She wasn’t going back to Nick. She wouldn’t be part of his latest confidence game. This wasn’t the usual bait-and-switch where they hoodwinked some peer’s overbred, over-ornamented slumming son. Nick’s newest enterprise was a cruel bit of work involving filching middle-class widows’ much-needed inheritances. She’d have no part of it
Then, as Letty sat deep in thought, the Society folks had appeared and literally dropped the answer to her woes at her feet. She could go to this Little Bidewell and lie low for a good while. Maybe she could even get a job doing a spot of millinery work—supposing this town was big enough to have a milliner. At the very least, she’d be out of Nick Sparkle’s way.
Now, Letty was nobody’s pigeon. Benevolent guardian angels were about as likely as snow in July. But she’d seen enough to know that every now and again Fate cracks open a door that only a fool refuses to slide through. She tucked Fagin under her arm and rose to her feet, looking about for the platform number printed on the ticket.
Letty Potts was no fool.
Chapter 2
If a minor character is introduced in the first act,
you can be sure he’ll be carrying a knife by the last.
“I won’t be bullied into granting my water rights to some vile Whig!” Squire Arthur Himplerump thumped his cane against the train platform’s floor.
Sir Elliot March placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder, turning him. As soon as he had the elderly curmudgeon away from the ladies, he intended to put an end to this nonsense once and for all. The old reprobate had seen him drive the Bigglesworth ladies up to the train station and had immediately cut across the main street to speak with Elliot. Or rather at Elliot.
That was the charm as well as the problem with living in so small a market town as Little Bidewell If one were “in town,” eventually one was bound to come across everyone else “in town”—whether at the greengrocer’s, Murrow’s Tearoom, the dry goods store, the bank, or the church.
“It is, of course, your decision,” Elliot said, fixing Himplerump’s florid face with a steady gaze. “But, Arthur, even though you have a legal right to deny Burkett’s easement request, the law was intended to protect your rights, not punish a man for his political leanings.”
Himplerump’s jowls quivered with indignation.
“I know you are not a vindictive man, Arthur.” In actuality, Elliot knew exactly the opposite, but was willing to sacrifice the truth in the name of harmony. A short distance off, the incoming train whistle blew.
“Drat,” he said, looking around at the approaching train and then back at his companion. “At least wait a while before doing anything you may regret. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must greet this society lady Miss Bigglesworth has hired to produce Angela’s marriage celebration.”
But Himplerump wasn’t willing to let the matter go yet. “Kip says I ought to stand by my guns.”
Kip was Arthur’s only child and heir; a handsome youth who’d, unfortunately, discovered the mirror at an early age.
Elliot’s mild voice grew steely. “I assure you, you will be best served by making your views known in a manner that offends neither your conscience nor Burkett’s pocketbook.”
“All right,” Squire Himplerump blustered. “But mind, only because you say so, Elliot, and I know that you, unlike another I could name, are—like me—a gentleman.”
Elliot’s lips twitched but he managed to say gravely enough, “I certainly aspire to be so, Arthur.”
With a sniff, Himplerump turned and stomped back to the platform where the London train was shuddering to a stop. Eglantyne and Angela Bigglesworth pushed forward, anxiously anticipating the appearance of the miracle worker. And a miracle worker is precisely what this Lady Agatha Whyte would have to be in order to convince the Marquis of Cotton’s family, the Sheffields, to unbend backs stiffened by one hundred years of self-conceit and welcome little Angela Bigglesworth into their fold.
Elliot had met the Sheffields long ago when, for one brief season, he’d cut a minor swathe through Society. The Sheffields had not been impressed with him. Or rather his lack of title had impressed them with the knowledge that they needed to extend him no more than the barest civilities. No, the Sheffields would not take kindly to a little nobody’s daughter marrying into their illustrious ranks. No matter that the Bigglesworths, like the Marches, had been working this land while the Sheffields were but up-and-coming villeins on some Viking’s farm.
Elliot glanced at Eglantyne Bigglesworth. Her homely, narrow face was fraught with worry. Beside her stood her niece, Angela, blond, pretty, the picture of budding English womanhood, except for the uncharacteristically pinched set of her rosebud mouth and the slight shadows beneath her eyes.
