Prudence and the Romantic Poet (The Three Graces #3)

Chapter 5

5

‘Tell me all about it,’ urged Constance, who was sitting up waiting up for her sister’s return from the ball.

Prudence dropped onto the other end of the sofa and let out the laughter she had been harnessing all evening. She related all that happened and the people they had met and the partners she had danced with.

‘I think Mrs Codd-Phelps extraordinarily remiss to have abandoned you and her young ward,’ said Constance. ‘What a strange woman she must be.’

‘Most eccentric,’ agreed Prudence.

‘More than eccentric. I call it neglectful. To spend the evening playing cards among the gentlemen while her young charges are left to shift for themselves.’

‘It was a little uncomfortable,’ admitted Prudence.

Prudence thought ruefully that it seemed to be her lot to be cast in the unwanted role of chaperone and to suffer the consequence of being gossiped over. Memories of dressing up to play-act the part of an unlikely chaperone at some of her sister Charity’s wild larks were recalled with a mix of humour and regret.

‘I shall not let you go out under her chaperonage again,’ said Constance, indignant at her sister being treated so shabbily. ‘She is clearly not a woman to be trusted. That poor child.’

Prudence agreed that Miss Kimpshott was to be pitied. ‘She is such a sweet girl, and so very frank, I cannot help liking her. And the more I see of her cousin’s managing of her the more I feel inclined to befriend her.’

‘How will she ever make a match with such a guardian?’ wondered Constance. ‘Not that she ought to be pressed into making a match at so tender an age. Invite her to call. I think she is need of some motherly counsel.’

‘You shall see her tomorrow afternoon,’ said Prudence. ‘We are to drive out with Mr Shelbourne.’

‘He also sounds like an eccentric fellow,’ said Constance.

‘There is no harm in him. He has very romantic notions, and they have centred on Miss Kimpshott for the present, but she is well able to manage him. She is remarkably good at managing admirers, I have observed. She is not at all simpering or shy with them, nor is she forward, but has a charming artlessness that makes the men enraptured with her, and yet she does not seem to me to be at all vain. She accepts adulation as a matter of course while remaining entirely practical about the subject of marriage. I confess, I find it very entertaining to watch, but I worry she is not well protected by her cousin. I could wish her safely married to a pleasant husband with a comfortable home for her own sake. Someone a little older and wiser who can take her under a safe wing.’

‘That does not sound like a very good description of poor Mr Shelbourne,’ commented Constance. ‘Is his suit a hopeless one?’

‘It was a hopeless one from the outset. Miss Kimpshott has been brought to Bath merely to try out her social skills before her season in London. She cannot marry without her guardian’s consent, and while Mrs Codd-Phelps does not seem very particular about chaperoning her charge, she is very firm on one point, and that is that Miss Kimpshott must marry someone titled.’

‘But that is absurd. Miss Kimpshott is not titled, nor very well connected, so I understand.’

‘But she is a wealthy heiress. And she is remarkably pretty.’

‘All the more reason to closely chaperone her,’ said Constance. ‘Such a girl will have every fortune hunter in England after her. She is relatively safe in Bath, for its fashionable days are past. There are not many fortune hunters prowling the assembly rooms nowadays, but in London, it will be quite a different matter. I wonder how they will gain entry into high society?’

‘Miss Kimpshott says they are to stay with a lady she has never met, but who has agreed for a sum to sponsor Miss Kimpshott in London. I believe they pin all hopes on her introducing Miss Kimpshott into aristocratic society.’

Constance put away the book she had been occupying herself with that evening. ‘I am glad you have found some young acquaintance at any rate,’ she said. ‘It is what I hoped for. You should not be immured among invalids and widows the whole of our stay here.’

‘I should like some acquaintance that falls between either extreme of youth or infirmity,’ said Prudence laughingly. ‘It would be pleasant to have someone I might have a rational conversation with. Other than you.’

‘Are you ready to retire, dear?’ said Constance, stifling a yawn.

