“I’ve found family resemblances to be quite bewildering,” he said easily. “For example, I resemble neither my father nor my mother, who were both dark-haired, nor can I find any other red-heads in my ancestry. I finally concluded I must be a throwback from a distant generation.” He grinned. “I do have my father’s height and prominent nose, though, as well as my mother’s blue eyes. Buckinghamshire is my home ground. Coincidentally, I am here with my mother to take the waters as well. I’m to meet her in the Pump Room at midday. Perhaps you and your mother would care to join us?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I am certain she would. She was just saying that few of our acquaintances are here this summer and perhaps we should have gone to Brighton with my sister Alice instead.”
Ah yes, the other golden twin had wed the Earl of Strathmore, one of the Prince Regent’s intimate friends. Leaving only the third daughter to make an advantageous marriage. He narrowed his eyes. Could she possibly have known of his title before dropping into his lap? But he could swear she hadn’t deliberately staged it, and she had such a look of innocence. But the suspicion nagged at him.
“So what have you seen of Bath since your arrival? Are you enjoying your stay here?”
She smiled. “Indeed we are. There is so much to do here, and the pace is much more relaxed than London. More cozy, you know. We walk nearly everywhere, although Mother insists on taking the old-fashioned sedan chairs to the Assembly Rooms, for the sake of our attire.” She grinned. “It rains so often here, and she cannot abide mud or puddles.”
He relaxed. “And you can?”
She leaned in and confided, “Well, I shouldn’t say so, but I used to adore playing in muddy gardens when I was a child. I still do—well, not playing, of course, but gardening—but I don’t normally wear my finest ball gowns for that.”
He laughed at the image of a younger Rebecca happily splashing away in the mud in her best Sunday frock. He couldn’t imagine either of her haughty sisters doing anything so undignified.
“So you are a gardener, are you? Have you been to the Sydney Pleasure Gardens?”
Her face lit up. “Oh yes, many times. We often attend the public breakfasts at the hotel, and never tire of strolling there. There is always something new and exciting that escaped our notice before. My favorite is the Labyrinth—and the Grotto. And the flowers too,” she added. “They must have dozens of gardeners to keep it looking so fine. My own garden always seems to be over-run with weeds, even if I attend it every day or two.”
“You must miss it while you are away from home.”
She sighed. “Yes, well, I am told that a young lady of my advanced age has more pressing obligations than tending a garden, since we employ gardeners for that purpose.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Advanced age? I am thirty and surely a decade older than you are!”
She gave a half-hearted shrug. “It’s different for gentlemen. At two and twenty, I fear I am headed for the shelf. If I were a gentleman, I should be allowed a few more years’ freedom, perhaps even travel abroad and become cultured and refined before being constrained to marry and settle down.”
She looked at him expectantly. “Have you seen anything of the world yourself?”
He shook his head. “A visit to Paris once as child, and Scotland and Wales. My father refused to allow me to join the Peninsular War, and since his death, I’ve been quite occupied with estate business. Nor can I leave my mother alone, with her health as poor as it is.”
Rebecca commiserated. “There are no siblings to share the responsibility, then?”
He gave a wistful sigh. “Just me. I always wished for brothers and sisters, though. Ready-made playmates, I thought then. But I wouldn’t wish to leave Mother at this stage of her life, even if I had a dozen siblings to watch out for her.”
“A dutiful son, then,” she said approvingly.
“I should have liked to take a Grand Tour, though,” he said longingly. “With Boney gone, the Continent has become much more hospitable to the English. I should enjoy seeing Florence and Milan. I’m told the Carnival in Venice is quite remarkable.”
“Don’t forget Greece. How exciting it would be to see the Acropolis, the Parthenon, and the Temple of Venus!” She stared at the lovely glass window, but he sensed she was seeing something more exotic in her mind’s eye. Then she sighed and turned back to look at him.
“It’s not likely I shall ever be privileged to travel so far. But you—you can certainly do so. Why don’t you? Not now, perhaps, but later, after your mother—“ She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry. It is certainly not any of my affair.”
