“Oh, yes, indeed he is. There is something so very — he gives one rather a sense of security,” replied Louisa, sounding a little confused.
After they entered the ballroom they became separated for a time, and presently Henrietta seated herself beside Olivia Hinton-Wellow in a row of gilt chairs where there were so far few occupants. They were soon chatting animatedly together, until they were joined by Mark Kennett’s wife, Julia, a sophisticated woman in her early thirties whom Henrietta did not like. Seating herself beside Henrietta, she began to cast a blight on the conversation by complaining about the crush in the Rooms and the general insipidity of Bath entertainments.
“So different from London,” she said in her usual bored drawl. “Have you been lately in town, Miss Melville?”
Henrietta had no intention of aiding Mrs. Kennett’s obvious attempt to patronise her, so she answered that she had been in London last year.
“But as I was then in mourning, I naturally did not go about to places of entertainment,” she added.
“A pity. There is nothing to equal Almack’s, but it’s not at all easy to obtain vouchers, you know. The patronesses are most strict, which is just as it should be, of course. They say that in Beau Nash’s day things were regulated in much the same way here in Bath, and only persons of ton were to be met with in the Assemblies. But nowadays of course…” She finished with a shrug of contempt.
“You are too nice in your judgments, Julia,” said Olivia Hinton-Wellow warmly. “I’m sure we have very good company here, and there are always scores of amiable and interesting visitors arriving to prevent our becoming bored with each other.”
“If you say so, my dear Olivia,” said Mrs. Kennett with a yawn behind her fan. “Ah, here is your husband,” she continued in a slightly more animated tone. “My dear George, pray take pity on us and join our party.”
Without awaiting a second invitation — which in any case would not have been forthcoming from either his wife or Henrietta — Hinton-Wellow advanced, beaming, upon the group.
“What man could possibly resist such a heaven-sent opportunity of resting awhile in this oasis of beauty and charm. But pray, fairest Julia —” the Hinton-Wellows and the Kennetts were on first-name terms — “do be so good as to move into this chair so that I may have the felicity of being seated in the midst of your entrancing group.”
Julia Kennett was not pleased at being asked to move so that Hinton-Wellow might sit between herself and Miss Melville, but she complied without protest. He began to settle himself into the chair she had vacated, deliberately making an awkward business of it so that he was obliged to rest his arm against Henrietta’s bare shoulder. Instinctively, she shrank away, but his hold tightened for a moment while he apologised for his clumsiness with a smile.
At that very moment, Henrietta heard Almeria’s voice greeting her. Looking up, to her acute embarrassment she saw that not only Almeria but Sir Giles and Mr. Aldwyn were passing before her. She was just able to catch a cynical sneer on Aldwyn’s face before she hastily lowered her eyes, too confused to do more than murmur a greeting. When she did venture to look up again, the three had already moved away.
Nothing could be more humiliating than that Mr. Aldwyn should have seen her practically in the embrace of such a notorious flirt! What must he think of her conduct? But the expression of disdain on his face had made his feelings obvious. She would have given almost anything to undo this mischief, which was not of her making; yet why, she asked herself impatiently, should she be so overset? It could scarcely signify now what Mr. Aldwyn might think of her. Had she not voluntarily put an end to any connection between them? All the same, she was forced to admit that she would have preferred to retain his good opinion. Perhaps Almeria would explain to him that a man like Hinton-Wellow needed no encouragement, and that Henrietta herself was not to blame. But she doubted that such a cynic as Mr. Aldwyn would be convinced.
Tormented by these incoherent thoughts, she was quite unable either to fend off Hinton-Wellow’s gallantries or invent a plausible excuse for escaping from his company. Then the orchestra began to play.
“I believe this is my dance, Miss Melville,” said a welcome voice.
Henrietta looked up with a start to see Colby standing there. She gave him her most radiant smile and stood up instantly. He took her hand and led her onto the floor.
“Sure, and you look as though you were a Christian escaping from the lions, ma’am,” he said with the familiar twinkle in his eyes.
