A Holiday in Bath

by Julie Daines

  “Yes, I could see that. I attempted to assist her, but she insisted she didn’t need my help. The thing is, Lady Brookfield, I’m going to be in Bath for some days, and I can hardly approach her, even in so public a place as the Pump Room.”

  “No,” the old woman murmured. “I should say not. Some men wouldn’t hesitate, though, even with an innocent like Lucy.”

  “I would never! The thing is, Lady Brookfield—”

  “You would like an introduction.”

  He let out a deep breath, relieved. “That’s it, exactly. I will see her every morning, if I accompany my mother, and I’d like to offer her my assistance.”

  “And your company?”

  “That too.” He grinned at her.

  “Lucy is an excellent child. I don’t know if I should. What do you have to say for yourself?” Her shrewd eyes bore into him.

  He hadn’t expected this. The unwed son of a marquess, even a younger one, generally fended off importuning mothers; he didn’t often have to prove his worth. “Well,” he said at last, “I’m young, healthy, unattached. My pedigree is—”

  “Long, exalted, and stable enough, but what about you, boy? Are you the heir?”

  “No! My brother Charles has that privilege, and he has two sons. I can’t even call myself the spare at this point.”

  “Are you for the army? Clergy? Or do you plan to fritter your life away in London like most of your fellows?”

  Edmund’s heart sank. The countess skewered him as badly as his mother. What could he say? His chin rose defensively. “I haven’t decided.” At her stare, he relented. “I’ve finished my theological studies. I’m to the point of ordination, but it is a big step. I haven’t made any commitments.”

  “I assume your parents expect it.”

  He nodded miserably, and the old woman surprised him by patting his hand. “Don’t let them push you, my boy. Don’t do it unless you can put your heart in it.” She sat back and sipped more tea. “She won’t like it, you know.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lucy Ashcroft is respectable. Daughter of a baronet, but that won’t serve. Your mother will want an earl’s daughter, if not higher, to bear her grandchildren.”

  “I’m not planning to sire children, Lady Brookfield. I just want to be introduced so I can chat with the young lady.” He shifted uncomfortably at the turn the conversation had taken.

  “Oh, you’ll get around to siring children eventually,” she replied. “I’ll introduce you to our Lucy, but you treat her respectfully, do you hear? If you don’t, you’ll answer to me. Now eat one of those biscuits.”

  He looked down at the two ginger biscuits on a rose-patterned plate. I can’t take her food. Taking her best tea is bad enough.

  “Eat up! A young man like you needs sustenance.”

  He watched her closely. She may live in difficult circumstances, but she didn’t look hungry. I can’t insult her either.

  Edmund took a nibble of the stale biscuit and smiled at his hostess. He would see Miss Lucy Ashcroft tomorrow, and this time she would talk to him.

  * * *

  Lucy brought the daily glass of water to Aunt Imogene first, as she always did, and the ladies insisted she take the second, as they always did. She would have preferred to have nothing to do with the disgusting beverage, but the Circle believed firmly in the healing properties of the vile stuff and refused to budge from their position that “a young woman can surely put the benefits to even better use.” What those uses might be was left tactfully unspoken. Gagging down the last swallow, Lucy started to rise to retrieve another round of glasses when a familiar voice interrupted her.

  “Lady Brookfield, how lovely you look today!” The man with the deep, rich voice approached their little group with a sunny smile. Anyone’s approach was remarkable—fine company generally ignored them all—so the sound of a handsome young man pronouncing compliments in Lady Brookfield’s direction left Lucy gaping.

  “Lord Edmund, how delightful to see you again,” Lady Brookfield replied archly.

  What is she up to? Lucy wondered, but she didn’t have time to consider the matter. The interesting young man beamed at the women, studiously avoiding Lucy’s eyes, and then back at Lady Brookfield expectantly.

  “May I introduce you to my friends, Lord Edmund?”

  His smile broadened, and Lady Brookfield proceeded to do just that, beginning with Lady Hardy, who looked up long enough to nod an acknowledgement and then looked back at her hands. Lady Brookfield introduced the others in order, from Aunt Imogene to Mrs. Moffat to Lucy last of all, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “And this is Miss Lucy Ashcroft, daughter of Sir William Ashcroft of Little Hocking in Herefordshire.”

