She’s played Cupid for others

Now she’s met her own unlikely match!

Part of The Sommersby Brides. Widowed society matchmaker Mrs. Clara Sommersby thinks self-made businessman William Lane is just the man for her neighbor’s overlooked daughter. He’s successful and confident, if emotionally distant, until suddenly—shockingly—his attention turns to Clara herself! She thought her days of romance were over, but is this younger man intent on giving her a second chance?

LAURIE BENSON is an award-winning Regency romance author, whose book An Unexpected Countess was voted Mills & Boon’s 2017 ‘Hero of the Year’ by readers. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter. When she isn’t at her laptop, avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing antiques shops and going on long hikes with her husband and two sons. Learn more about Laurie by visiting her website at lauriebenson.net. You can also find her on Twitter and Facebook.

Also by Laurie Benson

Secret Lives of the Ton miniseries

An Unsuitable Duchess

An Uncommon Duke

An Unexpected Countess

The Sommersby Brides miniseries

One Week to Wed

Convenient Christmas Brides

His Three-Day Duchess

Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance

Laurie Benson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08926-5

MRS SOMMERSBY’S SECOND CHANCE

© 2019 Laurie Benson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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For my editor, Linda Fildew,

for trusting me with this idea and for

frequently making me smile with your notes.

Thank you to Harper St George for being there, and

to Anabelle Bryant for listening to me work through

this plot on that long road trip. Shout out to my

agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, and to my team at

Harlequin Historical. To my friends, who understood

when I disappeared to write this. Thanks for your

patience. And to my family. I’m grateful for you every

day. Finally, thanks to my awesome readers! For those

of you who said Clara deserved to find love again,

regardless of her age, this one’s for you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Historical Note

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Bath, England —1820

It wasn’t as if a small sip of water was capable of changing one’s life. In all the years Clara Sommersby had stood in the Pump Room to have her daily drink, she had never witnessed anyone perform such an intense inspection of a glass of the spa’s mineral water.

She had seen the tall blond-haired gentleman accept the empty glass from the attendant and approach the fountain out of the corner of her eye. Many people entered Bath each day to stay for an extended amount of time to take advantage of the waters in hopes of alleviating their ailments. There were also those who came to the fashionable town to experience the noted assemblies and various entertainments. She would firmly place this gentleman in the latter category.

While Clara normally took note of newly arrived visitors, this morning she awoke with a soreness in her lower back and had only been thinking of a long soak in the thermal baths to hopefully relieve her discomfort—until she saw this man swirl the water in his glass and sniff it as one would do while studying a glass of wine.

As he held the glass up and brought it to his eye, he caught her staring at him through the clear liquid. Too amused to look away, Clara tried to flatten out her smile. The gentleman across from her cleared his throat and went back to studying the contents of his glass.

‘The water is an exceptional ancient vintage,’ she offered, not even bothering to hide the amusement in her voice. ‘It might be a bit odd on the palate at first, but people have been praising its quality for ages.’

He lowered the glass and the faint spark in his blue eyes told her that he understood her jest. ‘I was simply trying to determine the mineral content.’

‘Are you a connoisseur of water, then, or perhaps a scientist of some sort?’

‘Neither. I was just comparing it to the waters from the Chalybeate Spring in Tunbridge Wells. The water there is also reputed to have healing properties.’

‘Reputed?’ She raised her hand to her chest and gave him a false look of indignation. ‘Sir, I would refrain from making such a statement here unless you’re prepared to endure long lectures by numerous patrons on how restorative this water truly is. You’ll be advised on how it has eliminated painful symptoms of the gout, how drinking it has reduced a bilious gut and how it has miraculously helped with a variety of other diseases, half of which you might not have ever heard of and quite possibly might not even exist. Scepticism is met with radical belief here in Bath.’

As he tipped his head at her, his serious expression softened just a bit. ‘I’ll make note of it.’

Bath was losing too many visitors to Brighton since the royal court, and George in particular, had made that town fashionable. Clara owned one of the finest hotels here, although she kept that fact a secret from Society. For all she knew, he might be staying at The Fountain Head Hotel. It was in her best interest to create a favourable impression of the town.

‘I’m sure whatever it is that ails you, you will find relief here.’

He seemed surprised she assumed he was here because he needed help. ‘I have no ailments that I’m aware of.’

Two finely dressed young ladies approached Clara’s side and dipped their glasses into the streams of water, while trying to catch the gentleman’s eye. Instead of offering them some form of encouragement, he reverted his attention back to studying his glass until they walked away, giggling and whispering as they went.

When they were alone once again, he eyed Clara across the fountain. ‘And you, madam, certainly you are much too young to suffer from any of those ills you spoke of. What brings you to the spa?’

‘I am not as young as you might think.’

‘Come now, you’re not any older than I am.’

Ah, so he was one of those gentlemen who liked to flatter women. She had run across many of them in her life. By her estimation he appeared to be in his midthirties, which was ten years younger than she was.

‘Perhaps this fountain also holds the key to a youthful appearance,’ she teased. ‘I have been drinking from it for many years now.’

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips and softened the hard angles of his features. ‘Then the waters here are far better than those in Tunbridge Wells. I don’t believe they’d dare to make that claim.’ Suddenly, his features hardened once more as he appeared to study her. ‘Perhaps you are one of those charlatans, like the men and women selling miracle elixirs outside in the streets, only you are employed by the Pump Room to convince people they should drink this odd-smelling liquid.’

‘I assure you, sir. I am not. I am simply an honest patron here for my daily dose.’ And to recommend a certain hotel to those who happened to be in need of one whenever she was here, but that was neither here nor there. ‘And how do you think our water compares to those of Tunbridge Wells?’

He peered out of the window behind him, down at the steaming spa waters below which, if it weren’t for the rain, at this hour would have been full of bathers who had come at this early hour of the morning for the restorative benefits. Once again, his attention was back on his glass. ‘The smell is similar. However, the water is cold there, not hot like this, and that water comes from a small spring. People do not bathe in it.’

‘You will not find hair in your water, if that is your concern. This water is not piped in from the baths.’

His face scrunched up as if that disgusting thought hadn’t occurred to him. ‘I am much relieved.’

Quite deliberately, Clara raised her glass and took a long sip of the hot water. It was not exactly a pleasant taste, but over the years she had grown accustomed to it. She wondered what he would think of it.

His gaze rested on her lips as she lowered her glass. Then he fixed his attention on her face and it appeared he was trying to determine what she thought of the taste. She would not give him any reason to think the water people were consuming in Tunbridge Wells was better than the water that flowed here. Bath needed people to believe in the waters, if the town was to continue being a popular destination. And, as the owner of The Fountain Head Hotel, she needed those people—those gentlemen—to keep returning to her establishment. The Hotel meant everything to her. It was her security for financial independence and its success was something she took great pride in.

‘I’m trying to determine if you’re a good actress or if indeed the water is not as bad as I’ve been imagining.’

Had anyone ever been this hesitant to try the water? His procrastination was rather amusing. ‘There is only one way to find out.’ She cocked her head to the side and gave him an encouraging nod.

* * *

It wasn’t as if a small sip of water was going to change his life. It might keep him close to a chamber pot for a good part of the day, but that would pass. At least that’s what Mr William Lane silently hoped was the case as he had accepted a glass from the attendant and walked over to the King’s Spring fountain in the Pump Room in Bath. Water cascaded down from spigots at the top of a pale stone urn into the open mouths of painted fish below. It was a clever feat of design engineering to get the water to fall just so and Lane took note of it, along with the other observations he was making of the interior design of this public space.

He dipped his glass into one of the streams of water, breaking the flow and filling his glass with the warm liquid. He had yet to try the thermal water his workmen had uncovered underneath the building he had just purchased, but thought it wise to try the popular water in the King’s Spring first so he would have something to compare it to. If he offered it to customers to drink and reap the reputed benefits, he knew people would expect it to taste the same.

Lane raised the glass slowly to his lips and gave it a sniff as if he was sampling a fine bottle of wine. The bouquet in his glass was nowhere near as appealing. Instead of fruity notes or the scent of the oak barrels that wine was stored in, this water possessed a metallic scent. He had tried the water at the spring in Tunbridge Wells, when a friend procured a glass for him after an evening of too much ale at a local tavern. He didn’t know if it was the water that had caused him to be violently sick shortly afterwards. That was not a sensation he had enjoyed and he would rather not do anything to bring it on again. Certainly not all of these people would be coming to the Pump Room and drinking this water if they knew they would be sick afterwards.

Just as he was about to ask the woman in front of him, an expensively dressed, slight, elderly woman and two older gentlemen joined them at the fountain, forcing him to step closer to the striking, petite brown-haired woman he had been conversing with. The faintest scent of roses replaced the metallic scent of the water, giving him a brief reprieve. It brought back a vague memory of laughing while running through a garden surrounded by roses, as a small child. Lane couldn’t recall much of that memory. It was one of the earliest ones he possessed and remembering it always seemed to somehow create a sense of longing for a time that was best forgotten.

Pushing back against the sensation, he took note that the three new guests nodded a greeting to the woman beside him before they filled their glasses with water and immediately began to drink it as if they were returning from a long trip in the desert. At five pence for a glass and with the crowds of people standing about in the classical, sparsely decorated room, offering a similar arrangement in the spa he might build appeared to be an excellent idea. Perhaps if he charged four pence per glass for the first few months it would be a way to entice patrons of this spa to the one he might build. He just needed to find a way to convince his partner that this was a lucrative investment.

