“You’ve been so busy ogling Emmy,” Jasper said, “that you haven’t even noticed the Langtree woman. There she is in the middle of that cluster of idiots.”
Roger looked and waited patiently for someone to move so that he could see the lady in question. He pursed his lips a few moments later. Ah, yes, a definite attraction, a definite possibility. Her charms were many and obvious. He suspected that the red hair did not owe all its glory to nature, but it was glorious nevertheless. Her clothes were expensive and flamboyant and did nothing to hide the mature charms of her body.
And Jasper had been right again. A man might never look into the face of a woman who was the owner of such a bosom. Who would ever want to raise his eyes higher?
“She’s a widow,” Jasper said, “and rich. She keeps ’em all dangling on a string, Rog. If I were you, I wouldn’t lower myself to be just one of many.”
“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” Roger said, not removing his eyes from the beauty. He did glance about at her court, too, and noticed that one of her followers was an acquaintance of his. He strolled across the room, acknowledging his aunt in passing— she was conversing with an elderly couple.
“Ah, Poindexter,” he said when he had come up with the group, “pleased to see you.”
He was introduced to Mrs. Langtree, though he did nothing to press his attention on her. He was too experienced a player of the game of dalliance to make that mistake. While he talked with Poindexter, he and the lady covertly examined each other. And he was not displeased with the result. She signaled interest in that way experienced women had, without either a word or a significant gesture passing between them.
And he was interested too, though at close quarters he guessed her age to be somewhat closer to forty than thirty. She wore cosmetics, carefully applied. The neck of her peacock-blue dress, daringly low for morning, gave hint of a deep cleavage. At her neck she wore a heavy gold chain with a large gold rose pendant—an expensive bauble given her by the late Mr. Langtree, perhaps. Or by some grateful lover.
Roger took his leave after five minutes. Without once talking to each other beyond the initial greeting, he and the lady had established that they would both be at the Upper Rooms that evening to take tea.
Perhaps this stay in Bath would not be quite the utter bore he had anticipated earlier, after all, Roger thought. He bowed to his aunt and uncle and Miss Richmond, all standing together on the spot where his aunt had been the whole time, and addressed his thoughts and his steps to the White Hart Inn and his breakfast.
Emily watched him go and was glad he had not come closer to talk with Lady Copeland or Lord Westbury. Instead he had been paying court to Mrs. Langtree. Of course. It was thoroughly predictable that he would do so.
Her eyes had followed him unwillingly almost the whole time he was in the room. Perhaps it was because there were so few young men in Bath, she thought. Yes, perhaps that was the reason. If there had been dozens more, then she would not have noticed Mr. Bradshaw at all.
Not much she wouldn’t! His form-fitting green coat and biscuit-colored pantaloons and black Hessians left no doubt whatever in the mind that his splendid physique owed nothing at all to padding. And then, of course, there were his thick dark hair and handsome face. Emily sighed at her own foolishness and was pleased to find that Lady Copeland was making a move to leave the Pump Room.
“Time for breakfast,” she said firmly, as if someone were about to argue with her. “Come along, Emily, dear. Will you join us, Stanley? And where is Jasper? I hope the dear boy has not got lost.”
Jasper was still in his corner, feeling in dire need of his breakfast. But he had observed with interest the way Cousin Roger’s eyes had followed Emily about the room and the way hers had later followed him.
Interesting, Jasper thought. Virtuous Emmy and rakish Rog. Very interesting!
Drinking tea at the Upper Assembly Rooms was very little different from drinking tea in one’s own or anyone else’s drawing room except that it could be done in a more public setting and gave one a fine excuse to don one’s evening finery and look critically at everyone else’s.
Emily did not possess a great deal of finery. She had with her only two gowns suitable for evening wear, and both were woefully old and sadly unfashionable. But even so, it felt good to change from the drab gowns she wore in the daytime and dress more becomingly.
She was wearing her gold-colored gown and sitting beside Lady Copeland, observing the scene around her. Mrs. Langtree was sitting across the room, holding court to three gentlemen. Emily felt a faint envy.
How did some women do it? she wondered—attract so much male attention, that was. Mrs. Langtree was neither very young nor particularly pretty. She did have a figure, of course. Emily thought rather regretfully of her own slender curves.
Mr. Bradshaw had not yet arrived. Mr. Harris had, and was making his way across the room in the direction of their table. He had paused to pay his respects to a group of acquaintances. He had actually strolled with her that morning and conversed amiably with her the whole while—though quite impersonally. She was not at all sure that he was especially interested in her. Or she in him, for that matter, though that was quite off the point. For Papa’s sake, she could not afford to try to choose with her heart.
If there were any choice to make. Emily sighed inwardly. There seemed to be so few eligible gentlemen in Bath.
“Angela has already had two valentines for the ball,” Mrs. Krebs was telling Lady Copeland, “and knows very well which two gentlemen sent them. The problem is to know who sent which. Should she wear the heart-shaped brooch, or should she carry the lace handkerchief? It is quite a dilemma, I do assure you, ma’am.”
“It would be as well to choose the one she finds prettier, I suppose,” Lady Copeland said.
Mrs. Krebs tittered. “Perhaps there will be more,” she said. “There is more than a week left.”
“One would wager that Mrs. Langtree will have many more than two to choose among,” Mrs. Arnold said. “Quite a headache for her, I would guess.”
“Have you received a valentine yet, Miss Richmond?” Mrs. Krebs asked.
Emily smiled. “No, ma’am,” she said.
“But it is very likely that she will,” Lady Copeland said, patting her hand.
It would be so wonderful, Emily thought wistfully. So wonderful to have a card or a note from a gentleman and a request to wear a certain something to show that she was his valentine. She smiled at Mr. Harris as he came up to their table, and listened to him talk with the other ladies. He made no move to converse privately with her.
