Once Upon a Time in Bath Read online

  Melvin eyed Appleton. “So if you don’t allow Annie to marry this vile man, you have four weeks in which to raise an exceedingly vast amount of money? Is that correct?”

  Appleton nodded.

  “A pity none of us can get our hands on anything near the amount of money you need.” Blanks frowned. “Buying Jonathan’s house took every guinea I could get my hands on.”

  “But. . .” Melvin smiled. “There may be a solution.”

  Three sets of eyes riveted to the scholarly twin.

  “You’ve got four weeks in which to woo and wed an heiress.”

  Appleton harrumphed. “Normally, I would have been opposed to such a plan, but I don’t deserve personal happiness after what I’ve done. I could sacrifice myself for my family. Pity of it, I know no heiresses.”

  “Actually . . .” Blanks’ brows lowered, “just this morning Glee was speaking of some dreadful . . . er, unfortunate heiress who’s come to Bath with her ailing father. Glee felt rather sorry for her because she has no friends, and she’s . . . well she’s rather peculiar. They call her the Cat Lady because she goes nowhere without carrying around a cat.”

  Elvin brightened. “Yes! I’ve heard of her, too. They say she’s the only child of some vastly wealthy landowner who’s to settle eight hundred a year on her.”

  Four sets of eyes widened.

  Such a woman would indeed answer his needs, but at the same time the very notion sickened him. An unfortunate cat woman. He would wager—though he was never going to wager again—there were other reasons a woman with a vast fortune was still unwed, and he suspected these reasons had much to do with a most unpleasant appearance.

  Was she fat? Or perhaps her figure resembled a flagpole. He wasn’t certain which he would prefer. He wondered if she stunk. Or could she be possessed of a hideously ugly face?

  Regardless of her shortcomings, he should put his own feelings aside and be willing to forego his own happiness as penance for his wrongdoing. After all, he was now head of the Appleton family. For the first time in his thirty years, he had others to care for. He must put their needs before his own. “Pray, what is this woman’s name?”

  Blanks looked perplexed. “Hmmmm. Her surname is uncommon. I cannot recall it.”

  Elvin nodded. “There’s a Pank in there, I do believe.”

  “I believe you’re right!” Blanks said.

  “Like Pankcrest or something to that effect?” Appleton asked.

  “Very like that , I’d say.” Elvin eyed Blanks.

  Blanks screwed up his mouth. “But not quite.”

  “I supposed if one were to lolly about the Pump Room day in and day out, one could meet her.” Appleton was resigned to his melancholy fate. “One would know her by the cat she’d be clutching.”

  “Excellent plan,” Melvin said. “It is to be hoped you’re enamored of felines, old fellow.”

  Appleton frowned. “I’m a dog person.”

  “Pity.”

  * * *

  “Would you bring me a rug, love,” Westmoreland Pankhurst asked his daughter. “It’s getting colder in this chamber.”

  Dorothea stroked the black-and-white cat that curled upon her lap, loudly purring. “The physician said it would do you good to walk more, Papa.”

  “But my gout’s flaring up today.”

  Today it was the gout. Yesterday it was his back. The day before it was a throbbing head. Sighing, she lifted the cat and set it on the Turkey carpet. “Here you go, Fur Blossom. Duty calls.”

  She stood and eyed her silver-haired father, who sat before the fire, one foot propped on a stool three feet from the hearth. He had begun to remind her of an Oriental potentate who lay about being waited upon. He needed only curly-toed slippers and a turban to complete the picture of total indolence.

  She took him a thick woolen rug and covered his lower extremities. “Perhaps this will keep your foot from burning. It’s far too close to the fire.”

  “Be a dear and get me one thing more,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. A glass of brandy.”

  “Ah, my daughter is clairvoyant.”

  She was neither physician nor apothecary, but she believed her father’s affinity for strong spirits contributed to his health problems. After she offered him the drink, she returned to her favorite reading—the Bath Chronicle—this time putting her white cat, Preenie Queenie, on her lap, but after a few minutes she tossed the cat down as punishment for clawing at the pages.

