A Holiday in Bath

by Julie Daines

  “Do you miss the sea?” she asked.

  “Not often. But when I do, I feel it sharply. The sea is like that.”

  Caroline nodded. She understood.

  Time might have stopped for them both, but it hadn’t for Ormonde. He barked, and Caroline raised her head. “Do you suppose he’s in trouble?” She opened her mouth to call, but Jack put his hand over her lips.

  “Hush. I think he hears someone.”

  Faintly, they heard voices through the woods. In the same instant, Jack was on his feet and helping her stand. “You’ll have to hide,” he whispered. “You look very disreputable.”

  Caroline glanced down at her rumpled skirts. Bits of bracken clung everywhere.

  “Hurry. Over here.” Jack took her hand, then her waist, practically forcing her over the wall. “Ormonde!” he called over his shoulder.

  “Give me a moment,” Caroline whispered, struggling in her tangled dress. “I—Oh!” She toppled off the wall to the grass below. “Jack!”

  “Hush! Someone’s coming!” She heard footsteps: he was running, calling her dog. “Ormonde! Yes, that’s a good boy.”

  He must have caught hold of the leash. Only because he keeps bits of breakfast in his pockets.

  “Hello there!” His voice, moving off, was pitched to carry. “I hope my dog didn’t startle you.”

  “Not at all. It’s a dear little thing.” This was accompanied by a feminine titter. Caroline lifted her head an inch but stopped before she gave herself away. Annoyed, she plucked a fallen leaf from her hair and stared at her shoes.

  “I knew I couldn’t keep the beauty of these woods all to myself today,” Jack said.

  “I hope we haven’t disturbed you.” A different voice this time. Still female.

  “You did catch me in the midst of a nap,” Jack lied.

  “Sorry to wake you.”

  Caroline waited for them to bid him good afternoon and walk away. They didn’t.

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-two,” Jack answered. “Oh, you meant the dog.”

  They laughed. Caroline rolled her eyes. Her knees stiffened as they chatted, the ladies imparting the news that they were just arrived in Bath. From Colchester. Naturally, their proximity to Jack’s own home must be discussed. Had he been to St. Edmundsbury Cathedral?

  Caroline held in a groan.

  Was this Miss Grey and Miss Matthews’s first time to Bath? It wasn’t? How fortunate. This was his first visit, but he was remarkably pleased. Perhaps they would meet again at one of the assemblies.

  “I love dogs,” the lower-pitched one said again. Ormonde whined happily. She must be petting him. Traitor.

  “You’re too kind to him. I warn you, he’s flighty in his attentions to ladies.”

  Flighty, indeed.

  “Enjoy the rest of your walk,” Jack told them. “I’d offer to accompany you, but I’ve left a book somewhere—no, I’ll soon find it, and in any case I must be heading back. Thank you, it’s been a pleasure.”

  With many goodbyes and protestations of goodwill, they moved off. Caroline peeked over the wall and found Jack smiling guiltily at her. “A pleasure, was it?” she asked.

  He leaned over to brush grass from her shoulder. “Weren’t they kind? Need a hand over?”

  “I don’t know. Did you find your book?”

  “Think it’s lost forever.” He held out his hands. Gripping his forearms, Caroline scaled the wall, swung her legs over the top, but held back when Jack tried to lift her down. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask to kiss either of them.”

  Jack shook his head. “Two is too many to handle. And if I was to pick one, how would I choose? Very awkward for the other one.”

  “They’d probably be happy to take it in turns,” Caroline said, shaking out her skirts. Ormonde, thinking this was a new game, jumped up, pawing at her flounce.

  “Are you going to come down?” Jack spread his hands. “At least they didn’t see you. You don’t want rumors flying all over Bath.”

  Caroline sniffed. “Certainly not.” But it was lowering, seeing how easily women fell into his lap.

  He took her by the waist. Caroline let him lift her off the ledge and, in spite of all her silent admonishing, her heart took off at a run. This close, it was hard to stand properly; the tendency to list against him was so strong.

  He cleared his throat, picking a twig from her hair. “You look like some sort of forest creature.”

  “There’s a caterpillar on your sleeve,” she told him.