“No, no, you have not offended. You are quite correct that the gentlemen are afforded more opportunities than the ladies are. As you say, there is no reason why I should not have the opportunity to take a tour of the Continent at some point. Perhaps after my children are all grown… provided I am still healthy enough to enjoy it.”
She started. “Oh! You are wed, then? I hadn’t thought—“
Did she look a little disappointed?
“Oh no,” he hastened to assure her. “Not yet at least. Nor even betrothed. But my mother would like to see a grandchild or two, so it appears I must put my mind to it.”
She giggled. “You too? Mothers can be so-so exasperating!”
“Indeed they can.”
The conversation continued a few minutes more, before they were interrupted by a woman in servant garb darting toward them.
“Your Grace! Please come! Her Grace has had a spell of weakness and wishes to rest at home.”
Miles jumped to his feet. “Has the carriage been called for?”
The maid nodded, and Miles turned to Rebecca and bade her a reluctant farewell.
“I’m sure we shall see each other again, Miss MacPherson.” They certainly would. He would see to it.
“I hope your mother recovers soon.” Her eyebrows were drawn together with concern.
He smiled reassuringly. “I suspect it is simply a temporary lapse. She suffers them on occasion, but is usually back to health in a matter of hours.”
“I pray it is so,” she responded. “We are staying on Queen Square. Number 42.”
He nodded and bowed before taking leave of her. She wanted him to call on her! But was it because she now knew of his exalted title? He didn’t believe so, but she was a MacPherson sister, after all.
Chapter 2
What a half-witted thing to say! No doubt he now believes me to be pushy and presuming and will avoid me at all costs!
Rebecca stood gazing at the entryway for several minutes after the duke had departed. She wanted him to think well of her. She wasn’t sure why, except that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a duke…
She froze. He was a duke. The servant had called him “Your Grace.” He’d introduced himself as a duke, but somehow that fact hadn’t sunk in until after his departure. Nor did he seem like any other duke she’d met… most were older and rather imperious—not the 6th Duke of Devonshire, her mother’s distant cousin—but he was family, and besides, everyone knew he wasn’t inclined to marry, as he still carried a torch for Lady Caroline Lamb.
She sucked in a quick breath at the thought that a gentleman with such an exalted title could wish for freedom. First, he was a male and could go wherever he wished without being accompanied by a maid, could attend university and take up a profession, kick up any sort of lark and still be welcomed in London’s most exclusive drawing rooms. Secondly, as a duke, he had a seat in Parliament, could consort with royalty, and marry anyone he wished. No doubt innumerable young ladies had set their caps for him, hoping to become a duchess.
She’d liked him well enough before comprehending his rank. He was personable, kind, well-mannered, and devoted to his ailing mother. He didn’t have the male beauty that would incite adoration in the hearts of womankind, but was tall and well-built, the latter fact she could attest to from the feel of his muscled arms around her when he’d caught her in his a
rms. She thought his carrot-red hair suited him well, and his blue eyes were striking. She rather pictured him as a Scot, in a kilt, rushing down a hill with sword poised, shouting in Gaelic as he confronted the invading English.
Goodness! What was she thinking? He wasn’t Scottish, hadn’t been to war, and seemed much too civilized to attack anyone. He was a pleasant young man who had been kind enough to converse with her and admit that his life was not without difficulties. And he happened to be a duke.
A near-spinster with four unsuccessful Seasons with a penchant for clumsiness could never aspire to a duke. But she found it quite amusing to imagine the look on her sisters’ faces if she were ever to marry one.
With that diverting image in mind, she retrieved her parasol and set off for the Pump Room to meet her mother.
~*~
That afternoon
Laura Place
“Are you certain I shouldn’t call the doctor? This is the third spell you’ve suffered since we arrived here a fortnight ago.”
Miles leaned over his mother’s bed, eyebrows drawn together with worry.