“Do I? Well, perhaps you are not so far out in that.”
“Hinton-Wellow?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
She nodded.
“Oh, there’s no harm in the man. It’s a lion with the teeth drawn.”
“It is vastly unpleasant, sir, to be pestered with undesired gallantries.”
“Sure, an’ I’ll remember that,” he promised, smiling. “But would you like me to give him just a hint now?”
“Oh, no!” She looked taken aback. “You have no occasion — that is to say —”
“I haven’t the right? That is so, of course, unless the right of a friend who has your interests very much at heart.”
He watched her closely but could read only the lingering traces of embarrassment in her expression. Too experienced to make a false step, he said no more.
“The only thing, then, ma’am, is to avoid the gentleman.”
“So I do, as much as possible. But, tell me, why do you suppose he does it?”
He shrugged. “Why do you suppose, Miss Melville? Because he enjoys it.”
“And is that to be the sole criterion of anyone’s conduct?” she asked indignantly. “Is there to be no consideration for the feelings of others?”
His eyes twinkled again. “Perhaps our friend is more to be pitied than blamed. When a man has been married for a number of years, he sometimes requires the reassurance of flirtations with a pretty female or two. And since most females find such attentions flattering, what harm can there be? It gives pleasure all round, does it not?”
“Not to me,” she said emphatically. “And not to his wife.”
They were separated then by the movements of the dance and Henrietta shook away her feelings of irritation to re-join her partner in a lighter mood. He sensed this at once and began to entertain her with his usual amusing chatter, until they were both smiling and laughing together as they went down the dance.
This did not escape Aldwyn, who was dancing with Almeria, and a cynical light came into his eyes.
“Miss Melville seems very pleased with her partner,” he said.
Almeria glanced round to see where her friend was in the set. “Oh, Mr. Colby. Yes, he’s a favourite with us all. The most attractive man, with just the hint of a rogue about him.”
“Indeed? Well, I’ve seen the fellow somewhere before, unless I’m much mistaken. What do you know of him?’
“What does one know of most visitors to Bath? I believe he came here from London. But you should ask Henrietta, for she’s been seeing more of him than most of us,” she added with a hint of mischief.
He made no answer to this, but she saw that he was watching the other couple again. On whose account, she wondered, Henrietta’s or Colby’s?
“Dance with her, and perhaps you will discover something further.”
He shrugged. “It’s of no importance. Besides, I am engaged to Mrs. Fordyce for the next dance.”
In fact, Aldwyn employed most of his dance with Louisa covertly watching how Miss Melville fared with her present partner, the young man Fortescue, whom he had met yesterday in the Pump Room. He was not at all pleased by what he saw, and he remarked later to his sister that Miss Melville seemed in a fair way to becoming an accomplished flirt.
“And why not?” retorted Almeria, who considered that he needed a lesson for never mentioning how he had fared with Hetty in his matrimonial purpose. “Poor Henrietta has led such a restricted life; it’s high time she indulged herself in a little flir
tation and fun!”
“Doubtless, if it gives her satisfaction,” he replied dryly.
“It must give any woman satisfaction to be so much admired. I may tell you that she’s a prodigious favourite with all the gentlemen,” went on Almeria, determined to bring home to him what he had lost by not offering for her friend. “And so she deserves to be, for don’t you think she looks charmingly tonight?”
Aldwyn’s eyes rested for a moment on Henrietta, who was now standing a short distance away with Louisa and two other ladies, attended by several gentlemen. She was wearing a gown of blue muslin spangled with silver, cut in a low V at the neckline. Her hair — had he once thought it mouse coloured? — was drawn high on her head and confined by a chaplet of artificial flowers from which curls depended at the back, while a few curling tendrils framed her face.
His glance kindled for a moment, but his expression was guarded as he turned to his sister.
“Oh, prodigiously charming! Indeed, I scarcely know her for the same female I met at Westhyde Manor. She is altogether changed — whether for better or worse, I leave you to determine.”
