by Candice Hern
Robert smiled and raised his glass to Emily in salute.
* * *
They were soon joined by Major and Mrs. Chenowith, an elderly couple who were each every bit as gregarious as the dowager. Like the dowager, the Chenowiths were year-long residents of Bath and therefore frequent visitors to Laura Place.
Mrs. Chenowith and Lady Bradleigh immediately put their turbaned heads together in discussion of some local on-dit, while the major lost no time in engaging Robert in close conversation. He was particularly anxious for news from London regarding last week's assassination of the Prime Minister. As Robert took his responsibilities in the House of Lords quite seriously, despite his rather roguish reputation, he was able to enlighten the major regarding the latest concerns as to what the Regent might do about appointing a new Prime Minister. As a dedicated Tory, the major was encouraged to learn that the Regent appeared to be turning his back on his Whig cronies and leaning toward maintaining a proper Tory government.
Although the major expressed no particular surprise, Robert was quite astonished to hear Miss Townsend join in the conversation with some obvious knowledge of the political situation. Most young women he knew read no further than the social pages of the newspapers. In fact, many were not allowed to read any further, as a protection against feminine sensibilities. Yet here was a young woman who obviously read the political news of the day with some regularity. Of course, a woman of Miss Townsend's station in life would not be faced with the normal distractions of fashion and Town gossip. Robert responded politely to her questions regarding the assassin's trial at the Old Bailey, which had been in progress when he had left Town. She also asked his opinion of Lord Liverpool and the implications of his possible appointment by the Regent. Robert was further confounded by this intriguing woman to recognize subtle Whig tendencies in her comments. The mystery of Miss Townsend deepened.
Robert was unable to probe this mystery any further as Sir Percy Whittaker and Lord Hargreaves were announced. Both gentlemen were longtime acquaintances of the dowager and loyal members of her Bath coterie. Each made a beeline to her side to pay his compliments. Lord Hargreaves was first on the spot, offering the dowager a brief salute on each cheek. She spoke a few fond words to the handsome silver-haired viscount before she turned to greet her other guest.
Sir Percy, a short, stocky gentleman with longish gray hair and gold-rimmed spectacles, reached for the dowager's outstretched hand, which he brought to his lips. "Frances, my dear," he said, "it is, as always, a pleasure. You look quite smart this evening." The dowager nodded in acknowledgment of his compliment. Turning to Miss Townsend, he grasped that lady's hand as well, also bringing it to his lips. "Emily, my girl. I look forward to another delightful evening of your scintillating conversation."
Miss Townsend smiled at the older man, who, Robert couldn't help but notice, held her hand a little longer than was absolutely proper. He then turned to Robert, bowing crisply. "Lord Bradleigh. What a pleasant surprise to find you in Bath once again. It has been some time since we last met."
More pleasantries were exchanged while sherry was passed around. When dinner was announced, Robert offered his arm to his grandmother, Lord Hargreaves escorted Mrs. Chenowith, and Sir Percy escorted Emily. This left Major Chenowith unpartnered, and although he seemed unconcerned, the dowager was obviously uncomfortable, as she found uneven numbers extremely vulgar.
Anatole's delicacies were enhanced by the lively conversation and witty repartee of all diners, made easier by the unusual round table. Dining in this intimate setting precluded adherence to the standard dining room proprieties. It was almost impossible to limit conversation to the person at one's side. Indeed, there was much general conversation across table. Robert noted that Miss Townsend, though soft-spoken and polite, was actively included in most conversations. He particularly noted that Sir Percy, whom he had known for years as one of his grandmother's ubiquitous swains, appeared on this evening to have more interest in Miss Townsend. The normally inscrutable baronet was positively oozing warmth as he conversed with her. Had this aging roué developed a tendre for his grandmother's companion? Poor Miss Townsend, he thought. He kept an eye open for hints that Miss Townsend had also set her cap for the older man, but he saw nothing more than friendly civility and restrained amusement.
