The coach conveying Louisa and Georgie to Bath made its final stop outside a quaint old coaching inn that looked to be from Shakespeare’s time. A large, lantern-lit sign over the door read The St. James Inn.
As Louisa exited the carriage ahead of her sister, the breeze carried the homey smells of woodsmoke and bacon to her nose. A fine rain was falling from the gray morning sky, making her grateful for her hooded cloak. Through the mist clinging to her eyelashes, she searched for a carriage that might be her aunt’s.
Not that Louisa was in a rush to face what lay ahead. She neither relished being imprisoned nor expected to enjoy the attractions of Bath. For how could she take pleasure in anything with the prospect of marrying Charles hanging over her head? And, if Theo could not locate her before the banns were read, that would indeed be her fate.
There was no private carriage there; only a line of public coaches, two hackney cabs, and a rickety farm wagon. With a heavy heart, she looked farther down the cobbled road. What she beheld was nothing like she expected. Instead of a bustling metropolis of stately homes, fashionable storefronts, and ancient spas, there was only a pub, a smithy, and a row of adjoining shops.
Turning to Georgie, she asked, “Could this really be Bath?”
Overhearing her, the coach guard answered, “Yay, Miss. This is Bath all right…though by no means the smartest part.”
When the trunks were unloaded and the coachman and guard tipped for their services, the sisters went into the inn to warm themselves while they awaited their ride. They took a seat at a soot-darkened oak table and, when the waitrette came, they ordered a pot of strong tea, two coddled eggs, and a rack of buttered toast. The food was brought a few minutes later and, as Louisa sipped her tea, she wondered for the umpteenth time how Theo would ever find her.
“He will come for you,” Georgie said, as if reading her mind. “I am certain of it.”
“I do not doubt his intentions.” Louisa was tearing up in spite of herself. “I do, however, doubt his ability to find me before I am another man’s wife. For he does not know where I have been taken…and I have no way to get word to him.”
“Why not write him a letter now?”
“That is a capital idea!” Louisa kicked herself for not having thought of it herself. Now, where to find paper, pen, and postage? Just as she rose to go in search of them, a lady came up to their table.
“Pray, are you the Miss Bennets?”
“We are,” the sisters replied in unison.
“I am Miss Nicholson, your aunt’s private secretary. She has asked me to collect you and bring you to her townhouse.”
Miss Nicholson was slender and dressed austerely in black. Though her bonnet shadowed most of her face, Louisa could see she had dark hair, piercing gray eyes, and was a few years older than she was.
Louisa wanted to cry. Had she acted sooner, she would not have missed her one chance to send word of her whereabouts to Theo.
Hooking arms, the sisters followed the lady out of the inn. She led the way to a four-in-hand chaise every bit as grand as Papa’s. The driver, a jowly man of middling years, wore a fur-trimmed three-corner hat and forest green cloak. As they approached, he climbed down from his perch and opened the door for them. When they were seated inside, they set off. As they made their way through the noisy streets, Louisa asked Miss Nicholson in what part of Bath her aunt lived.
“Her residence is in the Paragon,” the secretary replied with a ring of pride in her voice, “which I daresay will greatly benefit your introduction into Bath society. For here, the higher north one’s lodgings are, the higher one is on the social rung.”
Louisa bit her lip and looked out the window. She cared nothing for rungs and titles. Her only desire was to wake up each morning beside a husband she loved rather than feared.
“So,” said Miss Nicholson as the carriage clopped and clattered over the bumpy cobbles, “your aunt tells me one of you lucky young ladies is to marry young Lord Hillsworth as soon as the banns are read.”
“That would be Louisa,” Georgie volunteered, “though I daresay she does not look upon the marriage with a favorable eye.”
Miss Nicholson turned her astonished gaze on Louisa. “Is this true, Miss Bennet?”
Louisa licked her lips. “Yes, it is true. My desire has always been to marry for love—and I do not love my cousin.”
