Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager(29)

‘Knowing how few habitable rooms there are in Florence House perhaps it was a good thing I was not with you,’ remarked Kate. ‘I said to Charles—’

‘Charles?’ Susannah turned to her. ‘You were with Charles Camerton? Was that the reason you could not come with me.’

She had never seen Kate blush before. Could it mean that her friend was truly attracted to the gentleman? Susannah tried to be happy for Kate, but she had to acknowledge a slight disappointment, a vague feeling that somehow her friend had let her down.

* * *

Susannah kept them occupied for the next hour discussing the snow and the situation at Florence House. She did not mention the viscount’s presence in the house, salving her conscience with the thought that do to so would give rise to unnecessary speculation. At length she escaped to her room to dress for dinner, only to suffer an uncomfortable half-hour as Dorcas bemoaned the loss of the tasselled cord from her

mistress’s green-silk gown. She was scandalised by Susannah’s airy admission that she had never liked the cord and had thrown it away. Her declaration that she was going to send the gown back to Odesse to be

fitted with a ribbon tie instead met with even more condemnation.

‘Never did I think you would be guilty of such extravagance, Miss Prentess,’ declared her maid, shaking her head. ‘Why, as high and mighty as a viscountess you are getting.’

‘No, I am not,’ declared Susannah, blushing hotly. ‘Why on earth should you say such a thing?’

Dorcas turned to stare at her.

‘It’s just a saying, miss, as well you knows. And I’m sure if you want a gown altering then ’tis no business of mine.’

Susannah quickly begged pardon and sat meekly while her maid dressed her hair, fervently hoping that she would be able to get through the rest of the evening without blushing again over the events of the past few days.

* * *

By Sunday the snow was melting, leaving the ground waterlogged and the sky grey and overcast. Susannah wondered if Jasper had left Bath, now that he knew she had no intention of marrying Gerald. She realised she would be very sorry if she did not see him again. Then she remembered his final words to her—it may be best if we do not meet for a few days. Her hopes rose. Surely that could only mean he was remaining in Bath? With this in mind she took particular care over her choice of walking dress for the Sunday morning service in the Abbey. A watery sun broke through the clouds as she descended from the carriage, prompting her aunt to hope that they had seen the last of the winter weather.

The walk to the Abbey doors was a short one, but Susannah was aware of the frowning looks that were cast her way as she accompanied her aunt. A frisson of nerves tingled down her spine. Did they know about her meetings with Lord Markham? To dine with him in York House had been a risk, but that was compounded by being stranded with him at Florence House the following night. Head high, she tucked her hand in Aunt Maude’s arm and accompanied her into the Abbey. A quick look around convinced Susannah that the viscount was not present. She was disappointed, but considering the looks she had received, she thought perhaps it was for the best.

The service seemed interminably long and Susannah was impatient to be outside again where she could confront those who were casting such disapproving stares in her direction. Better to know the worst immediately. At last they were making their way out through the doors and into the spring sunshine. Aunt Maude had been blissfully unaware of the frosty looks and now sailed up to Mr and Mrs Farthing, who were conversing with Amelia Bulstrode.

‘Oh, Mrs Wilby, I did not see you there.’ Mrs Bulstrode stopped, flustered, her eyes flickering to Susannah and away again. ‘Heavens, I did not expect—that is, with all the talk, I thought you might prefer not to come here today.’

‘Talk?’ Aunt Maude glanced at Susannah, a crease furrowing her brow. ‘Perhaps I have missed something. I have not been outside the house since Thursday.’

‘Then you will not know that everyone is talking about the new establishment you have seen fit to create,’ Mrs Farthing’s strident tones cut in. She turned to Susannah, her rather protuberant eyes snapping angrily. ‘I suppose you think yourself superior, Miss Prentess, to be setting up your own house for fallen women. Our establishment in Walcot Street is not good enough for you. I wonder what your uncle would think if he knew you had put one of his houses to such use.’

