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.
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
