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Authors: The Fortune-Hunters
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reminds me that poor Sukey will be wondering what has become of us.”
“I’ll return you to your abigail if you will promise to stand up with me at tonight’s assembly.”
“A promise made under duress is no promise,” she pointed out. “But yes, I shall save you a dance if you wish.”
“I do wish. And will you drive with me tomorrow afternoon?” he requested as they emerged into the sunshine and stood blinking a moment on the threshold. “Mrs. Barlow can assure you that mine is a thoroughly respectable vehicle.”
“Thank you, sir, but I am engaged to walk with Miss Pearson in Sydney Gardens,” she said, sounding regretful yet oddly relieved.
Recovering from the dazzling brightness, he noted the heightened colour in her cheeks. She was absurdly sensitive about his curricle, he thought with an inward smile. One of these days, when he handed her into the carriage, he would tell her that of course he had recognized her, and had not for a moment thought her backward glance impertinent.
“I wish I had not asked Miss Pearson to walk with me today,” Jessica said wistfully to Miss Tibbett as they crossed Pulteney Bridge. “If I had only known that Mr. Walsingham was going to invite me to drive with him.”
“It was the kind thing to do, and from what you have said of the child it sounds as if she is sadly in need of kindness.”
“Not so much kindness, I believe, as encouragement. Careful, Tibby, you will be run down.” She pulled her companion back onto the pavement as a barouche swept into Laura Place. “Gracious heaven! That carriage quite casts Mr. Walsingham’s into the shade.”
The vehicle in question, drawn by a pair of showy greys, was painted in eggshell blue with gold curlicues, and the coachman on the box was clad in matching livery. For all Jessica knew it might pass without notice in Hyde Park, but in staid Bath it commanded the attention of everyone in sight as it drew to a halt beside her.
She glanced up to find Miss Pearson looking down at her anxiously.
“Miss Franklin, I’m dreadfully sorry,” she said with a sort of half gasp. “We should have fetched you from home.”
Jessica smiled at her. “Being country bred, we like to walk,” she said, “but since you are here it would be foolish indeed to refuse to be taken up. Good day, Mrs. Par...er, Woodcock.”
As she and Aunt Tibby stepped up into the carriage, the Honourable Mrs. Woodcock bowed graciously and remarked upon the fineness of the weather. The conversation continued along the same lines, Miss Pearson remaining silent, as the barouche started off again and rumbled along Great Pulteney Street to the Sydney Gardens.
The ladies descended by the pavilion, named for some obscure reason after Admiral Holburne of Menstrie, and entered the gardens. Green lawns and gravel paths rose in a gentle slope up Bathwick Hill, with scattered groups of trees and shrubs to lend variety to the prospect. Across this rural background paraded the white or pale pastel gowns and gay parasols of strolling ladies, the blue or brown coats of their escorts.
Jessica was horridly aware that Miss Pearson’s vivid violet dress was bound to draw as many eyes as her carriage. Gracious heaven, the girl was even wearing an amethyst necklace for a walk in the park. Determined not to show her embarrassment, Jessica linked arms with her and chose a path that seemed less frequented than most.
“I’ve not been here before,” she said as their chaperons dropped behind. “What a delightful place to take the air.”
“Is it not? Papa says Hyde Park is far more fashionable and much larger, but it is always excessively crowded and people stare so.”
“You have lived in London?”
“All my life, except when I was at school. I was perfectly happy there until Papa took it into his head that I must make my bow to Society. That’s why he hired Mrs. Woodcock to chaperon me. He thought that as an ‘Honourable’ she would be able to introduce me to the
“I’ll return you to your abigail if you will promise to stand up with me at tonight’s assembly.”
“A promise made under duress is no promise,” she pointed out. “But yes, I shall save you a dance if you wish.”
“I do wish. And will you drive with me tomorrow afternoon?” he requested as they emerged into the sunshine and stood blinking a moment on the threshold. “Mrs. Barlow can assure you that mine is a thoroughly respectable vehicle.”
“Thank you, sir, but I am engaged to walk with Miss Pearson in Sydney Gardens,” she said, sounding regretful yet oddly relieved.
Recovering from the dazzling brightness, he noted the heightened colour in her cheeks. She was absurdly sensitive about his curricle, he thought with an inward smile. One of these days, when he handed her into the carriage, he would tell her that of course he had recognized her, and had not for a moment thought her backward glance impertinent.
“I wish I had not asked Miss Pearson to walk with me today,” Jessica said wistfully to Miss Tibbett as they crossed Pulteney Bridge. “If I had only known that Mr. Walsingham was going to invite me to drive with him.”
“It was the kind thing to do, and from what you have said of the child it sounds as if she is sadly in need of kindness.”
“Not so much kindness, I believe, as encouragement. Careful, Tibby, you will be run down.” She pulled her companion back onto the pavement as a barouche swept into Laura Place. “Gracious heaven! That carriage quite casts Mr. Walsingham’s into the shade.”
The vehicle in question, drawn by a pair of showy greys, was painted in eggshell blue with gold curlicues, and the coachman on the box was clad in matching livery. For all Jessica knew it might pass without notice in Hyde Park, but in staid Bath it commanded the attention of everyone in sight as it drew to a halt beside her.
She glanced up to find Miss Pearson looking down at her anxiously.
“Miss Franklin, I’m dreadfully sorry,” she said with a sort of half gasp. “We should have fetched you from home.”
Jessica smiled at her. “Being country bred, we like to walk,” she said, “but since you are here it would be foolish indeed to refuse to be taken up. Good day, Mrs. Par...er, Woodcock.”
As she and Aunt Tibby stepped up into the carriage, the Honourable Mrs. Woodcock bowed graciously and remarked upon the fineness of the weather. The conversation continued along the same lines, Miss Pearson remaining silent, as the barouche started off again and rumbled along Great Pulteney Street to the Sydney Gardens.
The ladies descended by the pavilion, named for some obscure reason after Admiral Holburne of Menstrie, and entered the gardens. Green lawns and gravel paths rose in a gentle slope up Bathwick Hill, with scattered groups of trees and shrubs to lend variety to the prospect. Across this rural background paraded the white or pale pastel gowns and gay parasols of strolling ladies, the blue or brown coats of their escorts.
Jessica was horridly aware that Miss Pearson’s vivid violet dress was bound to draw as many eyes as her carriage. Gracious heaven, the girl was even wearing an amethyst necklace for a walk in the park. Determined not to show her embarrassment, Jessica linked arms with her and chose a path that seemed less frequented than most.
“I’ve not been here before,” she said as their chaperons dropped behind. “What a delightful place to take the air.”
“Is it not? Papa says Hyde Park is far more fashionable and much larger, but it is always excessively crowded and people stare so.”
“You have lived in London?”
“All my life, except when I was at school. I was perfectly happy there until Papa took it into his head that I must make my bow to Society. That’s why he hired Mrs. Woodcock to chaperon me. He thought that as an ‘Honourable’ she would be able to introduce me to the
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