Miss Lattimore's Letter

by Suzanne Allain

  “Pleasure! Ha!” Mr. Beswick pronounced, to Sophie’s surprise and dismay. Priscilla rushed in to try to smooth things over.

  “Charles has an unreasonable prejudice against Bath, though he’s never even stayed here for more than two days.”

  “It’s overcrowded and very inconvenient for keeping a carriage.”

  “There are some fine walks, I believe,” Sophie offered.

  “I much prefer to ride,” said Charles.

  “I told Charles that once he has been to an entertainment at the Upper Assembly Rooms or taken the waters in the Pump Room, he will grow to love it here as much as the rest of us do,” Priscilla said.

  Sophie did not think that either of those two excursions would succeed in changing Mr. Beswick’s negative opinion of Bath. But just as Sophie was sure she was destined to take him into irrevocable dislike, Mr. Beswick seemed to shake off his bad humor. He smiled affectionately at Priscilla and said, “Ah, Pris, I thought you knew me better than that.”

  Priscilla blushed at this comment and smiled adoringly back at him, and Sophie entertained the hope that the couple might be closer to a reconciliation than she had assumed. But then Mr. Beswick continued, “I have no intention of going to either of those places.”

  Sophie felt that her comparison of Priscilla Beswick to a mischievous kitten had never been more apt, as she wrinkled her lovely little nose and her fingers suddenly curled and took on the appearance of paws. Sophie hurried to intercede, saying: “Mr. Beswick, please do not dismiss the area’s attractions so quickly. I presume you are a gentleman who prefers sporting activities. Priscilla has a large circle of friends here in Bath, some whose tastes are similar to yours. I am sure we can arrange for some excursions that you would enjoy.”

  Charles seemed disposed to accept this olive branch, inclining his head toward Sophie. Priscilla, however, looked disappointed and said: “But . . . I’d much prefer dancing.”

  Charles’ disgruntled expression reappeared at this remark, and Sophie quicky began an innocuous conversation about the weather, feeling a sudden sympathy for Lady Mary as she did so.

  * * *

  Sophie’s next introduction, to Mr. Maitland’s children, was a much grander and more public affair. Mr. Maitland had arranged for a breakfast at Sydney Gardens, with tea, cold meat, and pastries to be served in a private supper box. Obviously Sophie could not be the only person present outside of Mr. Maitland’s family and the children’s nurse, nor did she wish to spend the day tête-à-tête with them. So Mr. Maitland had also invited both of the Foster ladies and their noble friends. Lady Smallpeace declined the invitation for herself, as she didn’t really feel like showing such condescension to a mere “Mr. Maitland” of nowhere in particular, who could not name any relatives of whom Lady Smallpeace had ever heard. But surprisingly, Lady Mary and Lord Courtney did accept the invitation and were in attendance, as were Priscilla and Charles Beswick. Sophie very astutely guessed that Mr. Maitland had invited Priscilla before learning of her husband’s arrival and couldn’t withdraw the invitation after discovering she would be bringing him along. Though Sophie now believed Mr. Maitland was truly fond of her and a proposal from him seemed imminent, she also knew he enjoyed the company of ladies far more than that of gentlemen. Particularly ladies who were lovely to look at, like Priscilla was.

  And Priscilla had outdone herself. She was always dressed to the nines, of course, but her outfit that day could have been displayed in an art gallery and people would have paid admission to see it. Her dress and matching spencer were a vibrant green, a color which couldn’t have been more flattering to her hair and eyes. The spencer was lined with black silk, and above its collar was another collar of stand-up white lace that framed her face. But it was her hat that stole the show, and she had wisely kept the rest of her outfit relatively simple so that the hat could take center stage. It was a black velvet toque with intricate cording also in black, and egret feathers of black and green waved proudly above it. Pinned to one side was a small round white aigrette with a spray of green berries.

  Sophie thought it the most beautiful hat she’d ever seen but wondered that Priscilla had chosen to wear it on a trip to the gardens. A bandeau held it to her head, but it had no ribbons, which made Sophie think Priscilla would have to be very careful to hold on to it if there were any gusty winds.