‘Drink up, my boy,’ the balding man wearing spectacles called to him from the other side of the fountain. ‘You will experience none of the benefits of the water if you simply hold it in your glass. The water needs to be hot to be at its most effective.’

Lane must have been eyeing the room longer than he realised for it to be remarked upon. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the woman beside him take another sip from her glass.

‘You find the water beneficial? I admit I’ve been hesitant in trying it.’

There was a faint tsking sound from the woman next to him and he could see her shake her head ever so slightly, right before the white-haired, portly gentleman answered him.

‘Nonsense,’ he replied, his runny pale blue eyes narrowing on Lane under his thick, bushy, white eyebrows. ‘There is no reason to hesitate. This water will not kill you. It cures rheums, palsies, lethargies, apoplexy, cramps, forgetfulness, trembling of any manner, aches and swelling of the joints, and even deafness.’

‘What was that?’ the other man asked him.

‘I said the water has been known to cure those who are deaf.’

The balding man shook his head. ‘Well, it helps with ailments, does nothing for theft.’

‘Deaf. I said it cures deafness,’ the other man said louder.

‘Oh, rightly so. I’ve been coming here every day for a year and drink three pints a day. Works wonders.’

The calculations of revenue started to happen in Lane’s head. ‘You’ve been coming here for a year?’

‘Near to what?’

‘He was verifying that you’ve been taking the waters here for an entire year,’ the elderly woman chimed in, rolling her eyes. The diamonds in her earrings sparkled as she shook her head.

The old man waved her off with his hand. ‘I heard him. I heard him.’

How many patrons in this room had been coming to the spa that long? Repeat customers were a boon to any business—and this particular one was drinking more than a glass a day. What exactly was it that kept a gentleman such as this coming back? Was it something more than his belief in the water?

The elderly lady broke into his thoughts as she addressed the woman beside him.

‘Good morning, my dear. Lovely to see you, as always.’

‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ The woman gave a slight curtsy and the sleeve of her scarlet-silk spencer brushed against his arm. ‘It’s a pleasure. I wasn’t aware you had returned to town.’

‘Just arrived yesterday and haven’t sent my cards around yet. My grandson was interested in showing his wife the sights in Bath. She’s never been. I saw it as a wonderful opportunity to enjoy the restorative effects of the waters and spend time with my family. Pity it’s raining today.’

‘Yes, it is. I was looking forward to a long hot soak when I awoke this morning.’

So, she had intended to bathe here today. He couldn’t understand why. She couldn’t be any older than his thirty-seven years. She appeared fit and her movements, while graceful, were spry. Perhaps she just enjoyed the feel of the hot water.

An image of the woman with her dark hair piled high on her head, soaking in the large stone bath as her skin glistening with the steam of the water, filled his mind. Did they bathe naked here in the spa? He imagined the smooth swell of her breasts submerged partially in the hot water and he swallowed hard, thinking about swimming up to her and licking the water from her soft skin. The pool of water he spied below was large, which would leave them with plenty of room to explore one another below the surface of the water or on one of the stone steps leading down into the bath. In his mind, he pictured them in there, after the spa had been closed up for the night. Those musings quickly ended with the words of the white-haired gentleman across from him.

‘Blockage of the bowels.’

Lane blinked a few times, bringing the room back into focus as he felt his eyebrows rise. ‘Pardon?’

There was a soft sputter of laughter from the woman he had been daydreaming about, before she covered her mouth with her gloved hand and pretended to cough.

‘I said blockage of the bowels,’ the man repeated a bit louder. ‘It also cures blockage of the bowels. Is that why you’re here? Or is it for the women? Many fine women here in this town.’ The man eyed the Duchess on his right.

She raised her chin and arched a very regal-looking brow at the man who appeared older than her advanced age. Her expression had the effect she intended since he moved a few steps away from her and shifted his attention back to Lane. None of them had been introduced to him and yet they all seemed perfectly content to speak with him about the advantages of taking the water here. Was all of Bath like this or was it something unique that happened while you were all partaking in a glass of water that might, or might not, have you attached to a chamber pot for an undisclosed amount of time?

‘Leave him alone,’ said the elderly Duchess. ‘Let the man enjoy his water in peace.’

Enjoying it was probably a gross exaggeration. ‘I don’t mind,’ Lane said, feeling a need to speak with these people to better understand what motivated them to frequent such an establishment. ‘I’ve come to Bath at the suggestion of a friend. He thought I was sure to find something I’d like here.’

‘Plenty of things to like in Bath,’ the man who was hard of hearing replied back. This time he eyed the brunette to Lane’s right.

‘I am not a thing, Mr Falk,’ she said, surprising Lane with her way of directly addressing the man’s comment.

More surprising was the way the tone of her voice and her confident demeanour made the man redden with embarrassment at her chastisement. Although that did little to stop him from continuing.

‘You will never find another husband with that outspoken nature of yours.’

‘I am glad to hear of it. That is more reason to speak my mind.’

‘A man doesn’t like a woman who speaks her mind. A man likes a woman who is docile and deferential.’

‘What nonsense,’ the Duchess interjected. ‘A man would be bored with such a woman in less than a week.’ She shifted her attention to Lane. ‘What say you, sir? Do you agree with his proclamation?’

The two elderly gentlemen leaned closer and watched, as if they were warning him not to side with the two women in this odd little party.

Lane glanced at the woman beside him before addressing the Duchess. ‘I’ve never given it any thought.’

‘But surely you have preferences in the women you spend your time with.’

He was being watched too closely by the four people in this group. Why couldn’t they still be discussing the benefits of the water? He downed the contents of the glass in his hand, forgetting it was the spa water. If only he could wipe his tongue on his sleeve to alleviate the coppery taste in his mouth. He had learned not to care what other people thought of him a long time ago, but he found he didn’t want the woman beside him to think him lily-livered. It was not the impression he wanted to leave her with.

‘An interesting way to avoid answering a question,’ she commented. Her brown eyes held that now-familiar hint of amusement under her arched brow.

Lane had come here to gather information. That was all. How had he become a source of entertainment for her?

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘I’ve never given much thought to the type of women I prefer.’

‘I meant the water.’

‘Oh.’ There were no mineral deposits at the bottom of his glass. And, thankfully, no strands of hair. ‘It was not what I expected.’

‘You’ll grow accustomed to it. You may find you prefer it when it’s hot. Since you held it for so long, I’m certain it would have cooled off in your glass.’

He hadn’t planned to come back to this spa to find out. One visit should be enough to see what features he might want to recreate in his. With enough information, he was certain he could convince his partner that this was a lucrative investment. And the more time he spent here, the more he was certain that it made sense to expand their operation to include bathing. In order to do that they would need to buy The Fountain Head Hotel which was next door. A spa needed to be large. His one solitary building would never do and there was a church to the left. There was no possible way he would be expanding his enterprise in that direction. They would need to purchase the hotel that sat on the adjacent property on the right if they were to have any chance of making this a highly profitable venture. He was already staying there to assess it.

Just as he was about to begin asking the people around him what features kept them coming back to this particular spa, the attractive woman in scarlet took a step back from the fountain.

‘Well, do have a pleasant day, everyone.’

She was leaving? Suddenly conversing with the other three standing around the fountain didn’t seem as appealing as it had moments before. He didn’t even know her name or where she was from—or how he could find her again.

It shouldn’t matter. He was in Bath for a short time and he never let anything or anyone distract him from business. He had no time to spend in the company of such an enticing woman—even though his thoughts once more drifted to the image of her in the hot, steaming water. Tendrils of her wavy dark hair were grazing the glistening skin of her shoulders.

She was a distraction he couldn’t afford right now. Hopefully soon he would be devoting all of his attention to convincing the owner of The Fountain Head Hotel to sell him their successful enterprise as inexpensively as possible.

Chapter Two

The sun had finally come out from behind the clouds and was shining high above the garden that was behind Clara’s house in the Royal Crescent. This lovely garden, with a large variety of colourful roses, was one of her favourite places to spend her time in the warmer weather. On this spring day, she was enjoying the company of Eleanor, the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale, who she had run into at the Pump Room the day before. They were seated across from one another at the small round table that was set out on the gravel circle at the very centre of the garden.

The women had become friendly five years ago when they had worked together on a committee raising funds for the Foundling Hospital in London. Days were never dull when Eleanor was around and, for that, Clara was grateful.

‘You always do have the most exceptional tea,’ the Dowager commented, lowering her fine porcelain cup into its saucer and placing it on the table.

‘Thank you. I’ve blended a few special types of oolong for this pot.’

The weight of the head of Clara’s Cavalier King Charles spaniel rested on her foot while Humphrey stretched his small, exhausted, black furry body down beside her after having spent the last fifteen minutes chasing a butterfly along the garden pathways. While he rested on Clara’s foot, his big brown eyes looked up at the Dowager.

‘My, you are a handsome fellow,’ she said, breaking off a piece of her biscuit and placing it down near the ground.

Humphrey looked at the offering and back up at the Dowager.

‘Come now,’ she said to him. ‘If you want it, you have to come to me to get it.’

Clara had never owned a dog before and she was learning how to manage Humphrey through trial and error, but she knew she didn’t want him begging for food at the table. She had been around enough houses with dogs to know that the experience as a dinner guest could be annoying. But before she was able to request that the Dowager not give him any food, Humphrey jumped up and padded over to her to gently take the piece of biscuit she offered.

The Dowager rubbed his little head and brown ears. ‘That’s a good boy. How long have you had him?’

The little imp yawned and went back to Clara’s foot where he stretched out again and closed his eyes. Apparently chasing butterflies and eating a biscuit was an exhausting endeavour for one so small.

