by Cheryl Bolen
When she brushed against Glee Blankenship’s skirts, that poor lady tumbled to the floor. Lord Appleton rushed to help her up while Dot raced after her errant cat. Every time she got near the animal, the feline sped forward. Dot’s speed was no match for the exasperating cat.
“Fur Blossom!” she called in her most commanding voice. But it was rather like speaking to a brick wall. The cat definitely had a mind of its own.
As she sped to and fro, everyone in the room had come to a complete standstill, and most of them were heartily chuckling.
She quit calling after the cat, not that it would in the least diminish her humiliating position. Nor would it wipe away the burn in her cheeks.
Now Lord Appleton joined in the mission to corner her wayward cat. As Fur Blossom ran away from Dot, his lordship ran toward them. This succeeded in trapping the black and white cat in a corner where Dot promptly launched herself at it.
This time she managed to hook her hands into the cat’s sizable belly—but not without sprawling over the wooden floor in a most unladylike fashion. She chided Fur Blossom because she was too humiliated to look up at his lordship. She didn’t think she could bear to look up at him at the precise moment. No doubt, he would be eyeing her with pity. She could not bear it.
Her father came up just then, his brows lowering. “I think, Dot, in the future it would be wise to leave your cats at home.”
He didn’t need to tell her. Nothing had ever humiliated Dot more. Onlookers were still giggling.
She finally looked up at Lord Appleton. “Forgive me, my lord. I’m unaccustomed to town ways.”
His face softened. “There’s nothing to forgive. Can I assist with your cat?”
Mr. Pankhurst intervened. “I think I’ll take Fur Blossom home. As it is, I’m tired and need to return home. I understand you’re going to the Appletons’ house from here.”
“I ought to go with you.” She could not inflict her embarrassing presence upon the Appletons anymore. They deserved better.
“You’ll do no such thing!” Miss Appleton said. “You promised you’d come home with us.”
So she could further humiliate herself with her ignorance of dancing. “Perhaps I shouldn’t.”
Lord Appleton bent down and helped her up. “We must insist, Miss Pankhurst. My sister is prostrate with no friends.”
Just like Dot, who had no friends. She looked at Miss Appleton’s hopeful gaze. And even though Dot thoroughly understood the peculiarity of her own behavior today, she believed that the Appletons accepted her as she was. What wonderful people they were.
Lord Appleton regarded her father. “Since you know nothing of us, I am sure you’d like to ensure your daughter’s reputation. Please, Mr. Pankhurst, come home with us.” He eyed Fur Blossom. “That cat will be most welcome.” He eyed his sister. “My sister is enchanted with the creature.”
* * *
It was a rather arduous walk, mostly uphill, to the Appletons’ residence on Camden Crescent. Dot was most proud of her father for not once complaining.
The house was everything she could have expected from a home belonging to a peer. It was considerably larger than the one her father had taken. Its situation at the street’s center point accentuated its stateliness in much the same way as symmetrically arranged chairs on either side of a throne.
The interiors, while of grand proportions and featuring furnishings that had once been magnificent, indicated this was a home to a large family that lived over every inch. Copies of Ackermann’s and books with slips of paper marking the pages piled up on tables, and the whist table that had been set up in front of the fire in the drawing room awaited a new gathering of players. A half-filled cup of tea had not been removed from the top of the pianoforte. Without asking, Dot knew there was no Lady Appleton. The house needed a matriarch’s touch.
After the Appleton servants rolled up the carpet in the drawing room, Lord Appleton attempted to teach Dot some dance steps while his sister provided music on the pianoforte.
Mr. Pankhurst watched the proceedings from the chair he had collapsed in after the vigorous walk, holding Fur Blossom for his daughter.
“Even if I could still remember the steps after five-and-twenty years,” Dot’s father said, sighing. “I wouldn’t be able to teach her, owing to the ever-mounting abundance of my infirmities.”
“But I daresay you’re still a young man,” Miss Appleton said.