Sir Percy shot Robert a look at one point that made it clear he was aware of Robert's scrutiny.
After dinner the gentlemen immediately joined the ladies in the drawing room, foregoing their usual port at the insistence of the dowager. She deplored the standard practice of postprandial segregation and refused to sanction it in her own home. She felt that the ladies should not have to be deprived of the gentlemen's company, just so the gentlemen might drink port, smoke cigars, and tell bawdy stories. She saw no reason why they could not share these activities with the ladies.
Robert lagged behind a bit and waited to see how the other six would arrange themselves about the room. He accepted a glass of port from Barnes and casually roamed the room, surveying the others. The dowager claimed her favorite fauteuil near the fireplace, while Charlemagne claimed her lap. Lord Hargreaves took an adjacent chair while the Chenowiths sat together on a small needlepoint settee. Sir Percy led Emily to the other side of the room, where he took a chair opposite her.
Finally, in response to his curiosity and amusement at Sir Percy's possessive attentions toward his grandmother's companion, Robert boldly intruded on what appeared to be a private conversation by deliberately parking himself on the delicate painted sofa, next to Miss Townsend. He pretended not to notice Sir Percy's eyes narrow momentarily as he insinuated himself into their conversation. As their discussion turned to the impending removal to London, Sir Percy became visibly agitated. He was apparently most upset that the Laura Place ladies, and in particular Miss Townsend, were to leave Bath. Sir Percy caught Robert's puzzled frown and chuckled.
"My lord," Sir Percy said with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, "I sense your curiosity. So that you may not get the wrong impression, I now will let you in on a secret that you must swear never to reveal, as it would be most lowering to my reputation."
Robert's brows rose in question. "I am all agog with suspense, Sir Percy. Pray, put me out of my misery."
"Well, you see," Sir Percy continued in a conspiratorial voice, "Miss Townsend has been assisting me with my latest literary endeavor. After so many years of penning the usual gothic drivel, I found myself quite dried up. The old upper works completely bereft of new ideas. Then one day while having tea in Laura Place with a few dozen of your grandmother's closest friends, Miss Townsend took pity on me and rescued me from a numbing conversation with a certain turbaned dragon who claimed to be Penelope Manning's greatest fan. Normally I go to great lengths to divorce myself from my literary alter ego, but somehow this harpy had unmasked my identity. Miss Townsend recognized my distress and deftly swept the dragon away. When Miss Townsend then took over the dragon's seat, it marked the beginning of a delightful friendship." He gazed fondly at Emily. "I happily discovered that we are somewhat kindred spirits, that Emily is something of a bluestocking."
Robert turned to look at Miss Townsend with questioning brows. She smiled shyly at him and shrugged with resignation.
"Ah, my dear Emily," Sir Percy said, obviously sensing Miss Townsend's discomfort, "you must not reject the label of bluestocking. How much more intriguing is the educated woman with wit and intelligence as compared to the usual insipid misses one meets in Society, with no conversation and little sense. Is that not so, my lord?" Sir Percy asked.
"Without question," Robert said, grinning at Miss Townsend. This woman continued to intrigue him.
"English society is quite backward in this particular area," Sir Percy said. "In France they appreciate a clever woman, as your grandmother knows well, Lord Bradleigh. In Paris, before the days of this upstart Corsican, Frances and Emily would no doubt have set up a grand salon and held court to the intelligentsia. Instead they are stuc
k here in Bath with a bunch of old eccentrics like me." He sighed.
"And yet," he continued more cheerfully, "it is my great fortune that they are here." He gazed fondly across the room at the dowager, who was in animated conversation with Lord Hargreaves and the Chenowiths. "My dear Frances has often acted as my inspiration and my muse as she regales me with stories of her youth. Such a life she has led!" He smiled over at the dowager, who looked up and smiled flirtatiously in return. "I can only write of such adventures, having lived a rather quiet life myself. And now I have the muse of Emily as well."
"Don't tell me that you are a notorious adventuress, Miss Townsend?" Robert asked, eyes wide with feigned astonishment.
