Mrs Sommersby's Second Chance

by Laurie Benson

  As he rolled on to his back, the soft white sheets brushed across his bare legs. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the blue-and-brown-striped bed hangings and wondered what kind of room Mrs Sommersby slept in. Was she still asleep or was she lying on her back right now, staring up at her own bed hangings in the way he was staring up at his?

  Pushing his palms into his eyes, he rubbed away his mawkish pondering, wondering what bit of witchcraft had turned him into a schoolboy with his first taste of passion. Not that he had tasted anything of Mrs Sommersby—but every fibre of his being had wished he had. When he thought about how close he had come to kissing her last night, he let out a frustrated groan.

  A desperate need for her pulsed through him and he threw his pillow across the room. Whatever it took, he was going to figure out a way to find Mrs Sommersby and when he did he was going to kiss her. He had seen the passion in her eyes. He had felt her uneven breathing on his skin. It was inevitable.

  Once more he rested his head on his arm. This time instead of imagining what she was doing at that very moment, he thought more about what he would like to do to her the next time he saw her.

  * * *

  Less than two hours later Lane was sitting downstairs in the walled garden of The Fountain Head Hotel, drinking coffee at one of the round tables while he read the hotel’s most recent edition of several newspapers. He couldn’t spend all his time at the coffee house watching over Mr Sanderson’s shoulder. His manager was a hard-working man and it was imperative that there was a position for him in the new spa. Just because Lane decided to change the direction of the business it shouldn’t mean that his employees would be out of work.

  Ripping off a piece of the Sally Lunn bun that was on his plate, he let his attention wander around the garden that was cast in the soft light of a cloudy morning. Whoever had thought of having breakfast available outside on days when the weather was pleasant really understood the needs of travellers. He only wished they served heartier fare since he was rather hungry this morning and his coffee and this bun were not going to be enough.

  He glanced down at the untouched edition of the Chronicle with little interest and then surveyed the small skirted tables that were around him on the large gravel-covered square in the centre of the garden. Looking past the nicely dressed gentlemen, eating and reading their papers, his gaze settled on the few women who were also in attendance, all of them with a gentleman by their side. None of them was Mrs Sommersby. Even the pale pink and red roses that lined the garden reminded him of her. It was a good thing it was not Wednesday because if it had been he knew he would have found some excuse to go to the Lower Assembly Room for breakfast to see if he might spot her.

  He needed to focus. And not on Mrs Sommersby. He should be receiving word any day now from Hart letting him know if they had secured enough money to purchase this hotel. When that happened, he needed to be ready to negotiate a reasonable sum for it. To do that, he needed to find out everything he could about the owner.

  Once more his gaze trailed over the rose bushes in the distance and he took a deep breath to see if the scent lingered in the air. All he could smell was coffee. When he owned this hotel, he would have to find a way to utilise this garden in some way at the spa. And he would keep the rose bushes.

  ‘Is everything to your liking, sir?’ his waiter asked, stopping at the side of his table. ‘Would you care for some more coffee?’ His youthful exuberance that accompanied the offer was a contrast to the unusual languid feeling that Lane was experiencing this morning.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Jack.’

  The waiter returned with the pot in his hand and proceeded to pour more of the steaming dark liquid into Lane’s cup.

  ‘Jack, how long have you been employed here?’

  The hand that had just finished pouring the coffee stilled above Lane’s cup for a moment before Jack pulled it in closer to his body. ‘About five years, sir.’ His eyes shifted to another table as if he could not wait to leave Lane’s side. Lane had encountered rude patrons in his life and realised that Jack must have as well. If he had been working here for five years, he must have started when he was about fifteen by the looks of him.

  ‘And if I wanted to compliment the owner of this fine hotel on the service you have been providing me with during my stay, who might I direct that information to?’

  A look of relief crossed Jack’s face and his shoulders relaxed. ‘Mr Edwards is the manager. He would be the one.’ A look of appreciation replaced his former anxious expression.

  ‘I see. I’ve met Mr Edwards. So, he owns the hotel as well as manages it?’

  A shrug from Jack was his answer. ‘I would assume so. He makes all the decisions around here.’

  ‘Of course, and how long has Mr Edwards been here?’

  ‘As long as I’ve been. I’ve heard he is from Bath, though, so perhaps a long time.’

  ‘You did not grow up here?’

  ‘Me? No, sir. I’m from London.’

  ‘London? What brings a fine man like you to Bath all the way from London?’

  ‘I was introduced to Mr Edward’s cousin in London. She said I might enjoy living in Bath and that she knew her cousin could use some help here at the hotel. She was the one who brought me here.’

  ‘That was very kind of her.’

  ‘She’s a very nice lady. One of the finest I know.’ He gave a brisk nod of his straw-coloured head for further emphasis.

  ‘I’ve been admiring this garden. I cannot recall staying in a hotel or inn that serves breakfast outside like this. It’s quite nice on days like today. I wonder if Mrs Edwards helped him design this. There seems to be a woman’s touch about.’ That was one way to find out if the man was married. The needs of his family could be a point in the negotiations.

  ‘There is no Mrs Edwards.’

  ‘He’s not married?’

