CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #3
It could not be said that either Lord Barkby or Lady Dembleby were paying much attention to Miss Newent, or to keeping her from ‘the wolf’.
There was not a great deal of conversation between them, but it was unnecessary.
For his part, Lord Barkby was content to watch and to feel.
As far as he could make out, Louisa Dembleby had crossed the Rubicon, and was not going to fight her own feelings with regards to him as a member of the male gender.
That 286this had left her in some amazement was clear, as though she had not realised how close she was to changing her mind.
He let her marvel, let her wonder in her own mind, and was happy just to guide her arm and feel the closeness of her in more than the physical sense.
She did wonder. For all her struggle to doubt his bona fides and regard him as yet another perfidious male, Lord Barkby had won her over with his unassuming honesty, his simple courage and his genuine friendship.
Perhaps that was why she had run away, even more than the gossip.
A few months ago she could not face that truth.
Now, having been without his presence for weeks on end, it was undeniable.
Even when she and Dembleby had been betrothed, there had never been a moment when she had watched him walk away from her with regretful longing, nor her heart miss a beat at his approach.
She felt both those sensations now. Dembleby had very soon proven that in their relationship he would take and she must give, but Lord Barkby had demanded nothing, except perhaps the right to offer his friendship, and given so much.
Lord Orlando Hurstwood was not a patient man, but he had learnt that the circuitous approach might be more successful than the direct.
As he followed the Dembleby party, he was aware of a vague feeling of disappointment.
There was no sudden need to step into hiding behind any large shrub, nor even to walk with particularly quiet tread.
If this was cat and mouse, then the mouse was very dull, and no fun at all.
The only thing that pleased him was seeing Barkby evincing every sign of a man blinkered 287to all but love.
Placing Lady Dembleby in an awkward position would thus also serve a turn against him, even one at second hand.
Bath was such a bore, every part of it. He had entertained hopes, mild ones, but hopes nonetheless, that Lydia Newent would be entertaining.
She was a beautiful creature, but had as much spark as a wax doll, and explaining things at her level had made him feel more tutor than lover.
In view of all the effort he had put in, he felt that she owed him the right to have his way with her, and that would certainly be a lesson she would not forget.
The Sydney Gardens was not a suitable place for such an encounter, far too many people bumbling about, but it was his intention to persuade the chit to either ride with him, or come on a picnic à deux, though he would not reveal that it was she that was on the menu.
All he needed was to be able to attract her attention, and hers alone, and have a few minutes’ private speech in which to press his ardent suit and arrange another tryst. Despite the absorption of four of the party in one another, he doubted Lydia would see him without someone else noticing, but was saved by a small pebble.
This had found its way into Lydia’s shoe, and she begged, blushing, that the others go on a few yards so that she might remove it and shake out the stone without the gentlemen being present.
Just for a moment Lord Orlando thought Lydia had been clever, but when he hissed at her from a bush some yards behind, she jumped and squeaked so loud he was sure the others must hear her.
‘Oh!’ she managed, in a stunned whisper. ‘You found 288me!’ It sounded very dramatic. He had not had to follow a trail of crumbs, or search for hours.
‘Of course I found you, my sweet. Could you doubt me?’
‘Yes, I mean, no, my lord. “Yes”, of course you found me, not “no”, I thought …’
‘Yes, yes. We have not long, my darling. You must listen to me. Tomorrow you must get out of the house and meet me in front of—’
‘But I cannot, my lord. Mama has already said that tomorrow we are visiting my old aunt Matty in Keynsham, and will be out all day and …’
Lord Orlando silently damned all aunts, excepting those who left large bequests to nephews.
‘Then the following day.’
‘Not before noon, for I have a fitting for a gown, which I am sure you will like for it has got little knots of pink—’
‘You will look divine, but you must attend to me.’ He interrupted her without compunction. ‘Meet me at half past two in Godwin’s circulating library in Milsom Street.’
‘In a library?’ Lydia said it as though it might contain wild beasts.
‘Yes, for what could be more innocuous.’
‘I will try to do so, my lord, but if Mama questions me … I have not borrowed books before.’
‘Then you are to say you are going to read a book recommended by Lady Dembleby.’
‘Oh, that is clever.’ Lydia was perfectly genuine. Lord Orlando nearly ground his teeth. She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.
‘You drive me to distraction,’ he murmured huskily, 289slipping an arm about her and bending his head to kiss her swiftly and firmly. As he let her go, she gasped and blushed, but did not look afraid. ‘Until the day after tomorrow, my little love.’
He turned before she could reply. What he had not said was in what way she drove him to distraction. It was not the one she thought.
If Lydia Newent rejoined the party slightly later than merely removing a stone from her shoe might have occasioned, the other members did not remark upon it.
Full of thoughts about Lord Orlando, she chose to walk beside Hetty Goodworth rather than join, in the loosest sense, the conversation between Mr Gilmorton and Miss Brailes.
Mrs Goodworth, lost in memories of her own courtship many years past, was content with the silence.
Lord Barkby took them on a winding route among the pathways to the pavilion at the end of the main walk, and then as slowly back towards the martial music, which Louisa Dembleby now felt was at odds with her mood.
She did not feel excited, nor did she feel dreamy, but …
The only word she could think of was ‘elevated’.
There was a happiness that filled her, a calm, a feeling that the future was to be embraced, not faced with caution.
She was more alive; something had changed, not in him, but in her, and suddenly the world seemed so much nicer.
Was all this because a man laid his hand upon her arm and looked at her as Lord Barkby did?
Her heart told her that it was the person, not the deed, that was important, and she acknowledged it.
She also acknowledged that she was 290aware of relief, because she had ceased to fight against the truth of her feelings and at last accepted them.
‘Would you care to take another turn about the bowling greens and then perhaps have a glass of wine before departure? You should be home before gloaming, and the risk of feeling chilly.’ Lord Barkby posed the question quietly, but she still started a little, for it brought her back to the present.
‘Oh, yes. I think that would be perfect. Unless the other ladies are tired or …’ She turned, but all three denied any feeling of weariness. After all, they had been strolling rather than walking with any determined intent.
‘That is decided, then.’ Lord Barkby was clearly delighted that the evening perambulation was not to be curtailed.
‘How long do you remain in Bath, my lord?’ enquired Lady Dembleby, seeking something to say, and finding that even a seemingly general question might have greater meaning.
‘That depends, ma’am. My mother has a dislike of the waters but is one of those who is convinced that the greater the unpalatability of a remedy the more good it must do one.
She therefore perseveres, but to be honest, I do not think she will find any benefit once the Bath Season ends and the place becomes thin of company.
The important aspect, as far as I could see, was to get her out of Woodend Hall for a while, where she was forever faced with my father’s physical absence, whichever room she entered.
Given time to accept the facts, I think she will be able to manage better on her return. ’
291‘I will be sure to visit frequently.’
‘I was hoping that you would be doing so.’ He gave her a slow smile, which she returned, but turned as he heard a noise that could only be described as an angry hiss.
A formidable lady in late middle age, with an aquiline nose and thin lips, was glaring at Lady Dembleby, who went white.
He felt her hand tremble on his arm, as she made a grudging curtsey, but said nothing.
The older woman, followed by a pair of slightly younger ladies, lifted her nose, and stalked past.
‘Who was that?’ asked Lord Barkby, frowning, once sufficient distance separated them.
‘That, my lord,’ said Louisa, in a hollow voice, ‘was my erstwhile mama-in-law, the Dowager Lady Dembleby.’