Читать книгу One Night with a Regency Lord - Lucy Ashford, Isabelle Goddard - Страница 14

She stood beneath the white portico of her grandmother’s house. The rain had been falling in torrents ever since she’d alighted at the White Lion Inn and she was now soaked to the skin from the brief walk to Laura Place. The weeping skies seemed an echo of her present mood. After all the obstacles and alarms she had encountered since leaving London, the final leg of her journey to Bath had been deceptively simple. Once in Wroxall she’d given Will the slip, with only a few pangs of conscience. There had been less than an hour to pass before her coach had departed and she’d found it easy to hide herself away and board the stage without anyone recognising her. Now with her escape plan almost complete, she should be flushed with excitement. Instead, she felt a dawning fear. What if her grandmother were out of town? What if Brielle were so outraged by her granddaughter’s conduct that she refused to receive her?

She stared at the ebony door with its brass lion head. In her disquiet it seemed to challenge her right to be there and she had to summon all her resolution to lift the knocker. The resulting clatter reverberated through the hall beyond. Tense minutes of silence followed. She was just lifting her hand to knock again when she heard footsteps coming towards the door and in a minute the butler’s familiar person stood before her. Horrocks was looking at her strangely, seemingly trying to puzzle out just what or who had arrived on the front steps.

‘You should go round to the back entrance,’ he said reprovingly as he took in the bedraggled figure in front of him.

‘Horrocks, it’s me, Amelie,’ she cried, pushing back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face fully.

‘Miss Amelie?’ Horrocks stared in disbelief. ‘Whatever are you doing here? Her ladyship said nothing of your coming. And where is your escort? You surely cannot be alone.’

He peered up and down the empty street in a vain search. Then, recalled to his duties, he ushered her quickly into the house. She slipped gratefully past him into the warmth of the hall. The house looked little different from the last time she’d seen it as a child, perhaps a little smaller, a little less grand.

‘Her ladyship is out this evening, Miss Amelie, but I can send a messenger to fetch her home immediately. She is only a few minutes away.’

‘No, don’t do that, Horrocks,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll wait until she gets back. I don’t imagine that she keeps very late hours.’

The butler looked grateful. ‘No, indeed. But you should get out of those wet clothes straight away. I’ll send Miss Repton to you.’

She’d never heard of Miss Repton, evidently a new addition to the household whom she supposed must be her grandmother’s dresser. Horrocks led the way upstairs to the small sitting room overlooking Laura Place. This was Brielle’s favourite retreat, even though she had a far more elegant drawing room at the back of the house with views over a surprisingly large and immaculate garden.

Miss Repton turned out to be a disapproving middle-aged woman, manicured to within an inch of her life. She looked Amelie up and down with disbelief.

‘You’ll need dry clothes, miss.’ She sniffed. ‘Where is your valise?’

‘My luggage was mislaid during my journey, Miss Repton. It will be coming on later.’

She hoped her lie would satisfy this haughty woman, but the dresser continued to gaze at her with barely concealed disdain.

‘I’ll try to find something of milady’s to fit you, but it won’t be easy.’

Amelie, unused to such disrespect from a servant, answered sharply, ‘It really doesn’t matter. If you will be so kind as to take my cloak, I will dry my dress by the fire.’

Miss Repton looked scandalised and even more so when the discarded cloak revealed Fanny’s plain, and by now, severely dilapidated dress. Amelie looked her in the eyes, challenging her to make a comment. The woman remained mute and made for the door, carefully holding the sodden cloak at arm’s length.

‘I’ll ask Horrocks to send up tea, miss,’ she said tonelessly.

Relieved by the dresser’s exit, she sank into a comfortable chair and closed her eyes. The fire burned brightly and warmed her chilled body. The peace of the room gradually soothed her and by the time Horrocks brought her tea and toast, she was in a fair way to thinking that all would be well once her grandmother returned. But as the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of Brielle, tormenting thoughts once more began to possess her. Her grandmother might have led an unconventional life, but she was a stickler for proper conduct. She would be greatly disturbed by her granddaughter’s flight from home. Brielle must be won over, made to understand the nightmare that was in store for her if she were forced into marriage with Rufus Glyde. Perhaps that would not be too difficult. But how to explain where she’d been since leaving London, how to gloss over all that had happened this last week without provoking unwanted questions?