  If Lord Edmund’s smile intrigued Lucy before, it stopped her breath when he turned its full force in her direction.

  “I’m honored, Miss Ashcroft,” he said. Before Lucy could respond, he went on, “Ladies, may I be so bold as to bring up another chair to join you?”

  Lucy bobbed up like a cork on a wave. “You may take mine, Lord Edmund. I was just about to seek Bath water for Lady Brookfield and Mrs. Wellbridge.”

  “Excellent! I’ll come with you, and we can serve the rest of the ladies as well.” He followed her before she could think of an excuse to prevent it. She wasn’t sure if she was more worried about revealing the extent of the ladies’ poverty or her mild deception in using her subscription for them. When he offered his arm, she thought it churlish to refuse, but her mortification increased with every step. When they approached the counter, she hesitated.

  Nothing for it but the truth, Lucy. Let him think what he may. “There’s a slight problem. I only have two subscriptions,” she explained in a pained whisper. “The others . . .”

  His eyes crinkled up in the way that fascinated her when he smiled. “I suspected so. You needn’t fear I’ll embarrass them—or you. We’ll make two trips.”

  The servers filled Lucy’s request without hesitation or raised eyebrows. For once she didn’t have to wait while they tended to others. She accepted Lord Edmund’s company as a gift, if only for one morning. He carried one glass so she could take his arm. When they returned to the Circle and handed their glasses to two of the ladies, he leaned in and asked, “What do we do now? Fetch the other two or allow some time to pass?”

  Distracted by his breath on her ear, Lucy couldn’t answer at first. A timely “ahem” from Lady Brookfield brought her down to earth. “It’s best to allow some time to pass. The men get busy and don’t question how many glasses I need,” Lucy whispered back.

  Edmund conjured up a chair, although Lucy had no idea how he managed it, as the Pump Room was filled to capacity. He sat and listened patiently to the elderly women’s usual talk of ills and megrims. He even added the occasional, “My mother has exactly the same . . .”

  Just as Lucy began to wonder about the unnamed mother, he gave her a knowing look with a raised brow so that they stood as one to go in pursuit of drinks for the other two ladies. They returned in companionable silence without mishap. Lucy couldn’t escape the feeling he meant to ask her something, but they approached the Circle before he could.

  “Lovely, dear,” Mrs. Moffat said when she took her glass. “You are such a kind girl, Lucy.”

  “Lord Edmund,” Lady Brookfield broke in. “Mrs. Crane and Mrs. Wellbridge were just discussing their plans to attend the Thursday assembly.”

  Were they? From the befuddled looks on their faces, Lucy suspected not. What is she up to?

  “I, of course, don’t bother with that nonsense,” Lady Brookfield continued, “but Imogene and Mary derive some benefit from watching the festivities. Our Lucy will attend as well.” She flashed Lucy a glance, leaving the girl puzzled as to how she should react to that pronouncement.

  Edmund struggled to keep from laughing, especially when Mary Wellbridge jumped in gamely. “Why yes, Lucy loves the music, don’t you, dear?”

  Five pairs of eyes
watched Edmund expectantly. Lucy’s eyes dropped to her lap as hard as her heart fell into her stomach. She very much feared her face had turned bright red.

  “As a matter of fact, Lady Brookfield, I obtained my subscription to the Assembly Rooms just yesterday afternoon. Isn’t that a lovely coincidence? I’ll be able to have a comfortable coze with Mrs. Crane and Mrs. Wellbridge . . .” He paused—for effect, Lucy thought when she couldn’t resist a glance up at him. “And with Miss Ashcroft, of course.” His smile lit her from within. “Perhaps,” he said as if he had just thought of it—something Lucy very much doubted, “you would save a dance for me, Miss Ashcroft, me being new to Bath.” She couldn’t take her eyes from him.

  “I—”

  “Of course she will,” Lady Brookfield answered for her.

  Lucy smiled back at him. She couldn’t help herself. “Of course I will,” she murmured. A dance! This lovely man wishes to dance with me!

