Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations - Sarah Mallory - Страница 11

Chapter Two

‘Good morning, sir. Her ladyship’s compliments, she hopes you will be able to break your fast with her this morning.’

Richard groaned at his valet’s determinedly cheerful greeting. It was not that Fritt had woken him, nor a sore head that caused him to mutter an invective as he sat up in bed, but the memory of last night’s events. Had he really signed his name to that foolish wager? He had obviously been more drunk than he realised because he had allowed his dislike of Sir Charles Urmston to get the better of him. It was too late to cry off now, it was against his code of honour to renege on a bet. Damn the man, even the memory of Urmston’s self-satisfied smile had Richard fuming. The valet gave a little cough.

‘As time is pressing, sir, I have brought your shaving water. I thought we might make a start...’

‘Surely it can’t be that pressing,’ retorted Richard. ‘Where is my coffee?’

‘Beside your bed, sir, but her ladyship is always in the breakfast room by nine and it is nearly eight o’clock now...’

‘For Gad this is an unholy hour,’ grumbled Richard. ‘What time did I get to bed?’

‘I think it must have been about four, sir. Would you like me to inform her ladyship that you are indisposed?’

‘You know that’s impossible. She doesn’t ask much of me, so I must do this for her.’ Richard swallowed his coffee in one gulp. ‘Very well, let us get on with it.’

He jumped out of bed, yawning but determined. He owed this much to Sophia. She had stood by him when the rest of the family had wanted him to disown his brother and he would never forget it.

‘Hypocrites, the lot of ’em,’ she had told him when the scandal broke. ‘The Arrandales have always had skeletons in their cupboards. Why should they object so much to yours? My door is always open to you Richard. Remember that.’

He had been just seventeen at the time and grateful for her support. She had neither judged nor censured his conduct, even when he left Oxford and took London by storm, embarking upon a frantic round of drinking, gambling and women. No, she had not tried to stem his outrageous behaviour; it was in his blood, his father had told him as much. Everyone knew the Arrandales spread scandal and mayhem wherever they went. He plunged his head into the bowl of warm water on the washstand. He would stay in Bath just as long as Sophia needed him.

* * *

An hour later Richard walked into the breakfast room, washed, shaved and dressed in his morning coat of blue superfine. His great-aunt was already sitting at the table.

‘Good morning, Sophia.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘You are looking very well this morning.’

‘Which is more than can be said for you,’ she retorted. ‘I’m surprised that man of yours let you out of your room dressed in that fashion.’

Richard laughed.

‘Are my shirt points not high enough for you?’

The Dowager Marchioness of Hune gave an unladylike snort.

‘They are more than high enough. I can’t abide the fashion for collars so high and stiff men can’t move their heads, they look like blinkered horses! No, ’tis your neckcloth. Too plain. Not a scrap of lace. Your father wore nothing but the finest Mechlin at his neck and wrists.’

Richard sat down at the table.

‘Well, you will have to put up with me as I am,’ he replied, unperturbed by her strictures. ‘It shows my affection for you that I am out of bed at this dashed unfashionable hour.’

‘If you did not stay up so late you would find this a very reasonable hour to be up and about.’

‘If you say so, ma’am.’

She gave him a darkling look. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how you spend your evenings.’

‘Gambling, I admit it.’ He grinned. ‘It could be worse. I am avoiding the muslin company.’

‘I should think so, after that latest scandal in town. From what I hear you were not only involved with the wife of a government minister, but with his mistress, too.’

‘Yes, that was a little complicated, I admit. So, in Bath I will stick to the gaming tables. But you may be easy, ma’am, I never gamble more than I can afford.’

He decided not to mention last night’s little wager. A mistake, that. He had no intention of joining the pack; they would be sniffing around the heiress like dogs around a bitch on heat. He hid a little grimace of distaste. He would rather lose his thousand pounds, write it off to experience. An expensive lesson and one he could ill afford, but he would not sink to that level.

‘And what are your plans for today?’

Lady Hune’s question surprised him. Generally she left him to his own devices until dinner time.

‘Why, I have none.’

‘Good. Duffy has the toothache and I am packing her off to the dentist this morning. I shall forgo my visit to the hot baths but I hoped you would accompany me to the Pump Room.’

‘With pleasure, ma’am. Shall you take the carriage?’