“You do look fit,” Lord Appleton added.
Mr. Pankhurst’s lids lowered as he sighed. For the second time. “Would that it were so. Only for my daughter—who is possessed of every benevolent attribute a girl could have, along with a high degree of intelligence—would I be able to endure so taxing a walk as I’ve undertaken today.”
Dot glared at him. “You did very well, Papa, but, pray, do not boast on me. Can you not see how poorly I compare to Miss Appleton?”
“Fiddlefudge!” Mr. Pankhurst eyed the female hostess. “I mean no disparagement to you, Miss Appleton, but anyone with eyes in their head can see that Dot here—or Dorothea, which is her given name—is a pretty little thing, even if she doesn’t wear stylish dresses. Yet.”
“Of course,” Lord Appleton agreed, offering Dot his hand. “May I have the honor of the next set, Miss Pankhurst?”
Learning new things had always come easily to Dot. Yet today she was embarrassed over her lack of even the most rudimentary vocabulary of dance. Imagine the French words chassé referring to a dance move! How would she ever learn all there was to learn?
Another impediment was her physical awkwardness. While his lordship, though a man, performed the dance steps gracefully, Dot felt like a clomping elephant.
Her gracious host and hostess never let on that they saw her deficiencies. “Very good, Miss Pankhurst,” Lord Appleton complimented when she executed one of the steps he’d shown her.
“I declare,” Miss Appleton said, “Miss Pankhurst is possessed of a natural talent for dancing.”
Blushing, Dot’s gaze swept from brother to sister. “You two are great prevaricators.”
“They most certainly are not,” her father defended. “You, my dear daughter, are a quick learner. Always have been.” He addressed their host. “Her old governess said of all the girls she’d instructed in thirty years, my Dot was the quickest learner and the most intelligent of all.”
Dot’s cheeks burned. “I beg that you not praise me so, Papa. The Appletons will think you a great prevaricator.”
As self-conscious as she was over her ineptitude, Dot was even more rattled every time Lord Appleton’s hand touched hers. How could so simple a touch affect her so profoundly? It seemed to rob her of breath while sending pulsating charges all the way to her toes. More than that, an odd sense of well-being suffused her each time his hand grasped hers, each time his warm eyes settled on hers.
What had come over her? These were such strange, alien feelings.
But she could never say they were unpleasant. In spite of her embarrassment over her lack of skill, she was enjoying every moment. She was even looking forward to going to the Upper Assembly Rooms that night—just to prolong her time with her two new friends.
Once Lord Appleton deemed her skilled enough to dance with him that evening, her father and Fur Blossom departed, and she went upstairs to try on one of Miss Appleton’s gowns.
“I love your bedchamber,” she said. The room looked like something Miss Appleton would have selected for it reminded Dot of the lady. The papered walls featured pale yellow flowers and soft greenery on a cream background. The chamber’s two tall casements were framed with the lichen-coloured draperies in silk, the same silk that enclosed the full tester bed.
Miss Appleton’s maid soon brought down a pair of dresses. One was snow white, the other rose. “With your luxuriously dark hair and honeyed skin,” Miss Appleton said, “I think the white will be stunning on you.”
Honeyed skin sounded much better than saddle leather! How kindly Miss Appleton was
.
Dot did not see how anything could be stunning on someone as unfashionably dark as she. How she longed to be as fair as Miss Appleton! But she respected this lady’s opinion on matters of taste.
She tried on the white dress and stood before the cheval glass to look at herself. The woman in the looking glass looked nothing like her! Were her hair arranged with any degree of competence—something Dot lacked—that woman might look . . . well, attractive.
Her gaze lowered to her breasts. So much of her breasts had never shown before. She wondered if Miss Appleton’s were as large as hers, for Dot’s looked far fuller than most young women’s. Colour rose to her cheeks.
Of course, she could not be seen like this.
“Oh, Miss Pankhurst, I was right! You are stunning. My brother’s apt to be rapturously captivated by you!”
