A Holiday in Bath

by Julie Daines

  Grandmama smiled. “You’re growing to be an interesting girl. Consider it done.” Looping up her trailing shawl, Grandmama soared off, nodding once at a brocade-covered bench supporting Lady Greyhurst on the opposite side of the room. Familiar with her family’s social shorthand, Caroline went there to wait.

  It didn’t take long. Somehow in passing, Grandmama gathered Lord and Lady Arundel and Caroline’s quarry into her train. A pomaded dandy stepped aside to let them pass. From her end of the room, Caroline moved forward. As her grandmother stopped to present Lady Arundel to that shameless roué General Rockwell, Caroline attacked the flank.

  “I looked Grandmama, but I didn’t find your brooch. I’m quite sure you didn’t have it on when we left the house.”

  Grandmama gave her a sharp look. Subterfuge was perfectly acceptable, just not the kind that made her look like an elderly widgeon.

  “What is it like, ma’am? Let us help you look,” Lord Arundel offered.

  Caroline stopped attending. The Comte d’Augines was looking at her. Carefully, she traced her fan from the corner of her mouth along her bottom lip. He stiffened.

  “—Not worth the trouble. I expect my granddaughter has remembered right this time,” Grandmama said.

  He smiled, so slight it was a secret. Caroline didn’t feel angry anymore. She was glad she’d chosen the pearls.

  “—I never liked the brooch anyway.” Changing theme as smoothly as a concert pianist, Grandmama said, “General Rockwell, you’ve met my granddaughter, but I don’t think Lord and Lady Arundel have. Miss Caroline Trenholme.”

  “So glad to make your acquaintance.” Caroline curtsied.

  “And this young man is?”

  Caroline leaped to fill Grandmama’s leading pause. The admiration in his eyes counted for something, but he didn’t deserve an easy time of it. “We’ve already met. It is a pleasure to see you again, Monsieur Comte.”

  Unexpected silence greeted her words. Lord Arundel looked daggers at his wife, and General Rockwell stuttered, “I thought you said your name was Edwards.”

  Edwards? She couldn’t be mistaken. She’d seen his name in the book, sharing the same address as the Arundels. Edwards was just a part of that litany of names, chanting singsong in her head this past twenty-four hours: Jacques-Marie Phillipe Leon Edouard Lecroy-Duplessis, Comte D’Aiguines. But whoever he was, he’d gone as still as a waxwork.

  “I was born Jacques-Marie Duplessis,” he said at last. Caroline frowned, for he was shortening considerably. “But it has been many years since I was called that. I never think of myself as Monsieur Comte.” The last two words were twisted with mockery.

  Grandmama flinched. “Don’t tell me you are a Republican.”

  He laughed, and the tension around them slackened. “Hardly that. But after fleeing the slaughter in France, I learned my name didn’t matter so much as paying the grocer’s bill. I consider myself fortunate in my profession. I am a physician.”

  And poor, evidently. Come down in the world and obliged to work, and she’d exposed him. Caroline had never blundered this awfully.

  “But Miss Trenholme is correct. I have had the pleasure of meeting her before.” He turned to her, his expression indecipherable. “How is Ormonde? He hasn’t run off again?”

  “My dog.” Caroline stammered, explaining herself to the company. “I—”

  “Does a simple doctor rate well enough to beg one of your dances?”

  Anything to escape these goggling stares. “Thank you. It would be a pleasure.”

  He motioned, and they moved off together. He didn’t offer his arm. Caroline pressed her lips together, waiting.

  “Where did you get that name?” he asked.

  Here, at least, she deserved no blame. “It was written with Lord and Lady Arundel’s in the subscription book.”

  He tightened his lips. “Henrietta.”

  Before the tide of color rose too high in her cheeks, she apologized. She knew enough to be wary of French titles; often they weren’t what they seemed. “Forgive me. I hadn’t thought—”

  Unexpectedly, he smiled at her, a slow widening of lips that made her feel awkward. “I just realized you’ve been looking for me.”

  “Looking out for you,” Caroline corrected hastily. “There’s a difference. It only seemed prudent.”