‘Damn your eyes, boy, I am not an invalid yet! If you give me your arm I shall manage, thank you.’

Richard quickly begged pardon, pleased that his great-aunt had recovered much of her old spirit in the two weeks he had been staying with her. When she had sent for him the tone of her letter had caused him concern and he had set out for Bath immediately. He had found the dowager marchioness prostrate on a day-bed, smelling salts clutched in one hand, but his arrival had greatly relieved her distress and she had soon been able to explain to him the cause of it. She had handed him a letter.

‘Read this,’ she commanded him. ‘It is from that ungrateful baggage, my granddaughter.’

‘Cassandra?’

‘The very same. She has turned out to be a viper in my bosom. I took her in when her parents died, gave her the best education, petted and spoiled her and this is how she repays me, by running away with a nobody.’

Richard scanned the letter quickly.

‘The signature is blotched,’ he observed, ‘As if tears were shed in the writing. Oh, damn the girl, I never thought Cassie would treat you in this way.’

‘She thinks she is in love.’

He looked up. ‘This is dated the end of July. Two weeks since!’

‘I thought at first Cassie might think better of it and come back. When she did not and my health deteriorated, Dr Whingate suggested I should have someone to bear me company, which is why I wrote to you.’ She gave a sharp crack of laughter. ‘Whingate expected me to summon poor Cousin Julia, but she is such a lachrymose female I couldn’t face the thought of having her with me.’

‘I can think of nothing worse,’ he agreed, with feeling. ‘Well, Sophia, what do you want me to do?’ he asked her. ‘Shall I go after them? I drove to Bath in my curricle but doubtless you have a travelling chaise I might use.’

The old lady shook her head.

‘No, they fled to the border, you know, and were married there. She is now Mrs Gerald Witney.’

His breath hissed out. ‘If you had sent for me immediately I might have caught up with them.’ He lifted one brow. ‘I could still find them, if you wish it, and bring her back a widow.’

‘And have her hate me for ever more? Not to mention the additional scandal. No, no, if she loves him let her go. Witney is a fool but I do not believe there is any harm in him. To bring her back would only cause more gossip. It was a seven-day wonder here in Bath of course, everyone was talking of it at first, but that has died down now.’ She sighed. ‘Her last letter said they were taking advantage of the peace to go to Paris. Cassie always wanted to travel, so I hope she is happy with her nobody.’

‘I take it you forbade the banns?’

‘Of course I did. As soon as I saw which way the wind was blowing I made enquiries, told her Witney was a penniless wastrel but she would not listen, she had already lost her heart. I did my best to confound them, with Duffy’s help, but she slipped away in the night. Laid a false trail, too, sent us careering in the wrong direction. By the time we discovered the truth they had already reached Gretna and were married.’ She scowled. ‘I have no doubt that was all Cassie’s idea, too. She is by far the more intelligent of the pair and not afraid to cause outrage!’

‘She is a true Arrandale, then.’ Richard gave a wry smile. ‘It’s in the blood, ma’am. There ain’t one of us that hasn’t caused a scandal of some sort. Why, if what they say is true, you yourself ran off with Hune.’

‘But at least he was a marquess, and rich, to boot! No, I told Cassie I would not countenance her marriage to Witney. His birth is acceptable but he has no fortune, no expectations. Not that that bothered Cassie, she fell for his handsome face. Oh, he is pretty enough, I’ll grant you, and amiable, too, but he has not a feather to fly with.’

‘Then how will they manage?’

‘She took all her jewels. She must sell them and live on that until she gains her majority next year. Then she will have a pretty penny to her name, enough to dispel any lingering gossip. They will be rich enough to be accepted everywhere. ’Tis the way of the world.’

The dowager had shed a few uncharacteristic tears then, and Richard had made his promise to stay.

Cassandra’s elopement had not been mentioned since, but it was clear that Sophia had been badly shaken by the incident and Richard was too fond of his great-aunt to abandon her until her health and spirits were fully returned. Thus it was that shortly after noon on a sunny day in late August Richard escorted Lady Hune to the famous Pump Room.

Their progress was slow, for Lady Hune was well known in Bath and they encountered many of her acquaintances, all of whom wished to stop and enquire after her health. They were distantly polite to Richard, making it very clear that he was only tolerated because of his connection to the dowager marchioness. He expected nothing else, given his reputation. After all, he was an Arrandale: they lived hard, played hard and devil take the hindmost.