"Hardly, my lord," she said, laughing. "I, too, as you must know, have led a very quiet life."
"A quiet life cannot contain an active, agile brain," Sir Percy said. "Emily has been invaluable to me in suggesting story lines, plot twists, characters, dialogue, and such. Her ideas have quite revitalized my writing. My publisher has been most pleased with the early chapters." He nodded his thanks to Miss Townsend, who nodded in return. "Do you think, my dear, that I might impose so much as to send you the drafts of the later chapters while you are in London? I would so appreciate your continued advice."
"Of course, Sir Percy," Miss Townsend said. "I would be happy to read them. But I doubt that you really need my advice."
"I welcome it, nonetheless," Sir Percy said as he rose to leave. He went to the dowager's side, offering her a chaste kiss on the cheek. He then turned back to Emily, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. "I trust we can have a few more visits together before your departure, my dear?" he asked.
"Of course, Sir Percy."
"I shall look forward to it," he crooned.
As the baronet departed, Robert turned to Miss Townsend and said in an undertone, "I see my grandmother is not the only one with doting admirers."
Emily scowled at him in mock distress.
Chapter 4
The next morning found the dowager's household in a flurry of activity. The removal to London was to be a major undertaking, since the dowager insisted on taking with her every item or person necessary to her comfort. Emily frequently found herself with one of the dowager's many lists, checking off things to be done or made or purchased or packed prior to leaving Bath.
Emily had somehow become in charge of the entire operation, and although the household staff was under the direct supervision of either Mrs. Dougherty or Barnes, everyone cooperated without complaint to Emily's requests. Emily found great pleasure in the kindness shown to her by the dowager's staff, something she had not always experienced in the other households in which she had been employed.
She supposed the staff expected someone in her position within the household hierarchy to put on airs, to avoid association with the lower servants completely. Such behavior was common enough for those staff members with a special exalted status— like Anatole, the chef, or Tuttle, the dowager's dresser. Emily, however, found her life was made easier by treating all members of the staff with the same level of courtesy. She knew that only by such behavior was she able to rely on their full cooperation on major undertakings like the removal to London.
She would have been aghast to know of the specious rumors circulating belowstairs regarding her background.
Later that morning, during a rare moment of quiet, Emily found herself marveling at the good fortune that had brought her into the dowager's employ. As she sat in the window seat in her bedroom, a slim volume of poetry propped open on her lap, she gazed out the window as she pondered all that had happened during the last few days. Emily was secretly as excited and as nervous as a schoolgirl about the impending trip to London. She had never been to the capital, although she remembered clearly all her mother's stories about her own Season in Town. Her father had frequently absented himself in Town for weeks, but never spoke about whatever business took him there. In fact, before her employment had brought her to Bath, Emily's only taste of Town life was an occasional shopping trip to Bury St. Edmonds. And so she looked upon the prospect of a visit to London as something of an adventure into the Unknown. Although Bath was far from a rural backwater, she knew it to be a sleepy village as compared to London. The dowager warned her to expect to participate in the full social whirl of the Season's activities. This thought sparked a frisson of apprehension.
Emily thrust aside this wayward fear as childish and unwarranted. She was, after all, a paid companion who would likely melt unnoticed into the background. She knew Lady Bradleigh well enough to know that she would not force Emily into any awkward social situation. Emily's mood lightened as she thought of her eccentric and gregarious employer. The dowager was more than kind to her. She treated her rather like a member of the family than a paid employee. Emily had developed a great affection for the older woman.
Lord Bradleigh had also shown her uncommon civility, and was not in the least as top-lofty as she had expected. In fact, he had shown her nothing but apparently unprejudiced courtesy and friendliness, and Emily found that she couldn't help but like him, regardless of his reputation.