She suddenly felt very alone and a little scared. With a start she realised that all the time she’d been at the George, she’d never felt this vulnerable. Her mind drifted to Gareth and she wondered what he was doing.Was he thinking of her, too? What nonsense, of course he wasn’t. He would never have spoken so shockingly if he’d had an ounce of feeling for her. From the start he’d made it clear that she was simply entertainment for him; when she’d refused that role, he’d pursued her out of pique. Any fleeting moments of tenderness they’d shared were just that, fleeting. He was a loner, happy to use any woman who crossed his path, but just as happy to dismiss them from his mind if they angered him or ceased to be of interest.

The noise of the front door opening and closing drifted up the stairs. She heard voices below and her stomach churned. Suddenly, her grandmother was there and she was swept up in a warm, perfumed embrace.

‘Amelie, dear child, what is this that Horrocks is telling me? Let me look at you, you poor little thing.’ Brielle held her granddaughter away from her, taking in the drab dress now dried in creases, the sadly bedraggled chestnut curls and the anxious pinched face before her.

‘You’re in a sad way, my dear, but I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you’re safe. I’ve been out of my mind with worry. This evening was the first invitation I’ve accepted since I knew that you’d left your home. And this is the evening that you arrive on my doorstep! But thank God for that.’

And once more Amelie found herself pulled into the jasmine-scented embrace she remembered so well from childhood. Whether her grandmother approved or not of what she’d done, it didn’t matter. Brielle loved her and would care for her. She bit back the treacherous tears.

‘I’m so sorry to have worried you needlessly, but I can explain,’ she pleaded.

Brielle took her granddaughter’s hands in hers and squeezed them lovingly. ‘I’m sure you can, but first we must make you comfortable. I really don’t understand why you’re wearing that dreadful dress, but you should have changed it immediately. I can’t think what my woman is about. Why didn’t she find you a dressing robe at the least and order your bedchamber to be made up?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I was comfortable here and Horrocks brought me tea.’

‘Tea! What are my servants thinking of? What you need is a proper meal and to get out of those clothes. The next thing we’ll know is that you’ll be running a fever.’

She rang the bell energetically and her butler appeared rather too quickly. Like the rest of the household, he had been greatly intrigued by Miss Silverdale’s dramatic and, unexpected arrival and hovering by the sitting-room door, had been hopeful of learning more.

‘Horrocks, ask the housekeeper to make up Miss Amelie’s bedchamber immediately, and get Cook to put together a tray of something nourishing, and I don’t mean just soup.’

‘Yes, milady, immediately,’ the butler murmured, suitably abashed by his mistress’s sharp tone.

Brielle was still fiery, Amelie observed, even though the years had begun to take their toll. Her grandmother, elegant in dove-grey Italian crepe, seemed smaller and frailer than when she’d last seen her.

‘Horrocks is getting old,’ Brielle said, excusing her butler’s oversights. ‘He doesn’t think so clearly now.’

‘He looked after me very well,’ Amelie declared loyally, making ready to accompany the housekeeper upstairs.

She instantly recognised the room. Eau-de-nil hangings and bedcovers created a tranquil aura of pale green shadow: her mother’s favourite colour. A portrait of Louise was displayed prominently above the dainty cherrywood writing desk. A deep tub was even now being filled with hot water by one of the housemaids. As soon as the servants had left, she quickly stripped off the despised dress and dropped it in a heap on the floor.

By the time her grandmother joined her once more, she was ensconced in one of the large easy chairs, wearing a robe of the finest chenille silk.

‘This robe is far too beautiful for me to wear, Grandmama. Miss Repton must be in anguish.’