  Likewise, Priscilla’s slippers, while dainty and a pretty green to match her dress, did not look like the most comfortable choice for walking, and Sophie was glad she’d chosen to wear sturdy half boots and her favorite straw bonnet, even if her outfit did pale in comparison to Priscilla Beswick’s.

  Mr. Maitland had invited one other single gentleman, Mr. Andrews, so that the ladies would not completely outnumber the men. Of the four gentlemen present, Mr. Beswick was the only one who was not completely outshone by Mr. Maitland in physical attractiveness, and he was married. Though Sophie did not know if Mr. Maitland had arranged matters this way on purpose, she couldn’t deny that in contrast with Lord Courtney and Mr. Andrews, Mr. Maitland appeared the pinnacle of masculine perfection, the beau of every woman’s dreams.

  Sir Edmund had most definitely not been invited. Sophie told herself she was very glad Sir Edmund was not present. She needed to forget him entirely and overcome this strange craving she had for his company. It was Mr. Maitland she wanted and had wanted since she was eighteen. Wasn’t it? Hadn’t she? Good gracious, she still did not know. She hoped that after this day she would finally have the answer.

  Sophie tried to calm her nervousness at the thought of meeting Mr. Maitland’s children, telling herself that she shouldn’t endue the occasion with too much significance or she would not be able to behave naturally. (Already she viewed the excursion as one might a trip to the dentist.) But when she and the Fosters had arrived at the pleasure gardens most of the party was already present, and there was such a bustle of finding seats and greeting one another that Sophie was able to relax a little, grateful that there were so many invited that she could fade into the background.

  The children were with their nurse, seemingly indifferent to the presence of the other adults around them. Sophie had already learned from Mr. Maitland that his daughter Jane was six years old and her little brother Frederick, named for his father, was three. Freddie was very like Mr. Maitland, as he was already a handsome child, with his father’s sparkling blue eyes and a precocious smile. Sophie was not at all surprised as the day progressed to find him very capable of manipulating the ladies present, including her, into giving him whatever his little heart desired.

  His sister was not nearly as handsome or charming. Sophie was no expert on children, but she thought Jane seemed very small and thin for her age, with a pinched and wan face and a pettish disposition. When Sophie had learned of the children from Mr. Maitland she had imagined that when she and Jane met they would be drawn to each other immediately, as she assumed a little girl would especially miss her mother and be happy to have an older female friend. And while it was true that Jane was drawn to an older female, unfortunately that female was not Sophie.

  Mr. Maitland had introduced all of them very casually to the children, gesturing to where they sat in the corner with their nurse and announcing to no one in particular, “That scamp over there is Frederick, and the little miss is Jane.” People nodded and smiled and Priscilla exclaimed, “What a handsome little boy! He is a miniature version of you, Mr. Maitland. How very quaint!”

  Sophie winced at this remark, as she was sure poor Jane had heard it often and must be sensitive to the fact that her brother received all the attention. So she approached the little girl, kneeling down and saying, “It is so nice to meet you, Miss Jane. My, what a pretty reticule that is. May I see it?” Sophie held out her hand, thinking to just take the reticule for a moment and give it back after admiring it briefly, but Jane looked at her like she was the devil incarnate and yelled, “No!” before turning away fro
m Sophie and burying her face in her nurse’s skirts.

  The nurse immediately chided the little girl, who then began to cry, and Sophie was forced to intervene, saying, “Oh, no, do not scold her, please.” She could not recall ever feeling so embarrassed in her life and was not sure how to extricate herself from her predicament.

  The situation was somewhat improved by Freddie pointing at her and shouting, “Pretty lady!” (He resembled his father more and more with every passing minute.) Grateful that at least one of the children liked her, Sophie smiled at him and said, “Thank you, kind sir,” before standing and moving away from the nursery party. It was obvious the others were embarrassed for her as well, and Cecilia tried to deflect attention away from the incident by commenting on the likelihood of the rain holding off for the remainder of the day, but her efforts were nullified when Lord Courtney said loudly, “The girl probably thought Miss Lattimore meant to steal her purse.”