Dot’s face grew even hotter. The notion of Lord Appleton noticing that part of her body mortified her. And she could never captivate a fine man like him! “You are a very great prevaricator, Miss Appleton.”
The lady shook her head adamantly. “You are most lovely. You positively must wear this tonight!”
“But look at . . .” Dot could not bring herself to mention that part of her anatomy. “At the immodesty!”
Miss Appleton tossed her head back and laughed. “All the women will be displaying themselves in such a manner tonight. It’s just that Nature has most kindly endowed you. Never be embarrassed by that. Men admire women with bounteous chests.”
“But my Papa!”
“Your father will swell a hundredfold with pride that his daughter is so singularly admired.” Miss Appleton came closer and lifted the back of Dot’s hair. “You must have your maid fashion your hair in the Grecian style.”
Dot felt embarrassed once again. “But I have no maid.” Papa had been insisting that she needed a maid now that she was in Bath, and she kept insisting that she didn’t.
“Then you must use mine. Just for tonight. Please say you’ll stay here. My maid can dress your hair. You’ll be astonishingly beautiful.”
“I have already been such an imposition on you.”
“Not at all. It’s fun having you here since my sisters are visiting our cousins in Weymouth. I didn’t like to leave Timothy alone. He still feels dreadful about inheriting after the death of our eldest brother, whom we lost just this past year. He took lung fever and died at the age of two-and-thirty.”
Dot’s face collapsed sympathetically. “My mother died of lung fever at four-and-twenty. Papa took it hard. He’s never remarried.”
“How old were you?”
“I was almost three.”
“I don’t suppose you even remember her?”
Dot shook her head. “Not at all. It’s always been just me and Papa. And my cats.”
Miss Appleton then settled her hand upon Dot’s. “Now you’re going to have new friends.”
Miss Appleton and her brother were the most genuinely welcoming people she could ever imagine. How fortunate she was to have met them.
“If you’re certain you don’t object,” Dot said, “I’ll go down and send Papa and Fur Blossom home, and I’ll stay here to dress for tonight’s fete.”
* * *
While Becca was dressing Miss Pankhurst’s hair, Appleton requested a word with his sister, and then closed the door to his library behind them. She looked queerly at him. “What’s all the secrecy about?”
“I beg a private word with you. That’s all. Please.” He waved her toward the emerald sofa. “Sit before the fire. It’s been beastly cold today.”
“Unless one is dancing.”
He smiled as he came to sit beside her. “You have an admirer who’s persuaded me to introduce you to him tonight.”
“And?”
“And he will request a dance.”
She nodded.
“You may dance with him once, and once only. Without going into particulars, allow me to say the man is unworthy of you.”
“What is the man’s name?”
His lips compressed, a distasteful look on his face. “Henry Wolf.”
“From where is it you know him?”
“Eton.”
“Was he a friend to you and Sir Elvin and Lord Sedgewick and the others?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say any of us were friends with him. Acquaintances.”
“How does he know me?”
Appleton shrugged. “I believe he once admired you at Almack’s.”
Annie had much to recommend her. Many, many men had been attracted to her loveliness. And her attributes did not stop with the physical. She came from a high-born family, was possessed of a sweet nature, and displayed uncommon good sense. She also demonstrated persistently excellent taste in all she did, but especially in her selection of dress. His sister was close to perfection. Far, far too good for most men, but most especially for the likes of Henry Wolf.
He drew a deep breath. “There’s one more matter about which I must speak to you.”
She turned to face him, a quizzing look on her sweet face.
“This is difficult for me to say. You see, I’ve . . . had a financial setback and find that I must marry an heiress.”
Her brows lowered. “You mean you cannot marry for love?”
He tossed his head aside. “What do I care for love? Love is for poets—and women!” He had always hoped he might one day fall in love in the same way as had his friends—friends like Blanks with his Glee. And even Melvin and Catherine. Melvin had never noticed women—until he’d fallen in love with the pretty young widow.
