The Duke, the Earl and the Captain

by Gemma Blackwood

  “Of course – thank you – I will go at once.” Isobel, having learnt nothing from her sister’s misfortune, began to make her way across the park at a most unseemly pace.

  “These young ladies!” complained Aunt Gladys. “It makes my bones hurt just to look at the way they tear about!”

  “I am terribly sorry to have caused such a fuss,” said Caroline. “Only please do not tell my sister I said so – she will tease me if she knows how ashamed I am!”

  “You have no cause for embarrassment,” Amelia assured her. “We only wish to see you safely on your way home without further injury. There’s no need to apologise at all.”

  “You are very kind.” Her tears were now quite dry. Amelia suspected that the shock of the fall was her chief injury, rather than any lasting damage to the ankle.

  She distracted the girl further by drawing her out on the subject of her adventures in Bath so far: whether she had made her come out – she had not, but hoped her brother would allow it next Season – what she made of the Royal Crescent and its beautiful arc of houses, and what her thoughts were on dresses of gossamer net as opposed to muslin. Caroline soon brightened up, and by the time Isobel returned, accompanied by a very tall and well-dressed gentleman, she was chatting away as happily as if she had never fallen at all.

  “Miss Dane, may I introduce my brother, the Earl of Banfield?” Isobel pronounced the introduction with great formality, as though she had learnt it from a book a short time previously. “Henry, these ladies are Miss Gladys and Miss Amelia Dane. They have been ever such a help to us, as you can see.”

  Amelia rose from the ground with as much dignity as she could manage.

  “It is a great pleasure to meet you,” said the earl. He had a deep and pleasant voice which immediately set her at ease. “I must apologise for the great imposition my sisters have made upon you.”

  “It was no imposition at all,” said Amelia. “I am pleased to report that the ankle is almost certainly not broken, though you may perhaps wish to send for a doctor when Lady Caroline is comfortably returned home.”

  “I am sure that will not be necessary,” said the earl. He bent down to look at Caroline more closely. “Well now, my little trouble-maker, it seems that Isobel was greatly exaggerating the extent of your woe. You do not seem in much pain to me.”

  “Miss Dane has done such a fine job of distracting me!” said Caroline happily. “I think I may even be able to walk.”

  “I would not advise that,” interrupted Aunt Gladys, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You really must have it examined by a doctor. Think of the damage you could do by overexerting yourself on an injury!”

  “You are quite right,” said the earl. “Here, Caroline, put your arms around my shoulders.” He lifted her up in his arms as easily as if she were a child of six rather than a grown girl of sixteen. “Ladies, I cannot thank you enough. I bid you good day.”

  He bowed his head and strode off across the park, Caroline in his arms.

  “Well!” remarked Aunt Gladys, before the earl was quite comfortably out of earshot. “He was a handsome one, and no mistake!”

  Amelia reflected on the calm and steady gaze with which the earl’s dark eyes had held her own. “I thought you were fond of talkative gentlemen, Aunt?” she asked, to hide her rising blush. “He did not seem one for chatter.”

  “A well-cut jaw and a fine nose can excuse all manner of character defects,” her aunt answered robustly. “Besides which, he had very good teeth.”

  “Aunt Gladys! You talk as if he were a horse for sale.”

  “A young and handsome earl at Bath in the summertime? He may have escaped the London marriage mart, but the mamas of the ton will not let him off so easily. I fear our young friend will envy the plight of an animal at the farmer’s market before long.”

  “He is hardly our friend,” said Amelia. The earl was hardly young, either, she reflected – except of course by Aunt Gladys’s standards. He must have been five years or so older than Amelia herself.

  He truly had been very handsome. And the tender yet easy-going concern he showed for his younger sisters spoke very well of his character. Amelia hoped he would not be assaulted by the matchmaking mamas as heavily as Aunt Gladys predicted. Having spent a lifetime watching the marriage mart from the outside, she could not imagine anything more unpleasant than society’s scrutiny.

  “Come, Aunt,” she said, shaking all thoughts of the handsome earl from her mind. “I have seen a very pretty spot with a bench which will do for a rest before we make our way home.”

