Bridge Across the River

brIDGE ACROSS THE RIVER

Spencer

"Dash it all, Spence, this bowing to your father's beck and call is tiresome."

My cousin, Ralph, accompanied this complaint with a baleful eye and a mouth pursed with discontent, waving a hand toward the town at our back as we skirted the standing water left by the recent rain. The smell of burnt wood and ash had dissipated in the fresher air. The sky, now clear, was filled with migrating martins.

"Rochester," he said with disgust. "The fire should have taken it all. I crave the elegance of the Royal Crescent in Bath and Regent's Park in London."

"Rochester is an ancient city with a magnificent history." I waved my hand in no particular direction. "Chatham Docks, the castle, and especially the cathedral are worthy of appreciation."

Fiddling with a button, he seemed unimpressed. "I could be comfortably ensconced at Boodles, enjoying faro with my friends, or visiting the theater."

"You have money to burn? "

"My chasers have won several races, so I'm flush at the moment." After a short gloat, his face fell as he contemplated the lack of entertainment in Rochester.

We had just viewed the destruction from the late conflagration that destroyed much of Chatham. "Father feels an obligation to guide the Aid Commission after the fire. This is, after all, the second blaze in the past twenty years and the damage to both the town and the dockyards is incalculable."

"Fine, but then he should have come himself instead of sending his whipping boys."

I winced at the remark. "You know very well he is too ill. And I have expertise the rest of the commission lacks."

His frown remained.

"You live in his house. He pays your expenses—and your debts."

"Not true," Ralph shouted, face flushed. "My business…"

"Selling horses and dogs? Your business makes very little profit. For every animal you sell, you buy double. And the estate provides stabling and provender, grooms and stable boys."

A mulish expression persisted on his reddened visage, but his protests dwindled into a choking cough as I went on.

"This subservience, as you view it, is a small price to pay. And it lets us escape from the incessant marriage mart. Being Father's surrogate at a commission is preferable to being dragged from London to Bath and back to find a suitable bride."

"You won't find anyone in this backwater." Ralph moved off angrily, boot heels ringing against the pavement.

My father, whose concern was I have heirs, wanted me to marry an heiress with an impeccable pedigree, a good dowry, and young enough to give me several sons, at the least. Young, giddy girls did not attract me, but at thirty-five, I needed to find someone soon.

A shudder shook me as I thought back to the many candidates put in my way since Waterloo. "I swear, I have met every eligible young lady in the entire British Isles. And I hate assemblies and balls. "

Ralph, eight years my junior, grinned. "You'd rather stand in the cold and scan the skies."

He sighed, "As a landless relation, I shouldn't mind if you never married. Then the estate would come to me."

"Only if you amend your rakish behavior before it kills you. And of course, you would also be obligated to marry."

He shrugged. "A marriage of convenience would make a perfect arrangement. I should not mind a bit. A wife in the country and mistresses in the city. You are the one who is so particular."

We stepped onto the bridge over the Medway. An older man, a lady on each arm, crossed from the other direction. A stiff wind made the women's gowns cling in becoming and revealing ways not hidden by their outer garments.

The elderly gentleman was clean-shaven, with a splendid beaver and an ebony cane topped by the ivory figure of a stag. A brass ferrule tap-tap-tapped on the paving. His swirling greatcoat sported several capes.

One of the ladies looked to be near thirty, dressed in a Turkish red woollen pelisse against the cool autumn air. The other, with the rose complexion of a woman not yet twenty, wore a Spencer of peach-colored light velvet. Each sported a bonnet, their charming faces framed with gentle curls. Ralph's face glowed with an inner light, his gaze lingering on the younger woman.

Another man stalked beside them. His fashionable dress was covered by a military greatcoat. I watched as he offered the older woman his arm, but she declined to take it.

I mused on whom they might be. Perhaps a father, daughter, and second wife. And who was the sullen follower? The beau of the younger girl, spurned by a disapproving father but unable to take his dismissal gracefully? A son, pressed unwillingly into a promenade? A despised husband? I pushed the questions aside. They were mere passersby, after all.

Ralph, however, had made a move, hurrying over to the trio, gauchely introducing himself, and engaging the gentleman in conversation. When I reached them, he said, "Mr. Beauvillier, this is my cousin, Spencer Hodgson, Viscount Kintleford. Spencer, Mr. Beauvillier is an eminent solicitor whom I met last year when I had difficulties over the sale of several horses."

I inclined my head in a polite gesture.

Beauvillier pulled at his gloves. "Pleased to meet you, my lord. I was happy to be able to serve your cousin and advise him on a way of proceeding that proved quite successful."

The man preened slightly as I conferred a small smile. He continued, "This is my daughter, Juliana, Countess of Claremont." The older woman produced a slight curtsey.

"And this is her protégée, Miss Margaret Dashwood of Barton Cottage, Devonshire." The fresh-faced girl fastened her eyes unwaveringly on Ralph as she curtsied deeply.

The dark-haired man had stepped back and now loitered nearby, scowling but coming no closer. Mr. Beauvillier gestured to him. "This is Mr. Jacob Townsend, lately back from the war and traveling on the continent. He is a junior colleague in my law office."

Ralph and I acknowledged the younger man, who eyed us with suspicion.

Beauvillier continued, "I knew of your intended visit, my lord. The earl, your father, had notified me, in my role as chairman of the Aid Commission, that you would occupy his seat and I planned to call on you in the next few days. Now that we are so happily met, I would be pleased if you would both join us for dinner tomorrow evening. It will be a small party and will give you the opportunity to meet a few people of the town, including several of your fellow commissioners."

Before I could say a word, Ralph eagerly replied, "We would be honored, Mr. Beauvillier."

"Excellent. Beauvillier House is on Crow Lane. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening at six."

They swept past, the saturnine young man following a short distance behind, the top of his cane hitting the arches decorating the rail of the bridge .

I turned to Ralph. "You knew I planned to watch the meteor shower tomorrow."

He slapped my shoulder. "We will creep away after dinner, my dear fellow. No one would refuse a pleasant meal with charming ladies present. There will be time and darkness a plenty when we are done."