Lady Aylesbury shook her head. “No, dear. It’s just fatigue. The doctor warned us about that, remember?”
Miles was unconvinced. “I didn’t expect it to occur in the bathing room, in the healing waters. Is it possible they caused the attack?”
“I hardly think so,” she responded. “The water was wonderfully warm. I was having a fine time chatting with a new acquaintance—a Mrs. MacPherson from the north. I wonder if you know her, or at least her daughters. She’s the mother of the famous MacPherson twins. The golden ones, you know.”
Miles’s eyes widened. But perhaps it wasn’t so great a coincidence after all. He already knew that Miss MacPherson’s mother had been taking the waters at the same time as his.
“There is another MacPherson daughter, you know. Hasn’t ‘taken’ in London, it seems. Poor girl hasn’t the stunning good looks of her famous sisters. Her mother thinks she might do well for Lord Templeton, with his six motherless children.”
Miles frowned. “How absurd! The man must be fifty if he’s a day!”
His mother raised her eyebrows. “It happens all the time, Miles. You know that as well as I. Particularly if the girl is unattractive.”
“She’s not unattractive at all!” Miles blurted out before he could think better of it.
His mother gave him an odd look, then smiled and called for another pillow so that she could sit up.
Miles knew he was trapped. But he didn’t give up. “Mother, you need rest. I should leave you now—“
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m feeling so much better now. Brown, send up some tea for His Grace and myself. Miles, tell me all about Miss MacPherson. Have you met her? What sort of girl is she? The MacPherson name is a fine one, although Scottish. The mother has a Devonshire connection, as well.”
I walked right into that one, Miles told himself as he left his mother’s bedchamber an hour later. She’s going to be pushing Miss MacPherson in my direction for the remainder of our stay in Bath.
He should be annoyed, but surprisingly, he wasn’t. He liked Miss MacPherson. He wouldn’t mind spending some time with her. He didn’t actually have to marry the chit, after all.
Although… he rather thought it might not be unpleasant to be married to a girl as amiable as she. She liked gardening… she could garden all she wished at Aylesbury Court. And wouldn’t it be a coup for her to land the very duke her sister Arabella had failed to catch all those years ago? He’d give a great deal to see the look on Arabella’s face when she heard!
He froze in his tracks and looked down at his feet. He couldn’t do that to such a delightful young lady, could he? A voice in his head insisted that he wouldn’t be doing anything wrong. He needed a wife and she needed a husband. He was a duke. Didn’t every young lady wish to become a duchess? She liked him well enough, he recalled, since she had voluntarily disclosed her direction before his departure.
Miss Rebecca MacPherson might be the answer to his problem. Getting even with Arabella for her dastardly plot was only icing on the cake.
A slow smile appeared on his face as he made his way to the library.
“Whisky,” he said to the footman in the hall.
“Whisky?” The footman knew he was a brandy man.
“Whisky.” He might as well learn to enjoy it, if he were to consider wedding a MacPerson sister.
Chapter 3
5 July 1817
Pulteney Bridge
Bath, Somerset
Early afternoon
“We’ve walked this street twice already,” Rebecca reminded her mother. “There’s a fine millinery on Milsom Street. Perhaps we should look in there for Arabella’s bonnet.”
Although she couldn’t quite fathom why Arabella needed a new bonnet in her condition. A baby rattle, perhaps. Or a christening gown, if she didn’t intend to use the one her first two children had worn. Perhaps even a small doll, in case this one happened to be a daughter. But a bonnet? Arabella’s wardrobe must be overflowing with bonnets!
“Let us try Madame Boudreau’s establishment once again. It just occurred to me that the ivory beret might do after all, if we could find some robin’s egg blue feathers.”
Her mother’s behavior was decidedly odd. She seemed to be scanning the crowd rather than the shop windows. As if she were expecting to meet someone.