Eglantyne noticed Elliot’s attention and offered a wan smile. As the Bigglesworths’ groom was laid up with the gout and Angela’s father Anton had stayed behind at home to prepare for their guest, Eglantyne had enlisted Elliot and his carriage to bring the wedding planner to The Hollies.
He could not refuse. Sir Elliot March was, first and foremost, a gentleman. Besides, he was vastly fond of the Bigglesworths. It was Eglantyne who’d offered him solace when his mother had died. He only hoped Lady Agatha could do a tenth of what Eglantyne expected of her.
The train conductor threw open the door and leapt down to the platform, turning to pull out a stair block from inside. “Little Bidewell! All off for Little Bidewell!”
The few occupants began to emerge. The vicar’s housekeeper preceded her two giggling girl cousins, come to spend a summer in the country. Following them came a middle-aged gentleman in a checkered coat clutching to his chest the raggedy portmanteau that marked him as a salesman. And then…no one.
The conductor checked his pocket watch and hurried toward the station, muttering about getting his “cuppa tea.” Eglantyne and Angela traded alarmed glances.
“Well,” Angela swallowed, “I am sure there is a very good explan—”
“There she is!” Eglantyne cried. “Lady Agatha! Here! Yoo-hoo!”
Elliot turned his attention to the first-class compartment. A woman was moving along the inside aisle past the windows. There was some sort of enormous contraption on her head. A hat, he supposed dubiously. The door at the end of the car opened and the woman paused, silhouetted against the bright setting sun.
Elliot’s gaze sharpened. She had the figure and style that the American chap—Gibson, was it?—had recently made so popular, a figure revealed by a form-fitting lace dress that flowed like a second skin over a frankly voluptuous form.
Apparently, she’d not heard Eglantyne, for she did not acknowledge the older woman’s greeting. Instead, she looked behind her, pivoted, and bent sharply at the waist, displaying her lushly curved bottom in a most provocative manner. Beside Elliot, Squire Himplerump caught his breath.
“I say, Lady Agatha! Lady Agatha!”
Lady Agatha, still bent over, looked around. The broad brim of her ridiculously huge hat shadowed most of her face, but Elliot could make out a decisive chin, angular jaw, and unexpectedly large mouth. She was younger than Eglantyne had led them to expect. Much younger.
His gaze narrowed. He’d made some discreet inquiries about Lady Agatha Whyte as soon as Eglantyne had told him of her plan to employ the supposed duke’s daughter to produce Angela’s wedding festivities. He’d discovered that Lady Agatha Whyte of Whyte’s Nuptial Celebrations really was a “lady,” the eldest child of the impecunious Duke of Lally. But he’d somehow formed the idea that she was in her thirties.
Lady Agatha straightened, scooping up a small, disreputable-looking black dog that had been hidden by her skirts, and turned. The sunlight hit her full in the face, revealing her best features, her eyes, which were a deep, rich brown. Not a spectacular beauty, by any means, but her looks were interesting, catching one’s attention.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a husky voice. “I’m afraid I didn’t realize you were addressing me. I am—”
�
��No need to apologize, my dear lady,” Eglantyne interrupted in her enthusiasm. “Drat hard to hear over the train engine, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. But you see I am not—”
Whatever Lady Agatha “was not” was lost in the sudden bawl of the train whistle.
“We are so glad you are here. I admit, we were a bit worried, what with the train being late and all. But no worries now, eh? Everything is just fine now that you are here!” Eglantyne bellowed, blushing when the whistle abruptly quit and she was still shouting. She cleared her throat. “Your things arrived a few days ago.” Lady Agatha, in the act of redistributing the weight of her dog, stilled. “My things?”
“Yes,” Angela said, finding her voice. “All sorts of fascinating trunks and boxes and bags.”
“Really?” Lady Agatha said.
“Not that we pried!” Eglantyne quickly assured her. “We just saw them passing up the stairs, don’t you know.”
They waited, Eglantyne with a sheepish smile, and poor Angela looking as though she wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole.
“Elliot!”
Elliot turned to see Paul and Catherine Bunting coming toward him down the platform.