Prudence was ready, for they were in the habit of rising early. Their childhood habits of early rising, keeping occupied in useful activities throughout the day, and then an early retirement at night had never been lost to them, despite their social advancements.

‘Did I tell you that Mr Shelbourne aspires to be a poet?’ Prudence said as they walked arm in arm up the wide stairway.

‘A poet? So he was not sketching Miss Kimpshott’s likeness in his little pocketbook, but composing lines. How interesting.’

Prudence smiled at her sister’s dry tone. Constance had never cared for poetry or novels. ‘He has invited Miss Kimpshott and I to a literary salon at a house in Batheaston. He assures us we shall be delighted to meet so many clever and interesting people.’

‘Does he indeed?’ was Constance’s doubtful reply. ‘Should you like to go?’

‘Why not? I should enjoy meeting ‘clever and interesting people.”

‘I hope you find that to be the case, and not a room full of equally eccentric persons as himself. I confess, I never feel quite at home with artistic types.’

‘Nor I,’ admitted Prudence. ‘But I do enjoy eccentrics. Everyone must bring a poem they have written on the subject of Cupid. I made the mistake of assuming that so whimsical a theme calls only for light and humorous verse.’

‘Why was that a mistake?’

‘Poor Mr Shelbourne looked at me as if I had wounded him, and said that obviously I was sporting with him, for I could not be so impervious to the theme of love.’

‘He takes Cupid very seriously, I perceive.’

‘Very.’

‘How shall you bear to write such nonsense?’

‘With all the humour and lightness it deserves.’

‘You may not be asked to go again. ’

‘So be it. But I have heard that the villa where the salon is held has the most delightful riverside walk and grounds, so I should like to go this one time.’

‘Then by all means go, but don’t come back speaking in rhyming couplets to me, I beg you.’

Prudence laughed, and bid her sister good night.

The days took on a pleasant rhythm. In the morning the sisters took the waters. It was known that Mrs Duke Finnistone was in Bath under strict instructions from her doctor, and therefore was not receiving visitors at this time, for she could not return calls. But this exclusion of social calls did not extend to Miss Kimpshott who was to found almost every day at Laura Place, taking tea with the ladies and taking walks with Miss Grace. She spent so much of her time at Laura Place, for she was only a step away in Georgina Street, that her workbasket was kept beside Miss Grace’s that they might work together while Mrs Finnistone read to them from the latest periodicals and magazines. Prudence hemmed away while Miss Kimpshott showed a remarkable talent for embroidery, and on hearing all about little Merry-Ann, was beautifying a child’s apron with flowers, butterflies and woodland creatures, which put her in high favour with Constance, who already liked her for herself.

The weather was a little capricious, but there were many dry and mild days to allow for walks and curricle drives and excursions. They had visited Blaise Castle and Lacock and Wells Cathedral. Mr Shelbourne was always of the party, and their most devoted attendant, though other young people, such as Mr Spigott and his sisters, often joined them.

Constance had to give Mr Shelbourne a kindly but strong hint that he must not call before noon, nor later than nine in the evening, for they kept early hours, and it was not seemly for him to be always in Laura Place.

‘I do fear,’ said Constance one morning, as she and Prudence walked sedately about the pump room in their third week in Bath, ‘that we are encouraging a romance that is not sanctioned, and can only lead to disappointment, or perhaps even mischief.’

‘I don’t see what we are to do about it,’ said Prudence. ‘If Miss Kimpshott were affected by Mr Shelbourne’s attentions, I should not encourage him to call when she is with us, but she seems not in the least affected.’

Their conversation was interrupted for a few minutes as they greeted an acquaintance and exchanged the usual enquiries regarding health and the mild weather. As they resumed their perambulation Prudence said, ‘I wonder if there is not a more significant romance that we are encouraging under our roof.’

‘What do you mean?’

Prudence allowed her sister to range over the inhabitants under their present roof and answer her own question.

‘Amos and Lizzy?’ said Constance at last. ‘Surely not?’

Prudence had to smile at such obtuseness. ‘How can you have failed to notice? They have been like an old married couple since they left Miss Darby’s house. Mrs Ramsbottom, I should rather say.’