Miss Nicholson stared at her like she belonged in a circus side-show. “You should count your blessings, Miss Bennet, instead of lamenting your fate. By marrying your cousin, you are making an enviable match.”
Making no effort to defend herself, Louisa watched the city pass by her window. The buildings grew ever larger and grander until the carriage turned onto a street the likes of which she’d never seen in her life.
On the left side of the dirt road stood a string of grand houses with towering pillars and protective balustrades. On the right, a curvilinear row of townhouses stretched for several blocks. Halfway down, the carriage stopped.
The coachman climbed down, released the steps, and opened the door. Miss Nicholson led the way and, when all three of them were out, the secretary said to Georgie, “I understand your father wishes for you to find a husband while you are with us, so our evening activities will be undertaken with that goal in mind.” To Louisa, she said, “And in the daytime, we shall occupy ourselves with your introduction into society and the preparations for your wedding.”
Her words made Louisa shudder. All at once, her marriage to Charles went from looming danger to imminent threat.
Miss Nicholson must have sensed her anguish because she said rather haughtily, “Come, come, Miss Bennet, things are never as bad as we think they will be. In time, you will come to your senses and realize how truly fortunate you are.”
With no further conversation, they walked up the path and through the front door into a large foyer with a checkerboard marble floor. A Japaned case clock stood on one wall and an elaborately carved hall tree on the other. Before Louisa had a chance to study the furnishings in more detail, Miss Nicholson led the way into a sizeable parlor with blue-gray walls, gilded plasterwork, and ostentatious white and gold furniture. In the chair nearest the ornate marble fireplace sat Aunt Hildegarde, a stout woman of about sixty years. Her air was not the least bit welcoming, nor was her manner of receiving her nieces.
Undaunted by the cold reception, Louisa said, “Good morning, Aunt Hildegarde. How good it is to see you looking so well.”
“Well?” the lady cried, giving her niece a start. “I have never felt more ill in my life.”
“If that is so, I am sorry to hear it.” Louisa tried her best to keep the skepticism out of her voice. “But you certainly look to be in good health.”
“Well, I am not, I can assure you—the very reason I am in Bath. And you, of course, have come to wed my son, though I daresay I was most displeased to hear of the circumstances that brought this visit about. Really, Louisa. I am ashamed of you! To even think of trading a prize like my Charles—who is well-bred, propertied, and titled—for a naval officer with nothing to recommend himself—and a cripple, no less!—is…well, inconceivable! Not to mention a shameful display of shortsightedness, selfishness, and stupidity. I only hope you appreciate how generous I am being by admitting you into my home.”
Louisa, fighting to keep her temper, threw an over-the-shoulder glance at Georgie and Miss Nicholson. Both were still standing just inside the doorway, looking about the room while waiting to be acknowledged.
Addressing herself to her sister, she said, “Why do you not come and say hello to our aunt?”
“Oh, yes, Georgianna, do come and let me have a look at you,” Aunt Hildegarde cajoled.
Georgie came forward and stood beside Louisa. Their aunt’s gaze shifted from Georgie to her secretary, who still hung by the door. “Miss Nicholson, be a dear and go check on the tea. Tell Mrs. Mason I want it brought in without delay.”
When her secretary left the room, Aunt Hildegarde invited her nieces to sit. They took the chairs opposite her and, after scrutinizing each, she said, “Do not look so forlorn, Louisa, for I daresay you will enjoy your time here in Bath. For there are pleasurable amusements to be had at every hour of the day. Concerts, card parties, promenades, and balls, to name a few of the delights that await. You may not be attached to your bridegroom yet, as few of us are or ever hope to be, but that gives you no cause to make yourself—and everyone around you—wretched.”
The maid brought the tea and, after Louisa had her fill, she asked to be shown to her quarters. Her aunt assigned the task to Miss Nicholson, who escorted both sisters upstairs.
“Since the house has only five bedrooms, I am afraid you must share,” Miss Nicholson told them as she led the way down the sconce-lighted upstairs hallway. “I hope you do not find the arrangement too disagreeable.”