“Saw you from across the street, Elliot,” Paul greeted him on making his side. “Thought we’d come over and say hallo. Catherine claims she had a positive pash for Murrow’s treacle pudding, but I ’spect she really wanted to get a glimpse of this Lady Agatha,” Paul said loudly. He leaned forward, saying only slightly less loudly, “Suppose you’re here to fetch her back to The Hollies, what?”
“Yes,” Elliot agreed, his gaze returning to the auburn-haired woman.
Paul’s loud voice had caught her attention. She looked directly at Elliot. It seemed to him she realized his slight embarrassment and it amused her. He inclined his head.
And then she smiled.
Elliot forgot his manners. Certainly he forgot Paul and Catherine Bunting. He simply stood staring at her, because when she smiled everything changed.
The maturity her face lacked in repose appeared in the knowing crook of her brow, in the irrepressible shiver of her lower lip. There was wry humor there, and mischievousness, but an intangible sweetness, too.
It looked as if she didn’t want to smile, but couldn’t help herself. One had the impression that she owned the most delicious secret and so wanted to share it. Her dark eyes danced and unexpected dimples appeared in each cheek.
She returned her attention to the Bigglesworths. “Why, how very kind you are to have personally come to collect me!” she trilled. She scrunched the dog up against her face. It stared up at her in canine incredulity. “Look, er, Lambikins,” she cooed, “see the nice people?”
She set the dog down and swept one arm out in an embracing gesture. A handkerchief appeared in her hand and she brought it slowly up to dab at her eyes, the picture of a sentimental woman overcome with appreciation—an image utterly belied by her wicked eyes. “Thank you. Oh, thank you so very much.”
Elliot’s natural skepticism resurfaced. Lady Agatha Whyte was reportedly extremely shy of publicity. She avoided self-promotion as vulgar; she’d never even allowed her image to appear in the newspapers. Yet here she stood, accepting Eglantyne’s accolades with every appearance of delight.
She dimpled coquettishly and flowed down the steps.
Flowed. There was no other word for it One minute she stood poised atop the stairs, the next she was on the platform. He had never seen a lady walk like that…move like that.
He gave himself a mental shake. He was being absurd and—dear God. Paul and Catherine must think him an utter fool! He turned to speak but Paul, too, seemed to have succumbed to whatever spell Lady Agatha had woven.
“You are Lady Agatha, then?” Eglantyne was saying, and when the redheaded woman nodded, wide-eyed, she went on. “Of course you are! But when you didn’t answer at once, well… Never mind.
“Dear Lady Agatha! I do hope your trip was uneventful and not too uncomfortable? Such a long way to come and such close quarters.
“And what must you think of us? Allow me to introduce myself; I am Eglantyne Bigglesworth, who has had the pleasure of corresponding with you. It’s so nice to meet you at long last!”
“Entirely my pleasure, ma’am, I assure you,” Lady Agatha said with the utmost sincerity, even though amusement still played about her wide, ripe mouth.
“And this,” Eglantyne’s eyes shone with pride, “this is our bride-to-be, our little Angela.”
“I am captivated, Miss Bigglesworth, utterly captivated,” Lady Agatha enthused, taking Angela’s hands in hers. “Such a pretty thing! How lucky your young man is!”
Eglantyne caught sight of the Buntings and Elliot and waved them over. “Oh! How delightful! Here are our neighbors. May I present Lord Paul Bunting and his wife, Catherine?”
Catherine inclined her head, a little stiffly Elliot thought He hoped she wasn’t coming down with something. Even though it had been years since they’d once been engaged, he still cared deeply for her. Paul bowed, beaming with pleasure.
“And here’s a happy chance! The Vances. Hallo! Miss Elizabeth! Come and meet Lady Agatha!”
Eglantyne hailed the Vances, who were making slow progress down the sidewalk. Beth’s studied nonchalance was a bit too exaggerated for their sudden appearance in front of the train station to be purely coincidental.
Old Colonel Vance leaned toward his long-suffering, middle-aged daughter and shouted, “What? What did she say?”
“Lady Agatha, Father!” Beth answered in a loud, calm voice. “Come to make Miss Angela’s wedding pretty!”
