by Louise Allen
‘I find the hills exhausting and I have the greatest sympathy for the poor chairmen when I am forced to use their services,’ Violet said with a rich chuckle. ‘We will go to the Assemblies and concerts, of course.’ She favoured Ivo with her warm smile and Jane could almost see him hit by the force of it. Her cousin was a lovely woman.
If the gentlemen could only stop thinking that willowy females in fashionable gowns were the sole image of perfection, Violet would have an abundance of suitors, she thought.
Ivo put down his cup, refused more tea and turned to Jane as he stood. ‘Would tomorrow afternoon be convenient? You have no objection to a phaeton with a groom in attendance, Miss Lowry?’
‘That would be perfect,’ Violet replied before Jane could say anything. ‘About two o’clock? Delightful. Do allow me to show you out, Lord Kendall.’
She swept back in a few moments later. ‘Well!’
‘Well indeed! Whatever were you thinking of, Violet?’
‘Thinking of? Why, your parents will be in ecstasies if you can attach Lord Kendall—you will be quite forgiven.’
‘The man is an earl. He is the heir to a marquess. Whatever the reason for his call, it is certainly not to court me. Besides, I have no desire to find a husband, even if Ivo Merton were not quite impossible anyway.’
‘Ivo, is it?’ Violet, normally the most sensible of women, produced something perilously close to a simper. ‘And I cannot believe you do not want a husband.’
‘You seem to do excellently well without one,’ Jane said, goaded into frankness.
‘I have money,’ Violet said simply. ‘An independence.’ When Jane did not respond, she added, ‘Even if he has no intentions of that sort, it can only do your standing good to be seen escorted by Lord Kendall. It will mean you have more partners at the Assemblies and we will receive more invitations if you are seen about Bath in his company.’
‘I am sure you are right, Cousin, but please—no matchmaking. We are the merest acquaintances.’
I just happen to have seen him with his shirt off and he has kissed me...
‘Besides, I find him annoyingly self-assured.’
Violet’s response was a most unladylike snort.
* * *
Ivo returned to Merton Tower and sought out his grandfather whom he found still in the study, surrounded by piles of paperwork.
‘Is there nothing I can do to help, sir? Surely your man of business and your solicitor and your steward should all be assisting you.’
‘They are. They assist me by endlessly wanting decisions, raising problems, quibbling over detail.’ The Marquess pushed his wire-framed spectacles to the top of his head, making him look like a somewhat less amiable version of Benjamin Franklin. ‘This lot...’ he swept a hand around at the piles ‘...is what they want decisions on today.’
‘Then tell me when something arises with which I can assist.’ Encouraged, or at least not dismissed, by a grunt, Ivo sat down. ‘It is four months since my father’s death. I note you have not ordered mourning for the household.’
‘Or myself. The older I get, the less I hold with it. All that money going to pay for yard upon yard of black cloth, everyone looking like crows, people whispering disapproval behind their hands if you turn up at a party—what good does it do the deceased, I ask you? Matthew is not sitting on some celestial cloud tut-tutting at us. The sticklers soon forget to be shocked if you aren’t wearing black to remind them.’ He shot Ivo a sharp look. ‘I see you are not wearing it either.’
‘I was in uniform when the news reached me. Then, when I got back to England, I was in too much of a hurry to try and catch Miss Parris before it was too late to bother with tailors. I think I agree with you, now I consider it.’ It would be an empty conventional gesture, but that was all. He wished suddenly that he could feel some pain, some deep sense of loss, but there was just regret for a life lost needlessly.
‘Excellent. If we are not officially in mourning, then there is nothing to hinder your courting, either.’
‘No, sir.’
Ivo beat a hasty retreat to his own wing. What had come over him, offering to take Jane to Bath? The call had been to set his mind at rest that she had reached Batheaston safely and also, if he was honest with himself, to tease her a little. That was all that was necessary. He could have honestly told his grandfather that he had called on the young lady who had been causing his uncertainty and leave him to stew for a week or so while Ivo looked around, put thoughts of Daphne in the past where they belonged and found the will to consider seeking a suitable wife.