  ‘No, sir. This was Mr Edwards’s idea to serve breakfast out here. We started this last summer. I like it better than serving in the dining room. The tables are further apart out here and I don’t have to worry about tripping over someone’s foot.’

  ‘Yes, I can see how that would be a concern. Well, you’re doing a fine job and I’ll be sure to let Mr Edwards know.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said with a beaming smile and a bow of his head, before turning to check on the next table.

  That bit of information on Mr Edwards only scratched the surface. He would try to find out more about the man from Mr Sanderson. There had to be a way to do it discreetly without revealing his plan to acquire the property. He had been trying to keep the discovery of the spring to only a very few people. The last thing he wanted was for the owner of the hotel to find out about the spring and then create a spa on their property first. The hotel had more land, they could offer more than they currently did.

  His gaze dropped to the Chronicle that was in front of him. Could he be lucky enough to glean some additional information on Mr Edwards from the local paper?

  What his eye did land on was a mention of a ‘widowed Mrs S. who, Tuesday of last, had been at a ball in the Upper Assembly Rooms, speaking with a new friend, and who might be testing her famous matchmaking skills once again.’

  Thoughts of Mrs Sommersby with Miss Collingswood popped into his head. She had to be the woman they were referring to. How many widows were in town with the last initial of ‘S’? Well, how many of them were fond of matchmaking—even if they didn’t like to admit it? In fact, he would bet fifty pounds that she was indeed the woman who was mentioned.

  He hadn’t been to a ball in years. He wasn’t very fond of dancing and if he wanted to play cards he could do that at his club. So why was he trying to picture her moving through the Upper Assembly Rooms with Miss Collingswood at her side in some tempting ball gown that would highlight the curves of her body and shimmer in the candlelight as she walked? He still wanted to kiss
her. He still wanted to feel the soft skin of her neck while he held her there as he deepened his kiss. And he still wondered if a kiss might lead to something more.

  It took some time before the words on the paper before him came back into focus.

  The only thing, short of going back up to his room, that would help settle his frustrated state was a good brisk walk in the fresh air. Hopefully it would set his mind and body at ease. Just the thought of walking near the Crescent again, where he had seen Mrs Sommersby a few days before with her dog behind a hedgerow, set his heart pounding.

  He needed to be able to focus on work today. He had reports about the stable to go over. He’d never be able to do that if he ran into Mrs Sommersby. Today, he’d return to the meandering pathways of Sydney Gardens. That pleasure garden was closer to his current location anyway so he wouldn’t have to be gone long. He could spend an hour there and then begin his day. It would be much later than usual when he entered his office, but at least he would be getting some work done.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Lane walked through the gates of Sydney Gardens, he was tempted to turn around and head to the wooded space near the Royal Crescent. The muscle by his jaw started to twitch as he checked the time on his watch. It was far later than it should have been. This is what he got for spending hours daydreaming about a woman. He was already behind in his work. Today, he would only have an hour to walk through the gardens.

  He took a deep breath of the clean air, taking in the smell of the expanse of grass that stretched out ahead of him that formed the bowling green. One of the things he liked best about being here was that the air smelled better in Bath than it did in London. This had been the fourth time he had walked the pathways of Sydney Gardens and he knew for certain that he would be coming back to this picturesque location each time he returned to Bath to check on his property.

  Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, he took off at a brisk pace down one of the serpentine walks on his way to the pathway that ran alongside the canal. He strode under the leafy bowers past alcoves tucked away where one could sit on a warm day on the wooden benches. Nannies and mothers strolled past him with babies and small children by their sides, some of those children rolling hoops with sticks. Others were chasing after one another in games of touch tap.

  His previous visits to this garden had been much earlier in the morning and the occupants had been gentlemen like himself or the occasional fashionably dressed couple. But at this time of day, the garden seemed to be filled with children. He recalled being a boy with a lot of energy who was forced to repress it to sit still in class and throughout liturgical sermons. How he would have loved a park this large to run around in with his friends when he was small. The grounds of the Foundling Hospital were their playing field and it could not compare to the features in this garden with all the places you could hide in.

  As he made his way down the pathway, he was still trying to recall all the games he and his friends had played when he heard the yapping sound of a dog not far behind him. While he tipped his hat to a gentleman strolling in the opposite direction, he was startled when he almost tripped over a small black and brown dog that was now barking up at him, mere inches from the tips of his boots.

  It resembled Mrs Sommersby’s Cavalier King Charles spaniel. He tried to recall that dog’s name as he squatted down and rubbed the small pup behind its long black ears. The dog looked as if it were dressed as a highwayman because his big dark eyes were outlined in light brown fur that resembled a mask. Mrs Sommersby’s dog had similar markings from what he could remember. The dog’s eyes closed in bliss when Lane rubbed its neck. The moment Lane stopped scratching him, the dog poked at him with his small shiny nose.

  ‘I see. You like that, do you?’ He took off his gloves, draped them over his thigh and went back to scratching the soft fur under the dog’s chin. As he did so, he looked around and tried to see if anyone was searching for it. ‘You couldn’t have got in here by yourself. Where’s your owner?’