‘Never mind about her. She has far too high an opinion of herself. Though she does have a way with my hair and makes her own complexion cream from crushed strawberries. Otherwise I would never keep the creature.’

Her grandmother put down the tray she was carrying. ‘I’ve brought your food myself so we can be quiet together. Make sure you dine well. You look as though you’ve barely eaten all day.’

It was true. A sparse breakfast had not been followed by lunch. She’d been too busy hiding from Rufus Glyde to think of eating, and then Gareth’s unexpected abuse had sent her flying from the inn to Wroxall and finally to Bath. She attacked the cold chicken with relish.

While she ate, Brielle kept her amused with anecdotes of Bath life. It was clear that she viewed English provincial society with some irony, but she had put down secure roots and now had many friends and acquaintances in the locality. The quintessential French woman had become almost English.

She let her granddaughter finish her meal in peace before saying, ‘Now what’s this nonsense I’ve been hearing?’

‘Nonsense, Grandmama?’ Amelie’s stomach clenched. The inevitable moment had arrived.

‘About a week ago I received a most unwelcome visitor. His name was Hyde or Glyde or some such. He told me some faradiddle about your being pledged to him in marriage.’

‘He was lying,’ Amelie said quietly. ‘I never agreed to marry him.’

‘Then why did he think you had?’

‘Papa decided I should marry him. I decided I would not.’

‘But why should your father wish you to marry a man you so clearly dislike?’

‘Sir Rufus Glyde is a very rich man, I believe. Papa thought to help the family by marrying me to him.’

‘The family, perhaps, but not you, it would seem. Your father is a selfish man and I won’t hide from you that I do not hold him in a great deal of affection. But I’ve always thought his love for you showed him at his best. Why would he try to enforce such a marriage, knowing how you felt?’

She had no idea how much her grandmother knew of the Silverdales’ financial difficulties and did not want to alarm her unnecessarily, so she said as nonchalantly as she could, ‘The family have a few money problems.’

Brielle looked at her straitly. ‘Your father has always lived high, that’s certain, but surely the income from the estates he holds must be sufficient to cover even his expenditure.’

‘There are other problems,’ Amelie began awkwardly. ‘Robert.’ And her voice trailed off.

‘Ah, Robert, an unfortunate boy by all accounts. Even in this backwater we’ve heard tales of his legendary gambling.’ Brielle fixed her granddaughter with a sharp eye. ‘Exactly how bad is the situation, Amelie? Tell me the truth.’

‘Sir Rufus holds the mortgage on the house in Grosvenor Square and that is all we have left.’

Brielle let out an audible gasp. ‘I knew your father and brother to be foolishly extravagant, but I had no idea that things had come to this pass.’

‘Grandmama, I cannot marry Rufus Glyde. Please help me.’

‘My darling, you shall not marry a man you hate. Your father will have to think again. And until he does, you will stay with me here in Bath.’

Amelie’s brown eyes sparkled through a mist of tears as she launched herself at her grandmother and hugged her so tightly that the older woman was almost crushed.

‘Hush, child, you’ve squeezed the breath out of me. You’re a loving and beautiful young woman. You deserve better. We may even find you a Bath beau to take the place of this Glyde person.’

Amelie’s smile faltered a little. ‘I’m not looking for any other man. I don’t wish to marry. Just let me stay here with you. I can be useful, I’m sure, even more as you get older.’

‘What nonsense is this? To waste your youth and beauty on running errands for an old woman. Certainly not! Why are you so opposed to the idea of matrimony? It is every woman’s destiny, after all.’

‘I don’t think it mine,’ she retorted. ‘In my experience men are either frivolous and foolish or they feel compelled to dominate me. I’ve no wish to be either the master or the mastered.’

‘You have been unlucky in those you’ve met. But that’s not to say that a strong man with the confidence to allow you independence does not exist, or that you won’t encounter him.’

‘Even if I were to meet such a paragon, how could I ever be sure that he would remain so?’ Amelie ventured.‘Mama …’ And she allowed the rest of her sentence to fade into the air.