  “So there is.” Carefully, he coaxed the furry inchling onto his finger and lifted him to the wall. “There’s a good fellow. Done being cross?” he asked, flicking a glance at her.

  “I’m not cross, I’m jealous.” And she lost all claims to dignity when she spoke with that note of pleading.

  He kissed her nose and then her lips. “Mmm. I like you. So kind to my vanity.”

  Caroline nudged him with her hip. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “I didn’t think so. He bent to brush the moss off the back of her skirts. “There. Decent enough to appear in company. Shall we go?”

  Caroline accepted Ormonde’s leash and took Jack’s arm with her free hand. They walked out of the wood, blinking in the bright sunshine. The town spread before them, encroaching on the slopes rising from the river.

  Jack bent his head to hers. “I could never think of kissing another lady when my head is full of you.”

  Caroline squeezed his arm, but all she could say was, “We’d better hurry. Or we’ll be late for luncheon.”

  * * *

  By the time they returned to Camden Place, Jack was pleased to see that most of the creases had fallen from Caroline’s skirts. Only their unconscionable tardiness might draw comment from Lady Lynher.

  “I hadn’t realized we’d be gone so long,” Caroline whispered to him as they climbed the stairs. “Let me make our excuses to Grandmama.”

  To their surprise, none were required. Their appearance in the sitting room caused barely a pause. The dowager countess was entertaining.

  “Caroline. Dr. Edwards. I hope you enjoyed your walk. Come sit down. Or find something to eat if you are hungry.” Waving vaguely at the sideboard loaded with cakes, cold meats, fruit, and cheese, she resumed her conversation with Henrietta. There was enough food laid out for a dozen, and if she didn’t have quite that many guests, she was close.

  From the sofa, Henrietta sent him a triumphant glance. Jack tried quelling her with a look, but she only raised her eyebrows at him. What on earth were she and Percy doing here? The few words he caught told him she was recounting how he’d brought her boys through their influenza.

  Too embarrassed to interrupt, he moved to the sideboard.

  “Forgive me, Grandmama,” Caroline said. “Had I known we were expecting guests, I would have been more prompt. But the woods were lovely and—”

  From the corner of his eye, Jack saw an elderly lady in plum taffeta giving Caroline the once-over. He added a pear, some cheese, and cold ham to his plate, glad his efforts restoring her hair and gown would defeat all but the closest scrutiny. But as they’d come into town, Caroline had noticed a bruise on his neck only partially concealed by his neckcloth. He walked to a seat, keeping that side to the wall.

  His weight on the sofa startled General Rockwell, who snorted, blinked, and pretended he’d not been sleeping. “I hear your sister’s given Rushford an heir?”

  “And a daughter,” Jack said. Jane was the elder of the two. Lately, it was hard to keep track of all the children: Percy and Henrietta’s three boys, little Ollie Bagshot, Laura’s Jane and Crispin, Emily Beaumaris, and Lady Fairchild's famously stubborn three-year-old Kate.

  “Good for your business,” General Rockwell grunted.

  “I suppose so,” Jack replied, merely to be agreeable. He attended those of the family who lived in Suffolk, but—

  “She still a looker?” General Rockwell asked.

  “Pardon?
” Jack stared.

  “Your sister. The actress.” He chuckled.

  Jack’s fingers tightened around the edge of his plate. Rockwell was probably one of many idiots who’d frequented Laura’s dressing room back in the day. “Mrs. Rushford is—”

  “In excellent health, last we saw her,” Percy Arundel put in. “And I believe you had a letter from her just yesterday?”

  “She’s an excellent correspondent,” Jack said, taking his cue.

  “We all miss her,” Henrietta added. “Lady Lynher, do you attend this Thursday’s Fancy Ball?”

  The countess shook her head. “I think not. So much fuss and bother. I came to Bath to rest, not wear myself ragged.”

  “What a pity. I’m sure we’ll be there.” Henrietta smiled at Jack and her husband. “Perhaps your granddaughter?”

  Caroline glanced at Jack. “I couldn’t go without my grandmother. But it’s kind of you to think of me.” She took a place beside the lady in plum taffeta and didn’t look at him again. Jack cleared his plate, waiting for a chance to speak with her. It didn’t come. When at last Henrietta and Percy rose to take their leave, Jack stood with them, giving formal thanks to the dowager countess and to Caroline for giving him her company. All he got in return was a smile and a nod.

