The Unlikely Rivals

by Megan Daniel

  “Being a woman never stopped Hester Eccles from doing anything she wanted!” said Mr. Weddington. “You’re her great-niece. Why shouldn’t you do the same?”

  “Now what’s this, Opa? Do I detect a hint of admiration for Aunt Hester in your voice? And am I now to rely on my Rowbridge blood to see me through?” she teased, her eyes dancing with fun. “But it won’t do. Aunt Hester was married to a lord, which does ease things a little. And besides, I’ve not the slightest wish to share in her reputation, much as I might admire her. She is accepted now because she is more than seventy and more than a little odd. But what is seen in her as eccentricity would in me be thought fast.”

  “You wouldn’t like that, Sask,” cautioned Neil.

  “No, dear, I shouldn’t think I would,” she answered.

  “Generally speaking, I enjoy being respectable, though I will go riding or walking where and when I please, and quite alone if I wish, despite what Derek Rowbridge says!” Mr. Weddington was eyeing her speculatively, deep in thought, but she didn’t notice. “I can but do my poor best. I think my next step must be to call on Mr. Dawes. Though how I am to do so, I can’t imagine. We have grown so busy already. And I’m not even sure he will see me.” She laughed. “Perhaps I ought to go in a veil!”

  “Dawes?” asked Mr. Weddington, his furry brows shooting up.

  “He is the Bath agent for our mysterious Mr. Banks. I don’t quite see what he can, or will, tell me, but I must do somethin,g. I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

  “Ill bet Aunt Hester has a veil you can wear,” said Beatrix. “Something wonderfully Eastern with gold fringes and all-over sequins!”

  “Oh, dear!” Saskia laughed. "I shouldn’t dare show my face in such a thing.”

  “That’s the idea, silly,” answered Trix. “Not to show your face.”

  “There must be an easier way to call on a man of business without ruining my reputation.”

  “Widow’s weeds,” stated Neil. “One of those heavy black veils. No one’ll suspect.”

  Mr. Weddington watched this nonsensical conversation with growing amusement and the beginning of an idea. Mrs. van Houten, on the other hand, wasn’t listening at all.

  “Saltpeter!” she exclaimed suddenly and inexplicably.

  “I beg your pardon, Mama?”

  “Saltpeter,” she repeated. “For the gunpowder. The very thing. Why did I not think of it before? Come, my darlings, I must get back to my work at once.” She bustled about gathering up parasols, shawls, and reticules.

  “But, Mama, the twins!” said Beatrix.

  “What the devil is the woman talking about? Saltpeter?” asked Mr. Weddington.

  “Magdalena,” explained Saskia, with a sigh. “Mama has had an Idea.”

  Mrs. van Houten—or rather, Cornelia Crawley—was herding her children out the door. “You will see to the twins, won’t you. Grandpapa? Just point them toward Laura Place and give them a push. Come, come, my dears. The Muse does not wait, you know.”

  They barely had time to say their good-byes before they found themselves in the yard, Mama clucking at the ostler to hurry. Mama could be surprisingly forceful when the need was urgent.

  As Mr. Weddington watched them go, a slow smile cracked his face, seeped up into his eyes, and grew until his old face was pink with the pleasure of it. It had been a long, a very long, time since anyone had shown him any affection, since he had allowed anyone to do so. Now here was a girl with Susannah’s face, planting a kiss on his old bald head, just as she had used to do. Here was a fine young man who shook hands with the gravity only an eighteen-year-old could muster. Here were laughing children calling him Opa—silly name, but he liked it—and a young woman with mischief behind her facade of sense.

  He finished his glass of wine, savoring its richness. He was feeling better than he had in years. He’d go out tomorrow, he decided, and take the air, buy some presents for his great-grandchildren. And there were one or two calls he might make while he was at it. Well pleased with himself, he reached again for the bottle of claret.