Almeria pouted. “You’re foolish beyond permission, Julian! She is not changed, except in having realized how to appear to her best advantage. She is the same dear girl that ever she was! And if you doubt that, you’ve only to make some push to renew your acquaintance with her, and you’ll soon discover the truth of it for yourself!”
He looked amused. “You’re as cross as crabs now, ain’t you, dear sister? But if it will please you, I’ll ask her to dance.”
“If it will please —!” echoed Almeria in disgust. “Oh, pray don’t put yourself out, sir!”
“Indeed I shall,” he said provokingly and made his way over to Henrietta’s group.
But when he made his request she looked apologetic.
“I am so sorry, but I’m promised to Mr. Burke for the next dance, sir. Perhaps the one after —”
“No, no, Miss Melville, that is mine,” put in Colby, who was standing next to her.
Aldwyn bowed stiffly. “In that case —”
She rapped Colby over the knuckles with her fan, laughing. “No such thing! You know very well that you have not bespoken it.”
“Dear lady, I’ve bespoken every one of your dances,” he said, smiling down at her in a way that made Aldwyn long to give him a facer.
“Can’t be done, Colby,” said Fortescue. “That’s my privilege.”
She coloured a little. “Oh, you are too absurd, both of you. Pray have done! Mr. Aldwyn, I shall be happy to dance the next but one with you, if you please.”
She looked up shyly into his sombre eyes. He bowed brusquely and moved away.
“Then you must take pity on me, Mrs. Fordyce,” said Colby to Louisa, “and accept me as a partner for that particular dance.”
There was a hint of command in his tone that brought him a frowning look from Captain Barclay, who was one of the party.
“Don’t care for that fellow’s manners,” said the captain peremptorily as he led Louisa onto the floor. “Queer way to ask a lady to dance, by my notions.”
“Oh, it’s just that he has known me a long time,” replied Louisa airily. “He was a friend of my husband’s — in Ireland, you know.”
“Is that so, ma’am? I never realised that you and Colby were acquainted before he came here.”
She shrugged. “I never chanced to mention it before.”
“I suppose then, as an old friend —” He broke off and looked at her shrewdly, seeing a slight shadow dimming the liveliness of her hazel eyes. “I have sometimes thought,” he went on in his direct manner, “that you were not completely easy in that gentleman’s company, ma’am, old friend or not.”
She made no answer to this, but seemed very intent on the steps of the dance.
“I would like you to know, Mrs. Fordyce,” persisted the captain, “that if there is ever any way in which I may serve you — any way at all — you have only to mention it.”
She turned a laughing face upon him. “Yes, there is a way, Captain Barclay. You may oblige me by keeping in step!”
There was nothing for him to do but apologise, although he knew he was being fobbed off. Thereafter the subject was dropped.
When Henrietta danced with Mr. Burke, owing to her own abstraction, their conversation was even more stilted than usual. There could be little doubt, she thought uneasily, that given the evening’s events Mr. Aldwyn must have formed a most unfavourable notion of her conduct. To be sure, it was delightful to talk nonsense with Colby and Fortescue when she felt in the mood, but Mr. Aldwyn’s presence in some way destroyed her girlish pleasure in these vanities. Well, let him despise her if he would, she thought defiantly. He was not to be the arbiter of her conduct.
She was in this mood when she took the floor with him. For a time, neither spoke. Aldwyn was studying his partner, thinking how well the soft blue of her gown set off her fair skin and deepened the colour of her eyes; whenever she turned her head, the cluster of brown curls swung gracefully from side to side in a way that must have enchanted a man less determined to resist feminine charms. Even he felt his determination waver a fraction, and soon he was smiling at her in the old way.
“I need scarcely ask, Miss Melville, if you are enjoying your visit to Bath?”
“Oh, prodigiously!”
He had not intended to make any reference to that final conversation between them at Westhyde Manor, but the temptation was too great.
“And is your new-found freedom of as much benefit as you had hoped, ma’am?” he went on. His brown eyes were mocking but not altogether unkind.
