Read Online Bath Scandal by Joan Smith - Free Book Online Page B

Made brave by this small success, Scrumm ventured further.
    “There’s a man comes to the inn here to do gents’ hair. You could slip in before you dress for dinner this evening. You need an appointment.”
    Southam examined himself in the mirror. Yes, his hair was an inch longer than the men in Bath were wearing it. Even Mr. Reynolds, who looked every day of forty-five, was wearing the Brutus-do. “Set me up for six-thirty,” he said.
    Scrumm’s head jerked in pleasure. There was life in the master yet. “When I’m buying the wide cravats, would you like me to pick up a spotted Belcher kerchief for you? You see them everywhere nowadays—except in Alderton.”
    Southam gave him a killing stare. “I think not, Scrumm. I am not a dancing master after all.” He picked up his curled beaver and gloves. The gloves, he noticed, were discolored at the ends of the fingers. “You might see if you can find me a new pair of York tan gloves. You know my size.”
    A newly tied cravat was not sufficient change to make Southam uncomfortable when he was admitted to Mrs. Searle’s saloon. He entered with an easy smile. Mrs. Searle sat alone in her morning parlor, glancing through the journals. She looked entirely enticing in a green sarcenet gown a shade darker than her eyes. An elegant paisley shawl lay beside her on the sofa. Above the gown her ivory skin seemed almost luminous. A lovely complexion she had.
    “Good morning, Cousin. Did you get our girl off with the duke?” he asked, making a brief and rather graceless bow.
    “Indeed I did.” Her flashing eyes just skimmed over the cravat. “Very handsome,” she said. “Come and sit down.” She patted the sofa seat beside her, but there was no air of flirtation in her manner. Just so would she have spoken to Gillie. “Why do you call me Cousin? I thought we had agreed there was no impropriety in your calling me Beatrice.”
    Why had he? Was it to dilute the guilty feeling he had when he was with her? To create some informality without suggesting intimacy? “You are my cousin Leonard’s widow. It seems appropriate,” he parried, trying to give an impression it had slipped out by chance.
    She nodded indifferently. “I fear I have some bad news for you. The duke is leaving for Bournemouth tomorrow! Is that not wretched luck?”
    “How long is he staying?” he asked, taking up the proffered seat.
    “A week. And soon he will be going to Newmarket. I fear he may forget all about Gillie amid such stiff competition.”
    “There won’t be many ladies there before the races.”
    “Ladies? Don’t be absurd. I mean fillies. Really there is not a single whiff of April or May between the pair of them, Southam. The only odor is horseflesh. Tannie was jawing at her for being two minutes late, and she hadn’t the wits to let her lower lip tremble. She shot back, sharp as a barking dog, that she’d often had to wait longer for him. I fear this is a lost cause.” She shook her head and felt the coffeepot. It was cold.
    “We must do something to waken her up.”
    They sat, thinking. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked. “Perhaps it will sharpen our wits.”
    “Coffee is not good for you,” he said automatically. Deborah was vehemently against the indiscriminate serving of coffee. She permitted one cup in the morning. “It keeps you awake.”
    Beatrice blinked in surprise. “I hope you were not planning to fall asleep on me at eleven o’clock in the morning! You make me wonder what you did when you left here, Southam. Did you have a very late night? Slipped the leash, did you? One last prowl before you are caught in parson’s mousetrap?”
    “I went straight home to bed!” he exclaimed, shocked at her racy ideas.
    She disliked that Puritan face and decided to tease him. “That is where one usually goes with a lightskirt, is it not?”
    “Upon my word! You have a fine idea of my character.”
    She tilted her head and laughed at him. “I was joking, Southam.