by Quinn, Ella
“Yes, let us do just that.” Laia schooled her countenance. Her concern about what her sister might or might not do was no reason to ruin what looked to be a promising outing.
Sarah turned from gazing at the corner niche holding a plaster bust of someone. “This house is very nice. Jeremy and I are discussing buying property in Bath.” She bussed their cheeks. “Shall we go?”
“You see,” Euphrosyne whispered. “Many gentlemen treat their wives as partners.”
She was thinking of their brothers and now Mr. Bellingham. “I do know that.”
When they reached the footman Sarah had brought with her, they started off toward the main part of the town. “We will go to Milsom Street first. I hear there is an excellent shop for stockings.”
“We will need new stockings for the ball next week,” Laia said. “And gloves. We each received the first of our new evening gowns and ball gowns and are now respectable to go out in the evening. I could not believe how out-of-date our old evening gowns were. And for some reason we had not purchased the other things we need.”
“It always seems to go that way,” Sarah said. “One forgets the small but very important items. I wonder what the ball will be like this evening.”
As neither Laia nor Euphrosyne had ever been to a dance, never mind a ball, Laia didn’t know what to say. Her sister was not so reticent. “No matter what happens, I intend to enjoy myself. Hawksworth has asked me to stand up with him, as has your brother.”
Naturally, their brother would stand up with his sisters, but when had Lord Markham asked Euphrosyne to dance with him? And so far ahead of the event? Laia tried to ignore the little thought trying to intrude upon her mind that she might like to dance with Mr. Paulet, but he had not asked her to stand up with him at the assembly room ball. Her good mood faltered. He was quite handsome and probably had dozens of ladies with whom he would dance. If only one of them were her.
They spent the next three hours visiting every shop they found, even the butcher’s. Madam Lamont had the most fetching bonnets. Sarah, Euphrosyne, and Laia each tried on several and came away with new hats. Laia bought three pairs of fine kid gloves, and her sister bought four pairs. They were enchanted with the clocked stockings they had seen, and made more purchases.
“I do not think I have ever had such fun.” Euphrosyne smiled broadly.
“Nor I,” Laia agreed.
“I must buy some handkerchiefs,” Sarah said as they left one store and entered another.
“Handkerchiefs and ribbons,” Euphrosyne announced.
Earlier, Meg had suspected an excursion like this would take place and had told them to send the bills to her, but Laia did not wish to ruin her sister-in-law. But an exquisite ribbon of robin’s egg blue caught her eye. Surely a ribbon would not cost that much. Well, she’d buy it now, but pay Meg back.
The poor footman had run out of room in his arms to carry more packages. But Sarah had discovered that many establishments would deliver, thus freeing Laia and Euphrosyne from exercising any restraint at all on that count.
The aroma of yeast led them to a bakery. Sarah led the way in.
“Have you tasted Bath Buns?” she asked.
Both Laia and her sister shook their heads.
“In that case, you must try them.”
Moments later, she bit into the caraway-covered bun, savoring the taste of sweet caraway and butter. “These are wonderful. I never would have guessed.”
Not caring for caraway, Euphrosyne had originally wrinkled her nose, but bit into the one Sarah handed to her. “They are. I even like the caraway.”
“Only because they are coated with sugar.” Laia grinned at her sister.
It struck her that she’d not have much time left with her family. Soon she would be a wife, subject to her husband’s rule as she had been to her father’s. Would she be allowed to visit her mother, sisters, and brothers at all? Even if she could, it would most likely be months before it happened. She wished she knew more about the Duke of Bolton.
By the time Laia and her sister returned home, she was more than ready to put her feet up and enjoy a cup of tea.
In the morning room, Euphrosyne set out the three fans she’d bought. “My gown is pink. Which one of these fans do you think would go better with it?”
Laia looked over the fans—one silver with a scene in muted gray, cream, and green painted on it, another with ivory spokes and a pastoral painting in green and blue, and one that was, for the most part, red. Where in heaven her sister thought she was going to carry that, Laia had no idea. The choice was easy. “I think the silver fan would look the best.”
“Yes, I think that as well.” Still, Euphrosyne’s fingers hovered over the red fan.
Laia decided to leave well enough alone. “Will you wear your clocked stockings? They are quite elegant.”
“I shall.” Her sister’s countenance brightened.
She would wear hers as well. It was almost a shame that she and her maid would be the only ones to see them. Laia fought down a blush. Where in the world had that thought come from?
Perkins brought in a tray with tea and some lemon biscuits and set them on the table. “My ladies, I assumed you would wish for refreshment. Would you like lemonade as well?”
The day had not been hot enough for lemonade. “No, thank you.” She picked up the tea pot and poured two cups. “Tea is perfect.”
He removed a letter from his jacket pocket. “Lady Laia, this came for you. Forgive me for not bringing it to you on the salver, but I thought you might not wish to wait.”
That was odd. She took the letter. The blue wax had an imprint of a “P” in it. It must be from Mr. Paulet, but what could he want? Using her fingernail, she popped it open.
* * *
My dear Lady Laia,
Would you do me the honor of standing up with me for the first dance you have available? I was remiss in not requesting a set sooner, and I beg you will forgive me.
