Mrs. Tartle, called Mrs. Turtle by Aunt Deveraux, was her aunt’s cook. She hadn’t discovered the efficacy of earpads for two decades and thus she also spoke loudly herself from dealing with her mistress so many years.
Cam stuffed the earpads in her ears and shouted, “Onward, Finch.”
CHAPTER 23
Cam held up her skirts, skipped behind Finch down the stairs and hurried into the lovely parlor, a perfect example of her aunt’s excellent, if a bit outdated, taste. Soft and soothing pale yellow and cream were the dominant colors, perfect to calm the nerves. The draperies were a darker yellow brocade, closed now to keep out the damp from the chill rain. Aunt Deveraux had two obsessions Cam knew of, the major one concerning any and all activities of an intimate nature, and shepherdesses. Every surface of the stylish chestnut and rosewood furniture showcased shepherdesses, different sizes, poses, most garbed in flowing white dresses, beautifully sculpted. There were no accompanying sheep. When she’d been young, Cam had counted twenty-three. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a new quite lovely alabaster shepherdess in the standard flowing white gown on the mantel, holding a staff nearly as tall as she was.
When she’d been younger Cam had wondered if her gown could be so clean dealing with dozens of sheep.
“IT’S ABOUT TIME! COME HERE, GIRL. PULL BACK YOUR SHOULDERS AND SMILE. AVACANT FACE WON’T GAIN YOU GENTLEMEN ADMIRERS.”
Cam smiled, pulled back her shoulders, and laughed.
“THAT’S EXCELLENT. YOU WILL WEAR YOUR LOVELY GOLDEN GOWN TONIGHT. DEARPILCHERGAYSON—AN UNEXCEPTIONABLE AND POSSIBLE FUTURE HUSBAND—IS ESCORTING US TO THE ASSEMBLY ROOMS FOR A LOVELY EVENING OF DANCING AND FLIRTING FOR YOU AND GAMING FOR ME. IWILL PARTNER GENERAL HAMISH IN WHIST. WE ALWAYS WIN. AH, WHAT A ROGUE HE IS. OR WAS. THE SPORT WE ENJOYED DURING GEORGE’S REIGN, VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE STAID COURT OF THE LITTLE QUEEN WITH HER CLEVER GERMAN PRINCE. AROYAL STALLION IS ALBERT, ALREADY TWO BABES—LITTLE VICTORIA AND PRINCE EDWARD—NOT MUCH ORIGINALITY TO THOSE NAMES—TO DANDLE ON HIS KNEE. I HEAR THE ROYALS SNEAK OFF DURING THE AFTERNOON TO ENJOY FLESHLY DESIRES. IT IS A PITY BUT DEAR GENERAL HAMISH NOW COMPLAINS ABOUT HIS DEMNED GOUT AND ISN’T THAT JUST LIKE A MAN, ALWAYS COMPLAINING WHEN THEY’RE NOT FILLED WITH LUST.”A pause, frown, then,“IT IS RATHER ODD BUT I FORGET HIS FIRST NAME.”
And so it began. Wherever had her aunt heard about the queen’s marital inclinations? Evidently Albert was blessed with sufficient vigor. On the other hand, he was only twenty-two years old.
It was interesting Aunt Deveraux no longer kept her silver ear trumpet on her lap, but it was well within hand reach on a shepherdess-covered table beside her. Finch walked to his mistress, smiled at her and gently laid an exquisite silk scarf around her shoulders. Now, where had he gotten it? He leaned close and said clearly and slowly, “For your exquisite shoulders, my lady. I do not wish you to catch a chill in this nasty weather.”
“THE WEATHER IS ALWAYS NASTY IN ENGLAND, FINCH. IT SETTLES OVER BATH AND HUNKERS DOWN ON OUR HEADS KEEPING PEOPLE INSIDE THEIR HOUSES AND THAT GIVES PERMISSION TO INDULGE IN SIN AND WICKEDNESSES, ALL GOOD SPORT, OF COURSE, SOGOD BLESS THE RAIN.”