  Jack pressed his lips together. So he was good enough on his own, but not in company?

  “That general. What a rudesby!” Henrietta grumbled on the walk home. “Chortling over Laura to your face. I could have dumped my tea all over him.”

  “It’s nothing new,” Jack reminded her. It was good for him to remember that no matter what Caroline permitted in private, he was not an acceptable match for her. He worked for a living, and his sister had spent years on the London stage. Caroline had made her opinions clear. If she couldn’t have someone rich and political, like Sir Robert, she’d stay a spinster.

  Jack remembered that story. Fellow had broken his neck trying to ride a horse up a flight of stairs. Well, if she wanted a fool, she could have one anytime she pleased. He wasn’t a pet to come when called—not that she often succeeded with Ormonde. He might be sunk up to his ears he was so infatuated with her, but he couldn’t respect a lady foolish enough to prefer a man like that. It hurt, mostly because he’d thought better of her. Though Jack knew in society’s eyes he was no catch, pride and his own sense of competence wouldn’t let him rate himself below the blockheaded Sir Robert Symes.

  He liked what he’d made of himself. It was time to stop wallowing. He would write Dr. Fielding tomorrow. His patients needed him.

  “Let’s go out for a drive tomorrow,” Percy suggested, breaking the silence.

  “Excellent idea,” Jack said. He’d still have time for his letters. “It will be a fine thing for the boys.”

  * * *

  Caroline was uneasy after Jack left. They’d hardly spoken—but they couldn’t, not after arriving together in front of so many. She wasn’t ready for stares, for whispers linking them together. Still, his stiff manner as he left and the irksome comments of General Rockwell were by no means reassuring. Next morning, she set out to call in the Royal Crescent with Ormonde. Jack and the Arundels were not at home. By dinner, she was growing anxious.

  “Missing your beau?” Grandmama asked between spoonfuls of soup.

  “A little.”

  Grandmama pursed her lips. “You spent all morning with him yesterday. Doesn’t do to seem too eager. That’s why I said we’d miss the ball.”

  “But you invited him and the Arundels for luncheon,” Caroline said. “If you keep blowing hot and cold at him—”

  “That’s what you’re supposed to do. That’s what flirting is. Your mother was never any good at it, but you’d have thought she’d make some effort to teach you.”

  “When I was six?”

  Grandmama set down her spoon. “I suppose not. But you may wish to examine how much you like him.”

  She didn’t know. Even still, she shouldn’t have been scared into snubbing him like that.

  “Please excuse me. I’m not hungry.” Caroline rose from the table, leaving in a fanfare of clinking china.

  She called again in the Royal Crescent, but only visited briefly with Lady Arundel, who was stiffly polite at the start of the visit but eventually warmed. She told Caroline that Jack and Percy had gone riding, then introduced her sons. “They are pretty stout now,” she said, “but we had quite a time of it.”

  The next day Caroline spent at home. She had letters from Uncle Warren asking after Grandmama and one from Kit, suggesting that now Grandmama was settled Caroline may wish to return to London. He’d made a new acquaintance, the MP Richard Snaring, who’d expressed a wish to meet her. Caroline penned a pungent reply—she was no horse to be looked over!—and sent it with the post. By dinner, she was despondent, regretting her harsh letter to Kit and her coldness to Jack, who’d probably renewed his acquaintance with the ladies he’d met in the wood.

  She didn’t know how to flirt, not well. Not like Grandmama.

  “He’s touchier than I expected,” Grandmama admitted that evening. “You may have lost him. Pity.”

  Caroline rose without a word and left to walk Ormonde. He answered her calls much better with the inducements of bits of cheese she carried in her reticule. They raced about the park and saw acquaintances aplenty, but not Jack.

  Two days later, having given up, Caroline was morosely reacquainting herself with Kit’s letters. He was making progress with Miss Clarkwell and her fortune, but Caroline couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the news. Once Kit married, he’d have no need of her at all.

  Caroline was finishing her written apology when she heard Lady Arundel in the hall. Her pen arrested mid-stroke.