  It was really the most peculiar thing the way she eagerly perused the gossip within the pages of this newspaper. She knew not a soul being mentioned. Perhaps it was because she had lived in so remote a place for the entirety of her three-and-twenty years that these snippets fascinated her. In a few short weeks she had memorized the names of many of Bath’s figures of Society.

  “Now that we’re in a city,” her father said, “it’s time you see about dressing like the wealthy young woman you are. You’ll never attract a husband in those old rags you persist in wearing, and you need a husband. I’m not always going to be here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re but nine-and-forty, Papa. I declare, you speak as if you’re twice that age—though I daresay you’re beginning to act it, too!”

  “Would that I enjoyed more robust health,” her father said in his most martyred voice.

  “I’m willing to make a pact with you, Papa. I will see a dressmaker if you will walk there with me.”

  “The lure to see you in lovely clothing with men clamoring for your attention is very strong.” Mr. Pankhurst sighed. “I suppose I could force myself to endure so exhausting an excursion for you.”

  She tossed her head back and laughed. Love was, indeed, blind. The likelihood of men falling prostrate over her was ridiculous. Nothing about her could possibly elevate her above average. “How am I to even meet young men?”

  “You could go to the assemblies this town is noted for.”

  “By myself?”

  “Perhaps you’ll meet other young people. I feel bad I’ve kept you to myself all these years at Blandings with no exposure to anyone close to your own age.”

  “I’ve had you, and I’ve had my cats. I didn’t need anyone else.”

  Mr. Pankhurst shook his head solemnly, tenderness in his eyes that were the same shade of brown as hers. “I can’t chance exposure to damp, rainy weather with my delicate health, but if it’s dry tomorrow, I will walk with you to the dressmaker’s.”

  Chapter 2

  The following day proved to be dry, though very cold. That her father consented to walk along the streets of Bath on so cool a morning surprised her. Even though the city was populated by many invalids, the chilly weather did not deter them on this gray November day.

  A variety of conveyance, from milk carts to hackneys to young bucks showing off prized horseflesh, crowded the narrow streets, and the pavement was equally congested with throngs of pedestrians, some being pushed on the uneven pavement in invalid chairs and many of them in sedan chairs borne by sturdy men. The more robust were making their way toward the Pump Room for the obligatory drink of the nasty water said to have medicinal properties.

  Dot had not yet been to the Pump Room during the three weeks they had resided in this watering city. She knew from reading the Bath Chronicle that the fashionable gathered there daily, and she was well aware of how exceedingly unfashionable she was in her wardrobe, which consisted of worn sprigged muslin gowns that had served her well since she’d left the school room several years previously.

  Not only did she lack fashionable attire, she also was void of social graces. How could she possibly know how to mingle with young gentlemen and ladies when she’d spent her entire life buried in remote Lincolnshire with only her father and her kitties for companionship?

  She did not in the least miss the comforting familiarity of the only home she’d ever known. The vibrancy of Bath invigorated her. The beauty of the city’s graceful, uniform architecture of golden st
one mesmerized her. She’d actually crossed the River Avon on a bridge that resembled a street with shops on either side and nary a view of the river below.

  Even the hawkers on the pavement attempting to entice passersby with posies and ill-dressed men selling penny pamphlets fascinated her.

  As they drew nearer the pit of roasting chestnuts, she was tempted by the pleasant aroma. “Have you ever tasted roasted chestnuts?” she asked her father.

  Fur Blossom, whom Dot carried in her arms, must also have been attracted by the smell because she launched herself from her mistress’s arms, leaping toward the steaming chestnut pit—just as a huge dog of indeterminate breed had the same notion.

  Dot’s scream pierced the air as she surged after her cat. Terrified, she feared the dog would devour the fleet Fur Blossom before Dot could reach her.

  The dog’s attention quickly shifted from the hot nuts to the cat leaping toward the pit. The dog growled viciously and lunged toward Fur Blossom.

  Just as the dog’s open mouth was about to clamp down on the unfortunate cat, a man’s hand swooped down and lifted the hissing cat away.

  But not without injury to himself. Scarlet trickled from the man’s wrist.

