and connections.
“You are one of the Some
rset Melvilles, I collect,” she began. “There is a family of that name in Northamptonshire.”
“They are not connected to ours as far as I know, ma’am. I do have some relatives in Wiltshire and Sussex, though my father didn’t keep in touch with them.”
“I’m glad to learn you’re not connected with this Northampton set, at all events. There’s bad blood, I hear, and the men are gamesters.”
“No, dash it, Aunt, I mean to say!” protested Fortescue, not liking the tone of these remarks.
“Hold your tongue, boy. I wish to become better acquainted with Miss Melville,” said Lady Bellairs sternly. “The baronetcy goes back a few hundred years, I’m informed, and your brother holds it at present. And you have two younger sisters, I think? Both married?”
“That is so, Lady Bellairs.”
“I think it a mistake to bring out younger sisters while the eldest is unwed. What can your mother have been thinking of?”
Henrietta, who had so far been amused at the dowager’s forthright manner, took some exception to this remark.
“That I cannot say,” she replied coldly, “for my mother died before any of us came of age. I, for one, would think it monstrously unfair to keep one’s younger sisters from enjoying the pleasures of society until their elders were married. Why, the poor dears might be doomed to the schoolroom forever!”
“Naturally you must think as you choose, Miss Melville, though you’ll allow that I have a little more experience of the world than you. I am sorry if I seemed to be criticising your mother.”
“Oh, Lord!” muttered Fortescue uncomfortably. He had been trying to maintain some desultory conversation with Louisa, rather than be obliged to listen to his aunt’s interrogation. “They’ll be at dagger drawing next. What’s to be done, Mrs. Fordyce?”
But Lady Bellairs, having confirmed most of her information about Miss Melville, now abandoned that topic and launched instead into another that her unfortunate nephew found even more embarrassing. She began to give Henrietta a detailed account of the Bellairs’ ancestry, starting a few hundred years back when the family had been ennobled, and working her way laboriously down to the present day.
A Conformable Wife: A Regency Romance with a spirited heroine Page 11