  Something in the distance caught his eye, and his smile dimmed. “I’d best take my leave now. Thank you, ladies, for making me welcome. Mrs. Crane, Mrs. Wellbridge, I will see you at the assembly.”

  “Miss Ashcroft, I, ah . . .” He flicked a glance in the same direction as before. Lucy followed the direction and saw a formidable woman glaring back at her. Edmund went on, “I will look forward to tomorrow night.” He bowed and left them, leaving Lucy breathless once again.

  “Who is that dragon glowering at us?” Mrs. Moffat asked.

  Lady Brookfield waited until they all attended her words. “That would be the Marchioness of Waringford. Lord Edmund’s mother.”

  Angels have mercy! He didn’t look like the son of a marquess. He didn’t look like the son of that horrid woman either. Lucy’s heart sank. Any tendre she may have harbored died as quickly as it began. There could be nothing between plain Lucy Ashcroft and the son of the Marquess of Waringford in any universe she knew. A sad sigh escaped her.

  At least I’ll have my dance, she thought.

  Chapter Four

  “Darling boy, I have no energy to travel to that wretched Pump Room. I shall rest here in our modest lodgings,” the marchioness groaned the following morning, sniffing a lavender scented handkerchief. The curtains in her sitting room had been pulled, casting her in shadow.

  If this townhouse is ‘modest,’ I’m a monkey, Edmund thought. Their Bath lodgings lay toward the end of the Royal Crescent nearest the spa. They were modest only in comparison to the marquess’s London mansion.

  “I’m sorry to hear you are unwell. I am happy to go myself and bring the water home,” Edmund told her.

  “That won’t be necessary, my dear. I sent a footman.”

  He couldn’t see her in the dim light, but he suspected that if he did, her expression would hold more than a little calculation. The previous day she had ripped into him over his visit with the ladies—or to be precise his “particular attention to that nobody,” Lucy Ashcroft. Edmund, however, could be just as calculating. “In that case, I’ll leave you to Hildegard’s care.”

  “What will you do with yourself?” his mother asked with an edge to her voice.

  “I believe I shall take a walk. Bath has many sights I’ve not yet seen.”

  He didn’t entirely lie to her. Two hours later, he walked south along Stall Street in the direction of the river and Imogene Crane’s residence. If he failed to mention that he went first to the Pump Room where he secured Mrs. Crane’s permission to walk Lucy home, his mother didn’t need to know. The aunt came with them, of course, but as they progressed, she seemed to fall farther and farther behind, always within eyesight.

  After his third attempt to begin a conversation resulted in a one-word response, Edmund feared his efforts to become acquainted with her had come to naught, until he hit upon another topic.

  “I thought Lady Hardy looked peaked this morning. Do you agree?”

  Her eyes, he noted, were a particularly vivid shade of blue, lit from within by excitement. He noticed this because she looked directly at him with a wide-open gaze at his mention of Lady Hardy. “Yes, worse than ever today. I wonder if she ate this morning. Some days she does not, Aunt Imogene and I are certain on the point, and yet there is a limit to what one can do when the woman’s pride throws up a barrier to more.”

  Her meaning didn’t penetrate his mind at first, fixated as he was by the sound of her voice. It had a gentle, throaty quality that he found entrancing. The words themselves, however, came into focus soon enough, and he stopped in his tracks and spun around to face her, horrified. “She doesn’t eat?”

  “Some, of course. The question is, how much?”

  “Has she no family?”

  Her bright eyes dimmed. “She has a son, at least. Aunt Imogene told me there was some sort of falling out with his wife, and they shunted Agnes off to Bath. Her rent is paid, but he otherwise ignores her.”

  The compassion in her expression transfixed him. “How horrible for the lady,” he murmured, conscious only of the beautiful woman looking back at him. The only sign he saw that she recognized his intense scrutiny was a slight bloom of pink in her cheeks.

  Lucy pulled her eyes from his. “Dr. Barry believes she may have an illness as well, but he cannot be certain if poor nutrition is the underlying cause of it or just making it worse.”