  Dot’s mouth gaped open as she beheld the brave hero who had snatched Fur Blossom from the teeth of a horrid death. It was as if this man had stepped from the pages of a tale of knights of yore. She’d never seen such a magnificent specimen of manhood.

  The woman beside him shouted. “You’ve hurt yourself!” She tried to examine the flesh wound.

  The man, who Dot judged to be around thirty, brushed her aside. “Pray, don’t make such a fuss.”

  Dot raced to retrieve her frightened cat from the man. “My dear sir, I am wholeheartedly in your debt for saving the life of my precious kitty.” She took Fur Blossom and held her close while eyeing the handsome man. He needed but a suit of armor to be a gallant knight. “I feel wretched you’ve been hurt.”

  The man’s mossy-coloured eyes drilled her.

  He had every right to be angry with her. After all, her cat had put him into jeopardy. That vicious dog could have dealt him serious injury. It could even have killed him.

  He began to address her. “You must be . . .”

  Mr. Pankhurst walked up and shook hands with Fur Blossom’s savior. “I’m Westmoreland Pankhurst, and this is my daughter, Dorothea. We are, indeed, in your debt, my good man.”

  The man’s eyes flashed with mirth.

  How could he act so amused when his wrist must be stinging like the devil?

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the man said to her father. “I’m Lord Appleton, and this is my sister, Annie Appleton.”

  Lord Appleton! Dot had read about the rake in the Bath Chronicle! The man was a profligate. He was known to hang about Mrs. Starr’s gaming establishment, and it was even hinted that he kept a mistress! She could not remove her gaze from him. In her three-and-twenty years she had never had the opportunity to see what a profligate looked like.

  She hadn’t expected one to be so fine looking. Though she was no arbiter of taste, she believed Lord Appleton was possessed of an unerring sense of fashion, as was his sister. He wasn’t exceedingly tall, but he was taller than average. Both siblings shared the same cork brown hair and green eyes, and both were fair.

  She had never felt so dowdy. It wasn’t just her clothing. Miss Appleton was fashionably fair and even though it was an overcast day, she wore the mandatory bonnet. Dot never wore bonnets. Because she had never made the effort to protect her skin from the sun, it was unfashionably bronzed. She was quite certain the skin on her face resembled a well-worn saddle. It was not creamy and smooth like Miss Appleton’s.

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” Miss Appleton said, moving closer and reaching to pet Fur Blossom. “What a beautiful cat! Do tell me, what is his name?”

  “Her name is Fur Blossom.” Dot looked up at his lordship. “I do apologize for my cat’s actions, for endangering you.” Then without thinking and completely forgetting that she was addressing a profligate who was also an aristocrat. “You were very brave. I’m incredibly indebted to you, my lord.” As she spoke, she noticed the blood had saturated the snowy white of his shirt cuff.

  She handed her cat to her father, keeping the little cat blanket she’d wrapped Fur Blossom in, and raced to Lord Appleton’s side. She tenderly lifted his forearm and wrapped it in the miniature blanket and attempted to staunch the flow of blood. “My father will insist on replacing your shirt, my lord, and I beg that you see an apothecary.”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing.”

  His gaze softened. “All will be well, Miss Pankhurst, if you and your father will do me the goodness of accompanying my sister and me to the Pump Room this morning.”

  She stiffened. She did not want to be inhospitable, especially after what he had done for her—and Fur Blossom. Her eyes darted to Miss Appleton. “But Miss Appleton looks so lovely, and I . . . do not.”

  “We’ve just arrived from the country,” Mr. Pankhurst explained. “My daughter and I were just on the way to the dressmaker’s. She’s to have a new wardrobe.”

  Lord Appleton’s gaze whisked over her. “She’s delightfully charming just as she is. A breath of country air.”

  “Oh, please, I implore you to come with us,” Miss Appleton urged. “Bath is so thin right now. I’m frightfully in need of friends. My beastly sisters have deserted me and gone to Weymouth.”