Aunt Deveraux laughed at her own wit and took a big bite of her scone, clotted cream dripping off the sides. She chewed slowly, swallowed and announced,“MY DEAR CAMILLA, IT IS MY DUTY TO ENCOURAGE THOUGHTS OF SIN AND WICKEDNESS AMONGST THE GENTLEMEN TOWARD YOU, OF COURSE THESE NAUGHTY AND DETAILED THOUGHTS ARE TO REMAIN IN THEIR BRAINS UNTIL YOU ARE MORE SEASONED. AS FOR DEAR PILCHER—A LOVELY YOUNG MAN AND QUITE ELIGIBLE—TRUST ME, CAMILLA, I HAVE MADE IT PARTICULARLY CLEAR TO HIM THAT HE IS TO KEEP MOST WICKED PLANS UNSPOKEN AND HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS. TO MAKE CERTAIN HE WELL UNDERSTOOD, I TOLD HIM WHAT YOU DID TO TEDDY JEWEL FOR HIS PREMATURE FORWARDNESS. I DO BELIEVE DEAR PILCHER WAS IMPRESSED AND TOOK HEED.”
Cam, well used to hearing in great exhaustive detail her aunt’s fleshly concerns, merely smiled and walked to her, she leaned down, kissed her powdery cheek. She always smelled of violets, her breath of almonds. She was the queen of martinets, her will as strong as her speaking voice, and she ruled Bath Society. No one crossed her aunt unless they wanted to be gutted, loudly, with detailed particulars.
Cam said, enunciating each word carefully and slowly, “Thank you, Aunt Deveraux. I do enjoy dancing in the Assembly Rooms. It is a pity a lady isn’t allowed to dance alone or with another lady. But I promise you I will not smack too many of the gentlemen, only if they grossly misbehave.” She smiled down at the still-lovely face, skin as smooth as her childhood German doll Yvette, her eyes the same soft hazel as Cam’s father’s eyes. She always found it amazing her father and Aunt Deveraux were brother and sister. They couldn’t be more different. Her father had been a very welcome accident, born some fifteen or so years after Aunt Deveraux, and had survived hale and hardy to assume his father’s title many years before. But were they really all that different? Hadn’t her father succumbed to Averil’s powerful weapon, herabundant bosom? Surely there were other weapons as well, but Cam had no idea what they could be. Whatever else there was, didn’t he and Averil, just like Victoria and Albert, disappear into their bedchamber in the afternoons? It was a blessed relief her father didn’t talk about his trysts like Aunt Deveraux.
“IF A GENTLEMAN TRIES A GROSS LEWDNESS, I EXPECT YOU TO MAKE A GRAND SCENE WITH STUNNING DRAMA, GIVE ALL THE OLD CRONES SOMETHING TO SLAVER OVER ALL SUMMER. FINCH,TELLTURTLE I WANT MORE WARM SCONES. NOW, MY LITTLE BEAUTY, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUTLORDOGLETHORPE, THE ROGUE, WHO NEVER LEFT MY BED FOR A WEEK THAT LOVELY EXHAUSTING TIME INPARIS. IT WILL GIVE YOU STIMULATING THOUGHTS ABOUT WHAT AWAITS YOU.”
Both Cam and Finch smiled and looked interested. Cam drank her delicious tea, nibbled on a cherry tart, crunchy and quite delicious, and let her ears ring. Mrs. Tartle, Turtle she’d been for well-nigh twenty years, delivered another covered plate stacked with warm scones, gave her mistress a sweet smile, and left quickly before she could be thanked loudly enough to make her ears ring for she’d neglected to put in her earpads.