The chamber she took them into was far from displeasing. Louisa’s eyes went directly to the delicate writing desk at the foot of the opulent canopy. Certain all her letters would be scrutinized, she tried to think how she could smuggle one out unread.
Beside her, Georgie was admiring the other furnishings, which included a tufted chaise, a mirrored dressing table, and a towering cherry armoire. “How could anybody find this beautiful room disagreeable?”
After Miss Nicholson left them, Louisa went straight to the desk and removed from the center drawer a quill pen and sheet of paper. The inkwell, with its exquisite porcelain flowers, was from the Coalport factory in Shropshire, as was the coordinating candlestick. She smiled at the small reminder of home as she lit the candle for the sealing wax.
As she began to scratch out the salutation, Georgie came up behind her. “To whom are you writing?”
“Mama.”
Continuing her composition, Louisa chose her words carefully, lest they aroused suspicion on either end.
Dear Mama,
Less than an hour ago, Georgie and I arrived safely in Bath. The coach ride was tolerable, if a bit crowded at times (and insufferably long!), but we are well and now comfortably installed at our aunt’s on a fashionable street called The Paragon. The house itself is very elegant, though a little too pretentious for my taste. Georgie, however, seems well satisfied. Aunt Hildegarde has been as gracious as one could expect under the circumstances, though she wasted no time in taking me to task over my alliance with Capt. Raynalds. Everyone assures me my feelings will lessen in time, but I believe they are all quite wrong.
Please write back soon to the address provided and tell me all the news of our family and friends in Much Wenlock.
Your affectionate daughter,
Louisa
After adding the return address, Louisa blotted the ink, folded the paper, and sealed the letter.
Georgie observed this ritual from the bed, where she now reclined, damp hem, dirty shoes, and all. “How do you plan to post your letter?”
Louisa met her sister’s gaze over the footboard. “I will give it to Miss Nicholson to mail when we go down for luncheon. For she is a private secretary, is she not?—and I daresay, mailing a letter for a guest of her mistress’s should not fall outside her duties.”
A quizzical look overtook her sister’s comely features. “Speaking of Miss Nicholson, what do you make of her?”
“I must confess my first impression is not a favorable one,” Louisa replied. “My instincts tell me she is not what she appears, though I can point to nothing in particular upon which to base my feelings.”
“I just hope she will take us to the Assembly Rooms soon. For I so long to be in company with the distinguished young gentlemen of Bath, who must be more agreeable to me than the uncouth country squires who attend the balls at home.”
Surprised by her sister’s sentiments, Louisa raised an eyebrow. “Do you consider Captain Raynalds uncouth?—or Lieutenant Churchill?”
“Of course not, though neither do I consider them gentlemen. And, if I must choose a husband here in Bath, I should like him to be exceptional in every way.”
Louisa was astonished. Never had she thought Georgie to be as snobbish as their father. “Does love not matter to you?”
“Of course it does.” Georgie wrinkled her nose. “But it is just as easy to fall in love with the right man as the wrong one, is it not?”
“Unless you have already formed an attachment to wrong one, I daresay.”
“Do you refer to yourself or me?”
Louisa smiled at her sister. “Do you truly feel only friendship for Lieutenant Churchill?”
“I will admit to finding him handsome and charming, but what is to be gained by encouraging a suitor Papa will only tear me from the way he tore you from the Captain? I am, therefore, resolved to forget him. And what better way than to replace him in my heart with a gentleman of whom Papa will approve?”
Louisa wondered at her sister’s attitude, for she could never get over someone she cared for so easily. At the same time, she envied her sister’s sensible approach to love—and no less her chance to shop for a proper match here in Bath. Had Papa not have been so fixed on the idea of marrying his eldest to his heir, she, too, might have found a man who pleased them both. Not that she would trade her precious Captain for a thousand earls, baronets, or marquesses, but still.