  Chapter Twelve

  As it turned out, Mrs. van Houten rode back to Laura Place in solitary splendor, communing with her Muse. The others decided to enjoy the bright sunshine by walking, taking the long route by way of Milsom Street. There was a particularly wonderful pair of gloves in Dandrey’s that Trix was dying to show Saskia, and Neil had succumbed to the lure of Duffield’s Library. It wasn’t the Bodleian, but it did have books and newspapers and all the latest journals. Mr. Duffield was destined to become very familiar with young Mr. van Houten’s face.

  “I can’t think,” said Beatrix as they strolled along, “that Opa is truly comfortable in that horrid place.”

  “Don’t let Mama hear you calling it horrid!” replied Saskia with a laugh. "It’s positively dripping with history and therefore with romance.”

  “Shouldn’t be surprised if it does drip,” agreed NeiL “Every time it rains.”

  “Of course I don’t mean it isn’t quite respectable,” said Beatrix. “But he has only Mr. Hawkins to look after him, you know. And I don’t think Mr. Hawkins knows how to make him feel comfortable.”

  Neil agreed. “With that long Friday-face of his, more likely to send him into a decline. What a gloom the fellow is!”

  "Exactly!” cried Trix. “And that is why I think we should invite Opa to stay with us in Laura Place.”

  “Stay with us? You mean live with us?” asked Saskia. “Of course. We’ve ever so much room. Jannie will see that he is excellently fed, and I will make him laugh. He is sure to be better then.”

  “Perhaps he might not wish to live with us. He is used to being on his own, you know, having his own way.”

  “He may have it just as well in Laura Place.” Saskia knew full well that he would have no such thing. The poor man would be ruled by Trix, and by Jannie, from the moment he set foot in the door. But that might, in fact, be just what he needed. He seemed better already than he had that first morning in the Pump Room.

  “Do say we may ask him, Saskia.”

  “It’s hardly up to me, dearest. You must ask Mama.”

  “Pooh! You know very well Mama will agree to whatever you decide.”

  “She always does,” Neil concurred. His tone of resignation made Saskia stare. How tall and handsome he’d grown this past year, and how proud she felt to walk down the street with him.

  “Well, then,” she said. “You must ask Neil, Trix. As the man of the family, it ought to be his decision.”

  He stared at her in astonishment, wondering guiltily if she had read his mind. He had recently begun to resent her hand on his bridle, and here she was calling him a man and deferring to his judgment. The image of himself as grown-up was of fairly recent date, and he was enormously flattered to have it endorsed by his formidable sister. ‘Well, uh, that is . . .” He hesitated, being new to the making of decisions. “You must, uh, do as you think best, Sask. Running the house is woman’s work, after all.” The responsibilities of manhood did not yet fit quite so snugly as the image.

  ‘Well, if you are sure you have no objection, Neil,” she answered demurely. “Very well, we shall invite him. But he may not wish to come, you know.”

  “Oh, he will,” replied Beatrix confidently.

  “Where do you suppose he could have seen the painting?” Saskia asked after a bit. “Of Grandmama. One can’t quite imagine Grandfather Rowbridge inviting him to the unveiling.”

  “Gainsborough exhibited at the Royal Academy,” said Neil. “He could have seen it there, maybe.”

  “Is it very beautiful?” asked Trix.

  “Yes,” said her sister. “It is very lovely. Just like you. Is that what you wished to hear?”

  “Of course not!” she retorted, then a blush overspread her pretty features. “Oh dear. I suppose it is what I wanted to hear, for vou know I’m so nervous. I haven’t been to balls and parties and such. What if I shouldn’t know how to act? Or if no one should ask me to danc
e? I’ll die of embarrassment, I think.”

  ‘Well, love,” said Saskia gently, “I don’t think you need worry overmuch. Just be yourself and have fun. It’s all I want for you.” She was lying, of course. She wanted a great deal more than that for her beautiful sister. She wanted it all. All the comfort, the admiration, the pretty clothes and grand houses, all the security that comes with being well established in the world. And she would get it! In just the few days they had been here Trix had already aroused a flattering degree of notice from several young officers and gentlemen and at least one viscount. Saskia would not let her hopes soar too high too quickly, but she wouldn’t give up her dream of seeing Trix comfortably settled with a good, kind, wealthy husband.

