There were no gentlemen allowed, so she could relax amongst female company, and perhaps he would call on her later.
Speaking of gentlemen, a letter from Max had arrived at the same time as Mr Hart’s poem, and I had been keeping it to peruse at bedtime. As Jane also wished to do some reading, we retired early with our candles.
Making a quick job of plaiting my hair, I hopped into bed and eagerly opened his letter. He began with general news about the estate and then told me that his brother Tobias was visiting, which made me smile.Here was Lucinda’s plan in action!There was no further mention of preparing vegetables and rather more talk of fishing andriding, and he seemed happier from the tone of it. So my niece’s idea had been a good one indeed.
However, the next part of his letter made me sit up straighter.
Tobias has been asking me if I know anything about some fellow called Dorian Hart. Apparently, Lucinda sent a letter to her mother announcing they were courting, and Seraphina thinks it is quite fast and wants to know more about him—namely is he kind, well mannered, and of good breeding? (And she also wishes to know what his teeth are like.) Tobias said she is a tad concerned that Lucinda is infatuated with him (this might be too strong a word, but it is what Tobias relayed from his wife rather than me!).
I did not know what to tell him as I did not have any information, and you have not mentioned anything about him, my darling. I assume he is not the ‘appalling scoundrel’ that you told me about in a previous letter? I know you have better judgement than to allow Lucy to form an acquaintance with someone like that ...
Oh Lord! What on earth had Lucinda been saying tomake Seraphina think she was infatuated? A few strolls in the pump room and a poem about a mouse did not mean that Mr Hart was going to propose! Now I would have to write to Max and tell him that Dorian Hart was indeed the scoundrel I had mentioned, but we had got the wrong end of the stick, and he wasn’t one at all.How awkward.I let out a sigh of frustration.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Jane.
‘Actually, no. I told Max about our first meeting with Mr Hart and how we’d had a run-in with an “appalling scoundrel”, but that we had escaped his clutches. How was I to know that you would all go off and have buns with him and discover he was perfectly sound? Apparently, Lucinda has sent an enthusiastic letter to her mother commending him. Now Tobias is visiting and pressing Max for more information on Seraphina’s behalf. Of course, thanks to me, my husband now thinks the worst of Mr Hart. I will have to write back and tell him that he is in fact the gentleman that Lucinda is besotted with!’
Jane tsked sympathetically. ‘Oh dear, that is a bother. But you should not blame yourself—you were only relaying the information you had at the time ...’
‘Yes. And I have not had time to get him up to speed about Cecilia, her strict religious mother, and Mr Hart’s being thwarted in love, etcetera.’
‘Then I suppose you will be writing a long letter tomorrow afternoon after our visit to the baths?’
‘I suppose so,’ I grumbled.
‘You have to, Flissy, for Lucinda’s sake. Otherwise, her mother will get in a flap. Just tell Max we got it wrong and convey succinctly what we now know—that Mr Hart is a reputable young gentlemen, residing in Royal Crescent, who has been schooled at Eton and whose family estate is Hartmoor Castle. Tell him that you are keeping a firm eye on their courtship, and there is nothing amiss. Max will write to Lucinda’s mama to dispel her fears forthwith, and she will then be at ease about her daughter. All going well, she may soon have a new son-in-law to add to her family tree.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Are we not being too hasty in that regard ourselves? I mean, I know he wrote her a poem, but you saw it yourself—it was not in the least romantic ...’
‘At least he tried to please her. It was sweet of him to do so.’
Jane shifted into a more comfortable position against the headboard, and my eye fell upon the title of the book she was reading:The Monk: Volume II.
‘I thought you had finished that volume?’
‘I have. I am reading it again as volume three isn’t available until nextweek.’
‘What’s it about? You never actually said.’
‘Well, speaking of scoundrels, it’s about this monk who starts out devout but falls into temptation, which leads into a downward spiral of lust, murder, and a pact with the devil.’
‘So it’s a comedy then?’ I said dryly.
Jane giggled. ‘It’s melodramatic enough to be one. It’s actually touted as a romance.’ She showed me the title page, which indeed said ‘A Romance’, along with a lyrical verse of what was inside:
Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power,
Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour
‘Though by the way it is going, I have a feeling the story will not involve love nor a happy ending,’ she said with a grimace. ‘And I do like my stories to end in a satisfactory manner for the couples involved.’
I glanced across at her desk by the window. It was shut up tightly, with no paper lying around to indicate her writing efforts—even though she had been scurrying up here every afternoon to pen something mysterious.
‘Is it inspiring you to write your own Gothic novel?’ I asked.
She smirked. ‘All I can say is that what I havebegun writing is more of a Gothic spoof.’
‘Oooh,’ I said, for I loved novels that poked fun at popular literature, and Jane’s humour always tickled me. If it was anything like her previous novel (about yours truly), it was sure to be an excellent read.
