Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Pump Room was crowded with Londoners who were enjoying the more relaxed atmosphere in Bath. Lenora wandered through the crowd with Miss Tunstall trailing behind, hoping to see the handsome gentleman she had observed at the party after her sisters’ weddings.

Across the room, she saw Iris Blanche entering the Pump Room with her father. Lenora hastened across the room, intercepting them. “Iris!” she exclaimed, hands outstretched in welcome. “How good to see you.”

Iris joined hands with her, and the pair exchanged air kisses on either side of their faces. “How delightful to find you here,” Iris returned her greeting. “I was worried that there would be no one to visit with.”

They dropped hands but stood near each other companionably. “How have you been?” Lenora asked. “It’s been ages.”

“Well enough,” Iris said. “Father has dragged me all over England collecting rare herbs and other ingredients to make his special perfumes. The haut ton should have the aroma of a hot house, if not a rose garden, this season.”

Lenora laughed. “Let’s find someplace to sit, and you must tell me all about your adventures.”

The two paused by the refreshment table, each collecting a small plate of delicacies and a cup of tea. They settled at a table near one of the fireplaces. From there, they could see the giant vase that dispensed water from the spring and hear the streams tinkling into the basin while remaining far enough away not to be splashed.

They each sipped their tea in contemplative silence — three sips each, no more, no less. Then Iris asked, “What kept you away so long? I’ve not seen you in ages.”

“Father took Mother, August, and I to France, where he was researching his latest book. My sisters, not wishing to be deprived of their Season, stayed behind with Aunt Eva, Mother’s next sister,” Lenora explained.

“Why did you not stay with them?” Iris asked.

Lenora took another sip of tea and tried to school her face into a mournful expression but found her lips widening into a wicked grin. “Because Aunt Eva told Mother that she was not to leave that Satan’s spawn for her to look after. Since I could not stay on my own, perforce I had to go with Mother and Father. August went along because he had not yet toured the Continent.”

Iris’s eyebrows flew up, and a tiny smile played around the corners of her lips. “Of course, you felt just terrible about it all.”

“Oh, course,” Lenora said airily. “Just think how humiliating it is to be refused house room by an old harridan like my aunt.”

“Are you sorry not to have stayed?” Iris asked.

“Not really,” Lenora answered. “It would have been deadly dull at Aunt Eva’s house. All the focus would have been on my sisters — who have done quite well for themselves.”

“I heard,” Iris said. “I also heard that you showed up at the wedding in your riding habit.”

Lenora feigned dismay. “Is there no one who has not heard about my entrance?”

Iris laughed. “Probably no one. But tell me about your journey abroad.”

“Oh, Iris, our stay in France was not at all what I had hoped. It rained nearly every day, all day long. Food was dreadfully expensive, and the shopkeepers were conserving all their best wares for people with titles or their own families, so ordinary people like us got scarcely a whiff of that famed French cuisine.”

“It sounds dire,” Iris sympathized.

“It was. Upon our return, my sole desire was to ride my horse as fast and furiously as I could manage. I got up early to do just that. Then August caught up with me and reminded me that I needed to hurry lest I be late.”

“So, of course, nothing would do but for you to show up, fling wide the doors to the main entrance and parade in fine style to your family pew.”

“Exactly,” Lenora agreed. “Oh, Iris, I have missed talking with you. No one else understands my humour. Of late, I’ve been examined by more quizzing glasses than I care to count.”

“What will you do now?” Iris enquired.

Lenora shrugged. “I guess I shall find a gentleman willing to marry. Most of my friends are either married or engaged. It is extremely dismal listening to their raptures and having not even a single beau of my own.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Iris lifted her cup and sipped, looking at Lenora over its rim.

“I might,” Lenora said. “There was an extremely attractive gentleman at the party after the wedding. Miss Tunstall recognized him. His name is Reuben Manners, and he is the Viscount of Whitchurch. She says he is the only son and heir of the Earl of Balidon.”

“I have met him at a party in London,” Iris says. “He is quite a handsome man and seems polite and well-spoken. You could certainly do worse. He has an excellent reputation. How will you go about attracting his attention?”

“Of that, I am not quite sure,” Lenora says. “I suppose I shall try to engage him in conversation. I am quite good at talking.”

Iris laughed at this, hiding her titter behind her fan. “So you are,” she said. “But you are also outspoken, brash, and prone to saying things that gentlemen sometimes find off-putting.”

“Perhaps you should go with me to meet him. Since you have met him, perhaps you could introduce us.”

“That would be a good place to begin,” Iris said, smiling at her friend’s impetuous suggestion. “However, I am not at all sure it would be proper.”