Yr. servant
G. Paulet
* * *
Goodness. Apparently, it was de rigueur to request a dance well in advance of a ball. Although it would make more sense if she actually knew any other gentlemen who would ask to stand up with her.
She glanced at her sister. “It appears you are not the only one who has been asked to dance at the ball.”
“Mr. Paulet.” Euphrosyne grinned. “I knew he would request a set.” She pulled out the chair to the writing table and motioned for Laia to sit down. “You must answer him quickly.”
“It was very kind of him, but I am sure it is only because Hawksworth is his friend.”
“What a bag of moonshine.” Her sister grabbed her hand and pulled her to the desk. “If that was it, he would have waited to see if you had sufficient dance partners.”
“Perhaps.” She sat down and pulled out a piece of paper while her sister mended the pen.
It would be lovely if Mr. Paulet had asked because he wished to dance with her. Still, she was a betrothed lady. She should be thinking of Bolton. On the other hand, she was sure betrothed ladies, even married ladies, danced with other gentlemen. Surely nothing was wrong about her accepting his offer. Indeed, Meg had mentioned that Laia could receive many offers to dance. That decided, she wrote a short note telling Mr. Paulet that she would be delighted to stand up with him.
After sprinkling sand on the letter and sealing it, she tugged the bell pull. A few moments later, the missive was off to Mr. Paulet. She should not be so excited, but she could not seem to help herself. Naturally, it would be better if the Duke of Bolton had asked her for her first dance—first without their dancing master, that is,—but he wasn’t here and his nephew was. As well as other gentlemen. She hoped.
Chapter 8
After waiting an hour for Laia to answer his letter, Guy remembered that Hawksworth said the ladies were most likely going out. If that was the case, she wouldn’t receive it until she returned later in the day.
There was no poin
t in him waiting at the house when he could be out enjoying the day.
“Gibbs.” The butler was never more than a slightly raised voice away.
“Yes, sir.” Gibbs entered the room and bowed.
“I am going out. Please have Smithson bring down my hat, gloves, and cane.”
“Immediately, sir.” The servant left the room, closing the door behind him.
Fortunately, Guy had had the good luck to receive a well-run household with his unwanted bequest. At the rate this was going, he’d have property in every county. Bolton, wishing to increase his dukedom’s holdings, had complained more than once about the property Guy had been given by relatives on the Paulet side of the family. At some point, he would have to decide whether he’d incorporate his holdings into the dukedom’s. Fortunately, that decision wouldn’t have to be made for many years.
In a few minutes, he was on his way out the door and down Great Pulteney into the main part of Bath.
Just as he reached Walcot Street, he met up with Lord Markham. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you.” Markham fell into step with Guy. “Do you have a destination or are you at loose ends?”
“I’m merely enjoying the day.” That he had the time was a strange occurrence. “You?”
“Likewise. My brother-in-law is looking at houses, and my sister is with Ladies Laia and Euphrosyne shopping. I have it on good authority the ladies have never been shopping without their mother and then only in a small market town.”
By good authority, Guy assumed the man meant Lady Hawksworth. It astonished Guy that the Trevor ladies, particularly at their ages, had not been allowed to go to their home town without their mother. “That should prove interesting.”
“Oh, I dare say they shall purchase a deal of totally unnecessary and inappropriate items that catch their eyes.” Markham laughed. “Much in the way of magpies. At least that’s what my sister did. It will do them no harm and will help whoever ends up receiving the things they later realize they cannot use or do not like after all.”
Although Guy had sisters, he’d never given much thought to their first shopping expeditions. He rather thought he’d been at school and not privy to the knowledge or interested. “I suppose they will.” He tried to think of Laia going on a mad shopping tour and could not. “I wonder what there is to buy in Bath. It is not as if it’s London.”
“No, but that won’t stop them.” Markham chuckled, then sobered. “You must also remember they have never been to Town.”
“I can’t believe that was their mother’s doing. I wish I knew what Somerset was thinking.”
“He is not an easy man,” Markham commented.
Naturally, Guy knew the story surrounding Lord Quartus Trevor. “Have you met Somerset?”
“No, I have exchanged correspondence with him. That was enough for me.”
With the possible exception of his wife, it appeared no one cared for the old duke. They turned down Cheep Street. “This is the way to the Pump House.”
“I haven’t been yet and thought I might take a look. I hear the waters are horrible, but the company is pleasant.”
“I heard it’s the place to be seen, and I’m not sure I want everyone and his dog”—in other words his uncle—“to know I’m in town.” Although, Guy couldn’t deny he wanted to visit the place.
“Walk around a bit, then leave,” Markham said unperturbedly. “Aside from that, most of the ton is either still in Town or on their way to Brighton.
That was true. The prince regent remained in Town and parliament was still in session. Aside from that, Guy wasn’t that well known to the older set who might be here for their health. “I’ll give it a try.”
