by Joan Smith
A frown drew his brows together. “You’re serious!” he exclaimed in a light, incredulous tone. “You are the one who closed the door behind us.”
“Yes, because I did not want the whole inn to see me rake your hair with a chair.”
“But you as well as said, at the dance—”
“I said nothing of the sort! We were joking.”
“About having a flirtation and breaking my heart?” he asked, to recall the details of the conversation to her.
“You don’t have a heart. You have only an ego as big as London. Let me tell you, Lord Southam, you are quite as deficient as a flirt as I have not the least doubt you will be as a husband. To start mauling me the instant the door was closed, as if I were some lightskirt you had bought and paid for.”
“You didn’t seem to mind!”
“I minded very much! You didn’t give me a chance to say anything. I want you out of my room this instant. Tomorrow I shall return to Bath—alone.”
“How?” he asked.
“By foot, if necessary.”
As it sunk in that she was serious, Southam felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. He lifted his hands, palms out, in capitulation. “I made an error of judgment, and I am very sorry, Cousin. Your somewhat free manners led me astray. I would suggest in future you tame your flirtation if you don’t wish to be misunderstood.”
“There is no danger of a true gentleman misunderstanding me, sir. No one else has ever tried anything like this.”
“I have said I am sorry. If you will stay here a few days longer to give Gillian a chance to win her duke, I will be eternally in your debt.”
“Stay in the same inn with you? Not likely!”
His lips thinned in frustration and anger. A line formed from his nose to his lips. “I can control myself, Mrs. Searle. I am not an animal led by his appetites.”
“I take leave to doubt that. What was and remains a mystery to me is how Deborah puts up with this sort of carrying on.”
“Naturally she is not aware of it.”
Bea frowned in perplexity. “I meant your mauling her about as you attacked me. If she permits this sort of thing without benefit of marriage, she is a more foolish lady than I ever thought.”
“I don’t maul her about it. You make me sound like a wild animal.”
“I see,” she said, her fury mounting. His fiancée he treated with respect, while he took his appetites out on lightskirts and such unfortunate ladies as herself. She strode to the door and flung it open.
“You haven’t given me your answer,” he said. “What can I tell Gillie and Miss Pittfield if you are gone in the morning? I wish you would reconsider, for their sake. I would not dare to ask that you do it for mine. I promise I will not subject you to any further—mauling,” he said, unhappy at the word.
“Perhaps I should stay. It will only set tongues wagging in Bath.... Very well, I shall remain a few days, but it is agreed between us, Lord Southam, that there is to be no more of this behavior.”
“On my word as a gentleman.” He bowed and left, before he fell into any further fracas.
Southam went to his room, feeling as foolish as he had ever felt in his life. He put his head in his hands and moaned in misery. He had behaved like a scoundrel, and to a lady whose good opinion he cherished. A lady, besides, who was an old friend of Deborah’s and his sister’s chaperone. What had come over him? Was he mad? And to have to face her tomorrow over breakfast. He half wished he had let her go back to Bath. Have to make the best of it. Behave most properly and hope that in the fullness of time, this whole embarrassment would be forgotten.
Alone in her room, Bea was even more shaken. She felt cheapened and thoroughly confused. Was it her fault? Surely Southam did not think she would countenance an adulterous affair? It must be at least partly her fault, for she knew from Leonard that Southam was far from being a scandalous sort of gentleman. His engagement to Deborah was proof of that. Less than ever could she imagine how Deborah had landed this tiger. He was a wild beast in his passion, whatever he said to the contrary. And beneath all the worry and confusion, one small spring of pleasure coiled, that she had aroused the beast in Southam. She doubted if Deborah had done so.
Chapter Ten
Mrs. Searle and Lord Southam were so polite to each other over breakfast that Gillie knew immediately they had had a falling-out.
“I expect you ladies would like to have a tour of the shops this morning,” he said with a forced smile. “I will be very happy to accompany you.”
Gillie knew Rawl hated visiting the shops. She also knew Aunt Bea loved it and found her reply as strange as Rawl’s offer.
