Mayhem in Bath (7 page)

Hordwell looked up hastily from his newspaper. “Stolen? Surely not.” He looked inquiringly at Giles. “Has something occurred?”

“Yes, sir.” As the footman explained about the trouble discovered in the mews that morning, Polly knew instinctively that Bodkin’s hand lay behind it. She also knew that the brownie wouldn’t have stolen any harness, just hidden it somewhere. Oh, Bodkin, she thought with an inward sigh. She had been racking her brain as to how to find him, and now it seemed the mews might be the best place to start. Failing that, she would visit every pastry shop in Bath, for Bodkin was almost certain to take himself along to one or another of them. Probably Zuder’s, since that was the one he would have passed at journey’s end yesterday.

While Polly’s thoughts rambled around Bodkin’s probable activities, Hordwell was concerned that his property might have received some unwelcome attention. “What of my vehicle, Giles? Is all well with it?”

“It escaped attention, sir.”

“Excellent.” The matter in the mews ceased to be of any consequence, and Hordwell resumed his breakfast.

The footman withdrew from the room, and as Polly poured herself some coffee, her glance was drawn out of a window that faced along the crescent. Sir Dominic Fortune had just emerged from his house to mount a fine bay thoroughbred brought around from the mews by a groom. She paused with the silver coffee pot suspended above her cup, unable to help surveying him appreciatively from head to toe. He wore a pine green riding coat and white breeches, with a green silk neck cloth, pale gray waistcoat, and top hat, and he flexed his fingers in his tight gloves as he prepared to mount.

Polly felt her cheeks go warm and pink. She still thought he was horrid, so
why
did she also find him so devastating? It was a paradox. She hadn’t realized he could see into the room as easily as she could see out, but to her huge dismay, he suddenly looked directly at her, doffed his hat, and swept her a scornful bow. Embarrassment swept hotly over her, and she declined to acknowledge him as with a shaking hand she continued to pour the coffee. A few moments later the clatter of hooves echoed as he rode past, and although she stole a surreptitious glance, he did not look again. The omission annoyed her, which was another paradox.

Hordwell finished his gargantuan breakfast and folded his napkin. “Well, that will keep me going,” he declared.

“It will keep your gout going, too,” she replied.

“What an acid tongue you have, to be sure,” he grumbled.

“It’s no more than you deserve.”

“I begin to pity poor Lord Benjamin!”

“Lord Benjamin? Why? What has he to do with this?”

“He’ll be acquiring a veritable nag when he marries you.”

She stiffened. “I keep telling you, I’m not going to be his wife,” she replied.

“My dear, as your guardian, it is within my power to
arrange
your marriage.”

She stared at him. “You wouldn’t!” she breathed. There was no reply, so she spoke again. “Is that what you intend to do. Uncle?
Force
me into a marriage I abhor?”

He sighed. “Polly, can’t you see that this a very advantageous match?”

“Advantageous?
For whom? Lord Benjamin, I fancy, for his are the empty coffers!”

“You would have a title.”

“Not much of one.”

“At the very least, be civil about Lord Benjamin when you are enjoying his hospitality.”

“I’m not
enjoying
anything. Uncle, indeed I’m only here because you insisted. I would much prefer to take a room at one of the hotels in town.”

“That matter has already been discussed. I will not permit you to stay elsewhere.”

No, in case you have to pay, she thought angrily, buttering a slice of toast. He wouldn’t be obliged to meet her bill, for she had more than sufficient funds in her allowance, but the dread of having to dip into his purse was always uppermost in his mind.

Hordwell exhaled heavily. “You’re a very trying creature, Polly. Most young women would leap at the chance of marrying into the nobility.”

“I see nothing noble about Lord Benjamin Beddem,” she retorted.

He felt it would be wise to change the subject. “I, er, presume you mean to accompany me to Claverton Down later?” he asked, deliberately changing the thorny subject.

“To the review? Yes, of course, if that is what you wish.”

“Good, for I’ve taken the liberty of sending a note to the Gotenuvs, informing them that you will accompany me at their luncheon party.”

“Informing them? Isn’t that a little brazen? Surely you should have made a polite request?”

“Nonsense. The count is a very close acquaintance of Lord Benjamin’s, and since you are a guest here as well as the future Lady—” He broke off hastily, not wishing to start another confrontation.