“Oh, look!” Lenora exclaimed. “I think he just entered the Pump Room! Oh, Iris, he is so handsome! I shall simply die if I cannot fix his attention upon me.”

“Heavens!” Iris said. “Let us hope that it shall not come to such a pass. We can at least stroll by him and see if he looks our way.”

The two of them paraded casually by Lord Whitchurch where he stood talking to another gentleman. Neither conversationalist looked their way.

The ladies promenaded around the perimeter of the Pump Room, with Summer Tunstall trailing after them. Neither of them saw friends or family with whom they wished to speak, and they had exhausted their personal conversation. They walked along in companionable silence until Iris said, “Oh, look. Is that not Dorian de Clare and Charles Hooper?”

Lenora looked at the two gentlemen who had just entered the pump room. “That is certainly Dorian,” she said. “Perhaps we can persuade them to dance. I’m getting rather tired of just walking.”

The ladies changed their trajectory to an angle across the room. This brought them to an intersection with Dorian and Charles, who were heading towards the refreshment table.

“Hello,” Dorian said. “A pleasure to meet the two of you here. How have you been, Miss Blanch? Have you attempted any more singing, Miss Temple?”

“I’ve been worn to nearly a thread,” Iris replied. “Father has dragged us over nearly half of England, looking for new fragrances and compounding novel perfumes.”

“No more singing of late. I’ve taken up poetry recitation to a musical background,” Lenora said.

Their answers came out one over the top of the other, and they both laughed prettily as if at some enormous joke.

Apparently, Dorian had no problem sorting out the replies, for he said, “I am sure society at large appreciates your father’s efforts,” giving a nod to Iris. “It has been a cold winter, and the parties have been remarkably close and warm. Miss Temple, I believe you have made a prudent choice, but have a care. It is a selection perilously close to acting.”

“Oh, I should never give a recital save in my friends’ drawing rooms,” Lenora hastened to assure him. “Even I am not so brazen as to do otherwise. Still . . . can you just imagine Mother’s face if I did so?”

They all laughed merrily at this. No doubt all of them could imagine any well-bred lady’s face should her daughter give a public poetry recital.

Charles, who had been studying Iris with intense fascination, asked, “Dorian, could you introduce us, please?”

“Of course,” Dorian replied. “Miss Blanch, Miss Temple, please allow me to introduce my friend, Charles Hooper, a hopeful playwright and author. Mr. Hooper, may I present Miss Iris Blanch, daughter of the court perfumer, and Miss Lenora Temple, daughter of the famous author and historian, Sir Francis Temple.”

The ladies both bobbed quick curtsies, and Charles swept a low bow, much more formal than was necessary. “I am very pleased to meet both of you,” he said and then seemed at a loss as to what he should say next. Dorian covered smoothly for his friend’s lack of speech.

“Are you finding the weather at Bath more clement than that of France, Miss Temple?” he asked.

“Somewhat,” she replied. “Although not so pleasant as I had hoped.”

“It has been a bitter winter everywhere,” Iris put in. “I do not think anyone has found the climate salubrious.”

“Indeed, no,” Charles said, jolted out of his reverent contemplation of Iris’s face. “Miss Blanch, would it be presumptuous of me to ask you to dance? I believe a set is just starting up.”

“Not at all,” Iris said, “I should be pleased to dance with you.” She held out her fan for him to print his name on a stick, reserving the current dance.

He signed and offered his arm, leading Iris off to the dance floor.

When they were gone, Lenora said, “Will you dance with me, Dorian? I want to draw near Lord Whitchurch so you can introduce us.”

Dorian made a sour face. “I am not fond of dancing.”

“But you will do it for me, won’t you?” Lenora pleaded. “I must begin my quest for a husband at once, and he is a handsome gentleman with a good reputation.”

“I see,” Dorian said, allowing himself to be towed out onto the dance floor. “It has nothing to do with my indifferent skills as a dancer.”

“You dance beautifully,” Lenora said, taking her place opposite him in the set. Even though she had danced with Dorian many times before, somehow, this time seemed different. She felt her cheeks flush as she rested her fingers atop his hand as they moved through the figures of the dance.

“Thank you,” Dorian said, moving competently through the steps. He also seemed to have an unusual amount of colour in his face. Perhaps it was the exertion of the dance.

When the music ended, he said, “Come along, I will introduce you.”

To Lenora’s surprise, he walked right up to Lord Whitchurch. “Hello, Reuben, how are you?”

“Doing well,” Lord Whitchurch replied. “And you, Dorian?”

“Very well,” Dorian replied. “Please allow me to introduce a friend and neighbour, Miss Lenora Temple. Miss Temple, this is Reuben Manners, Lord Whitchurch.”