She gave him a reproachful smile that was calculated to cover her embarrassment.
“Shame on you, sir, for putting serious questions to me at a ball, of all places! Besides, you must realise that I’ve not had time to get a satisfactory answer.”
“Possibly I can supply some of them for you,” he said lightly.
She looked up quickly, and a flicker of apprehension crossed her face.
“You have discovered, for instance,” he continued smoothly, “that, like most females, you infinitely prefer shopping in Milsom Street to such simple rural pleasures as, say, the visiting of historic sites.”
She shook her head vigorously, setting her curls swaying in a seductive motion.
“What a poor creature you must think me!” she challenged him. “Because I have discovered a new delight — and I’ll freely admit that I take prodigious pleasure in buying pretty things — it’s not to say that I’ve totally renounced the old ones! Indeed —” with a small sigh — “sometimes I miss my simple rural pleasures, as you term them.”
He nodded. “Well, then, you’ve learned a little about yourself. At least you now know that town life cannot be completely satisfying to you.”
“And yet I’ve almost made up my mind to settle here in Bath,” she countered.
He looked at her keenly. “You have? May I ask — but no, that is none of my business.”
“I’d have no objection to telling you if my plans were certain, but they depend upon another person.”
They were separated by the movements of the dance at this juncture, so she missed the mortified expression that came over his face. When they came together again, his manner was more constrained and the ease had gone from his voice.
She found it almost a relief to exchange her present partner for Colby when the next dance began. She noticed that Aldwyn was leading out Isabella Laverton, who looked ravishing in a gown of yellow silk under gauze. He too, judging by his expression, appeared well pleased with the change.
It came to her suddenly that he could have misunderstood her last remark to him, that he might have taken it to mean she was at last contemplating marriage, to someone whom she had met here in Bath. But how nonsensical I am, thought Henrietta scornfully, to trouble my head over Mr. Aldwyn, when there is a gentleman at my side only too ready to please and be pleased in turn!
<
br /> She gave herself up without reserve to the entertainment of Mr. Colby’s company.
Chapter XVIII
The boxing match at Claverton Down had provided some splendid sport, as Aldwyn and Captain Barclay agreed on their way home. Indeed, they were looking forward to giving Sir Giles a full account of the proceedings later on, as the captain had been invited to dine that evening with the Barringtons.
“Mustn’t bore your sister with it, though,” the captain remarked, as they drove past the Theatre Royal. “Females don’t care for sporting talk.”
“Oh, Almeria will have Mrs. Fordyce and Miss Melville to keep her company. No doubt they’ll chatter away nineteen to the dozen on their own concerns,” replied Aldwyn carelessly. “I say, isn’t that young Fortescue and that fellow Colby coming out of the house yonder? Looks a bit down in the mouth, don’t he? Fortescue, I mean.”
Barclay glanced across the road and nodded. “Don’t intend to stop, though, Aldwyn, if you’ve no objection. Can’t keep my cattle standing.”
The two men on the street looked up as the curricle passed them; recognising the occupants, they touched their hats in salute.
“Yes, I dare say the youngster’s got cause enough to look blue-devilled,” said Barclay. “They’ve just come out of the gaming house I told you of; stakes pretty high, and no doubt Fortescue’s lost. Colby will have won a bit, though; he’s the more experienced gamester. A downy bird, that one, in my opinion.”
Aldwyn suddenly clapped a hand to his head. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “Knew I’d seen the fellow somewhere before, but never could think where! It was in London, at one of the less reputable gaming halls. I was out on the town one night with a few friends — you know how it is — and they looked in at this place. Didn’t stay long; too devilish queer by half, full of flats and sharpers. But I had this chap pointed out to me as a wrong ’un. He was fleecing a mutton-headed young sprig at the time. They did mention his name, but it escapes me now. Not Colby, though, I’ll take my oath.”
A Conformable Wife: A Regency Romance with a spirited heroine Page 17