  She offered Aunt Gladys her arm, which was gratefully accepted, and went about her day with her head most decidedly not turned by her encounter with Henry Russell, Earl of Banfield.

  2

  The following morning found Henry enduring yet another crisis at the hands of his two younger sisters.

  “It’s not fair!” shouted Caroline, from the position she had taken up on the sofa with her leg propped up on a stool. “Why should Isobel always be allowed to enjoy herself while I have to wait about at home?”

  “It’s precisely fair,” said Isobel primly, twirling her bonnet and admiring the delicate lace. “I am old enough to be out, and moreover, I am not the silly goose who turned her ankle yesterday and can hardly bear to walk.”

  “Henry!” entreated Caroline, gesturing indignantly for his attention. “Henry, please!”

  Henry adjusted his cravat and suppressed a sigh. Had it really only been a year and a half since his poor parents had been so untimely taken? Only eighteen months since all the responsibility for raising two lively young girls had fallen heavily upon his shoulders?

  At times like this he felt the loss of both father and mother more keenly than a man of nine and twenty ought to admit.

  “You are not yet recovered enough to visit the Pump Room,” he told Caroline, filling his words with the sternest tone he could summon. “There will likely be a crush of people and you are liable to injure your ankle further.”

  “Then you must stay at home and entertain me!” Caroline demanded, widening her eyes with such piteous effect that Henry felt his heart begin to soften.

  “Then there will be no-one to chaperone me!” complained Isobel, clutching her brother’s arm. “Henry, it is too cruel of you to confine me here indoors simply because she cannot walk!”

  He was too soft on them. Too soft by a great deal. He felt himself tugged so violently in both directions that it was all he could do to keep his composure. “I will go out for a short while – a very short while – with Isobel. Then the afternoon will be entirely yours, Caroline. Does that satisfy you?”

  It satisfied neither of them, which was made clear by the volume of the complaints which followed. Henry held up a hand and was gratified to see both girls close their mouths. “I’ve made my decision, and it is final,” he said firmly. Both sisters closed their mouths at once and stared at him in frightened silence.

  Perhaps he had spoken too harshly. It was a failing of his of which he was painfully aware. He knew he cut an imposing figure, tall and strong with broad shoulders and dark, brooding eyes. It was all too easy for him to appear sterner than he truly was.

  Fortunately, his sisters were well accustomed to his moods and habits, and they quickly resumed their light-hearted squabbling as Isobel prepared to go outside and Caroline resigned herself to a day of confinement. In truth, Henry was glad to hear their bickering. The Russell siblings had spent a long year in mourning after the carriage accident which stole their parents’ lives. It was good to know that his sisters had remembered how to laugh, to argue, and to long for the delights of the wider world.

  The Pump Room was a large and attractive building of honey-coloured Bath stone, fronted by Corinthian columns and a wide set of steps up and down which a crowd of people was constantly flowing. Isobel did not make it more than one or two paces at a time before being accosted by one acquaintance or another, and Henry himself found it almost impossible to move
without the necessity of nodding his head to this gentleman or that matronly lady.

  By the time they entered the great room he was desperate for a little space to himself. The sound of music descended on the assembly from a semi-circular gallery above, but the pleasure of the instruments was all but lost in the hubbub. Isobel scarcely heeded his dislike of the suffocating crowd and tugged him along merrily, stopping to wave at her friends along the way, until they reached the pump, where a young lady stood dispensing glasses of hot water.

  “We will each have some,” Isobel decided. “It is so terribly good for you, Henry.”

  Henry thought the water smelled rather like old eggs, but he kept this observation to himself.

  “Why, Lord Banfield, I hope you are not ailing?” came a melodious voice from behind him, interrupting him just as he was about to take a swallow of the hot water.

  He turned to find the cat-like smile of Miss Josephine Fortescue not seven inches from his face.

  “Ailing, Miss Fortescue?”

  She inclined her head gracefully. He could not help but think that the motion was solely designed to reveal a greater expanse of her smooth and elegant neck.