  “Hmm.” They walked on, past a lady in an eau de nil overdress and plumes, around one of the white pillars of the colonnade. “I fear I’ve disappointed you,” he said. “Since you expected Monsieur Comte.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I—”

  “No untruths, Miss Trenholme. Whatever else I might be, I’m honest. I wasn’t going to intrude on your notice tonight, even after I saw you in the dance. If not for Lady Arundel I would have hid in the card room all evening, and since that morning I’ve ceded to you and Ormonde all the territory of the park. I was willing to make up for my misdemeanours by leaving you be. If you truly wanted to avoid me, you could have. Instead you searched out my name in the subscription book, and, if I’m not mistaken, staged a meeting between us using your grandmother. It was cleverly done, but I’d lay my life you planned it.”

  Fine, then. She wouldn’t deny it. “If Duplessis is your name, I don’t see why you don’t use it. The truth is, I am disappointed. I don’t normally befriend doctors.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Offended?”

  Braced for insult or icy reproof he surprised her instead with a grin, and the skirmish she was losing didn’t seem to matter anymore. She’d wager her garters he was glad she’d found him. “I’m not offended,” he said. “Even though you know better, you want to dance with me.”

  Caroline couldn't reply. Her pulse beat in her throat.

  He leaned close to avoid brushing shoulders with a uniformed gentleman and murmured, “This is hopeless, you know.” Caroline swallowed. There was something about whispers. They felt almost like a touch.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve not the stature to match you. And you are too . . . prudent for me.”

  Prudish, he meant. Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Just what did you think we might be to each other? Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Betrothed?”

  He shook his head.

  These were uncharted waters, but she plunged ahead. “Nor am I. So flirtation is entirely permissible.” She took a breath, pretending a sangfroid she didn’t feel. “I thought you had some interest in me, but if it was merely Ormonde . . .”

  “No.”

  “Then we are agreed.” Saying it, she felt tremendous relief.

  “I’ve never agreed to flirt with anyone before,” he said.

  Nor had she, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “It seems very formal,” he said. “But if flirting is allowed—”

  The set was forming, a boulanger, but he thought her a prude, and she wanted very much to prove she wasn’t. “Do you mind forgoing our dance?” Caroline asked. “I’d like to fetch my shawl.”

  Chapter Four

  He hadn’t thought it at their first meeting, but perhaps this woman knew what she was about. Ignoring the suspicion that he was sailing into trouble, Jack followed her, keeping twenty paces back. She moved with assurance that enticed but didn’t entirely convince him. This coolness couldn’t make him forget the befuddled suspicion he’d provoked last week in the park. Maybe she just liked to tease. Entirely possible, given how last time he’d ended up with a kiss from her dog.

  Less sure now, Jack followed her into the warren of cloak and serving rooms. Without a glance back, she disappeared behind one of the doors. After a discreet interval, Jack let himself in. He was crowded by wine crates and empty cake trays . . . and her, leaning against a stack of boxes not six inches away from him.

  Dark and dusky in the uncertain light, she looked more sophisticated than she had the other morning.

  “Why are you here?” Jack asked. If she was treating this like a dare . . .
>
  “Bath? It’s where they keep dowagers and spinsters.”

  She was willfully misunderstanding him. Very well. “Which one are you?”

  “Not a dowager.” Her eyes flicked over him. “Why are you here?”

  “The spinsters.” He stepped close and lifted his hand to her cheek. She took a quick breath, then settled into his cupped palm. Her skin was warm. So often his training made him notice only symptoms: faint scars, nearsightedness, the curves of badly set bones. She was much more than pupils and a pulse. “May I kiss you?”

  Her eyes, falling heavily, flew open. “Why else are we here?”

  Why, indeed? He closed the last few inches.

  * * *

  They couldn’t count on remaining undisturbed for long—which was a good thing, Jack told himself, abandoning the idea of putting a wedge beneath the door. He bent and kissed her lips once more, swift and soft this time. “You should go,” he whispered.

  “Yes.” She smoothed her hands over the front of her gown.

  Jack nodded at the curl trailing over her shoulder. “We should fix that. No, let me.” He was glad of any reason to touch her, and the lack of a mirror made an excellent excuse.