Now he was committed to escorting a young lady who was going to want to explore not the contents of Bath’s shops, but to search for empty ones. And what was he going to do if she found something? Tell her formidable cousin, he supposed, although that would feel like a betrayal. Which it should not because it would be for Jane’s own good.
Jane Newnham was a distraction. She was difficult, provoking but, unfortunately, interesting. Interesting in much the same way as one was interested in why a particular piece of music stuck in your head in a maddening manner or why Byron’s writing was so compelling when he was such an infuriating individual.
An afternoon in her company should be enough to quell that particular irritation, he decided. And, if he saw a shop with a To Let sign in the window, he would simply steer her in the opposite direction.
* * *
Most young ladies would take infinite pains before being taken for a ride by an eligible earl. Ivo knew that and knew perfectly well that such efforts would not be due to his own personal charms. However, he was ready to be suitably admiring of the result, as was expected of him. He left Robert, his groom, with the reins of the fine pair of bays he had chosen from the Tower stables and strolled down the footpath between Miss Lowry’s admirable rose beds.
He was also prepared to be kept waiting so that the lady in question could make an entrance. In consequence it was difficult to keep the surprise off his face when the front door opened and Jane stepped out when he was halfway down the garden path. She was wearing a neat but perfectly ordinary walking dress—one he recognised from their journey from London. Her bonnet was familiar, too, as were the sensible walking shoes that kicked the single flounce on the gown as she walked briskly towards him. No flirty little parasol either, he noticed. Only the reticule was different. Hopefully she had left the pocket pistol behind.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Newnham,’ he said, raising his hat and conscious of the ears on the phaeton and, probably, those behind the front door. ‘No sketch pad today?’
‘Notebook,’ she said, all brisk efficiency. ‘And good afternoon to you, Lord Kendall.’
He handed her up on to the seat where she made herself comfortable with a little wriggle and one, unfussy, twitch at her skirts.
‘What a handsome pair,’ she observed. Clearly his horses were of more interest than he was, he thought, amused at the fact he felt faintly piqued.
‘My grandfather bred them. I have to confess to finding it hard to drag myself away from the stables.’
‘Then I am to be congratulated on giving you a pretext to try these beauties,’ she said.
‘Come now, Miss Newnham, how can you believe I had any other motive than the pleasure of your company?’ He clicked his tongue at the bays and they walked on, ears pricked. They were eager, but well mannered, and with a flick of the reins he sent them into a brisk trot past the lane leading to the ferry to Bath Hampton and on towards Bathwick.
Jane laughed. ‘You, my lord, were set on teasing me by inviting me and we both know it.’ She lowered her voice, clearly conscious of Robert perched up behind. ‘But you may certainly pay for your mischief by being useful today.’
The day was fine and the road, which was the stage and Mail route, was well maintained, so they bowled along at a good pace, making suitably banal conversation. Jane
admired the view of the canal, Ivo remarked on the likely problems of flooding, both agreed that the view of Bath ahead of them, spilling down the hillside, golden in the sunshine, was very fine.
They rattled over the cobbles of Walcott Parade, swept past St Swithin’s Church and then up steep, narrow, Guinea Lane into Bennett Street. Ivo drew up in front of the Assembly Rooms and turned in the seat. ‘We will meet you here at four thirty, Robert. I will drive us down to the head of Milsom Street now and you can take them to the livery stables from there.’
‘Aye, my lord.’
‘Milsom Street? But I do not—’ Jane subsided, but as soon as they were on the pavement and Robert was driving away, she turned to Ivo, indignant. ‘You know I do not want to go shopping. Or window shopping, for that matter. And I know perfectly well that shop rents in Milsom Street will be far too expensive for me.’
‘Are you really determined on this mad scheme?’ Ivo demanded. He tucked her right hand firmly under his arm and began to stroll downhill. ‘You know perfectly well it is too much of a risk both to your reputation and to your resources.’