Cam sat smiling under the amusing and deafening barrage of more amorous tales from her aunt’s past and let her mind wander. She thought about what she could do to be more than a lazy twit, spoiled near to rottenness by her father. But her first thought was a question—Had Alex read her letter? No, no, not important in the long scheme of things. Perhaps Osbourne had forgotten to give it to him, perhaps he had and Alex had read it but he had more important things on his mind, he was far too busy inventing better ways to improve train engines or planning out the factory in Manchester with her father, or—her heart stumbled—perhaps he was too busy dancing with charming young girls who didn’t wear glasses to even remember her.
Cam wanted to kick herself. What was wrong with her? She was being a twit, all her brain focused on a man she wanted to love her to her long but narrow feet, forever. It was all her friends in London had talked about as they navigated their first Seasons, their parents on the lookout for the perfect mate for their perfect daughter. Of course Cam had looked about as well at all the young gentlemen offered up to debutantes in the 1841 Season, but not a single gentleman she’d met made her heart quicken, even a little bit.
Were gentlemen different? Did they have two parts to their brains, one looking and dreaming about a young lady who’d be their wife, the other for doing important things, things to change the world, no thought to a petticoat? She didn’t know. Whatever was true, thinking and doing important things certainly left out nitwits like Teddy Jewel. Did Pilcher Gayson think about anything other than hunting?
“OF COURSE, MY DEARCAMILLA, YOU WILL BE EXPECTED TO BEAR YOUR HUSBAND’S CHILD—A MALE IS MUCH PERFERRED, NATURALLY, GIVEN THE AGGRAVATING RULE THAT ONLY A MALE MAY INHERIT A TITLE. SO BIRTH ONE OF THEM RIGHT AWAY SO YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GO THROUGH CHILDBIRTH AGAIN AND AGAIN AND POSSIBLY DIE. BUT AFTER YOU PRESENT THE HEIR, MY DEAR, YOU WILL BE FREE TO INDULGE YOURSELF AS I HAVE—FIFTY YEARS A WIDOW, A BLESSING THAT MY ONLY CHILD WAS A SON AND HE ISN’T A ROTTER, GIVES ME APPROPRIATE ATTENTION, PRESENTS HIMSELF ONCHRISTMAS WITH EXCELLENT GIFTS. YOU MAY BE SURE I WILL GIVE YOU INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW NOT TO CONCEIVE.”
She’d just been given the condensed story of her future. It was unutterably depressing, but Cam nodded her head and ate her own scone with Cook’s special clotted cream dripping off the sides. Had her mother shared herself with other men while married to her father? Had he sought out these bodily pleasures? Would Averil follow this advice? Was it the accepted thing? All she knew was she didn’t want that, didn’twant it at all. But what did she want? Her future seemed a mishmash of shadows and curtained windows, but one thing was very clear to her, one face—Alex Ivanov. Deep down, she simply knew he would become the most important person in her life. And then what? She rose, shook out her skirts, and smiled. She realized she was very content to wait, to have life unfurl its surprises, and in its center was him.
CHAPTER 24
King’s Head
Home of Vereker Hepburn, Earl St. Lucy
Near St. Lucy Head
Sunday evening
It was a balmy evening for late March, the sunset vivid in the east. The Channel, only a mile distant, smelled fresh, no pungent fish overlay. And the very best? The train from London to Dover had been on time. Noisy, dirty, but on time. Nor was it raining. These miracles portended a full measure of good luck.
Before they hailed a coach to take them to King’s Head, Ryder wanted to visit the pub in St. Lucy Head, a charming town with houses marching up and down the town’s hills. There was a pond in the center with at least six ducks, squawking loudly as a young girl threw them bread.
While Ryder spoke to the locals, after buying the patrons a round of ale, Alex sat quietly, thinking, trying to remember, worrying. Had he and his brother, Simon, ever snuck into the Hare and Hound Inn?
After an hour, Ryder waved to all the denizens, and he andAlex walked back to the station to climb aboard their coach to take them to King’s Head.