  “Thank you.” Tidy again, she edged past him, stopping at the door. “That was lovely.”

  “May I call tomorrow—to see Ormonde?” he added when she hesitated.

  “Come early.” She had a slant in her smile.

  Jack grinned. “Until then.” He ducked his head to study his hands, purposely nonchalant, and listened to her go. Unable to follow anytime soon, he examined the labels on the wine bottles, squinting to make out the letters. Not inferior, but nothing to boast about. Rather like him.

  He wasn’t sorry. Clearly, neither was she. But alone with his thoughts, Jack knew he was in trouble. Much as he enjoyed the taste of her mouth, there was something daunting about her ambition. I don’t normally befriend doctors—said after she’d laid a trap for a count. An ideal flirt, though, since his heart was safe from a lady like that.

  Not that she’ll keep you for long.

  But holidays were for temporary enjoyments, for pleasures. And Caroline was too shrewd to injure herself heart-jousting. No reason conscience should trouble him.

  * * *

  Caroline was dancing when he returned to the ball room. Percy and Henrietta, thankfully, had parted from her grandmother.

  “What were you thinking, putting that absurd handle of mine in the subscription book?” Jack asked.

  “It’s your name,” Henrietta said.

  Jack snorted. “I barely remember using it. You make me look like a hanger-on, some worthless braggart—”

  “If I had a title from the reign of King Henry the Fourth—”

  “You do,” Percy interrupted. “What Jack calls himself is his business. My dear, you shouldn’t have done it.”

  Henrietta huffed. “The title was bait. And it worked. You like her.”

  What’s not to like? Jack thought. “And she found a plain country doctor when she was looking for a count.”

  “That didn’t stop her from agreeing to dance with you.” Henrietta’s eyes narrowed. “There’s rouge on your shirt points.” Reading Jack’s expression, she lowered her voice. “Miss Trenholme wouldn’t be human if the title didn’t intrigue her. But once she gets to know you, your title—or lack of it—will be immaterial.”

  Jack didn’t share Henrietta’s faith in humanity. Or in Caroline Trenholme, who was lovely, but . . . “No. Not her.” Jack shook her head.

  Percy gave a weak smile. “I’m inclined to agree with Jack. The Trenholmes are very high in the instep. Her uncle—”

  “That old gudgeon!”

  “Henrietta!” Percy’s whispered reproof quieted her.

  “All right.” She turned to Jack, her eyes contrite. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things difficult for you. Trust me. It will come aright. If it hasn’t already.” The corner of her mouth hitched up, revealing her dimple. “You were gone quite a long time with her.”

  “Just taking some refreshment,” Jack replied. “Don’t offer much here, do they?”

  “It’s best not to come hungry,” Henrietta told him archly.

  “I’ll remember.”

  Percy folded his arms, glancing between them. “Well, if you’re both satisfied, may we go home? Henrietta, you’ve won again, so I—”

  Was he the subject of their wager? Or Caroline? “I didn’t know—” Jack stopped, covering his laugh with a snort, deciding he'd rather not know what Henrietta had predicted successfully. “Let’s forget it, shall we?”

  Henrietta ignored Percy’s frown, taking one of each of their arms. “She’ll suit you admirably. I expect she’s already in love with you.”

  Jack managed not to cast his gaze to the chandeliers. “I’m touched by your confidence.” And in a way, he truly was. Miss Trenholme was beautiful, challenging, exciting to talk with and to hold. But he doubted she’d prove as loyal a friend as Henrietta. God hadn’t made many like her. Just as well. One was more than enough.

  * * *

  Grandmama held back the questions until she and Caroline were alone in the carriage, driving home. “Did you have a nice evening?”

  Caroline smiled as the glow of the streetlamps passed over her. No point being coy. “Very.”

  “Good.” Grandmama settled deeper into the velvet upholstery. “I was worried for a moment there. You almost lost him. And he’s so nice to look at.”

  He certainly was, but hearing it from Grandmama . . .

  “It’s a pity about his profession, but so long as we’re here, he’ll make for charming company. Nothing more, though, Caroline. You understand.”

