Franklyn’s head appeared at the open carriage door, a wry smile on his lips. “The Lady Esther is pleased to approve the accommodations. We may enter. Take care across the yard. The rain has made it slippery.”
He offered his hand to Bea as she descended, and Bertram was left to follow them into the inn in such a disordered state of mind that he hardly knew what he was about.
23: An Explosion
Bea felt like a kettle that was just about to come to the boil. She had spent hours cooped up in the carriage listening to endless plans for Bath, and Bertram could not even stand up for her, but had to point out what a wonderful place it was. Bath! Which was full of dowagers and retired generals and no one below the age of sixty to talk to. And no Bertram, she thought miserably. No Latin. No long walks on the moors to work out the fidgets. Nothing but confinement and polite smiles and banal conversation. Just like London, only with the minuet, danced with a hooped skirt and lappets.
She could scream!
Ripping off her bonnet, gloves and pelisse, she splashed her face with the warm water already waiting in her room, and then whisked downstairs, meeting Harper on the way up.
“Don’t you want to change your gown, Miss Franklyn? And maybe tidy your hair a little?”
“How could it have becomeuntidy? I have done nothing but sit in the carriage for hours. My gown will do well enough for an inn dinner.”
“Very well, miss.” Harper’s mouth set in a disapproving line, but Bea did not care.
In their private parlour, the table was still being laid for dinner, and various bottles and glasses set out on a sideboard. Bea poured herself a glass of wine, and prowled about the room until the servants left and she was alone. Then she hurled herself into a chair beside the empty hearth, and pondered her position.
On one point she was quite decided — there was to be no more chasing after lords. Or anyone, come to that. She was finished with all of that nonsense. If only she could go back to Newcastle and start again! To be back with Aunt Betty and Papa in the old house, where she had been happy. Before the fortune had dropped into Papa’s lap. Before the big, new house. Before Lady Esther Bucknell.
And there she stopped. All of this, all her ambition had been driven by Mama. It was Mama who had tried to turn Bea into a lady. It was Mama who had convinced her to aim for the peerage. All of her present woes stemmed from Mama.
Yet she had rung a peal over Bertram, as if it were his fault! That was unfair of her, when he had been so kind to her.
So when he came into the parlour a few minutes later, armed with a book to read, she said, “I am very sorry I was so cross with you just now, Bertram. I did not mean it.”
“Oh… it is of no consequence,” he said absently, tossing his book from hand to hand.
“May I pour you a glass of wine?”
“Thank you. Yes… thank you.” He took it from her hand without looking at her, and went to sit by the window, where raindrops chased each other down the uneven panes of the window.
She understood him. Now that she had rejected him, he had withdrawn again, and the easy terms on which they had existed for the past few weeks, which had given her such irrational hope, were gone. She sank even further into gloom.
Her father came in with the news that dinner was delayed. “Lady Esther is resting after the privations of the journey, so we shall not eat for another two hours. Atherton, feel free to order something if you are hungry.”
“No, no, sir. I am perfectly ready to await Lady Esther’s convenience.”
“Has your groom arrived safely?”
“No, not yet.” Bertram frowned a little. “I had expected him to be here well before this, for he left before us and we have been proceeding at an easy pace. Not much above forty miles!”
“He is taking very good care of your horse, I expect. A fine beast like that — he will not want to push him at all.”
“True, and Whyte is an excellent groom. He will not risk Catullus.”
“Then I expect he has merely taken a wrong turn somewhere. It is easily done.”
“Yes, most likely that is all it is,” Bertram said, with a quick laugh. “I told him to rest when he thinks it necessary, and stop for the night wherever convenient if he cannot reach Bawtry. He has money, and a letter of authority from me. I just wonder if he has encountered trouble — footpads, or some such. Horse thieves, perhaps.”
“Then he will find the nearest parsonage and ask for help,” Mr Franklyn said easily. “He seems a sensible lad.”
Bertram gave a wry laugh. “I am worrying unnecessarily, I am sure. Next time, I shall do as you did and send my horse home a day or two earlier, to avoid all this.” He returned to staring gloomily out of the window.
Bea’s father smiled at her. “We have time for a walk before dinner, if you would like to stretch your legs, Bea.”
She gazed at him in astonishment. “It israining, Papa!”