  “I notice you are partaking of the healing waters, my lord. I certainly hope it is not to remedy any particular complaint.”

  “It is simply to obey the wishes of my sister,” he answered. A frown creased Miss Fortescue’s perfect forehead.

  “Surely you are not a slave to young Isobel’s whims, my lord?”

  “If only he were!” cried Isobel happily. “Miss Fortescue! I am very pleased to see you.”

  “And I you, my dear Lady Isobel.” Miss Fortescue waved off Isobel’s enthusiastically clasping hands with a faint smile of derision, and returned her another delicate bob of the head. Isobel, chastened, imitated her gesture self-consciously.

  “I hope I will see you both at the Upper Assembly Rooms tonight, my lord,” she said, returning to Henry.

  “Oh! I would love to!” gasped Isobel, quite unaware that the inquiry had not been directed at her.

  “It would not be at all fair on Caroline,” said Henry firmly.

  “Caroline?” Isobel wailed. “But she’s not even made her come out! What on earth has it to do with what Caroline wants?”

  “I am quite of your opinion, my lady,” agreed Miss Fortescue. “Lady Caroline’s wishes should have very little bearing upon the activities of her elder siblings.”

  She spoke with such great authority that Henry did not immediately realise the impertinence of her imposition in their family matters. Miss Fortescue was a friend, to be sure, but he was not convinced she was so very dear a friend as all that.

  “Caroline is sadly indisposed,” he explained stiffly. “I am not of a mind to leave her alone all night.”

  “Such a caring brother!” Miss Fortescue was delighted by his concern. “I cannot tell you how much I feel for you, trapped by your cares for your poor sisters with no mother to guide them.”

  “It is not at all a trap,” said Henry. “I am very happy to be of use to them.”

  “Most admirable.” Ever that inscrutable smile remained pasted upon her features. It was as though she wore a mask which had been carved to look obliging.

  Henry could not help but feel grateful towards Miss Fortescue, whatever his personal tastes in friendship might be. They had never been close before his parents’ death, but ever since then she had taken a most unlooked-for interest in the wellbeing of his sisters, and had continually been on hand to offer him advice in the proper care and raising of two lively girls. There had been times when his new responsibilities had felt overwhelming. In such circumstances, any and all assistance was gratefully received.

  “Look over there!” Isobel exclaimed suddenly. “It is that kind lady from yesterday, Miss Dane!”

  Before Henry could stop her, she was off and away to interrupt the Misses Dane at their quiet conversation, seated a little way apart from the crowd.

  “I would love to be introduced to any acquaintance of Isobel’s,” said Miss Fortescue smoothly. She held out her hand, awaiting Henry’s supporting arm. He was too much the gentlemen not to offer it.

  Miss Amelia Dane was looking quite as fresh and unassuming as she had the day before in the park. He had thought at first that the striking appeal of her features was simply due to the unusual circumstances in which they had met. Surely anyone would appear attractive as they rendered aid to a beleaguered young girl?

  Henry was surprised, then, to discover that it was not only the attitude of a ministering angel which lent the brightness to Amelia’s cheeks or the sharp intelligence to her eyes. She was altogether a very pretty woman. She had not the blushing youth of the debutantes who had swarmed him ever since he inherited his title, but instead a rather calmer and more mature beauty which showed itself in her unassuming demeanour and the warmth behind her smile.

  He was horrified to find himself inwardly praising her as an honest, generous and worthy person based on all the acquaintance of half a minute the day before. Henry was not usually given to such flights of fancy. Something in Amelia’s expression had coaxed it out of him – though what that something might be was beyond his understanding.

  He pulled off the necessary introductions in a state of no little confusion, which only sharpened his natural gruffness. Miss Fortescue’s hand tightened on his arm in warning, but Amelia and her aunt seemed not to mind his mood.

  “What a pleasant surprise to see you again,” said Amelia to Isobel, who was beaming from ear to ear. “I hope your sister is recovering well?”

  “She is perfectly fine,” Isobel assured her. “She has done nothing but sit with her leg propped up on a cushion and complain at us all day long.”