  Mr. Maitland seemed totally unaffected by the incident, behaving as if nothing unpleasant had happened and generally acting as if the children were not present. Sophie huddled in her seat, wishing she were anywhere but where she was, and did not contribute anything to the conversation. Her humiliation was complete when Jane, having recovered from her crying fit, ventured over to Lady Mary and handed her the reticule, saying, “You can hold it.” This was pronounced with a triumphant look in Sophie’s direction and the first smile Sophie had seen on the child’s face.

  10

  Jane spent the rest of the day at Lady Mary’s side, though her nurse did try to remove her, certain that the six-year-old must be annoying the noblewoman. However, Lady Mary assured her she was happy to spend time with Jane, and she did look gratified by the little girl’s obvious preference for her company.

  After the group had finished their breakfast, Mr. Maitland asked what they would like to do next. “Perhaps a walk through the Labyrinth? Miss Lattimore?”

  Sophie looked up to see him holding out his arm to her. She assumed he planned to leave his children in the supper box, and she was pleased at the opportunity to remove herself from the scene of her humiliation. But it felt rather forward to leave the rest of the party and scamper off with Mr. Maitland. “I would be happy to,” Sophie said. “Would anyone else care to join us?”

  She placed her hand on his arm as the Beswicks began debating whether they wanted to walk. Priscilla at first had no interest in such exertion, claiming it was far too hot, but Charles told her he had no plans to sit and eat Bath buns and drink tea the rest of the afternoon. “And the walk would do you good,” he said. “You used to be a prodigious walker and now you barely take ten steps a day.”

  “But . . . a labyrinth,” Priscilla protested, her eyes big. “What if we were to get lost?”

  Mr. Maitland triumphantly waved a piece of paper in the air. “I purchased a map at the bar.”

  “How clever of you!” Priscilla said, clasping her hands in front of her bosom.

  “It’s a very pleasant walk, and there’s a swing in the center,” Sophie told her.

  “Merlin’s swing, to be precise,” Mr. Maitland said. “I intended to ride it with Miss Lattimore, but four can fit comfortably.”

  “Merlin,” Beswick said, his bored expression changing to one of excitement. “I’ve seen some of his other mechanical contrivances. And he designed this swing, you say? I’d be very interested in seeing it.”

  Mr. Beswick had never appeared to greater advantage than he did now, with a look of good-natured eagerness and intelligence on his face, and Sophie could understand why Priscilla had fallen in love with him when she saw him like this. She only hoped Priscilla was looking at her husband as admiringly as she had Mr. Maitland.

  Mr. Maitland turned to the other guests to make some suggestions for their enjoyment before the foursome set off on their walk. And for the first time, Sophie began to take some enjoyment in the day and her surroundings.

  She really did love Sydney Gardens, though she’d only managed to visit a few times since she’d arrived in Bath, as Aunt Foster preferred the Pump Room. And she had yet to attend one of their gala nights, where apparently there were fireworks and other spectacular entertainments. While exploring the gardens with her cousin, Sophie had seen a pavilion that could have come from ancient Greece, an iron bridge in the Chinese style that spanned the canal, and even a sham castle complete with a moat. Sophie and Cecilia had also ventured into the Labyrinth, although they had not tried the swing. There was a fee for both, and even though it was only a few shillings, Sophie hadn’t felt she’d had the time for it on her previous visit.

  And walking through the Labyrinth with a handsome male suitor was infinitely more exciting than traversing it with her cousin. She was almost sorry she had invited the Beswicks to accompany them.

  Mr. Maitland, though, seemed undaunted by their company. Priscilla Beswick, however much of a walker she’d been in the past, did not seem very adept at the art now, and Mr. Maitland easily put some distance between them and the Beswicks, enough that he could speak in a low voice to Sophie without fear of being overheard.

  “So what do you think of my children? Jane bears an unfortunate resemblance to her mother, poor girl, but Freddie’s a taking little thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Sophie was not sure exactly how to respond to this, as it seemed to be an implied insult of both his dead wife and his daughter. And her heart sank at the necessity of stating outright how unpopular she was with the little girl. “Freddie is an extremely handsome child, but you must have noticed that Jane took me in dislike,” she said.