  The threesome soon reached Duffield’s Library and Neil wandered off to lose himself amid the dusty tomes. The sisters tripped happily up the fashionable shopping street, dodging Bath chairs and young girls in search of ribbons. They nodded to acquaintances, laughed at the more outrageous bonnets adorning elderly heads, and received more than a few goggle-eyed stares from gentlemen having a first glimspe of Beatrix. She, modest thing that she was, seemed unaware of their admiration.

  “Do you think,” she asked Saskia, “that Cousin Derek will be at the assembly this week? I don’t think I should be quite so nervous then. And perhaps he would ask me to stand up with him.”

  “Do you like him so much, then?”

  “Oh, yes! Is he not the kindest man, Sask? And so handsome! I daresay every girl there will envy me if he does ask me to dance.”

  “Kind? I don’t know that I would have chosen the word myself. But he is certain to dance with you. It would be grossly uncivil not to, and he is far too proud to be uncivil in public.” As she spoke, she realized that this very reason would cause her cousin to dance with her as well. Her stomach gave a strange leap at that moment, but she attributed it to the sight of the Bath buns in a nearby shop window.

  “I can’t imagine Cousin Derek being uncivil to anyone,” continued Beatrix. “He is far too gentlemanly.” Saskia gave her a hard sidelong look, but made no further comment.

  “Wouldn’t it be a lark if Cousin Derek were to fall in love with one of us?” said Trix with a laugh. “It would be the perfect solution, for then we should all be rich!”

  “Really, Trix,” answered Saskia with unusual warmth, “what a perfectly bird-witted notion!” She turned firmly away. “Do look at that hat! What a quiz!”

  They dallied for more than an hour, breathing in the heady perfume from a scent shop, shouting over the clatter and rumble of carriages, carts, and drays on the cobbled street. Then it was time to return home. Saskia, having successfully convinced Trix that lemon-yellow gloves with orange gauntlets and green embroidery were not quite the thing for a young lady in her first season and having pulled Neil from the pages of the New Journal of the Physical Sciences, headed them all down the hill.

  It was just at the bottom of the street that they en-

  countered their cousin. He was in conversation with an unfamiliar gentleman and a very young lady in a very large poke bonnet.

  “Cousin Derek!” cried Beatrix in delight.

  “Good afternoon!” He greeted them heartily. Saskia was surprised at his evident good humor. What a nice smile he has, she reflected. He should let it show more often. But then, gentlemen always smiled at the sight of Trix. She returned the greeting and the smile.

  How warm and brown her eyes look against that bronze green she has on, thought Derek, looking at Saskia. She should wear it more often. He spoke again. “You’ve not met Captain Durrant as yet, have you? He saw the old Fair Lady through many a bombardment and pulled me out of the drink more than once.” His affection for his commanding officer was evident as he made these introductions.

  “And this is my daughter,” said the Captain, beaming proudly. “Melissa. Ever since her mother died fifteen years ago, she’s what brings me home to England.”

  Bows and curtsies and handshakes abounded. Miss Melissa was about sixteen, with long dark lashes and a pretty blush for Neil, who was obviously the most splendid young man she’d ever seen. To his sister’s amazement he blushed back, admiration bright in his eyes. It was the first time his admiration was not directed toward something bound in Morocco and edged with gilt.

  Captain Durrant was a sturdily built gentleman of about forty with a face toughened by wind and bronzed by sun, but still handsome. His dark hair was touched with grey at the temples, his handshake was firm, and his eyes smiled. Saskia liked him at once.

  “Do you remain long in Bath, Captain Durrant?” she asked.

  “Only till the end of the month. Visiting my little girl, here.” Melissa blushed prettily as he chucked her chin. “Lives here with my sister, she does. I’m going back to sea.”

  Pure joy was reflected in his face at the notion of striding a deck once more. “I’ve just been given a ship. A frigate, she is. One hundred sixty-two feet and all beauty. Fitting up at Portsmouth now. We head out in five or six weeks.”

  “But with the war over where will you go?” asked Beatrix.