‘I hope there is nothing… untoward going on?’ Constance looked alarmed.

‘No. They are amazingly discreet. I only wonder that they have not expressed their wish to marry.’

‘So do I, if, as you say, this has been going on for four years.’

‘All the more credit to them for their patience. ’

‘Why have they not married?’

‘What would they live on? It is one thing to have a mature couple such as Mr and Mrs Hervey working alongside one another, but a young wife such as Lizzy would in the usual course of things have children. How could they continue as they are?’

‘It is very hard on young people,’ said Constance, looking troubled, ‘not to be able to marry and raise a family if they choose. I wonder what can be done about it?’

‘I wish I had not spoken of it,’ said Prudence. ‘I don’t want you to worry about anything.’

‘I am not worried. But it is a serious matter. Lizzy is like part of the family, Amos too. I only wish they had come to me to discuss it. I am sure something can be done for them. Finn would help them establish themselves somewhere, or find a position on his estate that included a house. Why have they not spoken to us? I shall certainly broach the matter with Lizzy.’

‘That might be too soon,’ counselled Prudence. ‘Lizzy is a sensible girl. We should let her bring the subject up when she is ready. We don’t know what has passed between them, or if they have plighted themselves to one another yet.’

‘Yes. You are right .’ Constance fell into a bout of musing.

‘I really wish I had not spoken of it,’ said Prudence again, squeezing her sister’s arm to recall her out of her distracted thoughts.

‘I am thinking how unpleasant it will be for our household to be broken up by Lizzy leaving us. But it is also unfair that she should be deprived of a family of her own. It is a difficulty. But we must do our best by them. The world in general would think us mad, I dare say. Every mistress I know would dismiss one of them the instant they suspected an entanglement.’

‘But we know Lizzy better than that,’ said Prudence. ‘She is a good girl, and not one for flirting or entangling herself with anyone lightly.’

‘No. We must watch over her. It is a miserable thing to have one’s heart broken. I would not wish that upon her.’

‘I would not know,’ said Prudence with a laugh to lighten the conversation. ‘And I do not expect to ever know. If being in love means being exposed to having one’s heart broken, it is better to stay single and happy, in my opinion.’

Constance cast a pitying look upon her.

Prudence diverted the conversation away from Lizzy. ‘Returning to Mr Shelbourne,’ she said, ‘Do you think he is more in love with the idea of Miss Kimpshott than the real person?’

‘Perhaps. I wonder that you should have agreed to transcribe his compositions for him. You are too obliging sometimes.’

‘I know,’ said Prudence. ‘I wonder at myself too.’ She quoted a line of Mr Shelbourne’s latest poem – “ Beneath the sunlit veil lies the mystery of fair Regina’s grace, whose gaze doth rival the dawn’s embrace…’ I forget the rest. Something about a bridal face and moonlit lace.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Constance. ‘I don’t how we keep countenance when he is reciting. So much moonlight and so many sunbeams.’

‘Surely real love is not so sentimental,’ said Prudence, ‘but something sure and solid?’

Constance was surprisingly hesitant. ‘Strange things do happen to one when love strikes,’ she said at last.

‘Dear me!’ laughed Prudence. ‘That sounds dangerously like something Mr Shelbourne would say. ’

“ I never saw so sweet a face as that I stood before. My heart has left its dwelling place and can return no more, ” quoted Constance.

‘Mr Clare is infinitely superior to Mr Shelbourne, but how came you to memorise that?’ said Prudence, staring at her in amazement. ‘You never read romantic poetry!’

Constance shrugged and gave a little embarrassed smile. ‘I must be missing Finn, and as you say, I tend to sentimentalism when I am increasing. It does sound silly when one speaks it aloud, but it is the oddest thing, for when you are in love everything does seem foolishly romantic and all reason is half driven away.’

‘That sounds appalling. If ever I start moping about and writing love sonnets, you must call in Dr Blythe directly.’

Her sister agreed that such a circumstance was not likely.