“I had planned to take Gillie to view the gardens and some of the walks this morning, but if you wish to go on the strut, Southam, you must not curtail your activities on our account,” Bea said.
“An excellent idea. We’ll all go,” he said at once.
They spent the morning touring the east cliff. When they tired of driving, they got out and walked through some of the ravines. The walking was hard, whether on rock or the springy turf that covered some of the chines. They viewed the gardens, admired the rhododendrons and the sea, and agreed that they could feel the fresh sea air invigorating them. The ladies could also feel it removing the curl from their coiffures, and Miss Pittfield could feel the damp seeping into her very bones. When Mrs. Searle accidentally wrenched the heel off her slipper, she was careful to moderate her anger to a mild “Oh, dear!”
Everyone agreed that they had had enough of invigorating air for one morning and used Mrs. Searle’s ruined slipper as an excuse to return to town. Southam, with a great show of concern, suggested she call a doctor. “A cobbler would be more to the point,” she said curtly.
“Well, have a good lie-down with your foot elevated on a pillow at least,” he said. “I plan to drive over and have a look at Saint Peter’s Church—unless you would like to go there tomorrow morning, Cousin?”
Bea disclaimed any interest in the church. The ladies got rid of Southam, and as soon as Bea changed her slippers, they went out to visit the shops. Gillie bought useless and gaudy souvenirs for her sisters, and Bea bought silk stockings. Miss Pittfield bought three postcards and mailed them home to her friends.
When the group met Southam at lunch hour, they were all in somewhat better spirits. Bea was not very keen on the hurdle races, but she meant to go the first time, just to see what they were like. Tannie called while they were finishing lunch. The next matter of business was to sort out who should go in what carriage.
“Why don’t you run along with Gillie and the duke, Miss Pittfield,” Southam suggested. “Mrs. Searle and I will follow behind in my carriage.”
“No, no. You and Gillie run along. Miss Pittfield will go with Southam and myself,” Bea said.
Southam swallowed his annoyance and smiled. He had hoped for some privacy, to apologize more thoroughly to Beatrice. With Miss Pittfield to provide harmless conversation in the carriage, he was almost totally ignored.
The racetrack with hurdles was set up at the edge of the New Forest. A motley throng had gathered. Stalls selling tea and gingerbread and ale dotted the length of the track. The gentlemen and Gillie took great pleasure in watching the horses racket over hurdles. Bea soon tired of this and turned her attention to the onlookers. When she spotted Sir Horatio Evendon, she strolled over for a word with him. He was sitting with some friends at an ad hoc tavern set up in the open air. Horatio introduced Bea to his colleagues and procured a glass for her. They discussed the races.
“Lightening, that’s the lad who’ll make my fortune,” Horatio said. “He’d never win a penny in a flat race, but his short legs are an advantage in the hurdles. Less of them to be pulled up.” He tossed his head, and a blackleg came forward to take his bet. “A hundred pounds on Lightening,” he said. “He’s running at odds of five to one.”
“Horatio! Don’t bet so much!” Bea objected. She was aware of his customary lack of funds.
When he drew out his purse, she saw it was full to overflowing. “I am high in the stirrups.” He laughed. “I have a knack for this sport. Put your blunt on Lightening, and you will go home with your purse bulging, too, Bea.”
“Well, I’ll risk one guinea,” she said, and handed her money over.
This lent a sharper interest to the race. She stood at the rail with the others, hollering her encouragement as the nags streaked by, flying over hurdles of various heights. Lightening won, and soon she was five pounds richer. She would like to have remained and made more money, but could not like to abandon her own party for much longer. From the corner of her eye, she had noticed Southam glancing in her direction more than once. Soon he began stalking toward her, wearing a scowl. She hastily shoved her money at Horatio. “Bet it on some more races for me,” she said. “I’ll pick up my winnings when we meet. I expect we’ll bump into each other again before we leave Bournemouth.”