“Miss Angie’s already pretty enough without some ass—”
Turning bright red, Beth wrapped an arm around the old man’s shoulders and hustled him along before he could finish his sentence. “Pray excuse us! I fear Papa’s not feeling well!” she called over her shoulder.
“Later, then!” Eglantyne turned in relief and spied Elliot “Oh! And how could I be so remiss? Please, allow me to introduce our dear friend, Sir Elliot March.”
He approached slowly, hoping his gait adequately masked his limp. His leg often stiffened in colder weather and the day had been unseasonably cool, if bright.
Eglantyne leaned toward Lady Agatha and he heard her whisper, “War wound.”
He removed his hat and bowed, feeling doubly awkward. If only he could cure Eglantyne of her heavy-handed romanticization of his military career.
He raised his head and met the red-haired woman’s gaze. Her eyes widened, as though in startled recognition. They were the oddest shade of brown. Rich, intoxicating, like tawny port.
“My pleasure,” he heard himself say as if from far off.
“Sir.” She sounded breathless.
“Sir Elliot and his father share bachelor quarters about a half mile from The Hollies,” Eglantyne rattled on. “We take terrible advantage of them, I’m afraid.”
“Not at all,” Elliot murmured, captivated by the soft stain of color climbing Lady Agatha’s cheeks.
“Indeed, yes,” Eglantyne said. “Sir Elliot’s been kind enough to offer to drive us to the house since our own driver is indisposed.”
“Gout,” Angela announced. “Suffers terribly for it.”
The lovely young woman reluctantly looked away from him toward Angela. “In my experience, people with the gout are given to drink. My maid drank.” She nodded sagely. “Like a fish.”
At this, Angela muffled a startled laugh. Elliot welcomed the sound. It had been quite a while since he’d heard Angela laugh.
Lady Agatha’s eyes twinkled. “Terrible for the drink, she was. I only realized the extent of her problem when she showed up at the station yesterday too sozzled to board the train.” Her eyes narrowed. “Needless to say, I left her behind.”
Eglantyne had said Lady Agatha had a reputation for eccentricity. Apparently, it was well warranted. No lady of his acquaintance would speak so complacently about such matters.
He couldn’t imagine Catherine saying the words “like a fish”—not even in reference to a fish. Indeed, Catherine had been unusually quiet.
Eglantyne didn’t seem to notice anything odd. But then, Eglantyne was amazingly unworldly.
“I’m afraid our Ham is similarly afflicted,” she confided. “But he won’t stop. So what can we do?”
“Dismiss him?” Lady Agatha suggested.
“Aye,” sighed Eglantyne. “But what would he do then? It’s not likely anyone else would employ him.”
Elliot nearly smiled at Lady Agatha’s flummoxed expression. Little Bidewell residents had quite strong, if unique, views on social responsibility.
“Don’t worry, Lady Agatha,” Eglantyne said, misreading her expression. “Ham will be right as rain come the wedding. He’ll not let the family down on a really important occasion…” She trailed off in embarrassment. “Not that you’re not an important occasion, Lady Agatha!”
Lady Agatha squeezed her dog to her face. “How charming! Do you hear that, Lambikins? We’re an ‘occasion.’”
“Indeed, yes!” Eglantyne said, hooking her arm through Lady Agatha’s. “Now, Paul and Catherine, I know you’ll excuse us. Lady Agatha must be quite weary after her long journey.”
Elliot silently applauded Eglantyne. At this rate the entire town would show up. “Of course,” murmured Paul, his gaze admiring. “It has been an honor, Lady Agatha.”
“You are too kind, Lord Paul,” she replied. “But you’d best all beware lest I take your professions seriously and decide to stay on forever.”
“Ma’am?” Paul said, confused.
She laughed. “Well, within minutes of my arrival in your quaint little village I’m declared an honor as well as an occasion. How shall I ever hope to surpass that?” Her glance slewed toward Elliot and glinted merrily, wickedly, and yes, provocatively.
She wasn’t at all what one might have expected. And that was interesting—and interesting things, in Elliot’s experience, were not always welcome ones.
She was waiting for him to answer. But before he could frame a reply, Catherine said, in a silky smooth voice, “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, Lady Agatha. I am somehow confident you will.”
The Bridal Season Page 2
