Chapter 5

Chapter Five

D aniel pressed his hat onto his head and walked toward the bookseller’s shop to exchange the book he had finished for another. With no wish to speak to anyone, he kept his head down and arrived with no one intercepting him. A bell jingled as he opened the door and stepped into a room full of the woody vanilla scent of books. The proprietor, Mr. Leake, sat behind a counter, spectacles perched on his nose, book in hand. They mumbled cursory greetings, and Daniel perused the shop at his leisure. Since it was part booksellers, part circulating library, a new book always waited for discovery in one of the many disorganized piles that cluttered the room.

He moved past Newton, Pope, and Hume to a shelf of novels. There must be something new. Pamela , Jonathan Swift , Tom Jones , Clarissa . He’d already read those. Mr. Leake hunched over his book and did not look as if he would welcome a disturbance. Daniel pulled out his pocket watch. He had a call to make and must leave soon or be late.

“Excuse me, do you have anything new in?”

Mr. Leake lifted the pink book he was reading. “You will want this one, if you’ve not read it. There are a few in the window display.”

“ A Woman Who Loves ? Is it any good?”

“It’s grand. New author. Very popular.” He bowed over the page and continued reading.

Daniel stepped toward the display, and at that moment, a woman, dressed in grey and wearing a smart grey hat, appeared in the window. Eyes on the array of books, her lips parted, and her hand moved slowly toward her face until three fingers covered her lips. Beneath her hand, her smile flickered then sputtered into a self-conscious grin. He had never seen an expression wrought with so much conflict. He stepped toward the door, yanked it open, and was on the street just in time to watch her bustle away. He removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. What had he been thinking? He’d been about to chase after her and ask what she found so fascinating, which would have been an impertinent breach of etiquette. And he wanted to know what color her eyes were, since he had not been able to tell from inside the bookshop. What a fool!

The Abbey clock chimed half past three. Due to call on the Wimples, Daniel left without making a purchase and hurried across town, where he stood under an elm tree to wait for Savage. After a few minutes, he began pacing in front of a row of houses, hope decreasing with each step. He could return to his rooms, but he had been present when Savage promised to call on the pretty Miss Whimple and agreed to the visit. This was the third and last time he would promise to make calls with Savage. He rang the bell and was escorted into a parlor, where Miss Whimple and her mother waited with tea and smiles that fell when Daniel made excuses for Savage’s absence.

A disappointed silence attended the clink of China and silver as Mrs. Whimple passed refreshments. After a moment, the matron recovered herself and asked after Daniel’s health, a conversation that ended in less than a minute. Miss Whimple kept her eyes down and nibbled on a biscuit at a rate that would ensure it lasted the century. After each taste, she brushed crumbs from her skirt exactly three times, looked at the clock, glanced at her mother, and sent a longing gaze to the door. She wanted Mr. Savage’s company and perhaps did not know she held an undistinguished position among many women the man had disappointed. Her mother, on the other hand, a wiser lady, smiled, even while chewing. Would the girl be more offended or relieved if he ended the call earlier than the requisite fifteen minutes?

During the fortnight since he acquiesced to his parents’ wish that he marry, he had spun countless young ladies on the dance floor, clapped at their insipid performances at musicals, and made innumerable calls to them and their mothers, all of this at Savage’s urging. This dizzying parade of pastel flounces and powdered curls left him exhausted and ready to return home, marry Miss Thorpe, and start restoring Almery.

Society called him reserved, which was fair. Drawing room visits were dreadful, so he developed a system that gave structure to the visits, especially in Savage’s absence.

First, discuss the weather. Example: This rain is insufferable. Second, ask a question about someone or something they both know. Example: Have you heard lately from your brother who is in the Royal Navy? Finally, the question he was most interested in having answered: What are you reading?

With his current visitors, he advanced to question two.

“Miss Whimple, I understand your sister is lately married. How is she?”

Mrs. Whimple directed a sly smile at her daughter, while alarm registered on Miss Whimple’s face. Apparently, the word marriage was too forward. Time for the final question.

“Do you enjoy reading, Miss Whimple?”

Her hand fluttered to her décolletage. “Yes, of course.” Her mouth remained open, her lips forming a circle. Somehow, Daniel did not think the lady breathed.

“I am reading Amelia by Henry Fielding and find it quite entertaining.” He leaned forward to ask what she thought of Amelia’s nose, which was broken in a carriage accident. Some believed the author should have healed her nose so as to restore the heroine’s beauty, but Daniel thought this a shallow suggestion that attractiveness determined worth.

“A novel?” Mrs. Whimple may as well have repeated a vulgarity, but she soon composed herself with the vigorous use of a fan. “Miss Whimple is very accomplished. She embroiders and draws with charcoal. Though she cannot sing, she plays the harp.” After a pause, she added, “And she is a wonder at arranging flowers.” The mother nudged her daughter, prompting Miss Whimple to gesture energetically in confirmation of her mother’s statements.