* * *

The Pump Room was busy and noisy, echoing with chattering voices.

‘I know now why I have not been here since I arrived in Bath,’ muttered Richard as he led his great-aunt through the crowd. ‘The great and the good—and the not so good—gather here to gossip about and pass judgement upon their acquaintances. By George how they stare!’

‘Most likely they are wondering who my handsome escort can be.’ Sophia chuckled.

‘Oh, I know most of ’em,’ he replied bitterly. ‘It is more likely they think no son of the shamed house of Arrandale should be allowed to sully these hallowed portals, especially one whose brother was branded a murderer.’

Sophia tapped his arm with her fan. ‘Enough of that nonsense, Richard. You forget that I, too, am an Arrandale.’

‘But you married your wealthy marquess, ma’am. That lifts you out of the mire surrounding the family’s name. Look at them all. They smile now, but when trouble descends they will not hesitate to tear one apart, like hounds scenting blood, as I know only too well.’

‘Not all of them. The Wakefields, for example, are charming people. I see Lady Wakefield is here today, would you like me to introduce you?’

‘No need, I am acquainted with the son and I agree, they set no store by my wicked reputation. But they are the exception. The rest live for gossip. You told me how they all gloated over Cassie’s elopement, how can you bear to be polite to them now?’

‘Easily,’ she replied. ‘We nod and smile and return each other’s greetings with equal insincerity. Hush now, Lady Catespin is approaching.’

‘My dear Lady Hune!’ A gushing matron bore down upon them, her generous proportions swathed in yellow sarcenet and a feathered bonnet perched on her improbably black curls. Richard was forcibly reminded of a galleon in full sail and was obliged to hide a grin as his great-aunt responded to the lady’s fulsome greeting.

‘And Mr Arrandale, too, what a pleasure to see you here, sir. I heard you were in Bath, but our paths have not crossed since we met in town—when was it—Lady Whitton’s rout, I believe?’

He bowed. ‘I believe you are right, ma’am.’

The matron turned back to Lady Hune, saying with blatant insincerity, ‘It must be such a comfort to you, ma’am, to have Mr Arrandale staying with you in Royal Crescent. The house must feel so empty with poor Lady Cassandra gone.’

Sophia’s claw-like fingers dug into Richard’s arm and he covered her hand with his own, giving it a little squeeze of support.

‘Yes, Lady Cassandra has married her beau,’ he said easily. ‘We received a letter from her only the other day, did we not, Aunt? She is ecstatically happy.’

Lady Catespin blinked, her look of spurious sympathy replaced by one of surprise.

‘Oh. You...you approve of the match?’

‘We do not challenge it,’ put in Lady Hune, every inch a marchioness. ‘I might have preferred a different husband for her, but one cannot always regulate one’s affections. My granddaughter is lawfully married now, there is nothing more to be said.’

‘Ah, of course. I see.’ The wind might have been taken out of Lady Catespin’s sails, but she was not yet becalmed. ‘And you are here to support your great-aunt, Mr Arrandale. Your family is no stranger to tribulation, is it, sir, what with your brother...?’ She gave a gusty sigh and turned her eyes back to Lady Hune. ‘I am sure your great-nephew will know just how best to comfort you, my lady.’

‘He would, if I needed comfort,’ retorted Sophia, losing patience. ‘What I do need is his arm to push through the crush of gossiping busybodies one finds in the Pump Room these days!’

Lady Catespin drew back at that, flushing beetroot.

‘That’s spiked her guns,’ murmured Richard as they walked away from the speechless matron. ‘I thought you said we should merely smile and ignore their barbs?’

‘I forgot myself. Bad enough that she should goad me about Cassie, but to bring up something that happened years ago was more than flesh and blood can bear!’

Richard shrugged. ‘You have no need to rush to my defence. I have grown used to the censure, even from my own family. Everyone except you thought I was wrong to stand by my brother, ma’am.’

‘I really do not know why they were all so quick to condemn Wolfgang. Nothing was ever proved.’

‘But Father was convinced he murdered his wife. Convinced enough to try to break the entail.’

Lady Hune waved one dismissive hand. ‘Whatever Wolfgang has done he is still your brother. The world is too quick to censure, in my opinion, and in Bath they are more self-righteous than anywhere else.’

