whom I know from university. One could hardly find a more capital group of fellows—for rousting about. But how do you come to be here?’
While Dawson explained the unit containing the former college mates had set up an encampment to conduct training exercises west of the city, and had come into town in search of some jollity, Pru’s eye was caught by a moving flash of scarlet as another soldier entered the Pump Room. He, too, looked around and then beckoned for a uniformed man already in the room to come join him.
Lieutenant Johnnie Trethwell.
After a short exchange, the newcomer plucked Trethwell by the sleeve and led him towards their group.
Pru drew in a sharp breath. Would Trethwell greet her by name—revealing she was already acquainted with just the sort of experienced adventurer society would assume a girl of scandalous reputation would seek out, reinforcing the image she was trying so hard to dispel?
While she waited, almost dizzy with anxiety, looking away as the two men approached, another soldier called out to the approaching men, greetings and genial insults being exchanged after the newcomers arrived. Even though she’d been deliberately ignoring him, the wave of awareness Trethwell generated when he grew near telegraphed his presence.
While she struggled with that, Trethwell’s companion said, ‘Lord Halden! Heard you’d landed here after bouncing out of Cambridge. Persona non grata with the pater in London now, are you?’ he added with a laugh—which her escort acknowledged with a thin smile.
‘Lieutenant Markingham, Miss Lattimar,’ Lord Halden said. ‘Always did have an acid tongue. And...’ He paused, his eyes scanning the Lieutenant.
‘You’re not acquainted with Trethwell?’ Markingham asked.
‘Trethwell?’ Lord Halden repeated—while the adventurer, whose amused expression, after a glance at her face, faded to a mask of politeness, stood by silently. ‘Sounds familiar. Ah, yes! Isn’t that the family name of the Marquess of Barkley?’
‘It is,’ Trethwell replied.
‘Then I was at Cambridge with your brother, James. Lord Halden Fitzroy-Price,’ he said, according the soldier the slightest of bows. ‘You are the scapegrace youngest brother who ended up in the army, I take it?’
Did Pru see or only imagine the flicker of anger in Trethwell’s eyes before his lips quirked in amusement? ‘At your service,’ he drawled, returning a much more elaborate bow.
‘I sincerely hope not,’ Lord Halden said. ‘Miss Lattimar, if I may escort you back to your aunt? I fear she would consider these rowdy comrades less than suitable companions for an innocent young lady.’
Ignoring the boos and laughter his dismissive comment created, the Duke’s son clasped her arm and led her off.
‘Sorry to be so presumptuous, Miss Lattimar,’ he said. ‘Most of that group were questionable enough. But your aunt would likely chastise me soundly were she to learn that I’d had the bad judgement to introduce you to a Trethwell. With the Lieutenant’s eldest brother holding so elevated a title, the family is still received, even though rumour says their estate is mortgaged to the hilt. But the younger brothers are penniless rakes to a man, with the Lieutenant reputed to be the most infamous of the lot.’
On the one hand, as a member of an infamous family herself, Pru could sympathise with the anger she glimpsed beneath Trethwell’s mocking tone and exaggerated bow. She knew all too well what it was like to be tarred with the same brush for a relative’s transgressions. On the other, she could hardly fault Lord Halden for trying to protect her reputation.
Would he be so concerned, once he learned about her circumstances? Or would he conclude that she no longer deserved such consideration?
She hoped he would end up being as fair as Lieutenant Trethwell. She didn’t yet know enough about Lord Halden’s character to accurately judge whether or not they would suit. But if he should decide to pursue her, she couldn’t fail to recognise that he didn’t just fulfil, but wildly exceeded, every requirement on her list.
He wasn’t only a respectable gentleman, but one of high degree, from an ancient family.
He wasn’t going to pursue a career in the rough and tumble of politics, which would require residing for months in the gossip hotbed of London, or interested in the army, which would take him from home for months or years at a time. No, he, like many a younger son, appeared to be destined for the church.
Waiting to receive an appointment, probably in some charming village far removed from the stench and bustle of the capital. Where as part of his living, he’d receive a fine manor house, doubtless with a large garden and enough income from grand and lesser tithes to employ a small staff of servants and live a comfortable life.
What more effective way to polish a tarnished reputation to gleaming brightness than to become a clergyman’s wife? Making rounds of the parish, calling on the sick, taking care of the lost and needy, and performing other good works?
Of course, it was a very large leap from a simple introduction and a man’s far-too-common admiration for her pretty face to mutual esteem, love and marriage.
But he had liked her pretty face. She intended to use that attraction to lure him into getting to know her better.
A vicar’s wife, respected, honoured and beloved by the community, she thought again, a glow warming her heart. For the first time since hearing of her mother’s latest scandal, Pru began to hope she might free herself from the shackles of her past after all.
Two days later, Prudence Lattimar strolled with her aunt through Sidney Gardens in the pleasant morning sunshine. Though a few of the highest sticklers refused to receive her, Lady Stoneway and her friend Mrs Marsden had done their work well. By now, she’d been presented to pretty much everyone currently residing in Bath with any pretentions to gentility.
Unfortunately, her sister’s dismissive remark about the calibre of the resident bachelors had been all too correct. Even Aunt Gussie had admitted herself rather disappointed at how thin on the ground eligible bachelors were, comparing the current landscape unfavourably with what the city had been like thirty years ago, when she’d been a single young miss.
‘You could find almost as many eligible partis walking in the gardens here as you might find strolling in Hyde Park,’ Aunt Gussie murmured, shaking her head as they passed yet another old gentleman being wheeled around in a chair. ‘There were, to be sure, a contingent of the elderly and infirm come to drink the waters, but a large number of the Upper Ten Thousand also chose to spend the Season here! Well, we shall just have to do the best we can with what’s available.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Pru replied, her voice lowered to a murmur, ‘isn’t that Lord Halden, walking with the older woman over there?’
‘It is indeed!’ Aunt Gussie said, her face brightening. ‘That’s his mother’s cousin, Lady Isabelle Dudley. Keeps a house here as well as in London, generally residing at one or the other for most of the year. Apparently she doesn’t much like the country, even though her husband’s estate, Cliffacres, reputedly rivals Blenheim Palace. An earl’s daughter who married a commoner, but one from an old and fabulously wealthy