Emily, however, was not unaware that the earl had more than once gazed at her when he thought she wasn't looking. At one time she had in fact caught a rather smoldering look in his eye when she happened to catch his glance. These few uncomfortable moments had served to remind Emily of his amorous reputation, sending off warning bells of caution. She resolved to keep up her guard with the earl, realizing that he was well practiced in charming women with more worldly experience than she could ever hope to possess. How much easier to charm an inexperienced, naive spinster who had never met such an attractive, charming man in her life.
Emily thrust aside this second wayward fear, feeling decidedly foolish for even thinking of Lord Bradleigh in such a way, and returned to her poetry.
* * *
Earlier that same morning, Robert had come down to breakfast to find the dowager alone perusing her correspondence while she sipped a cup of coffee.
"Good morning, my love," he said as he bent down to kiss her cheek. He walked to the sideboard and began to load his plate with rare beefsteak, broiled tomatoes, fried eggs, and kippers. "And where is the remarkable Miss Townsend this morning? Do not tell me she is a slugabed!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Robert." The dowager glared at him over the top of tiny gold spectacles perched on the end of her long, aristocratic nose. "You must know that she has been up and about for hours, working with Mrs. Dougherty to organize the move to London. She is a treasure, my Emily. I really do not know how I ever got along without her. She is a lovely girl, don't you think?"
Robert dismissed the attendant footman with a flick of a finger. "Yes, I rather like her," he replied as he took a seat across from the dowager. "But hardly a girl, I think."
"You are quite right, my dear. She is, I believe, six and twenty years old. I have grown quite fond of her, you know. She is such a comfort to me in my old age," the dowager said as she cast a furtive glance at Robert over the top of the parchment she was reading.
"Oh, fustian!" Robert laughed, catching her glance. "You have always told me that you are only as old as you feel. And since when did you need 'comforting'? You're the most self-reliant old termagant I have ever known. So, my love, what is the true story of Miss Townsend? Since I have never known you to need a companion, I suspect there is more to this situation than meets the eye. Come now, why did you really hire her?"
"Because I like her and truly enjoy her company," his grandmother replied as she put down the parchment and removed her spectacles, a sure sign that she was ready for a serious discussion. "She is quite intelligent and provides excellent conversation, as you must have observed last evening. You know how I detest insipid, empty-headed females."
"And ..." Robert prompted.
"Because I needed someone to help with my correspondence, invitations, and the like." She gave an expansive gesture encompassing the stack of corresponden
ce before her. "Emily has a beautiful hand, you know."
"And.. ."
"All right." She sighed, sinking back into her chair. "If you must know, she rather intrigued me, and, I admit, I felt a bit sorry for her." She slanted a hesitant look at Robert, who narrowed his brows skeptically. "She had worked for Catherine Fitzhugh, as you know. Dear Catherine was privy to Emily's unfortunate history and had recounted the sad tale to me."
"Good heavens! You're not about to tell me that she really is a royal by-blow?" Robert said, his speared beefsteak suspended halfway to his mouth.
The dowager's chin dropped. "I beg your pardon?" she said, her voice cracking slightly as she stared at her grandson in slack- jawed astonishment.
"Yes, well, I thought that story was probably a bit wide of the mark," Robert said, returning his attention to his beefsteak. "Luckett tells me your staff is abuzz with speculations as to Miss Townsend's background."
"Good God," the dowager said as she settled back in her chair. "And they think she has royal blood?" She glared openmouthed at Robert for a moment and then burst into loud hoots of laughter. "Oh, that is rich, my dear," she said when she was able. "Strange. I have always given the highest credence to servants' gossip." She chuckled softly as she shook her head in amazement.
"Emily is indeed wellborn, however," she continued after a moment. "Servants always do recognize quality. She is in fact the granddaughter of the Earl of Pentwick."
Robert, curious at best to hear Miss Townsend's story, silently rose his brows in interest as he tackled a plate of eggs. The dowager proceeded to enlighten him with the tale of the runaway marriage of Emily's parents and the estrangement from her mother's family. She also told what she knew, sparing no poignant detail, of Emily's loss of her mother at an early age, and her father's disastrous addiction to the gaming tables, which had left Emily penniless upon his death.