So it was Florence House that had started such a fluttering in the dovecotes. Relief allowed Susannah to respond mildly to the accusations.

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, but you said yourself the Walcot Street home cannot cope with the number of applicants. My own small attempt to help distressed gentlewomen...’

‘Gentlewomen!’ Mrs Farthing snorted. ‘Trollops, they are. Wanton hussies, flaunting themselves before the young men. Is it any wonder that they find themselves in difficulties? Rather than trying to set up your own establishment, you should contribute to ours. I do not know why you want to pander to these females, setting them up in their own house out of town with a cook and a housekeeper and treating them as guests. Guests! They should be made to work, to understand the error of their ways. And if she were my niece, Mrs Wilby—’ she turned her attack towards Aunt Maude ‘—I would strongly counsel her to leave these matters to those who understand them.’

‘I’m afraid she is right,’ added Mr Farthing, smiling at Susannah in a very patronising way. ‘You young

ladies like your worthy causes, I know, but my dear wife has the right of it. You should not be associating with these creatures, lest you become tainted.’

Susannah’s temper reared at that, but Aunt Maude nipped her arm. Somehow she managed to hold her peace while Mrs Wilby smiled and nodded and said all that was necessary before leading her away.

‘Tainted!’ Susannah almost ground her teeth in annoyance. ‘Why, Aunt, if anyone is to talk of arrogance—’

‘I know, my dear, but few people are as liberal as you.’ Aunt Maude patted her arm as she guided her firmly towards the waiting carriage. ‘It is the reason we told no one about your little scheme, is it not? How on earth did word get out?’

Susannah wondered this, too, and she considered the matter during the short drive back to Royal Crescent.

‘I do not believe it could have come from the servants, I pay them very well for their discretion.’

‘Mrs Farthing did seem to be particularly well informed,’ mused Aunt Maude as the carriage pulled up at their door. ‘I suppose the truth was bound to come out at some point.’

‘But not yet,’ muttered Susannah. ‘Not now.’

She followed Aunt Maude into the house, where they divested themselves of their coats before repairing to the drawing room.

‘It could be very damaging if the connection between Odesse and Florence House is known,’ said Aunt Maude. ‘She is not yet well established, and the knowledge might affect her business. If that happened we would have to find another market for the lace, too. But who could have let it slip? Apart from the servants only you, me and Kate Logan know the truth.’

Susannah walked to the window and stared out. Suddenly the spring sun did not seem quite so bright.

‘There is another,’ she said slowly. ‘Lord Markham knows the truth.’

‘What?’

Susannah turned from the window. She could not bring herself to meet her aunt’s astonished gaze.

‘He followed me on Friday morning. I was obliged to explain to him. Everything.’

‘Oh heavens!’ Aunt Maude fell back in her chair, one hand pressed to her breast. ‘Why did you not say earlier, my dear? I suppose you thought it not worth a mention. And when I recall how bad the weather was on Friday, I suppose we must think ourselves lucky that he was not snowed up with you.’

‘Well, actually, ma’am...’

* * *

It took all Susannah’s reassurance and the judicious use of her aunt’s silver vinaigrette bottle to bring Mrs Wilby back to a semblance of normality. She would not rest until she had heard the whole story. She was shocked, scandalised, not least when Susannah told her that the viscount had cooked dinner for them all.

‘Well he is a very odd sort of man,’ she declared, fanning herself rapidly. ‘To remain in the house while you were all at sixes and sevens with the birth. And you say he did not insist upon taking the best bedchamber? Very odd indeed.’

‘He was content to sleep in the parlour and leave Mrs Gifford’s room for me.’ Susannah was relieved when her aunt accepted the inference. She feared that not even the vinaigrette would help if she had to confess to spending the night in the same room as the viscount.

‘Oh good heavens, what a tangle,’ declared Mrs Wilby. ‘It is bad enough that everyone knows you are involved in Florence House. If they should discover that you spent the night there, alone, with Lord Markham—’