Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance

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.