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    Southam decided there was some enchantment in her smile. It suggested all manner of delightful things, not all of them having to do with Gillie. Deborah would not approve of his spending a morning alone with this enchantress. “I’ll see you at eleven, then,” he said, and rose to take his leave.
    As the carriage jogged through the streets to the White Hart, Southam reviewed the evening. His thoughts soon settled on Mrs. Searle. He knew in his bones that she had changed from her school days with Deborah, or his fiancée would not have suggested her as Gillie’s chaperon. She was too dashing, too free in her manners, too flirtatious.
    It would be Leonard who had worked the change, of course. Reckless, handsome Leonard. He must have seen the potential in Beatrice, or he never would have married her. No denying he was a highflyer. Just how high, he wondered, did the widow soar? She mentioned more than once how she enjoyed her freedom.
    She was too young to be past temptations of the flesh. Did she indulge in discreet amours, taking care that the proprieties were maintained? In Bath the proprieties would be of great concern. At least she would not do anything outrageous with Gillie around. Was that why she had suggested they remain at home tomorrow morning when Gillie was out? Good lord! Surely she wasn’t planning to have an affair with him!
    He had sensed some incipient seduction in her green eyes. It was no more than flirtation really. Very likely that was all she had in mind. Well, he had nothing against flirtation. He used to be a bit of a dasher himself in his salad days, before he suddenly had the care of Elmdale and his three half sisters thrust on him. And before Deborah. Naturally an engaged man did not flirt with other ladies—not in front of his fiancée in any case.
    Soon he would be married. This might be his last chance for a flirtation. He could think of no one more delightful than Mrs. Searle for a partner. He must take care it did not go beyond flirtation.
     

Chapter Six
     
      Lord Southam’s valet was surprised, the next morning, to receive a scolding for not having packed his lordship’s new jacket.
    “You only wear it to church on Sunday,” Scrumm objected.
    “Just what did you pack?” Southam demanded.
    “The jacket you’re wearing and your monkey suit.”
    “Only knee breeches and silk hose for evening?”
    “Miss Swann said that was what was required for the assemblies in Bath.”
    “No one is wearing knee breeches to private parties. Damme, I’ll look like an antique. When did Miss Swann speak to you?”
    “She sent me up a note the last day she was at Elmdale.”Scrumm’s eyes glinted. “Miss Swann didn’t think there’d be any private parties. I tossed in your black pantaloons and evening jacket, just in case,” he said.
    “Thank God for that! Help me with this cravat, Scrumm. I want something different from that hard ball of a knot I usually wear. I noticed a gent at breakfast with a sort of folded, softer look.”
    “The Oriental,” Scrumm nodded. “I learned it off Stuyvesant’s man. Tried to get you to try it a month ago,” he mentioned.
    “So you did.”
    “You said it looked like a nun’s wimple.”
    “I’ve changed my mind,” Southam said with a glassy stare.
    Scrumm performed this sartorial miracle and stood back to admire his handiwork. “The Oriental requires a wider linen, but that’s the general style of it. It’d look more stylish with shorter hair. The Brutus-do that Stuyvesant sports—that’d suit your lordship.” Scrumm waited for some scalding put-down, and was surprised to see instead a contemplative expression. His efforts to smarten up his lordship seldom met with success. A pity to see such a fine-looking young lad turn out so rusty.
    Southam was tempted. He glanced at his watch. “It is nearly eleven. I haven’t time. You might see if you can find some of those wider cravats, however, while I’m gone.”
    “I’ll do that.”