Her grandmother gazed unseeingly into the fire, and it was a while before she spoke. ‘You must not allow your mother’s difficult life to determine your own choices,’ she said at last. ‘A woman’s duty is to marry. But we’ll say no more for now. I shall introduce you to Bath society while you’re with me and who knows, the right person might just appear on the threshold.’

Brielle’s thoughts were already ranging across the eligible males she knew and had begun to centre on one name that she thought might just alter Amelie’s mind. But for now she was content to change the subject.

‘You haven’t told me yet how you escaped from Grosvenor Square.’

Amelie recounted the tale of the sheets and the stagecoach, carefully omitting the entrance of Gareth Wendover into her life. Brielle enjoyed the story immensely, even more so because it was a rebuke to a son-in-law she did not trust and a suitor she had disliked on sight.

‘Grandmama, can we send for Fanny, please? I promised her I would do so as soon as I could.’

‘I’m not at all sure about that, my love. Fanny aided you in what was a foolish and dangerous escapade. I’ve been enjoying your tale, but that’s because you’re safe here with me. When I think what might have befallen you! And Fanny would have borne a grave responsibility for it.’

‘That’s unfair,’ her granddaughter cried hotly. ‘Fanny tried to persuade me not to escape, but I made her help me. And no doubt she’s suffered already for her loyalty. I cannot make her suffer doubly.’

Brielle blinked with surprise at this passionate outburst. ‘You’re far too hot at hand, my dear. I’m not surprised you’ve emerged from your first Season unwed. A fiery temper is not perhaps the best asset a young woman can possess.’

‘Forgive me, ma’am, I didn’t mean to be discourteous, but I owe Fanny so much.’

‘Including a dress by the look of it,’ her grandmother remarked drily, looking askance at the miserable heap of cloth lying abandoned in the corner. ‘I was about to send a message to your father to assure him of your safety—I will ask him to despatch Fanny to you. We must hope that he hasn’t already discovered her perfidy and sent her packing.’

Amelie smiled her pleasure and then gently stifled a yawn. She hoped Brielle would take the hint and leave her to sleep. So far she’d managed to evade all mention of her stay at the George. But as she’d foreseen, her grandmother was not so easily satisfied. The stagecoach had left the White Horse Inn in London over a week ago—so where had Amelie been in the interval?

‘The stage had an accident,’ she lied, ‘and we had to find accommodation at a local inn. One of the passengers was hurt and I stayed to look after them. As soon as they were better, I finished the journey to Bath.’ How glib that sounded and how very far from the truth!

‘And were you the only two passengers at this inn?’ Brielle questioned shrewdly.

‘There were only a few other people on the stage. And they lived a short distance away and were able to finish their journey on horseback.’ More lies, she thought guiltily.

‘Who was this passenger you were so devoted to? Wasn’t there anyone else who could have offered their services?’

‘I felt obliged. They’d been very kind to me.’

‘But who was this person?’

This was the question Amelie had been dreading. ‘An elderly gentleman.’ Age is relative, she told herself. ‘You wouldn’t know his name. He was actually on his way to Bristol, so he’s not local.’

‘A gentleman? You were looking after a gentleman? Surely that cannot be right.’

‘I had to help. There was no one else who could devote the time to nursing him. The doctor called a few times and the landlord assisted when he could.’

Her grandmother was silent for a moment. ‘Just how old was this gentleman?’

‘I’m not very good at ages,’ she prevaricated. ‘A good deal older than me.’

‘And who else was at the inn with you?’

‘The landlord and his wife, and some of their serving staff. I shared a bedchamber with the kitchen maid.’

Brielle looked relieved at this information and decided not to probe any further for the moment. Amelie was looking tired and distressed. She sensed her granddaughter was not being entirely truthful and was determined in the next few days to get to the bottom of whatever mystery there was.

‘You must sleep now. Tomorrow we’ll begin to make up the deficiencies in your wardrobe. I understand from Horrocks that you arrived with only a cloak bag.’

