Page 98 of A Perfect Gentleman

“But he’s right here. Well, not right here, but he’s only an hour’s ride away. He retired to a little cottage in Lower Brockington. He used to have the living there, you see, before St. Veronica’s. That’s how Reginald knew him.”

“I cannot imagine what Montclair finds so fascinating about the man,” Lady Eugenia said. “He’s very ordinary.”

“However that may be, Graeme went tearing off to see him,” Mirabelle assured her. “He left half his breakfast on his plate.”

“All this rushing about.” Lady Eugenia shook her head dolefully. “It’s bad for the digestion. He’ll be gone half the day, and he just got here. We’ve barely seen him. You’d think the boy could have some consideration.”

“I know!” Mrs. Ponsonby spoke up, startling them all. “We should go to Tunbridge Wells.”

“Whatever for?” Lady Eugenia asked.

“Lord Montclair will be gone. I’m sure Abigail would enjoy having a day out, wouldn’t you, dear?”

“I—yes, certainly.” Abby had no interest in Tunbridge Wells, but it was so rare that Mrs. Ponsonby spoke up, she hated to turn her down.

“We could go shopping,” Mrs. Ponsonby proffered. “It’s not far. We could take the train.”

“I would like to buy a new hat,” Mirabelle agreed.

“Before we come home, we could rest at the Swan,” Mrs. Ponsonby suggested. “You know, that inn where you liked their rack of lamb, Lady Eugenia.”

The dowager countess looked thoughtful. “Their flummery is rather pleasant, as well.”

The famously pleasant pudding was apparently a powerful lure, for in the end the dowager countess agreed that the day’s expedition would be nice. Abby would have preferred to be at home when Graeme returned, but the trip would pass the time, and anyway, perhaps she should not seem so patently willing to sit and wait for him. After all, he could have delayed it a bit and taken her with him.

Abby soon found that a shopping trip with the Ladies Montclair left a great deal to be desired. Graeme’s mother tended to like everything and his grandmother nothing, which made for an endless morning of bickering, genial on Mirabelle’s side and acerbic on the part of Lady Eugenia.

Mrs. Ponsonby, however, was clearly thrilled. She chattered away, pointing out all the sights of Tunbridge Wells to Abby, and even Lady Eugenia’s curt admonition to her to be quiet did not throw her into a hurt silence. Looking at the woman’s bright eyes and the color in her cheeks, Abby could not be sorry she had agreed to go.

The meal they shared at the private dining room at the inn was too heavy for Abby, and she ate sparingly, ignoring the thick potato soup. After the flummery, Lady Eugenia decreed that they should sit for a moment and “let it settle.” The room was very warm, and both Graeme’s mother and grandmother soon nodded off.

Mrs. Ponsonby yawned delicately, raising Abby’s hopes that the companion, too, would succumb to a nap, freeing Abby to leave the suffocating room for a stroll outside. She had caught a glimpse of an attractive park behind the inn, with a pathway leading across a quaint bridge.

“My, there must be something in the food. I am a trifle drowsy myself. It’s rather stuffy in here, isn’t it?” Mrs. Ponsonby tittered, covering her mouth. When Abby agreed, she went on, “Shall we take a stroll out back? It’s a lovely place, for a common inn.”

“Wonderful.” While Mrs. Ponsonby would not be her preferred choice of companion, Abby was eager to get out of the overheated room and into the fresh air. Putting on her bonnet, she left her coat and gloves behind. The cool air would feel pleasant, coming from the heat of this room.

It took Mrs. Ponsonby longer to put on her coat, bonnet, and gloves, and she grabbed a parasol, as well. Abby wasn’t sure why the woman thought she needed both bonnet and parasol in the pale autumn sun, but Abby was by now accustomed to Mrs. Ponsonby’s cautious ways.

They strolled out the side door and wound around to the back. Here, away from the noise of the inn and its stable yard, was a pleasant rose garden with a winding path through it and a few benches here and there. At the far end was a small footbridge leading across a rushing stream.

“Are you feeling well?” Mrs. Ponsonby asked anxiously. “Would you care to sit and rest for a bit?”

“No. I’m fine. But you are welcome to sit if you want.” Perhaps Mrs. Ponsonby would choose to stay and rest on one of the garden benches, leaving Abby to meander on her own.

“Oh, no, I’m quite well, thank you. But you mustn’t tire yourself.”

“I enjoy walking.”

“Yes, I have seen you in the gardens at the Hall.” Mrs. Ponsonby fiddled with her gloves, glancing about. She was always a fluttery creature, but she seemed unusually so today. Abby began to suspect that Lady Eugenia’s companion was working up the courage to ask her something, but the other woman merely said, “You shouldn’t go out alone, you know. The earl would not like it. He’s most concerned about you.”

“There are always gardeners around.”

Mrs. Ponsonby continued to scan the area, even turning to glance behind them. She had not opened her umbrella, but carried it on the shaft as one would a club. It occurred to Abby that the woman, though several inches shorter and many years older than Abby, considered herself Abby’s protector.

“Still, you should take a companion. What if no one was close enough to come to your aid?” Mrs. Ponsonby peered anxiously into Abby’s face. “Are you feeling tired? Sleepy? Here is a bench; we could stop to rest.”

Abby suppressed her irritation. The woman meant well. “No, I’d like to look at the brook. It’s a charming bridge.” She pointed to the small humpbacked stone bridge.