‘Dash it, Sophia, if that is the case why do you stay?’

‘For my health.’ She added with a wicked glance, ‘And the fact that I enjoy gossip as much as anyone. There is very little else to do when one is my age!’

They had reached the pump and waited silently while a bewigged-and-liveried footman dispensed a beaker of the warm water to Lady Sophia. She sipped it with obvious distaste while Richard stood patiently beside her. Glancing around the crowded room, he nodded to a few acquaintances, including a couple of gentlemen from the gambling hell. He was just wondering how much longer his great-aunt would want to remain when he heard her exclaim.

‘Ah, I was wondering if she would make an appearance today.’

‘Who, ma’am?’ He was at that moment observing a rather handsome brunette who was casting roguish looks in his direction and so did not look round.

‘Phyllida Tatham. And she has brought her stepdaughter with her.’

The heiress. Richard’s interest sharpened immediately. The dashing brunette was forgotten and his eyes moved to the door, where two ladies were hesitating on the threshold. They were both fashionably attired but his eyes were immediately drawn to the dainty blonde dressed in a cream-muslin gown with a blue spencer fastened over it. A straw bonnet rested on her golden curls, held in place by a blue ribbon, tied at a jaunty angle beneath one ear. This enhanced the startling perfection of her heart-shaped face with its straight little nose and huge, cornflower-blue eyes. Her companion was slightly taller and far less striking in a simple walking dress the colour of rose leaves with a matching cap pinned to her neat brown hair. At least, he considered her less striking until she spotted Lady Hune and a sudden, wide smile transformed her countenance. He was reminded of the sun breaking through on a cloudy day.

‘Ah, good. She’s seen me and is coming over.’

Richard stifled an exclamation. ‘That is Lady Phyllida? Why, she is scarcely older than her stepdaughter.’

‘Tatham married her almost out of the schoolroom,’ Sophia told him. ‘Nice gel, never a hint of scandal to her name, although there was no end of talk at first, because Sir Evelyn was almost in his dotage.’

‘Lady Hune.’ The widow came up and sank into a graceful curtsy before the marchioness. ‘I am very glad to find you here, for I would like to present my stepdaughter to you.’

So this was the heiress. Richard surveyed Miss Ellen Tatham with a coolly professional eye. She was certainly a beauty, from her guinea-gold curls to the dainty feet peeping out beneath the hem of her embroidered muslin. Her figure was good, her tone lively without being strident and she bore herself well, greeting Sophia with a pretty deference that he knew would please. Great heaven, even without a fortune every red-blooded male in Bath would be falling over themselves to court her!

‘...my great-nephew, Richard Arrandale.’

Sophia was presenting him to Lady Phyllida. He dragged his attention back, summoning up a careless smile as he reached for the lady’s hand. Her eyes widened, dilating as he grasped her fingers. What the devil? Richard concealed his surprise: he had not said or done anything to frighten her. She must know of his reputation, he thought as he kissed her hand and felt it tremble, but she replied calmly enough to him and stepped back to introduce her stepdaughter.

Surely the young widow could not have sole responsibility for this piece of perfection? But it appeared to be so, for even as he addressed Miss Tatham, Lady Phyllida was explaining as much to Sophia.

‘Ellen is going to live with me in Bath until the spring,’ she was saying in her soft, musical voice. ‘Then we go to London, to my sister, Lady Olivia Hapton, who is to bring Ellen out.’

‘And will you return to Bath afterwards, Lady Phyllida?’ asked Sophia.

‘Perhaps, I have not considered. I moved here so that I might have Ellen with me. I thought we could enjoy a little society while she continued her education through the winter.’

‘Philly—that is,’ Ellen corrected herself with a mischievous look, ‘Stepmama has kindly organised lessons for me in singing, dancing and Italian. Of course I learned all those things at school, but one can always improve.’

‘Indeed, it is never too late to improve oneself,’ agreed Sophia. Richard felt rather than saw the look she cast at him. ‘No doubt you will be attending the balls and concerts, too?’

‘Oh, yes, ma’am. That is all part of my education, ready for my come-out in London next year.’

* * *

‘A very pretty-behaved child,’ opined Sophia when Lady Phyllida led her stepdaughter away a short while later. ‘Pretty face, too.’

‘Exceptional,’ agreed Richard. ‘A veritable diamond.’