Polly gave him a look, then bit into her toast.

He cleared his throat. “I, er, trust you will drive to the Pump Room with me in the meantime?”

“Yes, that too, if you wish.”

“I do, and have already canceled my sedan chair and ordered the carriage in readiness. Oh. by the way, I also wish you to accompany me to the ball at the Assembly Rooms tomorrow night.”

She was dismayed. “But I haven’t brought a ball gown with me!”

“That is easily remedied. A courier will await your instructions this afternoon. All you have to do is write a list of exactly what you want, send it with him to Horditall House, and the maids there will pack it all. The courier will then bring everything back here.”

She relaxed a little, but only a little. “Didn’t you say the Duke and Duchess of York are to be present? Uncle, my gowns are hardly grand enough for royalty. I really should have a new—”

“Nonsense, you look exquisite in all your togs,” he interrupted hastily, glancing at the longcase clock at the far end of the room. His chair scraped as he grabbed his walking sticks and rose quickly to his feet. “Do be swift, my dear, for one is supposed to drink the water between eight and nine, and it’s half past eight now. Ah, there’s the carriage now.”

She got up quickly. “I’ll put on my spencer and bonnet,” she said, and gathered her skirts to hurry from the room.

The carriage was not the only thing at the curb outside 1 Royal Crescent, for Bodkin was there too, albeit invisibly. The brownie had been up for some time, first observing with great pleasure the havoc he’d caused with his overnight mischief, and then taking a leisurely honey breakfast in his hayloft. After that he’d left the stable to start searching for Nutmeg, but just as he emerged into the sunlight, he recognized Hordwell’s second carriage being driven out of the coach house pertaining to 1 Royal Crescent. Its presence could only mean that Polly had followed him to Bath, in the process leading him to the very house in which to find Nutmeg! Delighted, Bodkin ran after the carriage, jumped aboard, and held on tightly as it swung out of the mews on its way to the front of the crescent. As it swayed to a standstill, the brownie climbed down again and stood looking at the house. After a minute or so, the front door opened, and Polly emerged with Hordwell, who was hobbling on his walking sticks. Bodkin’s eyes sharpened, for Polly was smiling and clearly not at odds with her uncle as she assisted him down the steps toward the waiting vehicle. The brownie stared at her in dismay. She’d taken Hordwell’s side! She
approved
of what had been done to Nutmeg!

Feeling too betrayed to even howl with boggart fury. Bodkin edged past them and slipped into the house.

Chapter 9

Dominic had ridden to the Pump Room, in the certain hope that Georgiana and her duke-to-be would also go there, because it was
the
place to be seen in the mornings. Set right in the heart of Bath, alongside the abbey, the room was a splendidly elegant place, with harmonious and restful pale blue walls and exquisite cream-and-gold decorations. Great Ionic columns soared up to the high ceiling, and there were curved recesses at either end, in one of which stood a fine longcase Tompion clock that had been made especially for the premises. There was a clatter of crockery at the numerous little tables, and above the babble of polite conversations the small orchestra in the gallery could just be heard. A flower woman was selling the little herbal nosegays that were all the vogue this year, and which she had successfully pressed upon most of the gathering.

The famous water, which had an unpalatably rusty taste, was served at a counter by a young woman in a crisply starched mob-cap and apron, who had pyramids of gleaming glasses arranged before her. It was expected of everyone that they should drink three glasses of the water, and then take tea while endeavoring to appreciate the daily concert on the gallery. It was a dreadful press of chattering groups, both large and small, a sizable number of unfortunates in wheelchairs, and numerous hobbling persons on walking sticks and crutches, all of whom made Dominic’s progress quite hazardous as he threaded his way around in search of Georgiana.

Suddenly he saw her. She and her uniformed dukeling were at the water counter, receiving their first glasses. Transfixed, Dominic gazed adoringly at the object of his affections. How breathtaking she was, with her raven hair, melting dark eyes, and matchless profile. As was the latest vogue, she had fixed false white curls to her coiffure, and they looked perfect beneath the wide brim of her stylish orange silk hat. Her silk pelisse and gown were orange too, and there were pearls at her creamy throat. She was engaged upon the subtle art of flirtation, employing a nosegay to tickle Lord Algernon Lofty’s receding chin, which fond attention was doing very little for his allergy to flowers.