She stiffened. Of course she was! For two days straight her mother had been prattling on and on about her fateful meeting with the Duchess of Aylesbury and her son the eligible duke and wouldn’t it be lovely if Rebecca and he were to become better acquainted? Far from admitting that she’d already met the duke, Rebecca had tried instead to get her to see that a match with a duke was hardly in the cards for one such as she. Nothing she said mattered one iota, she realized now. Her mother had no doubt conspired with the duchess to arrange a meeting this morning amongst the shops on the bridge.
She refused to admit that she herself was hoping to meet him again, or that she was disappointed he hadn’t sought her out after she’d blurted out her direction so inelegantly.
“Mama, you mustn’t expect to find Lady Aylesbury here so soon after her indisposition at the bathing pool—” she started to say, just before her mother raised a hand and waved her handkerchief to hail someone across the street.
“Lady Aylesbury, how agreeable to see you again!”
Rebecca felt a tingling sweep up the back of her neck to her face as she reluctantly followed her mother through the crowd toward Lady Aylesbury and her son. Lady Aylesbury was approximately Rebecca’s own height—only two inches above five feet—and at least a foot shorter than her son. Her once-dark hair was liberally sprinkled with white and she had an air of fragility, but her blue eyes sparkled with interest as she observed them.
“What a relief it is to see you returned to health so soon! I must attribute it to the Bath air. So fresh and sweet—not at all like the disagreeable odors in London! I was just telling my daughter— oh! You haven’t been introduced, have you? Lady Aylesbury, this is my daughter, Rebecca, that I was telling you about the other day. Rebecca, this is the Duchess of Aylesbury.”
“A pleasure, Your Grace.” Rebecca bowed her head as she curtseyed and tried to avoid Miles Framingham’s gaze. Would he acknowledge their meeting at the Abbey? Would he suspect her of complicity in this blatant attempt at matchmaking?
“Very nicely done. She is everything you said she was,” Her Grace said, turning her head to Mrs. MacPherson.
Rebecca winced, not certain how to take the remark. What had her mother said of her?
“This excessively tall gentleman—” she put her hand on her son’s forearm and smiled up at him, “—is my son Miles, the 5th Duke of Aylesbury. He obviously does not get his height from his mother.” She chuckled and turned to the MacPherson ladies. “Miles, this is Mrs. Angus MacPherson, of County Durham, and her daughter, Miss Rebecca MacPherson.”
&
nbsp; Rebecca waited with bated breath for Miles to mention their accidental rendezvous at the Abbey. It didn’t come.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. MacPherson, Miss MacPherson,” he said with an elegant bow before each of them. “My mother has spoken of nothing else but the delightful lady she met yesterday at the bathing pool. I hope you are both enjoying the pleasures of this fair city?”
“We are indeed,” said Rebecca, after a polite curtsey.
Lady Aylesbury turned to her son. “You know, dear, I was just thinking of having a short respite in that tea shop over there. Perhaps Mrs. MacPherson would like to join me, while you two young people continue your stroll and become better acquainted.”
The dowager’s request sounded more like a command, albeit a polite one.
“An excellent idea! A good cup of tea would be delightful,” approved her mother. “Rebecca is brimming with health and would undoubtedly walk much further if I were not around to slow her down.”
Rebecca opened her mouth and closed it again.
“The Grand Parade is an excellent place for a stroll,” said Miles, smiling politely. “Will you join me, Miss MacPherson?”
Lady Aylesbury clapped her hands in delight. “It’s all settled. My new friend and I will enjoy an extended coze, so no need to hurry back, Miles. Take all the time you need!”
“I trust you will take her no further than the Grand Parade,” added her mother cautiously, “and take care to remain in public view.”
Miles bowed his head. “Indeed, madam, I shall take care to be mindful of Miss MacPherson’s reputation.”
“Shall we, Miss MacPherson?” he asked, offering her his arm as the older ladies took their leave of them.
“Do we have a choice?” Rebecca grinned as she accepted it. “Have you ever seen a more transparent scheme in your life? I hope you don’t believe I had anything to do with it,” she added somewhat anxiously.
Sweet Summer Kisses Page 62