‘She has everything,’ continued Sophia slowly. ‘She is handsome, of good birth and has a considerable fortune, just like—’

She broke off as an elderly gentleman approached and Richard stood back, lost in thought as they conversed. He guessed what she had been about to say.

Just like Cassandra.

Sophia was clearly on good terms with the widow and inclined to approve of her stepdaughter. Thank heaven she did not know about the wager!

* * *

‘So you have stolen the march on us already with the heiress.’

A soft, drawling voice intruded upon Richard’s reverie and he turned to find Sir Charles Urmston at his shoulder.

‘Quite a piece of perfection, isn’t she?’ Urmston continued, raising his glass to study Miss Tatham, who was now on the far side of the room talking with the Wakefields. ‘I had thought Miss Julia Wakefield the most attractive girl in the room, but her prettiness is quite eclipsed by Miss Tatham’s golden beauty. A fortune is always worth pursuing, but when it comes so deliciously packaged, how can one resist?’

Richard frowned. The idea of Urmston pursuing Ellen Tatham did not please him. Sir Charles was a cousin of Richard’s late sister-in-law and they had met upon occasion, but Richard had not felt any inclination to pursue the acquaintance following his sister-in-law’s premature demise eight years ago. Richard sensed a cruel and predatory nature behind Urmston’s ready smile and urbane manners. He had met his sort before, a charming man about town, befriending eager young bucks and helping them to spend their—or rather their family’s—fortune. He did not condemn Urmston for his way of life, after all a man must live.

It was no secret Urmston had bullied his wife, who had died in childbirth a year ago, along with their unborn baby. The idea of any innocent young girl being cruelly tricked into marriage and treated badly was not something Richard could condone, yet he had signed up to the wager, along with the others. His frown deepened as he considered the men who had put their signatures in the book. There was no doubt that any one of them would cold-bloodedly ruin the girl in order to win the prize money. That thought proved equally distasteful, though he knew seductions such as this were common practice. And it was not only Ellen Tatham who would suffer. A sudden vision of Lady Phyllida’s distress disturbed him and he quickly pushed it away. Good God, when had he become so fastidious? He must be getting old.

Suddenly the idea of making a play for the heiress himself seemed almost sensible. He would be doing the girl a kindness if he married her, not to mention the fact that her fortune would prove very useful. If reports were true it was sufficient for him to maintain Arrandale and still keep his own family in luxury. He had not come to Bath looking for a wife but it was expected that he would settle down one day, and if Wolf should not return it would clearly be his duty to carry on the line. Perhaps he should not let this chance slip by. He glanced across the room to where Lady Phyllida was presenting her stepdaughter to Lady Wakefield. From this distance they might have been sisters.

It would be an easy seduction. The stepmother was no dragon and he had no doubt he would easily gain her approval. After that, it would be a simple matter to win the hand and the heart of the beautiful Miss Tatham. It was of little consequence whether his heart was engaged. He would treat her well and she would be better off with him than any of the other men who would be vying for her attentions. He had no doubt he would win, by fair means or foul. After all he was a rake, wasn’t he? One of the infamous Arrandale family. And rake hell was what they did.

So now he smiled at Urmston. ‘As you say, Sir Charles, how can one resist such a beauty? I give you fair warning, this is one wager I mean to win!’

* * *

Phyllida kept her smile in place as she progressed around the Pump Room, making Ellen known to her many acquaintances, but inside her heart was racing, as were the chaotic thoughts that flew around her head until she felt quite giddy. Richard Arrandale was the last man she had expected to meet in Bath. Since marrying Sir Evelyn their paths had not crossed, but seeing him again had brought it all back, that night at Almack’s, seven years ago, when he had danced with her.

She remembered it all so clearly. He had been the most handsome young man she had ever seen, with his brown hair gleaming in the candlelight, and that laughing twinkle in his blue eyes. He was only a year or so older than Phyllida but already he had been a confident man about town, whereas she had been a tongue-tied young girl, fresh from the schoolroom and dressed in an unbecoming pink gown that her mother had thought the appropriate colour for a débutante. Her first and only Season had been a tortuous round of parties and dances, where she had been too shy and plain to attract the attention of any young man. She had spent long evenings sitting at the side of the room while the other young girls danced and laughed and enchanted their partners. Even those gentlemen who were persuaded to stand up with her quickly made their exit when they found that she was too shy to do more than blush and return monosyllabic answers to their attempts at conversation. She had told herself it did not matter, that she cared for none of them, and that was true, until she had danced with Richard Arrandale.