Southam disliked to see Bea with this batch of aging urchins. It was incredible to him that a lady would sit at a table with three such specimens, drinking ale in public. She might not be as loose as he had imagined, but her common sense was sorely lacking. Her acquaintance appeared to be with the worst looking of the lot, a swarthy-complexioned man with dark hair, just graying around the temples. As Southam had been monitoring her closely, he knew that was the gent who had introduced her to the others. He was not unhandsome, but his toilet did not suggest he was from the better class of society, either. His hair was a stranger to the scissors, and his jacket was shiny from use. Where did she meet such creatures?
“Southam, I would like you to meet—”
“Could you come at once, Cousin,” he said, barely nodding to her companions. “Miss Pittfield is asking for you. She has a touch of migraine. We hoped you had some headache powders with you.”
“Oh, dear! Poor Miss Pittfield. Yes, I shall come at once.” She turned back to Horatio. “You won’t forget to do as I asked?”
He winked and held up her money. “That I will, with pleasure, my dear.” She waved to the others and left.
“What was that all about?” Southam demanded, as he hurried her away from danger.
“I won five guineas, Southam! Isn’t that wonderful?”
“You’re leaving your money with that tout! You’ll never see it again. He’ll take to his heels.”
“He is not a tout. He is an old and dear friend, and he is very knowledgeable about racing. He just won five hundred pounds, imagine! I wish I had bet more. Why don’t you place a bet, Southam?”
“I didn’t come here to gamble,” he said brusquely.
They joined the others. Bea said to Miss Pittfield, “I don’t have any headache powders with me. What are we to do? I have some back at the hotel.”
“Oh, no, you will not want to leave,” Miss Pittfield said.
“There is a stall where you can get a cup of tea,” Bea suggested.
“I’m fine,” Miss Pittfield assured her. “I wish Lord Southam had not bothered you. I just mentioned the shouting was enough to bring on a migraine, and he immediately insisted I must have some medication. So foolish, and so unlike Southam,” she said, shaking her head.
“It is so noisy and rackety, I shouldn’t mind going back to the hotel,” Bea said, and meant it.
“We’d have to take the carriage—how would Lord Southam get back?”
“Perhaps he could squeeze in with Tannie. I’ll mention it.”
“Only if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Truth to tell, I have had more than enough of this hurdle racing. I’ll speak to Southam.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said at once, when she outlined the situation.
“And leave Gillie unchaperoned? No, either you or I must take Miss Pittfield back. One of us must stay.”
“In that case, I shall stay. Don’t bother to send the carriage back. I’ll hitch a drive with someone. The duke appears to know everyone here.”
“We’ll meet back at the hotel for dinner, then.”
This solution pleased everyone. Southam was happy to have detached Beatrice from her ramshackle friends, and she was happy to be able to return to civilization. She had never cared overly much for the track. The ladies enjoyed a refreshing tea before the fire in Southam’s private parlor.
“Did Southam mention what we might do this evening?” Bea asked.
“There is a concert in town, an Italian singer.”
“Hmm. I am not terribly keen on Italian singers. Male or female?”
“Female.”
“That explains it.” Miss Pittfield looked a question at her. “Southam’s interest in going, I mean. I daresay the female is pretty.”
Miss Pittfield was never one to gossip, but from having lived with Mrs. Searle now for a few weeks, and being even more in her company during this trip, she was coming to think of Bea as a friend.
“Oh, Mrs. Searle, you cannot know Lord Southam, to say such a thing,” she said. “He is not at all a womanizer. Far from it. Since becoming engaged to Miss Swann, he has got over all that. I admit he used to take notice of a pretty girl, but now ... I don’t know, the life has just gone out of him.” She shook her head sadly.
“That is news to me,” Bea said, and immediately regretted it.
“You don’t mean he—”
“No, no! Of course not.”
“Then why do you say it is news to you?” Her eyes gleamed with knowledge.
Bea lifted her cup to hide the telltale trace of pink that rose up her neck. “Nothing. I am just cross with him, that’s all.”
“I knew something had happened last night!” Miss Pittfield exclaimed, undeceived. “I knew it by the way the pair of you were being so polite and stiff this morning. I can hardly believe it! Miss Swann would have a fit if she ever found out.”