‘I’m afraid so. It will be wonderful to wear a dress other than Fanny’s.’

‘I should think so indeed,’ Brielle lightly scolded her. ‘After breakfast, we’ll start our campaign. In the meantime I’ll make sure that Repton looks out a dress from my younger years—not too old fashioned, I trust—and alters it to fit you.’

‘Thank you. You’re too kind—I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

‘I’m sure I shall think of something,’ Brielle replied, her mind firmly fixed on the man she intended to present once the girl was looking her best.

Amelie stayed awake longer than she expected. Her body was exhausted, but her mind continued to plague her. How was she to avoid telling her grandmother the true nature of her stay at the inn, for she knew that Brielle would not be content to leave the matter to rest? She smiled at the description she’d given of Gareth—he was neither elderly nor a gentleman!—but somehow she must maintain this fiction. Her smile died as suddenly as it had come—she must not think of him ever again. It had been foolish of her to allow an early attraction to melt her usual reserve and flourish unchecked. She’d grown far, far too close to him. She had never before felt such longing, such desire, and was left now bruised and baffled.

The insults he’d flung at her should have crushed such troublesome emotions. But apparently that wasn’t so. As she drifted half in and half out of sleep, his powerful frame invaded the room. It was as though he were there with her. If she reached out, she could trace the outline of his smile with her finger. If she reached out, she could know the raw strength of his embrace. Shaken by her need for him, she buried her head in the pillow and tried to sleep.

Gareth was also finding it difficult to sleep. His anger still burned brightly, but he knew that he’d offended Amelie beyond pardon. His fury over her wild escape and his deep suspicions of her relationship with Glyde were justified, he was sure. But to call her a doxy had been inexcusable. She was no such thing, as he knew to his cost. He smiled mirthlessly as he considered the countless women of his acquaintance who perfectly satisfied that description. No, she was not a doxy, but she was just as cunning and manipulative as any other of her sex. He’d learned his lesson well; a woman was worth only the pleasure she gave. Amelie had given him pleasure, it was true, but not as he’d expected: it had been something altogether deeper, more exciting and more disturbing—a dangerous delight. It was as well that she’d left when she had. There was no place in his life for loyalty, tenderness, love, even if he could be sure of her. And he couldn’t.

He would leave her in peace to find a new situation and be on his way. Within the next day or so his ankle would be strong enough to begin travelling, but where he knew not. He was close to Bristol; a journey to the port would take half a day at most and once there he could book a passage to France. It would not be difficult to resume his old life at the tables of the slightly less respectable gaming houses or take whatever menial work was offered. That way he would never touch a penny of the inheritance so long denied him.

But why shouldn’t he enjoy his legacy? Would it not be sweet revenge to plunder the fortune his grandfather had so carefully conserved? Perhaps he would travel back to London after all, deal with Mr Spence and his formalities, and ensure a constant flow of funds to his pocket over the coming years as he wandered Europe. That would certainly spare him the discomfort of living off his wits. But what an existence! The one thing that had sustained him in seven long years of exile was the excitement and intrigue of a life on the edge. Take that away and what was left? A tedious round of places you didn’t know, people you would never see again, plans that held no interest.

One way or another, though, he would leave England and this time willingly and for good. There was nobody to mourn his departure—except perhaps Lucas Avery. He’d been his one true friend. He knew him to be living in Bath, a short distance away, with a wife and children that Gareth had never met. He wondered if he could risk a meeting or whether Lucas might have changed his mind about his old friend in the years since that fateful evening. The unknown wife, too, might not easily welcome a convicted card cheat. But he would have liked to have bid him a final goodbye.

And Amelie, he suspected, was also in Bath. If he chose to make the journey, he might even see her there. If he chose! In his heart he knew that the decision had already been made. Of course he would make the journey, of course he would see her. Be truthful with yourself, he thought savagely. She was dangerous to him; a threat to his plans and to his peace of mind, but somehow he couldn’t keep away. He might try to justify the trip to Bath in a dozen ways, but he was going there for one reason alone. He’d willed himself to forget this girl, but he could not: she was a constant refrain singing in his mind. London or France would both have to wait.