  “I am sure it must be very vexing for her to be cooped up on such a glorious day,” said Amelia. “Summer is quite my favourite month.”

  “I prefer the autumn myself. There is nothing quite so fine as a warm fire on a crisp day! But you are of my brother’s opinion, I see. Henry spends all winter sighing for the long summer days, is that not so, Henry?”

  “Indeed,” was all he could respond. What on earth had become of his manners? He wished that he could think of something clever to say which might awaken Amelia’s interest, but he found the well of his inspiration completely dry. Fortunately, Isobel was suffering no such affliction, and chatted away with her new friend as comfortably as if they were longstanding bosom companions.

  “If only I could stay and chatter,” interrupted Miss Fortescue with a yawn. She had run her eyes over Amelia’s gown and the elder Miss Dane’s plain little bonnet and had evidently found nothing to draw her conversation. “I see that my father is waving to me from the doorway and I must attend to him. Lord Banfield, have you by any chance reconsidered your plans for this evening?”

  “I have not.”

  “Such a pity.” Miss Fortescue’s mouth wrinkled into a pout of displeasure. “Particularly when Lady Isobel is so fond of dancing. Might I offer my family’s services? My parents may chaperone her very nicely.”

  “Oh, please say yes, Henry!” cried Isobel, clasping her hands together.

  “I thank you for your kind offer,” he said to Miss Fortescue, “but I am afraid I must decline.” There was no conceivable situation in which he would relinquish the care of Isobel to another, no matter how genteel they might be.

  “Henry, you are too cruel! See, Miss Dane is quite put out that she will not find you at the Assembly Rooms, are you not, Miss Dane? Caroline will not mind if we go, I am sure of it. She is too young to come herself in any case. Miss Dane, do tell him!”

  “I cannot see that my opinion has any weight in the matter,” said Amelia, smiling. “Besides, I had no plans myself to visit the Assembly Rooms at all. My place is with my aunt –”

  “Lawks!” interrupted Aunt Gladys. “Do not let my health prevent you from having a little fun, Amelia! When do we ever see such fine sights in Chapton? You must take full advantage o
f our time in Bath, my dear.”

  “Then it is settled,” said Isobel. “We shall make quite a fine party!”

  “It is not at all settled,” Amelia reminded her gently. “Your brother is yet to agree. I am sure he has very sound reasoning behind his decision.”

  “Will you agree to join us this evening if we do decide to attend the ball?” asked Henry. He had not intended the question to appear quite so direct: but there, he had said it, and direct it was. “Miss Fortescue’s mother is a very agreeable woman and will make a perfect chaperone. I will introduce you this evening myself.”

  Amelia glanced at her aunt, who nodded vigorously and answered for her:

  “I am sure that Amelia cannot possibly think of anything more delightful, my lord!”

  “Then we will make a party of it,” said Henry, “and I shall find a way to console Caroline for the loss of our company this evening.”

  “A charming scheme,” said Miss Fortescue. Despite the fact that she had now achieved her objective, her mouth was still pursed in that discontented pout. “Now, I really must take my leave.”

  When she was gone, Henry was sorry to see Amelia’s hands twisting nervously against the fabric of her dress.

  “I hope I have not offended you, Miss Dane?” he asked anxiously. “I did not mean to twist your arm.” No – he had meant only to dance with her. The thought of seeing her elegant figure turning smoothly through the steps of a dance was an enticing one indeed.

  “It is not that,” she said. Her courage seemed to return, and she lifted her eyes to his with unashamed self-possession. “I am only concerned that I will be a burden upon you. You see, I am not – I have never – well, I have no acquaintances in Bath at all. I shall be entirely reliant upon you and the Master of Ceremonies to introduce me, and I –”

  “But that is perfect!” said Isobel. “My brother has more friends than he knows what to do with, don’t you, Henry? We shall introduce you to absolutely everybody, and we shall all have the most wonderful time!”

  She put her hand into Amelia’s and was rewarded with a grateful squeeze. “Then I will be very happy to attend,” said Amelia.