Dominic’s expression soured as he looked at the future Duke of Grandcastle. The twenty-six year old Marquess of Hightower was a tall, exceedingly thin young man, with straight mouse-colored hair, small brown eyes, and a receding chin. When not in uniform, he possessed a taste in fashion that verged on the theatrical on account of his delight in vivid colors. His partiality for a fearsome shade of mauve was often much discussed, but Bath was being spared today, for he was in uniform. However, the regimentals of the Duke of York’s Own Light Dragoons, while splendid on the likes of Harry Dashingham, somehow contrived to make Hightower seem more lanky and chinless than ever. The duke-to-be was not a pretty sight, and his claim to intelligence was questionable to say the least, but Georgiana—at her most kittenish—treated him as if he were the most handsome, romantic and witty fellow in the world.

Jealousy washed hotly through Dominic as his rival’s sneezes rang out above the general racket of the room. Hightower was a fool, and grand title or not, surely Georgiana must realize by now how desperately unhappy she would be with such an article. Or was ambition truly her be-all and end-all? It was time to let her see what she was throwing away in favor of his future dukedom!

Taking a deep breath, Dominic pushed his way toward his goal, and Georgiana turned, almost as if she sensed his approach. Her dark eyes flickered, and her lips parted, then she seized Hightower’s arm so violently that his glass of water splashed over his uniform. Her intention was to hurry him away in the opposite direction, but all she achieved was his yelp of horror as he hastily drew out a lace-edged handkerchief to mop his elaborately braided blue jacket.

In that second Dominic was upon them both, sweeping a gallant bow, before drawing her little brown-gloved hand to his lips. “Lady Georgiana, what an unexpected pleasure.” He straightened and nodded coolly at her companion. “Hightower.”

Lord Algernon’s small brown eyes swung toward him. “Fortune,” he muttered with equal brevity, and then continued his mopping up. He knew Dominic was Georgiana’s previous lover, and disliked him accordingly.

Georgiana looked fit to have the vapors, for Dominic was the very last person she wished to encounter, but she managed a weak smile. “Why, Sir Dominic, I quite forgot you were here in Bath,” she declared with monstrous untruthfulness.

Dominic didn’t know what to say next, for her dismayed reaction wasn’t at all what he’d hoped. By presenting himself unexpectedly like this, he’d wanted to startle her into realizing he was the one for her. The opposite seemed more the case.

She recovered a little and took out her scented handkerchief to dab at the marquess’s soaked uniform. Dominic was subjected to a cross look. “That was ill done, sir,” she declared accusingly.

Taken aback, Dominic stared at her. “Ill done? I... I don’t understand ...”

“Of course you do, sirrah. How
could
you startle me like that? There was no need, no need at all! Now look what you’ve done to poor Algie’s regimentals.”

Dominic’s face was a study, but he allowed her to get away with it. “I apologize, Lady Georgiana, but in truth I did not mean to alarm you.”

“Nevertheless, that is precisely what you did.”

He didn’t reply, for although he loved her to distraction, he wasn’t going to apologize again!

She colored a little, and while the marquess’s attention remained upon things sartorial, she decided to be a little cruel to Dominic, suddenly smiling at him in a most yearningly seductive way. Her lovely dark eyes promised every delight under the sun—and between the sheets—but her words were politely conversational for the marquess’s benefit. “Have you been in Bath long, Sir Dominic?”

“I arrived yesterday. Lady Georgiana,” he replied, plunging joyfully into her gaze. She
did
love him, she did!

“Are you going to Claverton Down to see the Duke and Duchess of York review Algie’s regiment?” she asked then.

“Of a certainty I am, and the ball the day after. As to the regiment, it was mine, too, remember?” he added.

“Was it?” Her eyes were wide and innocent as she went on. “What of the Halloween festivities in Sydney Gardens?”

“Halloween festivities?”

“There is to be a bonfire, fireworks, and all manner of other entertainments. Fancy dress isn’t mandatory, although it
is
rather expected, and dressing up is so much more fun than ordinary togs, don’t you agree?”

“Er, yes, I suppose I do.”