  Already reeling from Lord Appleton’s referring to her as delightfully charming, Dot was flattered to think this lovely young woman wanted to be friends with her. She’d never had a friend before. “I fear I’ll be an embarrassment to you both.”

  “Never!” Lord Appleton said. Then he did a most peculiar thing. He offered her his arm. Her heartbeat exploded. She trembled as she settled her hand on his proffered arm and began to walk beside him. Had she done that correctly? Was there a right way or a wrong way?

  She worried if she’d trip and fall on her face. What other ways could she embarrass this well-mannered man, who happened to be a nobleman—and a profligate?

  He might be a seasoned rake, but the man was being exceedingly kind to her. She was neither pretty nor fashionable nor a figure in Society. How could she ever show him her appreciation?

  How excited she was to finally be seeing the Pump Room about which she had read so much. And to be accompanied by the handsome Lord Appleton!

  When they reached the Pump Room, her Papa gave Fur Blossom back to her. They began to stroll the massive chamber. She made some quick observations, the first being that Fur Blossom was the only animal in attendance. If she came again, she would be wise to leave her pets at home or suffer potential ridicule.

  A few hundred people strolled the impressive room—more people than she had ever seen inside of a single building before. Other than those lined up for the small queue to obtain their cups of water, most of the attendees were circling the lofty room, and a small orchestra provided soothing music.

  It soon became obvious to her that others were staring at them. It must be a peculiar sight to see the fashionable Appletons accompanied by so dowdy a country miss. Dot knew enough from reading the Bath Chronicle to know that Lord Appleton was a highly sought-after bachelor. And now she understood why. What lady would not be attracted to him?

  As they circled the chamber, she counted more than a dozen lovely young ladies far more suited than she to be walking beside the attractive young peer.

  She felt even dowdier when his lordship stopped to introduce her to two beautiful sisters who were married to friends of his. A stunning copper-headed Mrs. Glee Blankenship was married to his life-long friend whom they all referred to as Blanks, and her sister was Mrs. Felicity Moreland, a graceful blonde. Dot wondered what their husbands looked like because both women were so extraordinarily lovely, and their welcoming manners matched their beauty.

  “Please, Miss
Pankhurst,” Mrs. Blankenship said, “may we pay you a morning call?”

  Her father stepped in. “I believe I speak for my daughter when I say she would be delighted, but she would prefer that you wait until her new clothing is delivered. We’ve just arrived from the country—where such finery as you ladies display was not available.”

  Dot nodded. She’d never thought she would ever care a whit about clothing. Until today. It was suddenly important that Lord Appleton see her more favorably. She would never be as beautiful as these sisters were or as lovely as Miss Appleton, but for the first time in her life, Dot looked forward to having fashionable clothes.

  The two sisters took their leave to continue around the chamber, and Lord Appleton and her father went to fetch them water. Bath’s famed medicinal water. “You know, Miss Pankhurst,” Miss Appleton said, “I don’t mean to offend you, but I have noticed that you and I are the same size, and it would mean a great deal to me if you would accompany me to the Upper Assembly Rooms tonight. You could wear one of my dresses.”

  Dot froze. “But you see, I have never learned how to dance. I’ve never had any need to do so.”

  Miss Appleton nodded slowly. “You simply must come back to our house. My brother and I can teach you enough to get by tonight. You don’t have to dance with anyone save Timothy.”

  Dot assumed Timothy was Lord Appleton.

  When Lord Appleton returned and offered her the water, she sipped it, grimacing. “It’s nasty!” she exclaimed.

  Lord Appleton chuckled as he shook his head. “Observe that I did not partake.”

  “I can certainly see why,” Mr. Pankhurst said. “I can now say that I’ve tried it. For the first and last time!”

  “But, Papa, it might help your infirmities.”

  Her father rolled his eyes. “I shall take my chances.”

  Lord Appleton offered her his arm. “I beg that you do me the goodness of walking about the chamber with me, Miss Pankhurst.”

  Because she put her right hand on his sleeve, she hitched Fur Blossom over her shoulder almost as if she were a sack of grain, pressing her left hand to her back. To her mortification, half way around the chamber, her cat leapt from her arms and scurried across the floor.