  With small yaps, the dog appeared to try to explain.

  ‘You’ve run off, haven’t you? You do remind me of another dog here in Bath. Do you have a brother? Perhaps a very young uncle?’

  The dog barked this time—a louder sound which carried on the breeze that was rustling the leaves on the branches above them.

  ‘Humphrey!’ The name was called out from somewhere behind him.

  Lane’s heart skipped a beat. ‘It is you,’ he said to the small dog that was now balancing himself up on his hind legs with his paws resting on Lane’s knee. ‘Tell me you have not got Mrs Sommersby caught up in some bit of shrubbery again.’

  He turned his head, following the sound of her voice, but he didn’t see her.

  ‘Humphrey!’ she called out again.

  ‘He’s over here!’ Holding the pup firmly, he began to pat its back. ‘Now you stay right where you are. Don’t you try running off again until your mistress gets here. I doubt she wants to have to chase you around this park today.’

  ‘No, she does not.’

  The sound of her breathless voice behind him made him smile since there were a few times he had contemplated how she would sound after a vigorous bout of sex.

  ‘Mr Lane!’ Her eyes shifted from him and widened when she spotted her dog.

  ‘Mrs Sommersby.’

  ‘Oh, dear Heavens... Humphrey, what are you doing?’ There was a hint of panic in her voice as she stood holding the dog’s red leash in her white gloved hand, looking at her dog as if she wanted to scoop him up immediately and run.

  ‘He’s just getting his ears scratched.’

  ‘Oh.’ She tilted her head to get a better view of the little scamp and looked somewhat relieved. ‘How did you find him?’

  ‘I didn’t. He found me.’

  ‘I’m sorry if he is being a nuisance.’

  Lane picked Humphrey up and he cradled him in his arms. As a reward for all that scratching, he received a series of kisses from Humphrey on his chin.

  ‘I’ve found him, Harriet,’ she called over her shoulder, giving Lane a few moments to run his gaze over her body.

  ‘What did he do this time?’

  ‘I went to adjust his lead and before I could stop him, he slipped out and took off down the path.’

  ‘You really do need to train him to listen to your commands.’

  ‘I’ve been trying. Just when he masters one command, he proceeds to discover another way to get me to question the reason I’d decided to keep him.’

  ‘There are only a few commands you need to teach him. If you can manage those, you can address any behaviour that he learns.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy. No matter what I try, he never listens to me when I tell him to stop. If only I could pay you to train him.’

  Humphrey looked between them, then tilted his head.

  Lane took a step closer. ‘Perhaps I would do it without monetary compensation.’ The air around them grew thick and the sound of his heartbeat grew louder in his ears.

  She licked her lips and swallowed. ‘How I wish you were serious.’

  ‘What makes you believe that I’m not?’

  They were less than two feet apart. Between them, Humphrey began to wriggle in his arms and leaned out to lick Mrs Sommersby on her cheek.

  ‘Do not think to charm me with kisses, you rascal. They have no effect on me.’ But even as she said it, she reached out and rubbed the dog’s little head.

  From behind Mrs Sommersby he saw Miss Col-lingswood making her way towards them and he held up his hand in a greeting.

  ‘Mr Lane! Imagine seeing you in this park. How did you find Humphrey?’

  He gave her a friendly smile. ‘He seems to have found me.’ He turned back to Mrs Sommersby. ‘It never occurred to me that it was him when he ran up to me. This garden is far from where I saw you walking h
im last.’

  She lifted Humphrey out of his arms and took a step back. She even started to rock the pup in her arms the way he had seen a mother in the garden not long ago rock a fussy infant. Humphrey continued to lick her face. ‘I’ve taken it upon myself to show Miss Col-lingswood more of Bath and it’s a lovely place to spend a pleasant day such as this.’ Her brow furrowed and she glanced quickly at her friend before meeting him in the eye. ‘I’ve been here before. In fact, I come here often. It isn’t so rare that I would be here today...with Miss Collingswood.’

  ‘And with Humphrey.’ He felt the need to add that since she had felt the need to explain how often she went on walks here.

  Her gaze shifted to the expanse of lawn beside the pathway. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t leave him home. He loves it here.’

  ‘Where does he like to go?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Where does Humphrey like to walk when you are here? He obviously has very definite opinions on what he likes to do and where he likes to go. Have you noticed if he favours one particular area of the garden?’

  She scratched her neck. ‘No. I haven’t noticed.’

  ‘Where do you like to walk, Mr Lane?’ Miss Col-lingswood asked, stepping up to Mrs Sommersby’s side and rubbing Humphrey’s back.

  ‘I haven’t had the opportunity to explore the entire garden as of yet, but I have enjoyed walking along the pathway beside the canal.’

  ‘That sounds lovely. Mrs Sommersby was planning on bringing Humphrey here this morning and she was kind enough to ask if I wanted to accompany her. That’s why we are here. Humphrey needed a walk.’

  These women seemed to feel a need to explain how they had wound up here in the park today. From the corner of his eye he could see Mrs Sommersby watching them as she snuggled her dog.

  ‘Where were you heading just now? Were you going towards the canal?’ Miss Collingswood asked.