‘Only a few weeks now. Juliet gave him to me for my birthday. I think she assumed that I was lonely now that she is no longer living with me and somehow she believes Humphrey will help.’

‘How many years has it been since you took Juliet in?’

‘Four years. She lived with Elizabeth and Skeffington for two years after their parents passed, but we found it was better for her to stay with me in Bath than with them.’

‘I suppose living with one’s older sister can be trying at times and Skeffington certainly did not have the nicest disposition.’ The Dowager broke off another piece of her biscuit. ‘At the time that the two of you left London, I thought it might’ve had something to do with the Duke of Winterbourne’s youngest brother, Lord Montague. But Juliet and Monty are married now, so perhaps that assumption was incorrect.’ Her gaze held Clara’s for a few breaths longer than necessary before she placed the piece of biscuit in her mouth.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

How was it that this woman always seemed to know things that should have been a secret? Clara’s niece Juliet had suffered terrible heartbreak at the hands of Lord Montague Pearce when her guardian refused to allow them to marry. At the time, Clara had taken Juliet out of London to spare her the pain of having to see Monty. The experience had created a close bond between the two women and while Clara had been so delighted that Juliet had finally found her happiness with Monty years later, Juliet’s absence had left a hole in her heart.

The Dowager waved away her statement with a carefree movement of her hand. ‘Very well. Keep your family secrets. They married in the end and I have seen them at various balls in London. It is apparent that it’s a love match so perhaps her time here in Bath was for the best.’

Clara was not about to divulge her niece’s secret. The secrets the Sommersby women shared with each other stayed within the family. She had never betrayed Juliet in the past and she wouldn’t do so now. ‘I think Juliet enjoyed her time here. There is talk of them finding a home in Bath in the future.’

‘How lovely for you,’ the Dowager responded with sincerity. ‘However, having them in town will not be the same as having companionship in this house, and I am not referring to that little fellow at your feet who has been charming us today,’ she said, gesturing to a sleeping Humphrey.

‘Have you run out of people to pair up in London so now you think to turn your attention to me after all these years of knowing one another? My friends and the visits from my nieces are enough for me. I do not want a husband.’

‘Perhaps you just haven’t found the right gentleman.’

‘Perhaps neither have you.’

The elderly woman with the mischievous smile let out a small laugh. ‘Perhaps I already have.’

Clara wasn’t certain if the Dowager was having a bit of fun with her last comment or if indeed the woman had found a gentleman caller at her advanced age. Regardless, Clara was not interested in wading through the waters of another relationship. ‘I will not lose my independence. I have managed my affairs very well over these last ten years. And I have done so going against some of the wishes my husband had while he was alive. I’ve discovered I possess a keen ability to make sound business decisions, placing me in firm control over a comfortable future. I will not give that up for any man.’

She would never turn over control of The Fountain Head Hotel to a husband. That hotel was her security and as long as she owned it, she would never have to worry about being thrown in debtors’ prison—the way she had when her husband Robert was alive.

A murmur of voices drifted over the garden wall and Clara knew the Collingswood sisters had come out into the garden of the house their parents had recently begun leasing next door. She wondered if Mrs Col-lingswood had stood by her window and peered through her sheer muslin curtains and spied them in the garden. The girls were of marrying age and she noticed that Mrs Collingswood was fond of throwing them in Clara’s path whenever she had the opportunity. In fact, she had spotted them yesterday heading towards her in the Pump Room and had walked away from the fountain before Mrs Collingswood approached her, presumably hoping for an introduction to the blond-haired gentleman she had been speaking with—a man whose name she did not know.

Even though the sisters’ voices weren’t loud, Humphrey’s sleepy head popped up and he trotted slowly towards the garden wall between the two properties.

‘You left the Pump Room rather abruptly yesterday. I do hope nothing was amiss,’ the Dowager said, picking up her teacup.

‘No, I just saw people that I preferred to avoid and thought it best to leave before I was obligated to speak with them.’

‘Nothing troubling, I hope.’

Clara leaned closer so her voice would not carry on the breeze over the garden wall. ‘No, just my new neighbours,’ she replied in a low whisper.

The Dowager’s expression filled with interest and she, too, leaned forward. ‘Neighbours can be so trying at times. Tell me about these.’

‘It is the new family who are leasing the house next door.’ She motioned with her head to the low garden wall where Clara suspected the Collingswood sisters were instructed to spend part of the afternoon. ‘The family is nice enough, really. Except the mother seems determined to introduce her daughters to every eligible young man in Bath.’ The fact that Clara had noticed the focus was always on the prettier younger daughter made her amend the statement. ‘Well, she attempts to promote the younger one, at any rate. The older is practically ignored in those situations.’

‘What a pity for the girl. It is not easy living in the shadow of someone else.’

‘No, it isn’t. I recall feeling that way when I would attend a ball or other social engagements with my older sister, Mary. Conversing with others came very easy to her. It was not so with me when I was younger. Because of that, I often disappeared into the background like wallpaper.’

‘You? I find that hard to believe. Did you behave in such a way even with Mr Sommersby? I remember him when he was younger. He was a bit of a charmer.’

‘I was like that with everyone except him,’ Clara replied with a smile. ‘He was very easy to speak with. I do think being married to him helped me become more assertive and outgoing.’ She had been forced to become that way when she would regularly have to find ways to convince the shopkeepers that they would eventually get paid for their wares.

‘Maybe you can help Miss Collingswood?’ the Dowager suggested.

‘And they say I have a fondness for matchmaking...’

‘Oh, you know I do. Everyone knows that I do. I’ve never really made it a secret. You, however, are subtler. I have witnessed it. Perhaps you could introduce her to that gentleman you were speaking with yesterday.’

‘You mean in the Pump Room? Why would you mention him?’

‘My dear, he is a handsome man. I may be old, but I am not dead. What can you tell me about him?’

‘The truth of the matter is that I know nothing about him. We had not been introduced before we began speaking.’ Clara took a sip of tea to give her guest time to process that statement. ‘You don’t look shocked.’

‘I’m not. I suspected as much when no introductions were made.’ She tilted her head and looked Clara in the eye. The Dowager was of an advanced age, but she never seemed to miss anything that was going on around her, no matter how insignificant. ‘You did speak with him, surely you must know something about him?’

‘All I know is that he has spent some time in Tunbridge Wells.’

‘That’s all?’

Clara nodded while considering once more who he was and what had brought him to Bath.

‘Did you check the registry book? Surely he must have signed the book in the Pump Room. Everyone who comes to town knows to do that.’

‘There were a number of gentlemen who signed the book yesterday. There is no way to know which one he is.’

‘Then you do not know how long he will be staying in Bath or if he was merely passing through.’

‘I do not.’

‘What a pity.’ The Dowager’s keen eyes settled on her again. ‘I saw the way his gaze would drift to you while we stood about talking and I noticed the way you studied him when you thought none of us was looking.’

There had been a few moments when Clara was speaking with him that she had felt he was giving her his undivided attention—the way you did when you were attracted to someone. It was a lovely feeling to think it might have been possible that she had caught the eye of a handsome young gentleman at her age. Not that she was particularly old or that he was exceptionally young, but she was certainly older than he was. She knew any attraction that might have been there was short-lived and he must have forgotten all about her the moment she had walked away from the fountain.

But if she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that there was something about their encounter that had stayed with her and she even found herself looking for him in the Pump Room this morning as she stood by the fountain and was disappointed when she didn’t see him. Perhaps he had left town already.

‘I thought you wanted me to arrange for him to meet my neighbour’s daughter?’

‘Well, you’ve said you do not want to marry again. There is no sense in me matching the two of you together. Unless you are open to having an affair with him.’ That mischievous look was back on her lined face, making her appear almost childlike. ‘I can help you with that endeavour if you like. You did bother to look for his name in the book. That has to mean something.’

‘That signifies nothing and I am certainly not looking to have an affair,’ Clara replied, not even trying to hide her indignation. ‘And he is much too young for me, regardless.’

Humphrey padded down between the rose bushes from where he had been by the garden wall. The small dog stopped near one of the pots on the edge of the border that held lavender. He raised himself up on his hind legs and proceeded to thrust himself against the clay pot a number of times, eliciting a laugh from the Dowager.

‘Humphrey, no!’ Clara called out to him, while a hot flush crept up her neck. She had to repeat his name a number of times before he stopped and looked over at her with those big brown eyes. She walked over to him and picked him up. When she returned to her chair, she placed his small body on her lap. ‘Please forgive him,’ she said to the Dowager. ‘He has developed a habit of doing that. I suppose I should be grateful he does that only to things and not people, but I don’t know how to get him to stop.’ The dog in question curled into a ball on her lap and lowered his head.

‘I’m afraid I cannot help you with his problem. I’ve never owned a dog. Would it help if you walked him some more? Perhaps if you tire him out?’

‘I already take him for a long walk every morning and then I walk him at four o’clock along the Crescent and into the park every day. It has done no good.’

The Dowager smiled up at Clara. ‘I am certain you will work out the best course of action to take. In the meantime,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘I need something to keep me occupied while I am here in Bath and playing matchmaker for your neighbour’s daughter sounds like the perfect challenge. Why don’t you join me in helping her find someone special?’

‘Harriet is a lovely girl. I doubt it will be a challenge. We just need to separate her from her sister.’

‘And hopefully your mystery gentleman from yesterday will still be in town and we can find out if he is a suitable prospect for her.’