Turning onto Salt Street, they made their way to the entrance of the Pump Room. He was surprised at how full of people of all ages it was. For some reason, he’d thought that only the old and invalided frequented the place. Instead, several fashionable ladies and gentlemen strolled the perimeter of the room. The Duchess of Somerset was seated with a group of ladies. All of them had glasses of what had to be the water. And Lady Hawksworth was in earnest conversation with an older lady. He’d wager his best horse the woman was Lady Eagle.
By this evening at the latest, Guy would be in possession of everything the dowager had said. The only question was what, if anything, he would do with it.
* * *
Bolton’s hand shook with fury as he held the curt and impertinent letter he’d received from the editor of the Morning Post. “Can’t tell me? Won’t tell me is more like it. What the hell does the rubbishing commoner mean he can’t tell me?”
His secretary who’d read the note first said, “He did say the information came from a member of Lady Aglaia’s family.”
Not good enough. Bolton threw the missive in the fireplace. “Do you wish to seek other employment? I demand loyalty from all in my employ.”
“Indeed, your grace. I have always been loyal to you. I merely sought to point out that, if it was a member of the lady’s family, what can you do about it?”
Kentwell had a point. It was not as if Bolton could chastise Somerset or his family. They might even think it was strange that he cared. It galled Bolton, but he’d have to ignore the piece in the Post and the letter from its editor. If the announcement had come from the duke’s family, it wouldn’t even do any good to threaten the paper. “When am I due to travel to Bath?”
“During the second week of July, your grace.”
He remembered that he had several house parties he’d accepted invitations to and he was expected to make an appearance in Brighton. “And the wedding?”
“The fourth week. I shall procure the special license shortly before you depart. Shall I continue to plan for the wedding to take place in Hampshire?”
“No, better to have it in Bath. Might as well do the deed while I’m there. I will need you to join me there so there is no point in buying the license before I depart. You can bring it when you come. The damned things aren’t good for more than a fortnight.” If he knew women, and by now he ought to, he’d have to spend some time courting her. Somerset obviously expected it.
Once Bolton told Somerset that the wedding would be in Bath, his duchess would have the wedding breakfast well in hand by the time Bolton arrived. “Write to the Duke of Somerset informing him of the change.”
“Lady Aglaia will attain her majority on the sixth of July. You might want to send her a gift,” his secretary suggested.
“Go through the jewelry and select something suitable.” God knew he had enough trinkets left from his previous wives.
“Yes, your grace.” Kentwell straightened from making notes.
“That will be all.” Bolton was tired of this marriage business and dealing with young ladies. Nevertheless, he needed an heir, and that was the only way to get one. “I’ll be at Mrs. Peterson’s house and won’t be back for dinner.”
His mistress had been wroth with him for not telling her he was marrying again. He patted the diamond necklace he had in his pouch. That should make her happy. If not, he’d find something that would.
* * *
The next morning at breakfast, Mama and Meg insisted that Laia and her sister accompany them to the Pump Room. “It is much more than drinking the water. Almost everyone in Bath goes to see people and be seen,” Meg said. “There are also some ladies about your ages that accompany their mothers or grandmothers. It would be nice for you to become acquainted with more people.”
Laia could not argue with that. Sarah was the only friend they had. “Will I have to drink the water?”
Euphrosyne scrunched up her lips. “I have heard it is horrible.”
“You are not required to drink it,” their mother said in a mild tone. “But you will appear provincial if you cannot discuss how bad it tastes from personal experience.”
Laia and her sister exchanged looks. That answered that question. Neither of them would wish to appear any more countrified than they already did.
>
Laia dressed for the excursion in a new walking gown of pale blue. Her betrothal ring had been returned from the jeweler’s late yesterday and was on her dressing table. Yet she had not even tried it on. Picking it up, she thought about wearing it, but set it back down. It was huge, and ugly, and did not go with anything she owned. She hated feeling childish, but there was something about the ring she could not like. Perhaps she would try it on tomorrow.
The four of them strolled to the Pump Room. It was already crowded, but Meg and Mama were hailed by a woman sitting with another matron and two younger ladies.
“Come, I shall introduce you to Mrs. Butterworth and Mrs. Applebee, and their daughters, Caroline and Margaret. Caroline Butterworth is about your age, Laia, and Margaret Applebee is just a bit younger.
“Did they not have a London Season?” Euphrosyne asked. “It is stilling time for it, is it not?”
“Not everyone can afford a Season in Town for their daughters,” their mother said. “Both ladies are wives of military men. Mrs. Butterworth’s eldest daughter is engaged to a baronet whom she met here earlier this year. And Miss Applebee is the youngest of five daughters. The others have all married.” Mama smiled. “Bath is not such a bad place to find a mate.”
Euphrosyne glanced at their mother, a considering look on her face. “No, it is not.”
Once again, Laia wanted to say something to her sister about not getting her hopes up, but Mama had already begun introducing them to the other ladies.
Laia and Euphrosyne soon discovered that they had much more in common with Caroline and Margaret than Laia originally thought. Except for the butcher shop, the ladies had been to all the stores she and her sister had visited yesterday.
They discussed a massive and hideous bonnet decorated with peacock feathers all of them had seen in the window of one of the milliners. An older woman in the room was now wearing exactly that hat.