  "West Indies. Jamaica, Bermuda, all that lot. I’d hoped to persuade Rowbridge here to come along. I need the best first lieutenant I can get, and he’s it. But he has other concerns. Turned into a regular lubber, he has,” he said with an affectionate: laugh. “Now I’ve seen what pretty cousins he has, I understand his reluctance to spend months with my old facel”

  “If the timing weren’t so bad, sir, I’d go like a shot, and well you know it,” said Derek. “But there’s something I must take care of here. If things work out the way I hope, I’ll never sail again, sir. At least not for the Navy. But if they don’t, you may look for me to turn up in Jamaica on the first boat.”

  The Durrants were lodging in Argyle Street, so it was natural for them all to fall into one party. Somehow— Saskia didn’t know quite how—they divided themselves almost exactly into three pairs. Beatrix was chattering gaily to Derek, admiring him with her melting blue eyes, and receiving his admiration in return. Neil and Miss Durrant brought up the rear, not speaking much, but smiling a great deal. Saskia and Captain Durrant led the procession.

  “Do tell me about your ship, Captain,” said Saskia with interest. “A frigate, you say? That’s a three-master, is it not, and full-rigged? How many guns does she carry?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  “On a single gun deck? Or is she double?”

  He looked at her with admiration. “Now how is it that a pretty young lady knows so much about ships?”

  She laughed her warm, soft laugh. “Well, Papa dabbled for a while in shipbuilding. Not very success-

  fully, I’m afraid—poor Papa wasn’t successful at much of anything, except loving us all to death—but he did take me to the yards with him once, in Amsterdam. And the architect there explained all manner of things to me, one or two of which I even understoodl Mostly I remember how much I wanted to get on the biggest ship there and sail to all the wonderful places I’ve never seen.”

  “Well, I’ve seen most of them only to learn you’re better off here. But Amsterdam, now there's a beautiful city! I’m proud to be an Englishman, and always will be, but the Dutch, they do know how to build a city. Water! There’s the key.”

  “Oh, yes!” She smiled broadly. “It is lovely, isn’t it? You are one of the few people I’ve met in England who has actually seen it. Waking up to the sound of ducks on the canal! Trees reflected in the water, especially in the autumn. And all the bustle of the Damrak, with ships unloading from all over the world, and shoppers, and children, and old market women all mixed up together.” She sighed. “Sometimes I miss it dreadfully.”

  “Now that peace has returned to the earth, perhaps you will visit.”

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  They were nearly to the Durrants’ door when the twins came skipping up from the direction of Laura Place.

  “Sask, you’ll never guess,” cried Willem, a grimace of extreme di
staste marring his little Dutch face.

  “Haven’t you two been home yet? Jannie will be worried.”

  “Oh, but Sask ...” began Mina.

  “Where are your manners?” she exclaimed. “Make your bows to Captain Durrant before I die of embarrassment. These disreputable children are my brother and sister, Captain. Willem and Wilhelmina.”

  “I wouldn’t go inside if I were you, Sask,” said Willem in a voice of doom. “Visitors!”

  “Oh dear! Then we must hurry. Who is it?”

  “Mr. Kneighley.” He wrinkled up his nose at the name. Saskia’s heart sank.

  “And his mother,” added Mina. Saskia groaned.

  “And his sister!” the twins chorused. Saskia sighed.

  “I might have known,” she said forlornly.

  “Not bad news I hope, Cousin,” said Derek.

  “Well, not tragic exactly, but hardly what I should call pleasant. Do you remember, Cousin Derek, that morning we were speaking of Pride and PrejudiceP”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, my Mr. Collins has come to Bath.”

  “The prosy rector?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Oh,” he said with a smile that was truly sympathetic. “Oh dear.” The others looked on, mystified.

  ‘Well, I must go and greet them. Come, Trix, Neil.”

  “Shall we see you at the assembly, Miss van Houten?” asked Captain Durrant. “My sister is pushing Melly out of the nest this season and has insisted that I accompany them.”

  “Oh yes!” chirped Beatrix. “We shall be there. I can hardly wait.”

  “Till then,” said the Captain with a tip of his hat. Melissa gave a blushing curtsey to them all and a soulful smile to Neil, and they entered their house.