Amelie woke to the swish of heavy silk curtains being drawn and felt the warmth of the mid-morning sun streaming onto her bed. She hadn’t heard the entrance of the maid on the deep pile carpet, but turning her head she saw that a cup of steaming chocolate sat waiting and a large jug of hot water was already on the washstand. A refashioned dress of her grandmother’s was draped across the armchair, hardly the height of fashion, but acceptable enough for this one day. Miss Repton had been busy. She supposed she must thank her.

She lay back on the pillows and stretched luxuriously. Eventually she’d slept long and deep, cocooned in the comfort of the four-poster, a far cry from the straw mattress of recent days. At last she was at her grandmother’s. She’d succeeded in what she’d set out to do and the world felt good. Or at least a part of it did. Gareth’s figure once more crept unbidden into the corners of her mind. He would soon be preparing to leave the George and then where would he go? Whatever his decision, she scolded herself, it concerned her no longer.

This morning she was intent on pleasure for she knew it would be fleeting. She had no false expectations that Brielle would agree with her wish to remain single. For a woman of her grandmother’s generation, indeed for a woman of her own, marriage had to be the goal of life and anyone who rejected it was either unwanted or eccentric. How much better to live alone, she thought, than be chained to a man with whom she shared nothing but a roof. That was likely to remain a dream. There was one thing of which she was sure: her heart would stay her own. It would not be a difficult vow to keep; until now she’d felt nothing for any man she’d ever met. Until now. But Gareth Wendover was clearly ineligible and destined to travel through life alone. A misguided passion for him would ensure the very unhappiness she was trying to escape.

The bedroom door opened and her grandmother came into the room fully dressed and looking businesslike. ‘Good, you’re awake. Are you well rested?’

Amelie smiled her assent.

‘That’s as well—we’ve a lot to do today. I’ll see you in the breakfast room in thirty minutes.’

Brielle’s brisk commands were diverting. Her grandmother might be approaching old age, but she was as sprightly as ever and it was clear that she’d already been up some hours planning the day ahead. Amelie made haste to obey.

The carriage had been ordered to the door immediately after breakfast and very soon they were bowling along Bath’s main thoroughfare. Brielle’s destination was the small but elegant shop of a highly talented young modiste. She had heard on the grapevine that this new seamstress had the originality and skill of many a more expensive establishment. She had a very clear idea of what would suit her granddaughter, something in the French style, she thought, beautifully cut and simply adorned, to flatter the young woman’s budding figure.

It seemed to Amelie that the next few hours were spent in a fantasy of fashion. There were outfits for every occasion: braided, embroidered, some adorned with knots of ribbon, others with spangled rosettes and silver fringes. Walking dresses, riding costumes, day toilettes and ball gowns floated past on a wave of elegance.

She tried hard to keep her feet on the ground, worrying about the mounting cost and how she could ever repay her grandmother even a fraction of the staggering bill for this dazzling wardrobe. Frantically she tried to catch sight of the price tags as the dresses were brought forwards for her inspection. An evening gown in sea-green tulle made her gasp as she gazed in wonder at her reflection in the mirror. She could hardly recognise the modish and graceful young woman looking back at her.

‘How much did you say this gown was?’ she asked the seamstress tentatively.

‘That is one of our newest creations, mademoiselle, and made from the finest silk tulle. A very reasonable hundred guineas. It suits mademoiselle to perfection.’

Shocked by the price, Amelie began reluctantly to take off the charming creation when the modiste, catching a minatory look from Brielle, coughed apologetically and decided that she had made a mistake.

‘Of course, for such a beautiful young lady we can come to an agreeable arrangement, I’m sure. You will wear the dress with a distinction that will bring honour to our small salon and build our reputation.’