Appleton recalled George, Lord Sedgewick, had not married Sally Spencer for love, but they soon fell quite desperately in love with each other. And the Morelands! Thomas and Felicity adored each other. Even that confirmed bachelor Jonathan Blankenship was now happily married to that bookish Mary Arbuckle, to whom he was so well suited, and the two acted perfectly silly toward each other.
Appleton had stayed a bachelor all these years because he was waiting for a love match like his friends had found.
But a love match was not going to be in his future. He would still have Mrs. Pratt to warm his bed. It wasn’t love, but she met certain needs.
“You simply must marry for love!”
His sister would have to look at the distressing situation like a female. “I am now the head of the house, and my responsibilities must come first.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Forrester Timothy Appleton, have you lost your money gambling?”
He gave her a haughty look. “I may have lost a portion, but surely you don’t take me for one who would completely lose his head . . .”
“Well, I will own, you’ve always been one for moderation.”
He coughed. “It’s time I marry. After all, I’m thirty. All of my friends, save one, are wed. It’s time. And I choose to marry a woman with a fortune.”
“But we don’t know any heiresses.”
“Actually, Annie. . .” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “Miss Pankhurst is an heiress. Her father’s said to be vastly wealthy.”
Her eyes rounded. “Forrester Timothy Appleton! Do you mean you knew all along who the lady was? That all your kindness to her was because she’s an heiress? And I thought you were being such a dear to a sweet, plain girl. I was inordinately proud of you!”
He had the decency to feel beastly ashamed. “I didn’t know who she was when I saved that bloody cat of hers from almost certain death—with no regard for my own well-being, I might add.”
“Then how did you know who she was?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper again. “I had heard that an heiress had recently arrived in Bath who just happened to be plain and who walked about with cats. I didn’t have to possess the brains of Melvin Steffington to make the deduction.”
His sister gave him a hostile look. “I won’t have you using that poor girl. Or breaking her heart. From the way you treated her today, I—who know you well—thought you were att
racted to her. So you can imagine how flattered she is by your attentions. You told her she was delightfully charming! You said she was like a breath of country air. You even agreed with her admittedly prejudiced father when he said she was pretty! I think you’re being appallingly wicked.”
“I thought I was kind to her. Gave up my entire afternoon. Didn’t even object to escorting what had to be the plainest maiden in all of Bath around the Pump Room for all to see. My reputation as a connoisseur of beauty is destroyed.” He frowned. “I even became a complete laughingstock chasing that blasted cat of hers around the Pump Room!”
“You’re horrid, and I’m ashamed of you.” Annie sprang from the sofa and stormed from the chamber.
* * *
While Digby assisted him into his meticulously fitted and spotless black jacket for the evening’s assembly, tied his cravat, and helped him into silken stockings, Appleton felt wretched. Instead of enlisting Annie’s help to win Miss Pankhurst’s affections, he’d angered his sister and shamed himself.
Still, he couldn’t tell Annie he was doing it for her and their sisters. If it were just him, he could have let the house in Bath go and eked by on the modest income from their small estate in Shropshire. But he had to provide for his sisters. Hefty dowries would be required for them to attract husbands suitable to their station. And the dresses and hats and gloves and all the finery three young ladies of refined taste needed! He had no choice but to marry an heiress.
Despite that cat business, Miss Pankhurst, thankfully, was not like one in her dotage. She seemed to be possessed of good sense, and he would vow that with a proper wardrobe—which her wealthy father had already promised—she would be tolerably handsome.
Fully dressed now, he stood at the foot of the stairs awaiting his sister and Miss Pankhurst when the door to Annie’s chamber opened. Annie came out first. She wore a rose-coloured gown and looked her usual lovely self. Appleton sighed. A pity. That damned Wolf would be sure to be attracted to her.
Then Miss Pankhurst came into view, and Appleton almost lost his breath.