The idea that he could still be in Bath shouldn’t have mattered. He was a stranger she had spoken to for less than thirty minutes—and yet the notion made her smile.

Chapter Three

Lane stood in the cellar of the coffee house that he had purchased with his friend and business partner the Earl of Hartwick and looked over at the man in question, who was holding a glass of hot mineral water up to the sunlight that was streaming in through the window.

‘When I told you to go to Bath because you might find something that would interest you, I didn’t mean the water,’ Hart said, narrowing his sharp blue eyes and taking a cautionary sniff of his glass.

‘I know what you meant.’

‘Women, not water. I meant go to Bath to find a woman...or two. I’m not one to judge. But this water...are you certain it is safe to drink?’

‘I had a glass of it myself only yesterday and I am here today.’

Hart peered at Lane over the glass. ‘Yes, but you appear agitated. I have no wish to become agitated.’

‘I am agitated because you have yet to tell me if you agree that turning this coffee house into a spa is a wise business decision,’ he replied in a clipped tone.

‘People truly do drink this hot water that smells like a pocketful of pennies?’

‘The room was full of people paying five pence per glass to drink it.’

‘And they go there every day?’

‘Some do and drink multiple glasses. And some bathe in the hot thermal water as well.’ Lane dug his hands into the pockets of his green-linen coat. ‘How is it that you were the one to tell me to go to Bath and yet you know nothing about the hot springs or the Grand Pump Room?’

Hart arched his brow. ‘In the seven years that you have known me, do I truly look like a person who would bathe with strange old men in ancient pools or drink water that appears to have been boiled with currency?’

‘Well, no, not really.’ Lane shifted in his stance.

‘Then what makes you believe I know anything about the water here?’

Lane had been introduced to Hart by Lord Boundbrooke, who was on the board of the Foundling Hospital and had helped secure Lane’s apprenticeship at a bank when he left the Hospital. In the years following, he had kept his eye on Lane and had told him that he thought both Lane and Hart would benefit from a friendship with each other. He was right. In Hart, he had found a rare aristocrat who didn’t care that Lane did not come from a family of consequence or that he didn’t even know what family he came from at all. But even though he was very fond of the man, there were times Hart could try his patience.

‘You must know of the reputation of the town, Hart, and you’ve seen the numerous visitors that come here by the thousands because of water such as that.’

Hart brushed a lock of his black hair out of his eyes. ‘Do I really have to drink this?’

‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘What I’d prefer is a nice glass of brandy somewhere where we can discuss this further.’

Lane motioned to the white-skirted table with two chairs that was tucked against the stone wall and Hart followed. He broke out into a broad grin when Lane reached under the table and produced a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

‘You knew I wouldn’t drink the water.’

‘I suspected as much and, even if you had, you would need this to wash the taste out of your mouth.’

‘If that water is so vile, why are all these people drinking it?’

‘Because they firmly believe that that water is going to cure all their ailments.’

‘And, do you believe that?’

‘I am keeping myself open to the possibility.’

Hart poured himself some brandy. ‘Then why not just operate a place for people to come to drink the water? Why do we need to purchase the hotel as well?’

‘If we don’t offer bathing as well, it might not be enough of an incentive to draw people here. They could very well continue to go to the spas where they can have a drink and bathe. And, more importantly, there is more money to be made from people bathing in the water. Look here.’ He took out a paper with his financial calculations from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘I stood outside the King’s and Queen’s Baths and counted how many people went in over a two-hour period this morning. I used that number to estimate how many people go in each day.’ He pointed to the number of people and then the column beside it. ‘This is how much they charge for a person to take to the waters there and this is how much money they might have made today. It is not an accurate number, mind you, but it is a logical estimate.’

Hart’s blue eyes widened as his gaze travelled across the numbers. ‘Surely that can’t be right?’

‘It is. I tell you, we need to expand. It is the logical thing to do. We need to buy The Fountain Head Hotel and then construct a bathhouse on the property. It is as if divine providence has given us a gift with that water for a reason.’ He leaned in and rested his forearms on the table. ‘Hart, we could make enough money to start that racecourse you and I have dreamed about. The one that will rival Ascot.’

He knew that the mention of horses would be enough of an enticement to grab his friend’s interest in the project. They had been business partners for seven years. The investments he had orchestrated for them allowed his friend to live on a very nice income and not have to rely solely on his winnings at the gaming tables to support himself and now his wife as well. He knew Hart trusted his business sense, but he could still be unpredictable at times.

Lane rubbed his hand across his chin and waited.

‘While we might be able to afford to purchase the hotel,’ Hart said, ‘we certainly can’t afford the hotel and the construction of the bathhouse. Not after buying this place only weeks ago.’

‘Do you have any ideas?’

Hart took a sip of his brandy and then stared down into his glass as if he would find his answer there. ‘Sarah and I are staying with Lyonsdale and his family for a few days. I will mention it to him tonight and, should he be interested, I will arrange a meeting with the three of us. You can lay this plan of yours before him then.’

Lane rubbed his hand on his thigh as if he were rubbing out a spot on the soft buckskin of his breeches. He didn’t want to have to wait to settle this matter. He wanted to approach the owner of the hotel now and begin searching for an engineer competent in the systems they would need to manage the flow of water. He would need a survey of the property next door to present to the engineers. But he couldn’t do any of that until he knew how much money they had at their disposal.

While Hart with his charm and pedigree was perfect at enticing investors to fund their projects, Lane was infinitely better at executing them—and this plan was exceptional. It was easy money. Once the new spa was complete, it would practically run itself. He would hire a competent manager and return to London in search of his next financial investment.

The Duke of Lyonsdale had helped them fund a few of their larger business ventures in the past. He would certainly see the potential in this one. If only Lane did not have to wait so long for his answer.

‘How much money do you think Lyonsdale will be willing to give us?’

Hart gave a slight lift of his shoulder. ‘How much money do you think we will need? I’m sure you have a number in mind.’

Lane pointed to another number further down the page.

Hart’s brows rose. ‘Yes, we will definitely need help with that. Let me see what I can do and I will let you know what he says.’

As he stood to leave, Lane checked his watch.

‘What time is it?’ Hart asked.

‘Half past three.’

‘I should be off. I’ll send word to you in the morning on the outcome of our discussion. In the meantime, don’t look at any more properties. We can’t afford for you to get another one of your brilliant ideas.’

‘I won’t. This idea has my full attention. I think I’ll go for a walk. After spending a good part of my afternoon in this dusty space, I could use the fresh air.’

‘Lyonsdale is up near the Royal Crescent. You might want to explore that area. I don’t believe there are any businesses to distract you.’

‘I’ll consider it.’

‘You might even consider finding a woman or two. That should keep you out of trouble until you hear from me.’

‘I have better things to do.’ But even as he said it, an image of the woman from the Pump Room popped into his head. He consciously pushed thoughts of her aside. ‘I’m determined to find a way to improve the productivity here at the coffee house. There is no sense in missing an opportunity to increase our income with this property until we change it to a spa.’

‘If we change it over to a spa.’

‘When we change it. I have faith that you will find a way to get us the money that we need.’

‘We shall see.’ Hart downed the rest of his brandy. ‘Even if we get the money, what makes you believe the owner of The Fountain Head Hotel will be interested in selling it to us? I’ve heard it’s the finest hotel in Bath and a haven for single gentlemen. With all the unmarried men visiting this town, it must turn a pretty profit.’

‘They’ll sell it. I’m good at brokering deals such as this and I want that property.’

Chapter Four

‘Really, Humphrey, this is not the time or place for such behaviour.’

The feminine voice came through the thick shrubbery in the wooded area with views of the Royal Crescent that Lane found himself walking in almost an hour later. After living in London all his life, he felt more at home on cobblestones or on horseback than he did walking along a wooded path. But the wide promenade in front of the Crescent was so congested with finely dressed people of all ages that Lane grew weary of the slow pace of those walking in front of him as they strolled along under their parasols and in their beaver hats. Something told him that he was better off heading out into Barton Fields, the huge expanse of lawn opposite the long curved row of honey-coloured terraced stone residences that formed the Royal Crescent.

The air was fresher and cleaner here in Bath and being outside exerting oneself through a brisk walk felt invigorating. Because of that, when he reached the end of the field, Lane uncharacteristically decided to continue on to the wooded area beyond. And it was there that the voice of the unknown woman caught his attention. The tone she used to address her companion had him slowing down. What behaviour had this gentleman committed that warranted such exasperation?

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she continued. ‘You know that I am right.’

The privet hedgerow between them was about ten inches higher than his six-foot frame and too lush to peer through the leaves to the other side.

‘Honestly, I would have stayed at home if I knew this was your intention.’

The gentleman in question remained silent. Or, if he spoke, it was too low for Lane to hear. He stepped closer to the hedgerow and listened intently for any response. He heard a bit of rustling, like the sound of the fabric of a lady’s skirt being moved. Although he devoted his attention to business, Lane wasn’t a monk. He had lifted a skirt or two...or three or four, in his time. That was a sound that a man didn’t forget.

‘Oh, now you have me in a tangle. I do wish you would stop.’ The woman’s tone had shifted from that of exasperation to pleading.

It was in really bad form to listen to what was happening a few feet away from him. He should walk away. He should not be picturing the escapade those two were having in the woods—in the very public woods.

His thoughts flashed to an image of the woman from the Pump Room and how he had been picturing the two of them together yesterday—in the very public bath. At least his fantasy involved an empty building, after it had been closed for the day.

‘Humphrey, no! Don’t you do it. Humphrey!’