“I cannot live without a harp.” Miss Whimple spoke in a sigh. Very likely she wished she were with her harp now.

It was Daniel’s turn to peek at the clock. Five minutes remained of the visit, and he exhausted his resources. The seconds ticked forward, lending no inspiration to Daniel. Miss Whimple remained mute. Not so her mama, who graciously filled the silence with details of a lost kitten found by her daughter. She punctuated the story with, “You will never find a more tender-hearted girl.”

At last, the doors were shut against him, and Daniel stood alone in the street. In a few short steps he could be at the revered Roman Bath, where he might drink the sulfuric water that made his stomach turn. A social man might go. A man whose objective was to find a wife would certainly pursue that action and continue to mingle with unattached ladies. Daniel was not that man. More and more he agreed with Mr. Savage’s assertion that an arranged marriage removed complication and expectation. A marriage to Miss Thorpe would solve many problems.

He longed not precisely for Miss Jensen, but for the future he designed for them. Even after the passage of eight years, he found it unfathomable that she promised herself to another man while engaged to him, writing him letters, promising her affection, planning their union. With his tendency to get absorbed in his work, he might have corresponded more regularly, but her consistency sufficed for them both. She deceived him, led him to believe she loved him and would wait for him, all the while cavorting with another man. His stomach soured. Could any woman be trusted with his affection? She cheated and betrayed him, and though she was not worth the ache in his chest, he remained powerless to vanquish it. Each halting conversation with a young lady reminded him that he’d lost the comfortable expectation of domestic felicity. An amicable relationship with the unknown Miss Thorpe formed his highest expectation.

He stepped down from the doorstep and turned toward Prior Park, halting mid-step. At this time of day, all of Bath would be parading around the park. These foolish social games made the fashionable set far too easy to find, and he did not want that. He pivoted and headed toward his own rooms, where Savage would, no doubt, be sleeping.

The shutters were closed inside the flat when Daniel arrived. In the darkness, he moved toward the window, toes catching the edge of a table. He cursed.

A groan sounded from the sofa. “Tobias?” Daniel asked. “Why so dark? You missed your appointment with Miss Whimple.”

“My head. Too much to drink,” he slurred.

Daniel could smell it now. “Have you taken a bath in a distillery? Go wash up and sleep in your bed. You will feel better for it.” He arrived at the window, unlatched the shutter, and brought light into the room.

Tobias groaned and covered his face with a cushion. “You devil. Are you trying to kill me?”

Daniel smiled. “You are doing a fair job of that yourself. Come on.” He scooped his friend up under the arms, pulled him to his feet, dragged him into his room, and dropped him on the bed. “I told the Whimples you would see them at the rout party tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He sighed and began to snore.

That man was a marvel. Each evening, he frolicked with posh society, smiled, flirted, ate, drank, danced, and played cards. Half the women in Bath trailed him with worshipful admiration, regardless of their age or marital status. After wooing the ladies and charming the gentlemen at the assembly rooms, he continued gallivanting at a private party or a gambling hell or…Daniel’s knowledge ended there. He only knew that in the morning Savage was usually asleep in his bed, but occasionally he stumbled in much later, as must have happened this afternoon.

Daniel accompanied Savage through a long night only once. After a ball, they’d met with a private party of friends for a late supper. From thence, Savage had dragged him to a gambling den. He played one round of hazard before exhaustion overtook and he returned home, but it was long enough to see that Savage had a too-eager glint in his eye when playing. Whether from desperation or addiction, Daniel could not say.

When Daniel spoke of it to him, Savage brushed him off with, “Can’t a man have a little diversion?” Any further conversation flipped on its head when Savage teased Daniel for being a spoil sport.

Daniel did not think his friend needed money. When they had first arrived, they were about to take a modest set of rooms, but Tobias insisted that since there were two of them, they not settle for a mediocre part of town. Every other day, he upgraded his style with new suit of clothes, boots, a snuff box. Daniel thought he saw him sporting a bejeweled pocket watch, though only once.

Naturally, a young man diverted himself in such a manner, especially when Savage inherited only two years ago and would likely want to feel the power of his fortune. No purse strings cut access to his funds now. Let the boy experiment with life before settling into responsibility. It was not, of course, what Daniel would do, but he did not judge Savage ill for it. Besides, Savage’s faults diminished under Daniel’s gratitude at having so amiable a friend to help navigate all the social niceties with which he was unfamiliar and for which he lacked patience. When the man showed up, that is.

That evening at the rout party, Daniel searched the face of each lady in the room. She, the woman whose face appeared in the bookshop window, was not there.