Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The week following the odd visit to Clare Court was a busy one. Lenora focused on visits with Reuben. But she also walked in the park with Iris, who seemed morose and oddly silent.

She didn’t see much of Dorian or his friend, Mr Hooper. Dorian seemed preoccupied with his clinic, and Charles seemed to be spending long hours in the Clare Court library, scribbling away at his play.

Bath was a small community, however, so it was impossible to avoid Dorian or Mr Hooper completely.

One of her father’s friends hosted a party featuring several notable academics and prominent community members. Dorian, Mr Holt, Mr Hooper, and Lord Whitchurch were included in the roster of honoured guests.

Ordinarily, Lenora would have been off to dance and mingle with the other young people at the party. But the odd afternoon at Clare Court, added to Reuben’s on again, off again, attitudes, had left her feeling a little strange. On this night, she stuck close to her mother’s side, determined not to be caught unchaperoned at any moment.

Lady Temple and the hostess happily exchanged anecdotes about householding with children, travel, and generally maintaining a respectable home while married to an academic.

“So I said to my husband,” the hostess declared, “I simply cannot entertain twenty guests and feed them on air. Either you will have to change the venue or provide the household with groceries.”

“They just do not think, do they?” Lady Temple replied. “Why I remember once . . .” and she embarked on a long tale that involved the greengrocer, the cat’s meat man, and the honey wagon.

Lenora was not at all sure this constituted appropriate conversation, as taught by Miss Tunstall, but it seemed to be making both ladies happy. From her sheltered seat next to her mother, Lenora watched the crowd.

Dorian meticulously made the rounds of the various guests, flirting politely with the ladies and exchanging words with the gentlemen. He had a smile on his face, but it seemed frozen there, like the nursery tale of the little foxes whose faces had frozen in frowns.

She thought perhaps it might be better to have one’s face freeze in a smile, but she wasn’t sure. Dorian didn’t look as if he was enjoying himself.

In another part of the throng of attendees, she could see Mr Holt speaking seriously with Reuben. Both their faces were set in frowns. Mr Holt looked distraught as if he had lost a friend or loved one. Whatever he was saying to Reuben, the news was not well received. The young lord’s brows were drawn together, and he had a mulish look on his face that did not bode well for anyone trying to persuade him to change his mind, regardless of the topic.

Lenora accompanied her mother as Lady Temple moved through the crowd, greeting old friends and being introduced to new ones. As she got closer to Lord Whitchurch and Mr Holt, she could see that they both looked a little desperate. They were clearly disagreeing. Mr Holt broke off his conversation and said, “I must get back to the hospital. I have no more time for chitchat.” He left the room quickly, nearly running.

“What was that all about?” Lady Temple asked Reuben as she came up to him.

Reuben sighed. “My health is deteriorating, and nothing Mr Holt does seems to be helping. I was one of his first patients, and I believe he cares for me in the same way he might a son. In all events, I am not well tonight and fear I am poor company. I shall likely depart before dinner. Pardon me for not lingering. I should make my excuses to our host and hostess.”

He moved away from them and was quickly lost in the crowd.

A few minutes later, Lenora caught sight of Charles Hooper standing next to their host. “Good people,” the academic called out, “I’d like to introduce a young man of great interest, Mr Charles Hooper. He has come here, to Bath, to write a play. Inspired by all he has witnessed, he has completed it, and it will be shown next month in London. You should all be sure to attend.”

“I have so enjoyed my time here in Bath,” Mr Hooper added. “I am sure you will like my play.” He tossed an angry look at Dorian, who completely lost his frozen smile and glared back at him.

Lenora wondered what could have happened that would have the two gentlemen glaring at each other. But before she could make her way to enquire of either one, their hostess beckoned everyone into the dining room to have their dinner.

Despite the hostess’s grumbling about her husband’s stinginess, the meal was excellent. The soup was a simmered broth. The main course was a leg of mutton that, while definitely from a sheep rather than a lamb, had been simmered in an herbal sauce that rendered it both tender and flavourful. The accompanying vegetables were cooked just right. The tiny dishes of nuts were free of shells and were accompanied by morsels of crystalized sugar. The sweets at the end of the meal were whimsical creatures made of marzipan, each created individually for the diners, so there was no bickering over the last piece. It was a tasty, if somewhat frugal, meal.