“You may be very sure she shan’t hear of it from me.”
“I almost wish she would, for if there is one thing that might make her turn Southam off, it is womanizing. Other than that, I fear we are stuck with her.”
Bea listened sharply, “You don’t think it is a good match, then?”
“The worst match since the government forced Prinney to marry that ugly German princess. Miss Swann is so sly! She came nosing around when Southam was all at sixes and sevens after his mama’s death, you must know. He was an easy piece of work for her. She soon convinced him the girls needed a mother. Then, no sooner did she get his ring than she started her campaign to get rid of Gillie. Gillie won’t truckle under to her, you see. Gillie is old enough to see through her tricks. She brings gewgaws for Alice and Effie, so they make a great fuss of her when she comes. She would like to see the back of me as well, but I shall stay till Gillie’s fate is settled. She’ll not drive me off till she wears the title of Lady Southam. Oh, it was a black day when she landed in on us.”
“But surely he must love her?”
“He thinks she is suitable.” Miss Pittfield leaned closer and lifted her hand. “I’ll tell you this, Mrs. Searle, in their six-month engagement, I have never once caught them so much as holding hands. They always leave the door open when they are alone together, so obviously there is nothing of a romantic nature going on. It is a marriage of convenience. Southam is too young, yes, and too hot-blooded, too, to be happy with that cold cucumber. She caught him at a weak moment. I wish he could jettison her, but she’ll cling like a barnacle.”
Bea thought a moment, then ventured, “You mentioned she might be dissuaded if she heard of Southam fooling around with another woman.”
“She won’t hear of it. He’d never do it at home, where she could hear. And anyway, she keeps all the pretty girls away.”
Bea gave a tsk of disgust for his lack of enterprise. “I feel no pity for a gentleman who will let himself be trampled on in this fashion.”
“Gentleman! There is the mischief. He is too much of a gentleman to go back on his word, but if we could get Deborah to break it off...” She darted a hope
ful glance at her companion.
“I hope you are not expecting me to make a sacrifice of myself. I blacken my character, then he marries his Deborah after all. Thank you, no. Let Southam solve his own problems—if he has the grit and wits to do it. Now, let us speak of more interesting things. Will you be seeing Mr. FitzGeorge again?”
“I’m too old a hag to make a cake of myself. I shan’t—unless he comes to call,” she added, and laughed. “My, don’t we sound like a couple of debs, Mrs. Searle—at our ages! Not that you are so ancient as I.”
“We ought both to know better.”
Miss Pittfield decided to go and have a rest before dinner. Bea stayed below in the parlor, looking over the journals to see what entertainment the city offered to tourists. She looked up with interest when she heard a sharp rap on the door. “Come in,” she called.
Lord Horatio stepped in. He was not wearing the reckless smile he had been wearing when last she saw him. “I lost my five guineas,” she said ruefully.
He nodded. “You did, and I lost a deal more than that.”
“Not the whole roll, Horatio! Surely you did not blow that whole wad you had won.”
“Worse. I punted a thousand on tick. The blacklegs are after me. I want a word with Tannie, to see if he can bail me out. I cannot remain on where I am staying. The blackleg got that address out of me early on. These lads play rough. I’ll have to hide till I get the money from Tannie. Do you know where I could find him tonight?”
“I expect to see him here this evening.”
“This is too public for my taste.” He peered about nervously.
“I’ll give him a message, then. Where can he be in touch with you?”
“I am on the run. I’ll get word to you or Tannie where I run to ground. I shall be hiding under an alias, like a common criminal. I shall be Mr. Jones for the nonce. Pray do not utter my name aloud to anyone. One never knows who may be listening.”
“What happened? You were doing so well!”
“The last race was fixed, I fear. If I cannot raise the wind, I’ll slip out of town. The bother of it is that the same lot will be at Newmarket in May. I cannot like to make myself persona non grata there. What is the point of living if a man cannot go to Newmarket for the races?”