  The butler, instructed that Caroline was not at home to visitors, was turning Lady Arundel away. Caroline rushed into the hall.

  “Wait! Lady Arundel!”

  “Miss Trenholme!” It was Jack.

  “They said you weren’t at home,” Lady Arundel said.

  “I was just about to go out . . . to walk Ormonde,” Caroline lied.

  “If we could detain you just a moment. We bear an invitation,” Lady Arundel said.

  “A dinner,” Jack said. “Nothing formal. Just you and Lady Lynher and ourselves. I’m sorry I missed your call the other day.” His face was solemn, but he looked at, not around her. “Perhaps afterward, we could attend the concert. Are you free next Wednesday?”

  “I’d like that. We have no plans that evening.”

  Then, because she’d said she was leaving, she had to wish them good day. But she couldn’t help smiling like an idiot or the fluttering that took hold of her when Jack’s face softened and did the same.

  “Come walking again with me?” she whispered.

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere. The woods, the Pump Room, the park . . .”

  The etching between his eyes dissolved. She’d done something right.

  “Tomorrow.” He collected Henrietta, who was humming beside the front door, but he looked back once more as he left. The moment the door shut, Caroline mounted the stairs, flying into her grandmother’s sitting room.

  “We’re invited for dinner. Before the concert. I hope you are in the mood for music,” Caroline said.

  Grandmama took off her spectacles and closed her book, studying Caroline for an uncomfortable minute, her withered lips finally spreading in a smile. “This is with Dr. Edwards.”

  Caroline drew in a breath. “Yes.”

  Her grandmother patted the seat beside her. Caroline took it, letting Grandmama brush back a strand of her hair, rubbing her knuckles over Caroline’s cheek. “I’m glad, darling.”

  * * *

  That week, she and Jack walked—with Ormonde, with Lord Arundel, with two of the three young boys, with Lady Arundel, who informed Caroline it was thanks to her persuasion that Jack had called again.

  “Henrietta! You must keep some of my secrets!” Jack groaned.

  They walked
in the wood. Caroline asked him about his work and learned he’d put off his return another fortnight. “I’m busy enough I could take Dr. Fielding into partnership. He’s considering the idea, so I’ll let him alone a little longer.”

  They walked the circuit in the Pump Room, snickering together as young ladies fled from General Rockwell. The Bath tabbies swallowed their words when Caroline and Jack walked by arm in arm, but Caroline was too happy to mind.

  Grandmama played cards in the evening with Jack, sent him and Caroline on spurious errands, reminisced with him of the France she had known in her youth—with her, he spoke freely of the gilded world he had known. Again and again, Caroline’s heart broke for him.

  “I like your Dr. Edwards,” Grandmama said one evening as Caroline helped her to bed. She was overtired but talking excitedly. “We must decide what dress you’ll wear to Lady Arundel’s dinner. Do you have anything pink?” Quieter, almost to herself, she mumbled, “It always looks well on young girls in love.”

  Caroline could have contradicted her. But she didn’t.

  Chapter Six

  Caroline must have tried on every one of her gowns twice before choosing, on the very eve of the concert, a dress of warm-toned red net. It had a wide band of flowers worked in paisley at the hem and a fringe the color of old gold.

  “Very handsome,” her grandmother agreed, surveying Caroline in the long mirror.

  “I’m not eighteen,” Caroline said, feeling some justification was needed.

  “True. Come with me.” Picking up her stick, Grandmama led Caroline into her own dressing room. “Bring out my box,” she ordered her maid. Motioning Caroline onto the low velvet bench beside her, she patted her knee. “You take after your father, you know. He was the handsomest of my children, but so stuffy.” Caroline looked at her grandmother through the mirror, wiry and tough, but not as baffling as before. Grandmama cared for her much more than she’d known or previously cared to discover.

  “Thank you for agreeing to this dinner,” Caroline said.

  Grandmama dismissed this with a sniff. “I’ve always loved a good party. Say what you will about Lady Arundel and her connections, they know how to have fun. Edwards is . . . Well, I like him.” She straightened, giving her shoulders a shake as her maid set down the jewelry box in front of her. “I must have something here that will go with that dress.”