Part 51 (2/2)
”Mr Quentin?”
The voice was sweet and melodious. He turned, joy in his heart, and saw that it was indeed Miss Clarinda Howitt, rescuer of gentlemen's hats. She was smiling up at him, a sparkle in her serious blue eyes.
”Miss Howitt,” he said, with every evidence of a long acquaintance, ”how marvellous to see you again. You must tell me how your aunt is. Let us go and find some tea, and then we can chat. Do excuse me, Mrs Russo. Eh, Miss Russo and . . . eh, all the rest of your family.”
He tugged. The fingers on his arm resisted a moment and then he was reluctantly released.
”Thank you, thank you, Miss Howitt,” he said fervently, as they moved away. ”I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I feared I was to be Mrs Russo's prisoner for life.”
Clarinda bit her lip, trying not to laugh. ”Mrs Russo is one of our long time residents, Mr Quentin.”
”Is that what happens to someone who lives here too long?” he demanded, wide-eyed, but with a teasing smile.
This time she did laugh.
”She said I had a smell of London about me, which sounded most unpleasant.”
Miss Howitt gave him a shy smile. She had the sweetest mouth and he wished she would smile more often. If she were his, he would make it his goal to see her smile each and every day.
”I think she meant to imply you had a certain style, sir, that can only be found in London.”
He nodded soberly. ”Thank you for explaining that to me, Miss Howitt. I thought she might be insulting me, but I hardly liked to fight a duel with a woman of her age. Indeed with a woman of any age.”
”No, duels are frowned upon in Bath society. Although I believe Mrs Russo is quite an expert with a crossbow.”
Her blue eyes were sparkling delightfully and a frisson ran through him and centred itself on his heart. It was a sensation he had not experienced in a very long time and he could not ignore it, no matter how urgent his current mission.
”Miss Howitt . . .” he began rashly.
But she was already speaking.
”Mr Quentin.” She took a breath, as if her words were somehow momentous. Did she feel it too? This sense of the meeting of two beings who were destined to meet? He leaned closer and breathed in her scent, drowning in visions of Clarinda lying in his arms quite naked. And then he heard what she was saying.
”I want you to meet my sister, Lucy. She is standing over there, by the vase of flowers. Do you see her? The girl with dark hair?”
Confused, he glanced in the direction she indicated. There were a number of girls gathered in a group, girls who looked as if they were just out of the schoolroom. One of them did seem to have dark hair.
She was watching him with antic.i.p.ation, and because he didn't want to disappoint her, he said, ”Delightful.”
He was rewarded with a beaming smile, her eyes s.h.i.+ning up at him. ”Yes, she is delightful. I think, although of course I am biased, she is the loveliest girl in Bath.”
”Indeed your sister is very pretty, Miss Howitt.”
”Come and I will introduce you, Mr Quentin.” She began to make her way towards the group of schoolgirls. He stood a moment, watching her go, absorbed in the graceful perfection of her figure and the elegance of her bearing. Why did no one else in the room realize what a treasure she was? When she glanced back, surprised he was not following, he had to hurry after her.
The introductions were made, although James hardly heard them, but he must have said all the right things for no one gave him a peculiar look. Lucy was indeed an engaging girl, and smiled and chatted about Bath and then laughed when he lamented the weather. And all the time Clarinda beamed upon him like a fairy G.o.dmother who had just granted him his dearest wish.
When an older woman in a striped silk gown joined them, she was introduced as Lady March, Clarinda's aunt. She examined him coldly through her quizzing gla.s.s as though seeking fault.
”How do you do, Lady March?” he said politely.
”Particularly ill, sir. My niece misled me as to your ident.i.ty.”
”Aunt, I'm sorry, I thought you were speaking of Mr Quentin when you-”
”As I recall I said, 'Who is that handsome gentleman?' and you told me it was Mr Quentin. In fact it was Mr Collingwood I was referring to.”
”Aunt, please . . .” Clarinda's eyes met his and darted away. She flushed scarlet.
”Mr Quentin is handsome enough,” her aunt went on, as if he wasn't there, ”but he is rather too healthy looking for my liking. Mr Collingwood has some very interesting ailments he quite puts the rest of us invalids in the shade.”
”You are an invalid, Lady March?” James said with an air of surprise, trying not to enjoy the fact that Clarinda thought him the handsomest man in the room. ”You disguise your suffering well, I must say.”
She gave him a stoic smile that did not reach her steely eyes. ”There is no point in complaining, Mr Quentin. Now, come along, Clarinda. You too, Lucy. I have discovered there is a shop where it is possible to purchase wheeled chairs. We have no time to waste. I really must have one. Mr Collingwood says his sister pushes him everywhere in it,” she added with satisfaction.
For a moment there was anguish on Clarinda's face, so heart wrenching that James took a step closer, but the next moment her face a.s.sumed a resigned expression.
”Yes, Aunt. Goodbye, Mr Quentin. Will we see you at the ball in the New a.s.sembly Rooms on Thursday night?”
”Oh yes,” piped Lucy, ”you must put your name down in the book, sir. No one is allowed to attend unless their name is down in the book.”
”Then I shall do so post-haste,” he a.s.sured her, with a quizzical smile. ”Where is this book?”
Aunt March was hurrying them away, showing amazing resilience for an invalid.
”Ask Mrs Russo!” Clarinda called back to him, and for a moment her smile was back, though less brilliant than before.
James watched them go. The old woman, Lady March, seemed to have Clarinda in her clutches and would not easily let her go. Well, he would see about that. At Waterloo he had helped defeat Napoleon; Lady March didn't stand a chance.
”And who, pray, is this Mr Quentin?” Lady March demanded, when they were safely back in Sydney Place.
Clarinda turned from the soft patter of rain on the window, where she had been staring dreamily into the afternoon shadows. ”He is lately arrived in Bath,” she said, but when Lady March continued to glare at her impatiently, she added, ”He is a gentleman, and his manners are good. He is putting up at the Good King and planning to stay for some time. He-”
”He is wealthy.” Lady March liked to get to the point.
”It would seem so,” Clarinda replied cautiously. She glanced at her sister, who was reading upon the chaise longue. ”What did you think of Mr Quentin, Lucy?”
Lucy set down her book and yawned sleepily. ”Lord, I don't know, Clarinda. He's amusing enough but he's quite old, isn't he? Not like Monsieur Henri,” she added dreamily.
”You can't prefer the hero in that book to Mr Quentin,” Clarinda declared with uncharacteristic crossness. ”Really, Lucy, he's charming and sophisticated and perfect in every way.”
Lucy's pretty face took on a mulish look. ”If you think that, Clarinda, then you must be falling in love with him yourself.”
There was a silence. Clarinda felt too shocked to reply, not so much at Lucy's temper but at the idea that she should be falling in love with a man when her future was already set.
”I am most disappointed about my wheeled chair,” Lady March announced in a loud voice. ”Sold out indeed. I cannot believe there are so many people in Bath requiring them at this present time. I am sure no one needs one as urgently as I do. Perhaps I could send up to London for one. What do you think, Clarinda?”
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