Ellen persisted. ‘I was only twelve years old at the time but I remember people saying so.’
‘Not everyone marries for love, Ellen, and not every family is as happy as we were at Tatham Park.’
Phyllida thought back to her own childhood. She was a younger daughter and not particularly pretty. She had also been painfully shy and constantly afraid of incurring her parents’ displeasure. It had been a relief when Sir Evelyn had offered for her and by the time her parents died two years later she was happily settled with Sir Evelyn. At his coaxing she had left off the pale pinks and blues her mother had chosen for her and given up the nightly ritual of tying up her hair in rags to produce a mass of unbecoming ringlets. Now she wore her hair swept up smoothly with only a few soft curls falling on to her neck. Sir Evelyn had given her a great deal, including confidence.
She said now, ‘Be assured that I was much more comfortable with your father than I had ever been at home.’
‘That is because they bullied you,’ replied Ellen. ‘Did they force you to marry Papa?’
‘Not at all, but I was expected to marry well.’
‘Well, that is quite, quite Gothic,’ declared Ellen. ‘I shall not allow anyone to force me into marriage.’
She looked so absurdly young that Phyllida smiled. She squeezed her hands.
‘I hope when the time comes you will fall in love, Ellen, but I also hope you will not be in too much of a hurry to do so.’
‘Oh, no. I am enjoying myself far too much to think of such things yet.’
Phyllida was relieved to hear this, but she did not say so and turned Ellen’s thoughts by asking her what she intended to wear to the Italian concert the following evening.
* * *
To Phyllida’s secret pride, Ellen was proving to be universally popular. The house in Charles Street was besieged by visitors and there were entertainments every day. It was becoming clear that several gentlemen were vying for Ellen’s attention, including Richard Arrandale, and Phyllida was relieved, if a little surprised, that the other young ladies of Bath were not more jealous of her success. However, she was perturbed to see how much attention the gentlemen lavished upon Ellen and could only be glad that her stepdaughter appeared to take it all in her stride.
Phyllida insisted that Ellen should be chaperoned at all times. When the party comprised young people under the aegis of careful mamas like Mrs Desborough or Lady Wakefield Phyllida was happy to allow Ellen to go unattended, but at the public breakfasts and dances Phyllida was always there to ensure no gentleman stepped out of line. As an heiress, Phyllida had always known Ellen would attract attention, but there were a number of married men amongst her admirers, and that was a puzzle.
Her puzzlement turned to concern when they attended the recital at the Assembly Rooms the evening following their walk in Sydney Gardens and Phyllida returned from a break for refreshments to find her stepdaughter in an antechamber with Mr Cromby. The gentleman was holding Ellen’s hand and paying her the most fulsome compliments. Phyllida lost no time in carrying Ellen away, but when she remonstrated with Ellen later she merely laughed.
‘We were only a step away from the main room, Philly. You really did not need to worry. We had gentlemen far older than Mr Cromby flirting with us at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy.’
‘That is not the point,’ objected Phyllida, despairing. ‘Bath is a hotbed of gossip and you will do your reputation no good at all if people think you fast.’
In no wise chastened, Ellen threw her arms about Phyllida and hugged her.
‘Very well, I will try to behave, for your sake, darling Stepmama. But I do enjoy being the centre of so much attention!’
* * *
There was no doubt that Ellen was indeed in demand. The parties and entertainments, together with Ellen’s dancing, singing and Italian lessons, gave Phyllida little time for leisure. Ellen thrived upon the activity and Phyllida made sure she was always accompanied whenever she stepped out of the door. However, she soon discovered that even the presence of Ellen’s maid did not keep Richard Arrandale away. She was in the morning room waiting for Ellen to return from her dancing lesson when she saw him pass the window with Ellen on his arm. He left Ellen at the door but Phyllida watched in growing alarm as he raised Ellen’s fingers to his lips before striding away.
Phyllida was dismayed at her reaction to this gesture but she was honest enough to admit that the emotion uppermost in her was envy. She stifled it immediately, composing herself as Ellen burst into the morning room with her sunny smile quite undimmed.
‘Did I see Mr Arrandale at the door with you?’ Phyllida kept her voice light, determined not to show undue anxiety.
‘Yes. We met in Wood Street and he insisted upon escorting me home. Was that not kind of him?’
‘Yes, very.’
She said no more at the time, but as the conversation moved on Phyllida knew she must speak to Matlock about the matter.
* * *
However, when she did so Matty’s response was typically blunt.
‘What would you have me do, my lady? Miss Ellen greeted him like a friend and I could hardly forbid him to walk with us. And even if it had been in my power I would not have done so, for nothing is more certain to make a spirited girl want something than to tell her she can’t have it.’
Phyllida nodded. ‘I am well aware of that, Matlock. And Miss Ellen is definitely spirited.’
‘But nothing untoward happened,’ added the maid. ‘I can assure you of that, ma’am. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised in Mr Arrandale, after all I had heard about the man.’
‘Oh, Matty, pray do not tell me you are falling under his spell, too.’
The older woman gave a grim little smile.
‘No, no, I’m too long in the tooth to be taken in by a handsome face, my lady, but credit where ’tis due, the gentleman never said anything out o’ place while he was escorting Miss Ellen. And he made no attempt to lower his voice to avoid my hearing it, either.’
‘Well, perhaps there is some good in the man, after all,’ murmured Phyllida, but she added, her suspicions not completely allayed, ‘Or perhaps he is playing a deep game.’
Phyllida had still not made up her mind about Richard Arrandale by the time they rode to Farleigh the following Monday. Her groom Parfett brought the horses around from the livery stables, warning that they were very lively since they had not been ridden for some time. Phyllida was soon in control of Sultan, her own rangy chestnut gelding, but she watched anxiously as Ellen’s spirited grey mare pranced and sidestepped playfully.
‘No need to worry about Miss Ellen,’ said Parfett, observing Phyllida’s frown. ‘You know there wasn’t a horse in her father’s stable she couldn’t master. She’s at home to a peg.’
As if to prove him correct, the mare quickly grew quiet under