There was the faintest of hesitations. ‘If I can find the right premises, yes, I am determined.’
‘And what of your cousin? What are her views on the matter?’ Silence. He glanced down at an uncommunicative hat brim. ‘Have you discussed it with her?’
‘No, not yet. There is time enough when I find a suitable shop and studio.’
‘You are going to tell her, then?’ Ivo spotted a hat shop and veered towards it.
‘Of course.’ There was that hesitation again, then she rallied and found a response. ‘I can hardly catch the local stage into Bath and disappear for hours every day, can I?’
‘Quite.’ Ivo stopped in front of the shop window. He must try and reinforce the doubts he could hear in her voice. ‘That is a very handsome pink bonnet.’
‘The one with the exaggerated poke and the feather? It is rather fine.’
‘Why not go in and try it on?’ he suggested.
‘Ivo, are you trying to distract me?’
‘Just a little. It would suit you.’ And that was no lie. He found he had a desire to see that feather lying alongside her cheek.
She tipped her head to one side, studying the hat. ‘It is certain to be too expensive. Shall we explore the side streets? I do not want to be too far from Milsom Street because it is the most fashionable, so I need to find something close, but inexpensive.’
Short of throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to the Assembly Rooms, Ivo found he was helpless. Jane dived down every turning, then turnings off turnings, questing like a hound on the scent.
He put up a spirited rearguard action, taking her into parfumiers, glove shops, an establishment selling nothing but ribbons and even a coffee merchant’s, but, however diverted by pretty things, Jane was soon back on the trail.
‘Are you not becoming weary?’ Ivo asked when she paused at the bottom of Milsom Street, then plunged on towards the Abbey.
‘Not at all.’ She stopped, swung round and laughed up at him. ‘I am enjoying this.’ Worryingly, all trace of her earlier hesitation had vanished. ‘Oh, are your feet aching, my lord?’
‘No, they are not.’ Although to be honest he was thinking longingly of his oldest pair of boots and not the smart new Hessians he had ordered months ago and picked up on his way through London. They had seemed right for this expedition and now he chided himself for thinking like a park saunterer and not a practical man.
‘Fibber. Never mind, you can take a chair back up to the Assembly Rooms.’ She danced off in a flutter of hat ribbons, reticule swinging.
With a grin, Ivo followed, caught up and secured her hand again. He tucked it under his elbow in the hope of tethering her to him. ‘Be carried like a gouty old colonel? I will do no such thing.’
But Jane was not attending to him. They had emerged on to Westgate Street and she was staring at the shops opposite with rapt attention.
‘A shoe shop? We haven’t looked in any of those yet,’ he said, steering her across the road, avoiding two burly chairmen trotting towards the Abbey and a Dennett gig being driven over the cobbles with more speed than flair by a very young man.
‘No, next to it.’ Jane tugged at his arm. ‘Look.’
Beside the shoe shop was a dirty green door and a shop window perhaps ten feet in width, equally begrimed and festooned with cobwebs. A new-looking sign propped up inside read:
Premises to Let
Apply Pertwee and Forster,
4a Milk Street, Bath
Jane rattled the door handle. ‘Locked.’ On the other side was an agency for domestic servants. She hesitated, then marched into the shoe shop.
‘May I be of service, madam?’ The assistant was about thirty with very white hands, pomaded hair and improbably tight trousers. Ivo wondered how he ever managed to bend down to fit shoes.
‘The premises next door, the shop for rent. Do you know how large it is?’
‘Oh, the old snuff shop? Minute, madam. Positively Lilliputian. Just the width of the front and, as you can see from the angle of our wall, it hardly comes any further back.’
Both Jane and Ivo turned to see what he meant. Once inside the shoe shop the space opened up and it looked as though the old snuff shop had either been there first and been built around or had taken a bite out of the larger establishment.
‘Old Mr Flowers owned both. When he died one nephew got these premises and several more in the street and the other, who was out of favour, only got the snuff shop. And he will not sell to us out of spite.’ The assistant made a complicated sound of disapproval.
