The carriage journey to Bath lasted mere seconds, for the very moment Harriet found herself in the monotonous cradle of movement, her eyes fell shut. Even with all the worries, anxiety and the towering figure in the woods who had shot at her, sleep took her kindly away. And if she dreamed at all while the rolling hills passed and the hamlets faded into villages and then into towns, she knew she dreamed of him.
It was only the gentle coaxing of her aging footman, Barnes, with his thick West Country accent, which pulled her to wakefulness.
“We’ve arrived, Miss Groves.”
“Already?”
The day had worn on without her there to witness it. The late afternoon was already enshrouding Bath’s butterscotch-coloured stone and worn cobbles in a light, amber sheen. Before Harriet could come fully into consciousness, helped from the carriage and into a townhouse’s chequered hall, she was swept up into a firm embrace.
“I was worried sick! What kept you? Are you quite well? You’re lucky that rogue didn’t catch you.” The warm woman, Aunt Georgia, clad in pressed rustling silk and too many pearls, creaked as she released her niece. “Let me look at you!” Harriet was grasped firmly once more and surveyed by a round, open face. “Don’t you look pale? Have you been eating well? You’re far too skinny; we’ll never get you a husband. It’s that damnable country air. It’s not good for you – ”
Laughing at the barrage of questions, despite her weariness, Harriet’s mind was snared on one sentence the older woman had uttered. “Rogue?”
“The Green Highwayman! Now, I know they say he only attacks at night, but you can never be sure with these fiendish men. He’ll kill one day, mark my words. It’s high time something was done about him and if you ask me…” Conversing with Aunt Georgia was a lot like playing with a skipping rope as a child. One had to choose the exact moment to leap into the conversation, between the rope’s swooping arc, before the woman strayed off on another tangent.
“I am perfectly well,” interrupted Harriet, squeezing the woman’s hands. “Really, I am.”
“Of course you are, now that you’re here and you’re safe, you’re – you look awful, dear, truly dreadful,” insisted Aunt Georgia. “Let’s get you something to eat, shall we?”
“I am a little tired, that’s all.”
“Go change, come down for dinner and then to bed, I think? You must tell me what you’re wearing tomorrow night for the ball, though I took the liberty of purchasing a few simple things, mere trifles, honestly. Don’t be cross with me. I know you’re not in a position to get them yourself and I cannot have you looking like a vagabond in front of all our friends. Oh, I did write for your cousin, Alice, but her father sent back a terribly curt reply. I’m sure there’s a man involved. We’ll get one for you soon, as rich as a sultan, I swear it. And did you hear the Gilvrays bought out the entire stock of…”
She continued rambling, detailing the minute occurrences from every inch of their social circle, and all Harriet could do was nod.
“Yes, Aunt Georgia,” she said absently, offering a small wave as she shifted towards the staircase to her usual room, where her belongings would already have been unpacked. “Yes to all of it.”
***
The Bath Pump Rooms were unparalleled in their ability to host both the wealthiest and well-connected families in the country, along with all the best gossip. It was only a few hours into the ball and Harriet was aware that the Earl of Avesbury’s daughter had been rescued from an almost-elopement, the Duchess of Morsdown’s chandelier had come loose at a dinner party and narrowly missed crushing her husband, and there was to be an announcement tonight by Bath’s magistrate, Sir Charles Fielding, the gathering’s host.
The building was fairly new, constructed in the same sand-coloured stone as the rest of the city, and housed the warm springs that the Romans used to bathe in. Music filled the chambers, accompanied by laughter and incessant chatter. Men were in their finest garments, many in officers’ uniforms with polished buttons and swords at their hips. The women were draped in silks and jewels, hair coiled high atop their heads. Ostrich feathers were dyed to match dresses, shawls were draped precariously on shoulders and there was enough flesh revealed to barely remain tasteful.
“That’s her,” said one girl to her companions as Harriet passed by. “The one I was telling you about. She’ll be out on the streets in mere months.”
“There’s always work as a governess,” said a fellow to her right, though Harriet felt their piercing glares. “And she’s from a noble family.”
“Would you employ a creature like that, after knowing what her brother’s done? They’ve bad blood and poor form. They’ll drag down anyone who gets near to them, mark my words. The only reason she’s here is that aunt of hers and I bet they’ll bleed her dry…”
Harriet’s pale blue dress whispered along the tiled floor, as though the cruel words still followed. Her walk sped up, for she could hear no more. It was nothing new, though it still stung. Wine and humiliation had put colour in her cheeks and she found her own alcove, where stone pillars led off to other rooms and offered privacy. More than that, they gave her the opportunity to find refuge in her own thoughts – and escape curious eyes.
“You have not danced at all this evening,” said a deep voice, pulling her roughly from her reverie.
Alert, she turned to find the speaker, yet there was no man, only shadows. She spoke to them, lips pursed. “That’s because no one has asked me.”
And none would, with all the rumours that found her.
Before her was a stone pillar, fluted with shallow grooves she ran her fingers over it, and barely wide enough to hide someone behind it. It was cold to the touch as she circled it, hearing another set of footsteps matching her own, turning the other way. She changed direction, trying to catch him out. He did too.
“Then you have been watching me, sir?”
“I noticed you. There’s a difference.”
“Hardly.”
There was something strikingly familiar about his voice, though she could not place it. However, Harriet was known to many, had dined with numerous families in Bath and a few in London. Perhaps, somewhere down the line, she had met this stranger.
“Do you usually sneak up on unassuming women at parties, sir?”
“Only when ordered to.”
She turned quickly, expecting a flash coat-tails and not the imposing, unreadable man who met her. Harriet let her hand drop. He had a tall frame with a lean strength, broad shoulders and stature all the more imposing for the army officer’s uniform he wore. Grey eyes, like the ocean during a violent tempest, studied her. Ruffled, sandy-brown hair fell across a high forehead and the sudden urge to run her fingers through it took her by surprise.
“I did not mean to frighten you,” he said, apologetic, though still imposing.
Harriet’s eyebrows rose, head inclined to the right. “What makes you think I am frightened, sir? Trust me, it will take far more than that.”
“Then