After that Amelie gave up trying to keep count of the ever-increasing total. It was all way beyond anything she could ever have afforded from her allowance. The colours and fabrics flew past her eyes like a moving kaleidoscope. To the pile of dresses were added furtrimmed pelisses, tiny pearl-stitched slippers, long white leather gloves and a Norwich silk shawl, all apparently necessities for a protracted stay in Bath. By the time they left the salon, the carriage was brimming with boxes and packages and had to be sent back to Laura Place while they made their way to Milsom Street to pay a call on Brielle’s favourite milliner.

Amelie, who owned precisely two hats, was amazed by the information that she would need no fewer than six if she were to grace the Bath social scene successfully. One extraordinary confection followed another as Madame Charcot laid before them the finest of her wares. Amelie’s London Season had been notable for its modesty. Lord Silverdale had neither the money nor the wish to expend large sums on his daughter’s coming-out and expected her natural beauty to be sufficient to win a husband. An old acquaintance of his youth had acted as chaperone and since she also had a daughter to launch, she’d shown little interest in her new protégée or her clothes. Amelie had chosen almost single-handedly the restricted wardrobe her father had permitted for the three months of her London Season. Now Brielle, with her highly developed fashion sense, was intent on giving as much enjoyment as possible to her granddaughter.

Seated amidst a tower of hat boxes, waiting for the carriage to return, she revealed that she’d been busy first thing that morning putting together a guest list for a small evening party the following day.

‘It will be more comfortable for you to meet a few people before going into society properly,’ her grandmother explained.

Amelie made haste to reassure her, ‘I won’t be uncomfortable, Grandmama, not with you by my side.’

‘That’s as may be. I’m an old woman now. You need to meet younger people. It will be just a small, informal party. Nothing too overwhelming. But when we go the Pump Room or the Assembly Rooms, you’ll already know a few faces.’

Amelie wasn’t so sure. She’d expected to live quietly in Bath, but it was evident from the morning’s shopping that this was not what Brielle had in mind. She was grateful for her grandmother’s unstinting kindness and she would try her best to conform. She had little desire to socialise, but that was something best left unsaid.

Like her granddaughter, Brielle decided on silence. It had been difficult to conjure up interesting guests at such short notice, but she’d felt it essential to introduce Amelie as swiftly as possible to many of those she would see in the coming weeks. She was intent on establishing the notion that her granddaughter’s stay had been planned for a considerable time and that Amelie would be paying a protracted visit. That way she would limit any damage that rumour might do.

This morning while her granddaughter slept, she’d cast her mind swiftly over the people she might invite who would not be offended by the very short notice. Celine Charpentier, of course, a fellow émigrée and friend since the time they’d both left France for exile. Celine would support her in whatever plan she was hatching, Brielle knew. Then Major Radcliffe was a genial soul, always ready to add his bonhomie to any party. Unfortunately she would have to invite Miss Scarsdale. Letitia Scarsdale was a permanent fixture at all her parties, a difficult neighbour who had constantly to be placated.

But one particular guest would more than earn his place. Brielle had high hopes of him. Sir Peregrine Latham was well known in Bath, a handsome man and delightful companion. Perry Latham was no country bumpkin, either. He preferred a quieter pace of life, dividing his time between the Bath mansion and his Somerset estate, but he visited London regularly and was not devoid of town bronze. He was well into his thirties now and, gossip had it, the victim of a sad history. The story went that he had lost his fiancée when he was a very young man and had never recovered from the blow. Nevertheless, Brielle reckoned he might be persuaded to think again by the sight of her enchanting granddaughter.

The following day brought with it another whirl of activity. The hairdresser called early to trim Amelie’s chestnut locks into submission. Her shining curls were artlessly twisted into a knot on the top of her head and then allowed to cascade down the sides of her face in loose ringlets. Before she had time to properly admire this transformation, it was the turn of the dressmaker. Hours the previous evening had been spent thumbing through the latest editions of La Belle Assemblée to decide on suitable styles. Now for several uncomfortable hours she was draped with muslin and stuck with pins. The dressmaker, she was told, would make her gowns for wearing at home when no one of any importance was expected. She began to wonder when she would ever have time to don even half of the wardrobe she’d so suddenly acquired.