  Mr. Maitland dismissed this with a wave of his hand and a short laugh. “I told you she takes after her mother, didn’t I? She dislikes all attractive females. I think she’s worried about me taking a new wife. She’ll come around in time.”

  “She seemed to like Lady Mary.”

  “Lady Mary’s not exactly a beauty,” he said. “Actually, she puts me in mind of my first wife.” Maitland paused to consider it a moment before seeming to experience an epiphany. “I wondered why Lady Mary seemed so familiar, as if I’d met her before! She and my wife might have been cousins, they’re so alike.”

  “Perhaps you should tell Lady Smallpeace you suspect Mrs. Maitland was related to her,” Sophie suggested jokingly, though she felt a little uncomfortable discussing his deceased wife. “You’d be sure to win her favor if you’d had the wit to marry one of her near relations.”

  “I wouldn’t have the audacity.”

  “To marry into her family or to tell her so?” Sophie asked.

  “Either,” Mr. Maitland replied.

  * * *

  Cecilia was left in the box with the two least attractive gentlemen of the group, her mother, some children, and their nursery maid. She could not help but feel that her come-out, which had seemed such an exciting prospect a few months ago, had utterly failed to live up to her expectations.

  She was beginning to think she needed to revise her thoughts on love and marriage. Perhaps she had let her mother influence her too much and her ideas of the perfect match were too wrapped up in the person’s pedigree and material assets, as Sophie had said. Cecilia had come to realize that she’d approached her come-out as a competition and that she had wanted to be the one who carried home the biggest marital prize. But she now saw that she’d been very naïve. In her girlish imaginings on the subject she’d assumed that a wealthy man with an illustrious title would also be someone automatically worthy of love and respect, and that it would be no hardship to grant that to him. But through her association with Lady Smallpeace and Lord Courtney, she had come to realize that titles and bloodlines were no guarantee of true gentility and nobility of spirit.

  And she missed Mr. Hartwell. She did still see him from time to time, but it seemed as if he’d cooled in his attentions to her. Last night, for instance, he’d only asked to stand up with her once, and durin
g their dance he had rarely smiled. And he hadn’t been to call in three days, though she had grown accustomed to finding him in her drawing room practically every day. When she thought of how unfailingly helpful he had always been and of the many kindnesses he’d performed for her and her family, she began to feel ashamed of having viewed such offerings so lightly and callously. Only now that they were withdrawn could she value such acts, as well as the man who had performed them, at their true worth.

  At that very moment, Cecilia, who was gazing idly out at the park, saw Mr. Hartwell walking down a gravel path toward her and thought at first he was an apparition generated by her longings for him. She blinked, but when she opened her eyes he was still there, smiling shyly and fondly.

  But not at her. He had a lady on each arm: Mrs. Woodford and her granddaughter Emily. And it was at Emily Woodford he was smiling.

  As if Mr. Hartwell felt the weight of Cecilia’s gaze, he looked directly at her and saw her watching him. Upon seeing Cecilia, his fair countenance flushed red, but then he nodded and smiled in an attempt to appear nonchalant. He said something to Miss Woodford, who then looked in Cecilia’s direction and began smiling and waving at her, the conniving jade. But Cecilia quickly banished that thought, as she knew in her heart of hearts that Emily Woodford was a very estimable young woman, and obviously much more discerning than she was.

  Mr. Hartwell and the Woodford ladies stopped at the box to greet those seated inside. Cecilia’s mother was also surprised to see Mr. Hartwell with Miss Woodford and glanced quickly at Cecilia to gauge her reaction. Cecilia tried to appear unaffected by her former suitor’s appearance with another woman but wondered if by acting as if she did not care she gave herself away even more, and so became quite vivacious and talkative. She explained that Sophie, Mr. Maitland, and the Beswicks had gone into the Labyrinth and, forgetting that Miss Woodford knew Bath far better than she did, encouraged her to try it. She was afraid she saw a trace of pity in Emily Woodford’s expression as she said, “I have visited it in the past and enjoyed it very much.” Then Miss Woodford turned and looked coyly at Mr. Hartwell and said, “But perhaps, Mr. Hartwell, you would like to venture inside?”