  Caroline supposed she deserved a warning of some sort. It could have been worse. “I know he’s unsuitable, except as a friend. I remember what I owe the family, but surely you don’t mind if I amuse myself a little.”

  Grandmama chuckled. “I’m in no position to mind. And since there’s no better gentleman to escort you than General Rockwell—”

  “Oh, be serious.”

  “I am. But you are rather a novice at this sort of thing, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I offer some advice.”

  Caroline smiled, unable to resist stopping her. “Your eyes are just the same as they are in the portrait at Coberton,” she said. Uncle had moved the picture twice; each time Grandmama pecked at him until it returned to the middle of the gallery.

  “Thank you.” There was no mistaking the pleased air with which Grandmama straightened her ruffles. “Romney painted it, you know. Said my eyes were my best feature.”

  They were clouded around the edges now, and she tinted the lashes, but the mischief was still there. By all accounts, after providing Grandfather with two sons, Grandmama had had her share of adventures. Caroline doubted she knew the half of them.

  “Respectability can be so exhausting,” Grandmama went on, resting her hands on the handle of her long cane. “Normally you’re so prim, but . . . Well, it’s a pity you and Sir Wait-Forever put off your wedding so long. If you’d been married, we could forgo this discussion.”

  Caroline choked on a laugh. There was no escaping. Grandmama was alarmingly plainspoken. “I’m aware of what happens between husbands and wives.”

  “Only by hearsay, I hope. That fiancé of yours . . .” Grandmama shuddered. “I always wanted to kick him. Worse than your dog! You ought to know most sheet-sport goes on outside of marriage—no, don’t interrupt. You young ladies are so namby-pamby. I don’t approve of it.” Grandmama tapped her forefinger on the silver handle. “If you were that poltroon’s widow, I’d say you should take this doctor to bed without delay. You’ve been so low-spirited. It’s unattractive. But since you are still unmarried, you’ll have to be more circumspect—unless I’m mistaken and that fiancé of yours did bed you. And if you were that foolish, I’d say you deserved it.”

  “Grandmama!”

  “Doubt he had the gumption though,” Grandmama muttere
d.

  “Robert never—”

  “Like I said. All that bowing over your hand and eternal delay. I should have kicked him!”

  “Grandmama, please!”

  “I don’t like it, you know. Twenty-five, unmarried. That’s why I had to take you in hand. Bring you to Bath.”

  “I’m twenty-four,” Caroline corrected. “And I’m not likely to find a husband here, handsome doctors notwithstanding.” Every man who counted was in London.

  “No, but an intrigue will be good for you. As for that fiancé, you’re well rid of him. Never liked him.”

  “He was going to be a cabinet minister,” Caroline reminded her.

  Grandmama snorted. “Recommendation enough for your brother and uncle, but you were the one who’d have to live with him.” She flicked her fingers in the air. “He’s gone. We needn’t quarrel about it.”

  Recognizing the truth in this, Caroline was silent.

  “Does Edwards kiss well?”

  The question, flying out at her in the dark, caught Caroline off guard.

  “Goodness, child! Learn to keep still. You’re too old for these starts and blushes.” Grandmama chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “I found him excellent company,” Caroline said, her voice even.

  “Better,” Grandmama drawled. “Mind, there can be nothing more than kisses and gentle pawing for innocents like you.” Some involuntary movement of hers must have caught Grandmama’s eye. She eyed Caroline closely. “Pawed you already? Best be careful, girl, or he’ll think you fast.” Chuckling again, she set her stick against the side of the carriage and folded her hands together. “I like his style.”

  So do I, Caroline thought but didn’t say. She didn’t know if she was going to snort with laughter or relapse into giggles, but this was almost too much for her. Biting her tongue, Caroline kept her shoulders steady and held her chin high. She’d drunk only lemonade this evening, but this talk made her uncharacteristically giddy. She hadn’t felt like this in . . . certainly years, maybe not ever. Before the thought made her sad, Caroline discarded it.

  At the house, the footmen helped Grandmama from the carriage. Caroline took her by one arm, not trusting her steadiness in such tall heels after an uncertain amount of wine.