Shortly before their guests arrived that evening, Brielle appeared with a pearl necklace and earrings that had belonged to Amelie’s mother. They were the perfect accompaniment to the simple pink crêpe-de-Chine gown she’d chosen for her first party.

‘Wear them for Louise,’ her grandmother said with a catch in her voice, the closest she would ever come to expressing the pain she still felt.

Now that the evening was here, Amelie determined to take pleasure in it, if only for Brielle’s sake. It was true that the guests assembled in the elegant drawing room were something of a motley crowd, but they were evidently all well-wishers. All except Lady Lampeter, who had two very plain daughters of Amelie’s age and who was furious to discover that her acceptance of such a late invitation had been pointless. Not even the fondest of mamas could expect the Lampeter girls to compete with Amelie’s beauty.

‘Claudia Lampeter will come at short notice,’ Brielle had confidently predicted to Celine. ‘She has a mountain to climb with those girls of hers. One has spots and the other a sad figure. She will take them anywhere in the hope of finding a marriageable man.’

Knowing nothing of her grandmother’s wiles, Amelie remained serene and unruffled as she made her way slowly around the mingling guests. Moving from one chattering group to another, she attracted admiring looks from around the room and Brielle was happy to see that in company her granddaughter was both modest and assured.

‘She does you credit,’ Celine remarked. ‘A beautiful and unaffected girl.’

The Major took a long pinch of snuff and gave his considered opinion. ‘With those looks and that charm she will take Bath by storm.’

As the evening proceeded, Amelie began to appreciate the gentle rhythm of Bath social life. The great society gatherings of her London Season had been a strain, but here she felt soothed. Even the man she imagined had been invited to partner her was unexceptional.

‘And how do you like Bath, Miss Silverdale?’ Perry Latham began as an opening gambit.

He had been stunned by the beauty of this young woman and was eager to see whether her intelligence matched her looks.

‘So far, Sir Peregrine, I’ve seen only the inside of dress shops, but I’m sure I shall enjoy it immensely.’

‘And Bath will enjoy you, too,’ he rejoined gallantly. ‘Can we hope to see you at the Pump Room shortly?’

‘Indeed, yes. I understand my grandmother is planning our first visit tomorrow.’

‘Excellent. I’ll make sure I attend. I’m afraid you may well find the town a little dull. You will see many of the same faces there as are here tonight.’

‘I shan’t mind that. I find familiarity comforting.’

‘I’m not sure you’ll continue to think so after you’ve met the same set of people a dozen times.’

Privately, Amelie thought that was more than likely, looking around at the less-than-stimulating collection of people gathered there. She couldn’t stop herself smiling at the thought of what Gareth would make of the company. ‘An assortment of gargoyles,’ she could hear him say. One of the older women, the scrawny Miss Scars-dale, bore an uncanny resemblance to Mrs Skinner.

‘You smile.’ Perry Latham had been watching her closely. ‘You see, Miss Silverdale, you’re already beginning to have doubts about Bath society.’

‘No, Sir Peregrine. I was smiling at how very pleasant it is to be among friends.’

Diplomatic as well as intelligent and beautiful, he thought, already half-smitten with this entrancing princess who had appeared so suddenly in his world.

‘Please call me Perry. I hope you will count me as one of those friends.’

The last guest departed well before eleven. She wasn’t sorry that Bath inhabitants seemed to keep early hours. The party had been convivial and undemanding, but it had still cost an effort to play the role expected of her.

‘I saw you talking to Perry Latham,’ her grandmother remarked casually. ‘He’s a good-looking fellow, don’t you think?’

‘Very presentable.’

‘A thorough gentleman, too.’

‘Indeed, yes.’

‘And not without town bronze,’ Brielle pursued.

Amelie smiled warmly back at her. ‘He’s a veritable pattern card of all the virtues,’ she replied laughingly, while her thoughts roved dangerously elsewhere.