There was an urgency in her voice that gave him pause. Perhaps the silent Humphrey was manhandling her. Suppose she did not want him to lift her skirts here in a public garden. Lane’s right hand drew up into a tight fist.

‘Is everything all right?’ he called through the hedge. ‘Are you in need of assistance?’

The rustling stopped and there was a marked silence. The only sound now was the faint chirping of birds in a far-off tree.

‘Now do you see what you’ve done?’ Her voice dropped and, if he hadn’t been standing with his ear practically in the bush, he wouldn’t have heard it.

‘What am I to do about you?’ Her faint voice continued. ‘You are incorrigible. I should give a swat to that backside of yours.’

Lane’s brows rose. They were more of a daring couple than he had originally thought. Perhaps she wasn’t coming to any harm after all. Perhaps he should just go on his way and forget he had ever said anything. This would teach him to venture out into wooded areas. No one would be having these types of assignations in the middle of the day on public pavements. He turned to walk further down the path when the woman called out to him.

‘Sir, are you still there? I could use your assistance.’

What had the silent Humphrey done now? And did Lane really want to see? This was what he got for having no tolerance for brutes who thought they could exert their power over others.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Lane made his way around the hedgerow and stopped.

‘It’s you.’ It came out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself.

There, before him, was the woman from the Pump Room wearing a jonquil and white dress with a deep blue shawl draped over her right arm, her brown eyes widened with apparent surprise when she saw him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘You said you needed assistance.’ He scanned the surroundings for the persistent Humphrey, but the man must have had the sense to leave before Lane made it around the hedge or he was hiding somewhere while he set his wardrobe to rights.

Apparently, this woman would probably think nothing of having a scandalous encounter in the public baths. And that thought only served to have him picturing her smooth skin glistening with the steaming bath water once more.

* * *

It was bad enough Clara was in the predicament she was in. Did she really need to be stuck like this in front of the handsome gentleman from the Pump Room?

Humphrey’s leash had got tangled in the privet hedge and, if that wasn’t annoying enough, when she went to try to untangle it the back of her dress had got caught on a branch as well. She had tried to release it, but that particular section of lace was at a point of her back that she couldn’t reach.

When the gentleman called out to her through the hedgerow, she hesitated at first to answer. A scoundrel could take advantage of her very precarious predicament. She could be robbed, or worse. Hoping that if he tried anything, her small puppy would bite his ankles and scare him off, she accepted his invitation of assistance. Only now her puppy had disappeared into the hedge and the possible scoundrel turned out to be the man the Dowager wanted her to introduce to her neighbour.

‘How can I help?’ he asked, tilting his head a bit as he looked at her with a furrowed brow.

‘I’m stuck.’

‘Pardon?’

‘On the hedge.’ She motioned to her back with her gloved hand. ‘The lace on my dress is caught on a branch and I can’t move. Would you be so kind as to release me?’

He glanced around the small wooded area she was in and even appeared to peer over a few of the lower hedges as he made his way closer to her. When he stood a few feet away, the faintest scent of his cologne drifted across her nose as it travelled on the soft breeze.

Clara was petite in stature and had to look up at him as he stood less than two feet from her. Facing him, without the busyness of the Pump Room, she was able to get a better look at him. His firm and sensual lips rose a fraction in the right corner, softening the angles of his square jaw. Although he was clean shaven, there was a hint of stubble on that jaw and on his cheeks. She appreciated impeccably groomed men so it was surprising that she had the urge to brush her fingers against his skin to see what that stubble felt like.

He leaned over her and her breath caught as his lips drew closer to her eyelids. His finely made arms, defined through the linen of his blue coat, came around hers. He could have easily stood to the side of her to free the bit of fabric, but being surrounded by all his quiet masculine presence, she was glad he had decided not to.

‘You truly have got yourself caught.’

He looked down at her and flecks of gold were visible in his blue eyes. ‘I know I haven’t spent much time in your presence, however, this is the quietest I think I have seen you,’ he said with a slight smile.

‘I don’t want to distract you.’

‘You already have.’

She lifted her chin and now their mouths were a few inches apart. The warm air of his breath brushed across her lips. The last time she had kissed a man was ten years ago. And even then, she couldn’t ever recall her pulse beating like this at the thought of kissing her husband.

Just a few more inches and their lips would be touching. Just a few more inches and she would wrap her arms around his neck and let herself sink into his embrace.

His arms tightened around hers and she felt the tugging of the back of her dress. ‘I think I have it,’ he said, his breath caressing her lips.

So close, their lips were so close.

A loud yapping broke the moment and the gentleman she was thinking of kissing reeled back and it was then that she realised she was free. Free of the shrub and the spell that had been cast over her. Free of desires that left her forgetting where she was or the fact that she didn’t know who she was with.

She was a respectable widow and respectable women did not go around kissing gentlemen behind some shrubbery in a public park.

Humphrey’s small black and brown body was hidden within the bottom branches of the thick hedge beside her, but his little black head and brown ears were visible. He continued to bark at the gentleman who had come to her aid.

‘Where did you come from?’ He looked between the small dog and Clara. ‘You might want to step away. It doesn’t appear very friendly.’

‘It’s fine. He’s fine. He belongs to me.’ She looked down at Humphrey. ‘Now hush. The nice gentleman was helping me,’ she said to the creature who was responsible for this awkward encounter.

‘I don’t think he likes me.’

‘He just wants to get out from under the bush.’

The gentleman lowered himself to the heels of his top boots. The muscles of his thighs flexed in his cream-coloured breeches when his coat parted with his movement. He held his gloved hand out to Humphrey, but didn’t say a word, giving the dog the opportunity to sniff him.

‘He won’t go to you. He’s stuck in the bushes.’

‘He’s stuck, too?’

Clara held up the loop of Humphrey’s leash that was wrapped around her wrist, giving a slight tug to the bit of the red cord that was free of the tangled mess for him to see. Humphrey let out a series of barks as if he was trying to explain to the gentleman how it happened.

‘First your dress and now your dog’s leash? You two are quite a pair.’

‘If we are being precise, it was his leash first and then my dress.’

Lane stood up and strode towards her. ‘Can you untangle it?’

‘I had been trying to when my dress got caught. I wasn’t having much luck.’

‘Let me see if I can help.’ He squatted just out of Humphrey’s reach and then held out his hand to the puppy. ‘What have you done to yourself, little one?’

Instead of sniffing the gentleman’s hand, Humphrey appeared to try to explain how it had happened before lowering his head to his paws.

‘I see. Well, let’s free you from this mess so you and your mistress do not have to spend the night here.’ Humphrey looked up at him as he traced the red cord from the dog’s collar into the hedge and moved some of the branches around to study the tangled mess. ‘How did he do this?’ he asked, his attention still focused on untangling the cord.

‘I’m not sure. He was chasing a butterfly and the next thing I knew I was pulled practically into the bush.’

‘Your leash is too long. You need a shorter one.’ He motioned for her to hand him her end and then he worked it through the branches.

Not wanting to inadvertently get caught in the bushes again, Clara adjusted her blue shawl around her shoulders. ‘Do you think you will be able to free him or should we just untie the leash from his collar?’

‘I think I’ve got it. Just a few more twists... There, he is free.’

He handed her the end of the leash just as Humphrey let out a few barks before charging the gentleman’s leg and resting his paws on his knee. He was rewarded with some scratching behind his ears and Humphrey whipped his head around and licked the man’s hand.

‘No more chasing butterflies for you, young man.’

Humphrey gave an excited bark as if to say he agreed the adventure had not been worth it.

Clara took a step closer to them and prayed Humphrey would not embarrass her with more of his inappropriate displays. ‘Thank you very much for your assistance. I’m not sure what we would have done if you had not come along.’

‘Well, I’m just glad I did.’ He moved his hands to scratch Humphrey’s neck and the little dog wagged his tail.

‘Humphrey loves having his neck scratched. If you keep doing that, he won’t allow you to get up.’

He looked up at her. ‘Humphrey? This is Humphrey?’

‘That’s his name,’ she said, nodding.

‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Humphrey.’ He held out his hand to the dog, with his palm up. ‘Can you shake?’

Humphrey barked and licked his hand.

‘Come now, gentlemen shake when they meet. Give me your paw.’

Humphrey barked again.

‘He doesn’t understand what you’re asking.’

‘Then we will teach him.’ He tapped Humphrey’s right paw. ‘Paw.’ He held his hand out to Humphrey. ‘Give me your paw.’

Once more Humphrey barked and a few more times the gentlemen tapped his paw and repeated the word.

Each time, Humphrey barked. But the last time when the gentleman held out his hand and requested his paw, Humphrey placed it in his hand. He closed his fingers around the little paw and gave it a small shake, while he scratched Humphrey’s neck with his other hand. The dog let out a series of happy sounds as if he was letting him know how proud he was that he learned a new trick. Then he looked at Clara with his big brown eyes and let out another bark.

‘Yes, I see. You’ve learned something new.’ She took a step closer as the gentleman gave one last pat to Humphrey’s head before standing up.

‘You seem quite at ease with him. Do you have a dog of your own?’

‘Not any longer. I did for a while a long time ago. I travel too much now.’

‘Travelling a lot sounds like an adventurous life.’

‘I suppose some people may see it as such. Most times the travelling is rather tedious.’

‘I’m surprised to see you here. This small stretch is not typically frequented by visitors. They normally enjoy promenading up by the Crescent.’

‘Crawling might be a better word. They were moving much too slowly for my liking.’ He took a step closer.

‘Moving at a sedate pace can be enjoyable when you find your companions entertaining.’