‘Thank you so much.’ Jane smiled at the man and Ivo held the door for her. ‘Oh, dear. It sounds as though the owner may be a difficult person to deal with,’ she said as they regained the pavement.
‘Absolutely,’ Ivo agreed. ‘He probably enjoys having it empty and blighting the other properties to spite his relative. Come and have a Sally Lunn,’ he suggested. ‘The bakery is just across there by the Abbey, as I recall.’
Jane did not appear to have heard him, or perhaps the idea of a hot buttery treat did not appeal. ‘The front is perfect,’ she said, as though to herself. ‘The location is excellent and the rent must be cheap, surely. It would not be advertised if the owner would refuse all offers.’ She opened her reticule and noted down the agent’s address.
‘No,’ Ivo said with all the authority he could muster. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘But...’ Jane turned and looked up at him, those hazel eyes wide within their sweep of lashes, and something inside him seemed to contract sharply.
Her eyes were her best feature and well she would know it, he told himself firmly. She probably practised that appealing look in front of the mirror every morning. Then he realised he was swaying towards her, mesmerised. ‘And stop gazing at me with those stricken eyes. I know you well enough not to be beguiled by you fluttering your lashes at me.’
‘Fluttering my lashes?’ The appealingly puzzled expression vanished to be replaced with indignation. ‘You think that I am trying to flirt with you to make you do what I want? You... You beast.’ She gave his arm a slap with her reticule. ‘And I hope that hurt!’
Behind Ivo a deep voice growled, ‘This cove bothering you, young lady?’
Chapter Eight
Ivo swung round and behind him Jane saw that two burly chairmen had stopped and were frowning at them.
For some reason she had never understood, Bath chairmen tended to be Irish. By virtue of their occupation they were large, strong and well-muscled and by temperament they must be respectfully attentive to ladies or they would soon be out of business.
This pair seemed to be chivalrous into the bargain. They grounded their chair and shrugged out of the carrying straps, clearly preparing to rescue her.
&nbs
p; ‘Bothering me? I—’ She had no chance to explain that she was perfectly safe, simply frustrated by her escort’s attitude, because Ivo squared his shoulders and stepped between her and her would-be rescuers.
‘My sister is upset because I will not allow her to waste her money on expensive fripperies. There is no cause for you to concern yourselves. She is perfectly all right. Thank you for your concern.’
‘I am not his sister.’ She side-stepped around Ivo and smiled at the chairmen. Their frowns deepened into scowls directed at Ivo and she realised that she had made everything much, much worse. ‘But—’
‘You heard what the lady said,’ the larger of the two men said, shifting closer to Ivo. ‘Sister, is it? You move along and stop troubling her. We’ll take you where you want to go and see you safe inside, miss, never you fear. And no charge neither. Don’t hold with these bucks harassing nice young ladies, we don’t.’
‘I am not a buck and I am not harassing her.’
All three men seemed to grow in size as they squared their shoulders and drew themselves up. Any moment now Ivo was going to lose his temper and fists would fly. The odds against him were not as bad as the last time, but really, she could not allow him to get into another fight—this time on her account.
‘Ivo, dear.’ He turned and looked at her as though she had burst into song or was speaking Russian. Jane ignored him and smiled sweetly at the chairmen. ‘He is not my brother, he is my...’ What would be less inflammatory? ‘He is my intended. He was being discreet because it is a secret, you see. And I fear I am very expensive in my tastes and I was trying to wheedle such a pretty pair of shoes from him. Those blue ones on the left, you see? Irresistible.’ She managed a giggle as she slipped her hand under Ivo’s arm, feeling the tense, bunched muscles relax slightly. ‘Thank you so much, gentlemen, for your concern, but—’
‘I say, Merton! No, I mean Kendall!’ A chubby blond gentleman was hailing Ivo from across the street. ‘Didn’t know you were back down here,’ he added as he strode over to join them, dodging around the sedan chair. ‘Should have thought, what with your father, of course you’d be at the Tower.’