  “Dr. Barry?” Edmund asked, offering his arm again so they could proceed, concerned about this so-called doctor. As a city of invalids, Bath teemed with charlatans. He worried that some quack might have gotten his claws into poor Lady Hardy, who couldn’t even afford to eat properly.

  “Yes. He conducts a free clinic close to the embankment.”

  Free clinic? Edmund’s heart began to pound. Memories of his time in London added excitement to what had been mere skepticism about the doctor. “Tell me about this clinic, Miss Ashcroft.”

  Lucy described premises near the river frequented by dock laborers, poor working mothers, and those like Agnes Hardy, who were “abandoned by those who ought to care.”

  “Is this physician one of them—the laborers, I mean?”

  “Do you mean to ask if he is in trade? No. He’s a gentleman. He attends Aunt Imogene in her home as well.”

  Something she said came back to him. She said “shunted off to Bath” as if she understood how that felt.

  Edmund cleared his throat, preparing to ask what puzzled him most. “How is it you are in Bath with only your aunt for company?”

  A smile as heartwarming as it was brief flashed across her face before she turned her gaze forward. “No one could come with me. My younger sister caught a fever from one of the children just as Stepmama plotted her London season. They gave me little enough to do, and it seemed wise to get out from underfoot.”

  Younger sister? Lucy didn’t have a London season. Edmund would bet a quarterly allowance on it.

  Before he could ask, she continued, “Elise is my stepsister. Her mother’s grandaunt offered to sponsor her; otherwise Papa could never have afforded it. We are comfortable enough, but with six little ones and dowries to provide, London was beyond our reach. It is a tremendous opportunity for Elise.”

  She sounded genuinely pleased for her younger sister. What a generous-hearted lady! He bit his tongue to keep from blurting out a rude question: Has a dowry been set aside for you? He hoped her father cared enough to provide for her but suspected that with another sister and six more to provide for, any wedding portion would be small.

  Lucy went on, unaware of his thoughts. “Stepmama worried about me, I think. Bath looked to her like a consolation of some sort, and Papa’s Aunt Imogene seemed delighted to have me.”

  Of course the aunt was delighted. The entire ladies’ circle is delighted. She waits on them. She coos over them. She worries about them. She lights up their life.

  “And how does Bath look to you?”

  She glanced at him all too briefly and then forward. “Like a holiday, of course. Something new and interesting. Sooner or later, I’ll go home again, an
d Stepmama will be happy for my help with the little ones.”

  He had no answer for that. The streets narrowed, and they reached a modest townhouse flush against several equally undistinguished but respectable dwellings. Edmund looked for Mrs. Crane and felt no small amount of relief to see her rounding the corner. He bowed, tipped his hat to the ladies, and set off across town to the Royal Crescent with his hands behind his back and his mind lost in thought.

  What would it be like to take a wife? That extraordinary thought sobered him. I have no business wondering about any young lady’s dowry. Father will likely turn me out without a penny when I thwart his plans. What then?

  By the time he reached his mother’s townhouse, he convinced himself it would be a mistake to pursue Lucy Ashcroft’s attention any further. Nothing could come of it. Still, he had promised her a dance. One dance won’t hurt, will it?

  Chapter Five

  Lucy’s gown, a pretty sprigged muslin in ecru, may have lacked embroidery or lace ruffles, but she thought it complemented the blue of her eyes, especially when Aunt Imogene produced a soft woolen shawl in the same shade of blue as the forget-me-nots that dotted the gown. The muslin had been a gift for her holiday. She made the dress herself from fashion plates Stepmama found, but she had never worn it.

  Peering in her looking glass, Lucy thought she looked as fine as ever she had. Rosettes she had fashioned from blue ribbons adorned her hairpins, and her mother’s single strand of pearls rested elegantly against her skin. The neckline of the dress didn’t plunge as deeply as some she had seen at the assemblies, but the modest opening made her feel sophisticated. Good enough for Bath society, she thought. If only I have good reason to wear it.

  She might never dress up quite so much again, but if she was to have a dance with an attractive young man, she wanted to look her best for it. If she didn’t, she had the joy of looking her best. She tried not to let Lord Edmund’s abrupt departure that morning worry her.

  “Do you think he will come?” she asked her aunt, turning from the mirror.