His eyes held hers for a few heartbeats before he looked around for Humphrey. ‘But when you are alone and have some place to be, walking behind people being entertained is irritating.’

The candid statement was made with such a gruff delivery it almost made her laugh. ‘I imagine it would be. So where did you need to be?’

‘Today?’

She nodded and waited for him to respond.

‘Nowhere...exactly. But that doesn’t mean it was any less bothersome.’

A small laugh crept out before she could hold it back. ‘So, you came here to avoid the people out there enjoying themselves.’

His brows drew together and he crossed his arms. Standing tall with his legs apart, he appeared to be preparing for battle. ‘You seem to enjoy having fun at my expense.’

‘I am not having fun at your expense. But you must admit you take the most benign things quite seriously.’

‘I do not.’

‘You do. I have lived most of my life in this town and not once have I witnessed anyone inspect the water as carefully as you did yesterday. And today you couldn’t even enjoy a walk along the Crescent.’

‘That does not mean I have a serious disposition.’

She crossed her arms in return. ‘How would your friends describe you?’

‘That is neither here nor there.’

‘That tells me that you know they would not be describing you as jovial.’

‘I should have left you in the bushes.’

The off-the-cuff comment didn’t insult her, but made her laugh instead. ‘So perhaps you aren’t so serious all the time. What have you found enjoyable while you’ve been here in Bath?’

‘I have yet to have the opportunity to see much of the town.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Eight days.’

‘Eight days and you haven’t seen much of Bath? What have you been doing all this time?’

‘I’m here on business and haven’t really got out much.’

‘Apparently. I think we need to remedy that. It might help with that disposition of yours.’

‘And what do you think I’d find enjoyable here?’

My company is enjoyable, she wanted to say. ‘I suppose it depends on what you like. Perhaps it would be better to ask what kinds of activities you find enjoyable.’

He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

It seemed he was not going to make suggesting what he should do an easy endeavour. ‘Well, one can assume you do not enjoy long strolls.’

‘No. That is not true. I do enjoy a brisk walk. It helps me clear my thoughts.’

‘Then we will put brisk walking on the list. Perhaps you would enjoy visiting the Lower Assembly Rooms. They are near the bowling green and close to some lovely walks that are laid out by the river. If you time it just right, you might be able to walk the pathways before the crowds descend. And the public breakfast that is served there every Wednesday is quite good.’

‘That’s a much too leisurely way to spend my days.’

‘Well, you could always attend the dress and fancy balls in the evenings in the Upper Assembly Rooms. I prefer the dress balls, myself. And there are cards rooms at those if you do not dance.’

‘What makes you think I do not know how to dance?’

‘Forgive me. I meant if you were not inclined to dance.’

‘I find balls rather tedious. Too much talking about the weather and the state of the roads.’

‘Of course. Who would want to speak to all those people enjoying each other’s company?’

His lips pressed together which made her laugh again.

‘Then perhaps you would prefer a concert or the theatre. Bath has a vast array of ways to entertain yourself while you are here. Your wife might enjoy those activities.’ She waited to see if he would confirm that he was married. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be until now.

‘Was that your way of finding out if I am married?’

She was not one to hide her inquisitive nature so she smiled up at him. ‘Are you?’

Instead of appearing affronted by her question, the hint of a small smile played on his lips. ‘No. I am not.’

‘Neither am I.’ Clara held back a groan. Why, oh, why had she offered that bit of information? It wasn’t as if he had bothered to ask her.

‘I know. I assumed from the Pump Room that you are widowed. I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you, but my husband passed a long time ago.’

The small creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as they looked at one another.

Humphrey’s head nudged her ankle, drawing her attention down to her dog. When she saw him eyeing the gentleman’s boot with that expression she had come to know, a sense of dread filled her chest. She held tight to his leash and tugged him back, closer to her.

Humphrey let out a series of barks in protest.

‘I really should be taking him home. He is probably hungry.’

‘Would you like me to escort you back from where you came?’

‘No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. I don’t have far to go.’ Humphrey pulled on the leash in the direction of the gentleman, making their departure all the more urgent. ‘I do hope you’ll take my suggestions. It would be a pity if you spent your time here without enjoying some of what this town has to offer.’

His eyes seemed to darken momentarily. ‘I’ll consider your suggestions.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

There was something about being around this gentleman that made it hard not to smile. She was just glad this time she did so only after she had turned to walk away.

‘Wait. I do not even know your name,’ he called after her.

Clara pulled back on Humphrey’s leash and turned around. ‘Mrs Clara Sommersby. And you are...?’

He tipped his head and held the brim of his hat. ‘Mr William Lane.’ A smile softened the hard planes of his features.

There was no reason to hide her smile now as she bobbed a curtsy. ‘Good day, Mr Lane. Perhaps we shall meet again.’

* * *

It had taken all of Lane’s restraint not to follow Mrs Sommersby out from behind the hedgerow in their secluded spot in the park. As it were, he watched her slowly walk away from him with her small dog trotting along beside her until she reached the end of the hedge where the dirt path they were on merged with the gravel pathway that would take her out of the park.

There was something about being around her that had him wanting to talk with her some more and not rush back to the coffee house as he had originally intended. But now, running back to the coffee house was the furthest thing from his mind as he wondered if she walked her dog here often. When he reached the edge of the wooded park, he looked left and right, trying to catch sight of her, but to no avail. She was nowhere to be found. Digging his hands into his pockets, he resumed his walk. This time he didn’t mind the slow pace, since, instead of focusing on reaching his destination, his mind was filled with thoughts of Mrs Sommersby. And the fact that for those few moments she was stuck to the bush, more than anything, he had wanted to kiss her.

Chapter Five

Two days later Lane sat across from Hart and the Duke of Lyonsdale in the office in the back room of the coffee house and tried his best to decipher the man’s expression. Lyonsdale had listened intently to what Hart and Lane had to say about the planned spa—but he hadn’t asked any questions. The Duke had invested his money with them in past ventures and in prior instances he always had some questions. However, today he sat with his arms crossed and a neutral expression on his face. It couldn’t be possible that Lyonsdale was going to turn them down. This spa had the potential to become one of their most profitable ventures yet.

Tapping his finger on the proposed budget that laid between them on the table, Lane leaned closer. ‘You have yet to tell us your thoughts. You see the potential, do you not?’

Lyonsdale nodded and sat back in his chair. ‘Those numbers are impressive—however, I’m afraid I cannot invest in this.’

Lane could feel his composure start to slip and he almost had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from calling this well-respected member of the House of Lords an ass. ‘Might I ask why?’

‘Because I have been coming to Bath for years and I see the changes that are taking place here. How many times have you been to Bath, Lane?’

‘I just started visiting recently.’

‘I see. Well, let me tell you what I’ve observed. This town was once overflowing with members of the ton. Parading along the Crescent resembled making your way through the crowds at Almack’s on a Wednesday night. But do you know what I see now?’

Lane shook his head, wishing that he could tell Lyonsdale that he didn’t want to know. Those numbers on that page spoke louder to him.

‘Now I see a town fading somewhat in its glory as the most fashionable place to be outside of London. There are not nearly as many members of the ton here as there once were. Brighton is where the Regent is. Brighton is where the growth is. Do not mistake what I am saying. Bath is still a desirable destination, but for how much longer? It may be profitable now, but can you truly tell me it will continue to be profitable ten years from now...or twenty?’

While Lyonsdale, unlike many members of English Society, always treated Lane with respect, Lane had never felt the divide in class as acutely with the man as he did at this very moment.

‘There are no guarantees in business,’ Lane replied, looking Lyonsdale directly in the eye. ‘I cannot say with one hundred per cent certainty that this venture will be profitable ten years from now or twenty. But what I can guarantee is that right now...now, those numbers are sound. And while people of your class and position may not be flocking here the way they once were, people of my class are. The merchant class and those who are discovering ways to make money through industry, we are all here. And there are many more of us than there are of you.’

He liked the man. He truly did. But how could he not see what was right in front of him?

‘I didn’t mean to appear so singular in my vision.’

‘But you did.’

Hart shifted in his chair beside Lyonsdale. He was the one who possessed all the finesse and charm. He was always the one who would petition the members of the ton to invest with them. And this was part of the reason why. The look in Hart’s eye told Lane that he might have overstepped himself with the Duke. It told him he should stop talking, lest they lose the man’s help in the future.

Lyonsdale came from one of the most prestigious families in Britain. He was a well-respected member of the House of Lords. He was a duke and not the type of man who was accustomed to being talked to in this way. Yet Lane’s pride was too great. He might have been raised in a Foundling Hospital, but that didn’t mean that he and those like him were not important. They had a place in towns like Bath and Brighton and anywhere else they saw fit to inhabit.

Yes, the look in Hart’s eyes said to just shut up—but in this matter, Lane was not about to brush aside the Duke’s ignorance.

‘With that singular vision of yours you have discounted everyone who is not like you. We have our pleasures, too. We have our place in this world and in time you may find that we are the ones who possess the majority of wealth in this country. Your title and pedigree will not put food on your table for ever.’

There was a loud groan from Hart as he lowered his head and a lock of his black hair slid across his forehead as he pinched the bridge of his nose. By keeping his head lowered and not looking at Lane, it was apparent he was contemplating where he would hit Lane first, once Lyonsdale left.

Silence descended over them, cloaking the room with an air of foreboding.

Finally, the Duke let out a loud breath. ‘You can pick your head up, Hart. I’m not about to storm out. This is just becoming entertaining.’