Phyllida had known his reputation—everyone in London was aware of it—but in her silly schoolgirl mind she had thought that she could tame him, that if only he could see past her rather plain looks he would be captivated by her goodness and would repent his wild ways.

How he must have despised her for her awkwardness, even though he had laughed and made light of it when she had moved the wrong way in the dance and collided with him. He had responded to her mistake by giving her his whole attention, smiling at her, putting her at her ease. He had looked at her, really looked, as if she was the only lady in the room. As if she mattered. At that point she had lost her heart completely. In her foolishness she had dreamed of him making her an offer, going down on one knee and declaring that he was reformed, for her sake.

All nonsense, of course. A handsome gentleman like Richard Arrandale would never be interested in a gauche schoolroom miss with mousy hair and nondescript grey-green eyes. As her newly married sister had said, when Phyllida had returned starry-eyed from Almack’s that night; ‘Men like Arrandale can turn on the charm whenever they wish. He will not even remember you tomorrow.’

And Olivia had been right. The next time Phyllida had seen Richard Arrandale in Bond Street he had not even noticed her. It had been a salutary lesson and when, a few days later Papa had told her she was to wed Sir Evelyn Tatham, she had buried her girlish dreams for ever.

Phyllida knew she had been right to do so. While she had concentrated on being a good wife to Sir Evelyn, Richard Arrandale had blazed a trail through London society like a shooting star, his outrageous behaviour discussed, condemned and dissected in the society pages of the newspapers. His name was linked with all the most dashing matrons, he attended the most riotous house parties and was thought to have lost more than one fortune at the gaming tables.

Everyone said it was only to be expected, for it was well known that his older brother had killed his wife and run away with the family jewels. Nothing had been proven, the matter had been hushed up as was the way with rich, powerful families, but everyone knew it all the same. Bad blood, they said, and Phyllida knew she should be grateful not to have attracted the notice of such a notorious rake as Richard Arrandale. But sometimes as she lay in her bed with her kind, worthy husband snoring beside her, Richard’s image would return and she could not help sighing for what might have been.

* * *

Too late had Phyllida recognised the tall figure standing beside Lady Hune in the Pump Room and recalled that the dowager marchioness was an Arrandale by birth. She was already committed to approaching, but when Richard had taken her hand and kissed it the years had fallen away and she was once again the awkward girl in her first Season, being saluted by a man who was the embodiment of her dreams.

Only, Richard Arrandale was not the heroic figure of her girlhood fantasies. She knew that only too well and looking up into his face she had seen the faint lines of dissipation about his mouth and eyes. There hung about him a world-weariness that made him seem older than his years, for he could not possibly be more than five-or six-and-twenty. Richard Arrandale was a rake and it was only his connection with Sophia, Dowager Marchioness of Hune, that made her acknowledge him and introduce him to her stepdaughter.

Phyllida took Ellen on a full circuit of the room but afterwards she could never recall just whom they had met, nor what was said. All she could remember was Richard Arrandale’s laughing eyes and the touch of his lips against her gloved hand. As she and Ellen left the Pump Room arm in arm she risked a last look back. He was still watching them, or, more correctly, he was watching Ellen.

‘What is wrong, Philly?’ Ellen stopped in the doorway and turned an anxious gaze upon her. ‘You are shivering, but it is not at all cold. Are you unwell?’

‘What? Oh, no, my love, no, not at all.’ She shook off her uneasy thoughts and summoned up a smile. ‘We elderly ladies are prone to sudden chills, you know.’

Ellen gave a little trill of laughter.

‘Very well, my aged Stepmama! I shall take you home, tuck you up in a shawl and feed you gruel.’

‘That will certainly do the trick.’

‘I hope so, because you promised we could go shopping today.’

‘Very well, let us do so immediately. It will be infinitely preferable to eating gruel,’ said Phyllida, laughing.

The sun came out at the moment and her spirits lifted. She was foolish to allow an old memory to make her so fanciful. She squeezed Ellen’s arm, quickened her step and set off for Milsom Street to indulge in a few hours of frivolous expenditure.