As the dinner progressed, each course was accompanied by chatter and local gossip: … “so, I said to him,” remarked a stout lady farther down the table, ‘I really don’t care if the hen is of fine repute, she is so lean . . .’”

“. . . caught kissing while on a picnic,” a fellow with silver-coloured muttonchop whiskers was remarking to his seat companion. “Can you imagine? Whatever are young people coming to these days.”

“That youngest child of Sir Francis’,” a voice wafted from farther up the table, “is so wild, she’s scarcely been allowed out of her mother’s sight this whole evening . . .”

Lenora felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Her mother would gladly have allowed her to mingle with the other young people. It was her decision to stick close by her side.

Her mother was of no help at all. She was engaged in a discussion of the merits of bulbs over seeds for spring flowers. “So much more reliable,” she said. “Our gardener absolutely swears by them.”

It was a great relief to Lenora when the sweet was served. Her marzipan creature was a tiny horse, so lifelike it seemed a pity to eat it. But Lenora knew from bitter experience that if she tried to save it, the delicate sweet would simply crumble and be wasted. She nibbled at it delicately, enjoying the almond flavour.

She was glad when the gentlemen stepped out onto the balcony and the ladies retired to the drawing room. Deciding that she had played the modest maiden, hugging her mother’s side long enough, Lenora headed for the long hall. She hoped for a chance to stride up and down it and swing her arms in an effort to shake off the gossipy voices and attitudes.

As she reached the threshold, someone grabbed her by the arm. She turned, prepared to scold the person with a sharp remark, only to find herself face-to-face with Dorian.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked. “I thought we had talked out our differences.”

“I’ve not been avoiding you,” Lenora protested. “It is just . . . I don’t know; things are so awkward just now.”

“I understand.” Dorian nodded. “This has been a somewhat uncomfortable evening for many of us.”

“I can see that,” Lenora said. “Are you angry with Mr Hooper?”

“Annoyed would be a better word,” Dorian replied. “Something has come up between us that . . . Well, let us just say I am more than a little irritated by him just now.”

“I thought you were friends,” Lenora said.

“We are, or at least we were. Look, the hallway is no place to talk about this. I need to speak with someone before they leave. Could you meet me in the library?”

“Of course,” Lenora said. The library would give her as good a chance as any to move about and work off some of her tension.

At first, Lenora thought nothing of Dorian’s request. They often slipped away after a party to compare views or to chuckle over the things people said. But after she had strode around the tables and chairs several times, she began to wonder what could have happened to Dorian.

She selected a book at random, lit a candle from the coals in the fireplace, and settled herself to pass the time by reading.

At last, the door opened. “There you are!” Lenora exclaimed.

But the man who came in was not Dorian; it was Reuben. “I thought you went home,” Lenora said, surprised and a little upset at not seeing her friend.

“I was going to, but our host talked me out of it. I saw you come in here, but I didn’t want to bother you at first.”

“But then?” Lenora prompted.

“Then I thought, now is a good time to speak with you.” Reuben came farther into the room. “You were so kind to me when I was feeling poorly and such a good sport about the way I reacted . . . the truth is, Lenora, I’ve thought of little else since that day. You are becoming quite dear to me. I’d like to deepen our relationship. I know that you want it, too.”

By now, he was beside her chair. “After all, you sent Dorian to me and asked him to introduce us.”

Lenora’s tangled feelings rose inside her, and she thought they would strangle her just as the legendary physicians had believed might happen to a hysterical young girl. She tensed her muscles to rise from the chair.

Before she could do it, Reuben bent over her and kissed her on the lips. The brush of his lips was quick and light. He smelled of bay rum shaving lotion, but his breath had an odd, underlying bitterness to it. Before Lenora raised her arm, but before she could further evade his attentions, the library door opened.

Dorian stood there, his mouth agape. Clearly, this was not what he had expected to see at all.