While Hart’s head jerked up, Lane had the urge to reach across the table and plant a facer on Lyonsdale. He was not entertaining. None of this was entertaining. Why were people all of a sudden considering him entertaining? First Mrs Sommersby and now Lyonsdale.

‘And stand down, Lane. I did not mean to imply that the world outside my circle isn’t important. But certainly you know that the ton sets the fashion for the rest of England. If those of English Society move out of Bath completely, it will only be a matter of time before others follow suit. That was what I meant. My comments were not intended to disparage anyone with a position in Society under me.’

The tension in Lane’s shoulders began to ease a bit even though Lyonsdale was right. Lane was not an unreasonable man. To succeed in business, you had to have an open mind and view a situation from another point of view. ‘It is a valid point—however, I have been to the spas. They are filled with the infirm and aged. And they keep coming. This is not just a town that attracts people for the fashionable entertainments. This is a town that people believe will cure their ills. I cannot say if they are right or wrong. I have not witnessed it myself, but what I have seen is the look in the eyes of those who I have spoken to that shine with hope. A hope to be free of the aches and diseases that have plagued them. They believe the water works. And if it doesn’t cure them completely, soaking in it offers some relief. Even if for just a little while.’

Lyonsdale looked over at Hart and eyed him up and down. ‘Why are you the one who always tries to convince me to invest in these endeavours of yours? Lane is much more logical than you are.’

Hart appeared completely affronted. ‘Not true. I appeal to your need to make money. What is more logical than that?’

‘Lane has appealed to my sense of justice.’ He looked at Lane and arched his brow. ‘He has almost made me feel that by investing in this I will be performing some sort of civic duty.’

‘Well, we all know how much you pride yourself on your civic duty, so let’s go with that, shall we?’ Hart replied. ‘We can look to see how many widows and orphans take to the waters.’ After he said it he glanced at Lane and looked down, as if he realised immediately that he had spoken out of turn considering Lane was an orphan.

‘You really should let Lane speak to me about your future investments,’ Lyonsdale said, shaking his head.

‘Then what will I do? Stand around and exude silent encouragement?’

‘You should try that. I’d be interested to see how long you could stay in a room with the two of us and not say a word. Silence is such a foreign concept for you.’

‘Not true.’

‘True,’ both Lyonsdale and Lane said in unison.

Hart glanced between the two of them and pressed his lips together. ‘You are both wrong. And to prove it, I will sit here in silence while the two of you discuss how much money Lyonsdale will give us to build the spa.’ He raised a challenging brow at him and smirked.

Before his interest waned or Hart provoked him too far, Lane needed to secure Lyonsdale to this project. ‘Do you now see the potential we have here?’ he asked, taking the Duke’s attention away from Hart.

Lyonsdale drew the sheet of paper with the budget closer to him and his gaze slowly moved from side to side as he scanned the page. When he sat back, it was Lane whom he focused on. ‘I will fund some of this, but I am not willing to give you all the money you need. And it will be on loan to you for five years.’

When he told them the amount of what he was willing to give and the interest he would charge them, Lane’s heart sank. It was not an unusual arrangement that Lyonsdale had offered. Most of the time Lyonsdale preferred to be conservative in his investments. It was just that this time—with this opportunity—Lane had hoped Lyonsdale would see the full potential and take the risk.

‘Come now,’ Hart said, breaking his self-imposed silence. ‘If you give us the full amount we think we will need, then you can become a full partner and reap all the rewards when this spa becomes the sensation of all of Bath and word of it hits London and this town becomes fashionable again.’

‘I thought you were going to sit there and offer your silent support?’ Lyonsdale said, shifting his weight on his chair away from Hart.

‘You knew that was never going to happen, so there is no need to pretend you expected it to. It is early in the morning. You haven’t had your breakfast yet. Why don’t you go home, have something to eat and think about it some more?’

‘No amount of food is going to make me change my mind. While I do believe, for now, it is a sound investment, I still have reservations about the long-term success of this venture. I’m sorry, but this is all I am willing to offer.’

It wasn’t enough. They needed more money if they were to purchase The Fountain Head Hotel and convert it into a spa. The hot spring was running under their property for a reason. Lane had discovered it for a reason. And that reason was to make money.

After Lyonsdale left, Hart seemed to have taken the news much better than Lane. ‘Do not look as if the world is crashing down on you, Lane. You always take these things too much to heart.’

Lane’s reputation and the success of his business ventures were what kept him acceptable in the eyes of certain members of Society. Hart would never understand the prejudices he faced as an orphan with no family connections at all. His business success was a way of proving to them that he was just as good as they were. He believed that and, on some level, he knew some of them did as well.

‘Come with me, Lane. It’s Wednesday and my wife has told me that they serve a good breakfast at the Lower Assembly Rooms today. I think I need to get you out of this place for a few hours to improve that foul look on your face.’

Chapter Six

The Lower Assembly Rooms were located close to the banks of the River Avon, not far from the King’s and Queen’s Baths and Bath Abbey. The large room Lane found himself in with the tall windows held balls on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, according to Hart. It wasn’t until they stepped inside that he recalled Mrs Sommersby mentioning it to him when they spoke in the park.

While they were being escorted past the small round tables of two-to-four people to get to their seats, he found himself scanning the occupants to see if she were here and found it oddly disconcerting when his spirits dropped even more than they already had when he didn’t see her.

‘Have something to eat. It might help to improve that mood you’re in,’ Hart said after they settled in with their steaming mugs of coffee and buttery-smelling breads.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t appear to be fine. You look as if you will rip apart our waiter should he offer you more coffee. Which is rather inconvenient since I believe I will be having more than one cup.’

‘Lyonsdale is wrong about this. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Lyonsdale will never change.’ Hart brushed a lock of his black hair out of his eyes. ‘You know he is not one to part with his money easily.’

‘But how could he not see the immediate value in this?’

Hart picked up his knife and began to spread marmalade on his bread. ‘Instead of obsessing over the fact that Lyonsdale would not give us all the money we require, let’s talk about who we should approach next. You always get so offended whenever someone doesn’t see your vision or care to invest.’

‘I do not.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yes. Yes, you do. You should see how that vein in your temple is pulsing right now.’

Lane rubbed his temple before he caught the mischievous glint in Hart’s eye. ‘You’re an ass. And if it is pulsing, as you say, it’s because I’m with you.’

His response only served to make Hart laugh. ‘You, my friend, view life far too seriously. Stop trying to prove something. There is no need. You already are successful.’

‘I’m not trying to prove anything. I am trying to make money for you and me and I would think you would appreciate that.’

‘I do. However, we both know that there is more to this than that and that’s why you’ve taken Lyonsdale’s decision so hard.’

‘And when did you suddenly become qualified to say what my motives are? You, of all people. You are a complicated wreck and you know it.’

‘Correction. I was a complicated wreck. Now, I’m just complicated.’

‘How does Sarah live with you?’

‘She finds my complications endearing.’

‘At least someone does.’ To avoid having to look at Hart’s cocky grin, he turned his attention away from his friend.

And spotted Mrs Sommersby, sitting not far from them.

She was wearing a pink and green dress as she sat with a red-haired young woman. Both women appeared to be enjoying each other’s company as they placed their orders with their waiter.

‘...are much less conservative in their investing than Lyonsdale,’ he heard Hart say, breaking into his study of Mrs Sommersby. ‘I believe there is a good chance that I can get them to commit to this.’

‘Who?’

‘Weren’t you listening to me?’ Hart scanned the area of the room where Mrs Sommersby sat as if he were trying to determine what had captured Lane’s attention. With so many people sitting near them, it would be impossible for him to work it out. Hart must have come to that conclusion as well, since he looked back at Lane. ‘I’ll be heading back to London in two days to handle some additional affairs that need my attention and will speak with a number of potential investors then. Hopefully, soon, we will have the funds we need to create this spa of yours.’

At the mention of the spa, Lane found it hard to swallow the bread in his mouth. ‘Hopefully they will be more willing to invest in it than Lyonsdale was.’

Not wishing to dwell any further on his aggravating day, Lane’s attention was drawn back to Mrs Sommersby, who was now speaking in an animated fashion to her companion. Narrowing his focus on to her lips, he tried to determine what she might be saying. Some people were proficient in reading lips. Lane discovered he was not.

‘I propositioned the older one once. Years ago, before I met Sarah.’

The fact that Hart had leaned closer to him when he said it made it hard to ignore the comment.

‘Who?’

‘The dark-haired woman sitting with the red-haired chit you’ve been staring at.’ With his head, he nodded in the direction of Mrs Sommersby’s table. ‘She’s a widow by the name of Sommersby. The beauty beside her with the flaming hair and full lips I’ve never seen before, so I cannot help you there.’

The idea of Hart and Mrs Sommersby together made Lane’s stomach drop. It shouldn’t matter to him who this woman chose to spend time with. He didn’t even know her. ‘What makes you believe I was staring at any woman in this room? Perhaps I was simply staring off, not wanting to continue to look at your face.’

The studied expression Hart was giving him made him shift a bit in his seat.

‘My mistake.’

‘Do you have any particular investors in mind that you’ll be contacting?’

‘I do. There are two gentlemen in particular that—’

‘What did you say when you propositioned her?’ Lane felt his forehead wrinkle as he continued to try to push away the image of Mrs Sommersby with his friend.

‘Pardon?’

‘Mrs Sommersby? What did you say to her...exactly?’ Having the need to do something with his mouth so he would just stop talking, Lane took a sip of coffee and waited.

His friend chose that very moment to take a bite of bread, prolonging the time it took him to answer. ‘I don’t remember my exact words.’

‘Well...what is it that you think you might have said to her?’

‘Well... I think I might have asked if she’d care to take a turn with me in the darkened gardens during a ball we attended together. It was probably a cold night and I may have offered to keep her warm as we looked at the stars.’

‘Have you had much success with that suggestion?’

‘You’d be surprised.’ Hart took another bite of bread.

An inexplicable lump formed in Lane’s throat. ‘So you are intimately acquainted with the woman?’

‘Mrs Sommersby?’ Hart shook his head. ‘No, I thought you were just referring to the suggestion in itself. I’d had a bit of success with it in the past.’

‘But not with her?’

Once again, Hart shook his head, but this time the movement was slower. ‘No, no. If I recall correctly, she was flattered, but I am certain she definitely declined.’ Picking up his cup, he looked over to where Mrs Sommersby was sitting. ‘Before Sarah, I had a marked preference for older women.’

‘She’s not that old,’ Lane replied, sounding almost indignant, which was strange since he had no reason to feel insulted on her behalf.

‘Well, she is certainly older than the girls the mothers try to throw into your path when you are an earl attending a ball, I can tell you that. I found older women more at ease with themselves and they know their desires much better than a girl out of the schoolroom usually does. And if you find the right one, you don’t have to fear being trapped into marriage.’

‘Is that why you spent your time with married women?’

‘I had no desire to deflower a virgin and then leave her reputation in tatters. And I never saw the appeal of paying for sex. Married women whose husbands had mistresses were my haven.’

‘But you said you propositioned Mrs Sommersby and she’s a widow.’

‘Yes, but she’s a widow who had made it known that she was not interested in marriage. With her looks and lively character, and that bit of information, I was taken with her for an entire Season.’

‘An entire Season?’

‘It was a number of years after her husband died and as I said, years ago. And just because I was taken with her doesn’t mean that I was celibate for all those months.’ The smile on his face reached his eyes. ‘Perhaps that was why she turned me down. She’s a shrewd one, that one.’

‘Perhaps she simply didn’t find you attractive.’

‘We both know that cannot be the reason.’

‘Have you always been this confident in your charms?’

Hart appeared to give the question consideration. ‘Yes. I suppose I have been. But that doesn’t signify now. Now I am a contented married man who can look back with pleasant nostalgia on the life I led. What about you? You are not one to place your relationships out for the world to see. Are you as confident with women as you are with business? I’ve not witnessed that side of you in all the years we’ve known each other.’

The waiter came to their table to clear away their plates, saving Lane from having to answer.

‘Lane?’

Damn. He hated the thought that went into answering questions like this. Years ago, Lane learned no good came from analysing his feelings. It was best to move through life without thinking too much about what anything made him feel. He had become quite skilled at it.

‘I do well for myself.’

The vague comment made Hart laugh. ‘With the money you’ve made I’m sure you do and I’ve been told you are not hard on the eyes.’

Lane sat up a bit taller. ‘By whom?’

‘Miss Violet Westfield, one of Sarah’s friends. She saw us together some time ago. I can introduce you when you are back in London, if you like?’

Was his wife’s friend as attractive as Mrs Sommersby? Not that Mrs Sommersby was an outstanding beauty, but she was pretty and there was just something about her. He turned back to take a look to try to determine what it was.

‘If we can get the funding we need, it might be some time before I’m back in London,’ he replied, keeping his eyes on Mrs Sommersby.

‘And your decision is based solely on your need to remain here on business?’

When Lane looked back at Hart, he wanted to hit that all-too-perceptible smirk off his face.

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm. Well, I’m sure you have things that you need to address back at the coffee house and I promised Sarah that I would be home by noon to go with her for a drive around the countryside, so why don’t I ask for the bill and we can leave?’

‘I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go on ahead? I’m going to sit here and finish my coffee.’

‘Your coffee?’ That smile was back on Hart’s face. ‘I see. Well you wouldn’t want to leave any coffee in that cup of yours, now would you?’

‘No, I would not. And stop looking at me like that. I told you, I’m just finishing my coffee.’

‘If that’s what you want to call it, that is fine with me. I can’t imagine where you might find another cup of coffee in this town.’

‘You really should go. It would be a pity if you returned late to your wife and caused her to bar you from your bedchamber tonight.’

‘That is not likely to happen—however, I’ll let you enjoy your coffee in peace.’ He stood up and adjusted his cuffs. ‘I will stop by to see you before I leave for London.’

‘When do you expect to have an answer for me?’

‘Sarah and I had planned to leave on Friday. You’ll have your answer in about a week or so.’

A week of not knowing if they would be able to proceed was going to feel like an eternity. His grip tightened around the handle of his cup. One of the worst things about needing other people to help finance his business ventures was that it put him at someone else’s mercy. More than anything he hated having to depend on other people. After living the first sixteen years of his life in the Foundling Hospital, he had learned very early on to live his life without being dependent on anyone for anything. It took a great deal of effort to relinquish some of his control.

‘Do try not to be such a curmudgeon while I am gone. You wouldn’t want Mrs Sommersby to find out what a grump you can be.’

It was very tempting to trip Hart on his way past him and as his friend walked towards Mrs Sommersby’s table he almost wished he had done it. In true Hart fashion, he looked back at Lane with a smile before he altered his course slightly, missing the table where she sat.

Every nerve in his body was strung tight. Relying on others was not something he was comfortable with, but unfortunately it was part of doing business. And now he would have to wait a week before he knew if they could move forward with their plans.

As his vision began to clear, Mrs Sommersby came into focus. How long he had been staring sightlessly at her, he had no idea. She was listening intently to what her companion was saying. What did women talk about when they weren’t in the company of men? The question had never occurred to him until now. Once more, Lane tried to read lips and once more he failed miserably.

She had this way of gracefully moving her fingers as she continually spun her cup in her saucer. It was distinctly possible that she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, but oddly enough watching her movement was easing his agitation. Suddenly she looked his way and, as their eyes met, a slow smile spread across her face. Something inside him shifted and it felt as if the sun had come out for the first time during this very gloomy day.

Chapter Seven

Spotting Mr Lane sitting approximately four tables away from her in the bustling Lower Assembly Room had made a fine morning even better. It had been quite some time since Clara had captured the attention of an attractive man in his thirties—at least one that was unaware of her lofty family connections or her very comfortable financial position. And even though she knew his attention had more to do with the fact she was probably one of the only people he recognised in the room, it still was a wonderful feeling.

When she dipped her head as a silent greeting, he returned the gesture with the smallest of smiles.

‘I would so love to see The Rivals,’ Miss Harriet Collingswood said, drawing Clara’s attention away from Mr Lane and back to the conversation she had been having with her new friend. Harriet was the older daughter of her neighbour; the one the Dowager had suggested might be in need of their help finding a husband. ‘My mother doesn’t like Mr Sheridan’s work and has refused to take us to see the play,’ she continued. ‘She had seen two of his plays in the past and found little humour in them. However, I heard they are quite amusing and I do so love to laugh.’

Giving Harriet a sympathetic smile, Clara resisted the urge to see if Mr Lane was still watching her. With a concerted effort, she focused all of her attention on the woman sitting across the small round table from her.

The more time Clara spent with the young woman, the more she discovered she liked her. Taking her to the spa this morning to drink the waters with her and then bringing her here to the Lower Assembly Room for breakfast had proved to be a wise decision. It had become apparent that spending time with her while Clara searched for potential husbands for the woman would be rather enjoyable.

Although, currently, it was proving to be impossible to keep her attention on her for very long. The urge to glance over at Mr Lane was too great and her gaze slid over to him once more.

His eyes were still on her.

She needed to appear composed and unaffected by his attention. She was a middle-aged woman. His attention shouldn’t make her want to smile, yet it was taking great effort on her part to keep her expression neutral as she quickly looked back at Harriet. ‘And your sister? Does Ann have a desire to see the play?’

‘No. Ann prefers operas. She tends to favour whatever is considered the height of fashion at the moment and has heard that many women of the ton favour it. Have you seen any of Mr Sheridan’s plays?’

‘I have seen all of his work and every production.’ This might be just the opportunity Clara was looking for to remove Harriet from her family long enough to introduce her to potential suitors. ‘Do you think your mother will be willing to spare you for one evening? If she would, I’d be happy to take you to see it at the Theatre Royal. I have a box there.’

The invitation appeared to embarrass Harriet, who lowered her eyes to the table. ‘That is very generous of you, but I don’t want to impose on your time that way. Please do not think it was my intention to try to garner an invitation from you.’

‘The thought never occurred to me and it would be no imposition at all. I’d enjoy your company.’ She fiddled with her cup in its saucer, trying to decide how to best ask the question that sprang out of her curiosity about the sisters. While she was thinking how to tactfully phrase her question, Harriet took matters into her own hands.

‘Might I ask you a question, Mrs Sommersby?’

‘Of course, my dear.’

‘I am very grateful that you invited me out this morning, but I am curious as to why you singled me out with this favour? Most people, you see, tend to pay more attention to my sister Ann.’

And with that brief declaration, Clara was saved from finding a way to delicately bring up Harriet’s sister. ‘I noticed as much the times I have been in your family’s company. I, too, had a sister who garnered all the attention while I was of a quieter nature. Although, I confess, I thought you were far quieter than you truly are.’

Her observation appeared to have embarrassed Harriet again. When she placed her hand gently over the young woman’s as a comforting gesture, Harriet seemed surprised. Clara had always been a person who drew comfort from a touch. She had to remind herself once more that not everyone felt that way.

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