“How does one forget about one’s mistress?”
“Since the night I lost my fortune, I’ve had more important things on my mind. There was also the fact that I had no money with which to either maintain her or to give her a parting settlement. Still don’t.”
Nodding, Sir Elvin grabbed the decanter and poured out two more glasses. “Those problems will be solved once you’re married and acquire the Pankhurst wealth.”
Appleton slowly shook his head. “I can’t use Dot’s money to keep a mistress, you idiot!”
Elvin’s lips puckered. “You can’t?”
“Course not. And even if I had my own money, being an unfaithful bridegroom would make me feel like a traitor.”
“Like you thought your father a traitor to your mother?”
“Good lord, did I tell you that?”
Elvin nodded. “When you were quite young—and far more religious than you are now.”
Appleton might sometimes think like a bloody moralist, but he no longer went around lambasting those who didn’t. After all, he had his reputation as a profligate to uphold.
He just hoped Dot hadn’t learned of that.
He sighed. “I believe I will have that glass of Madera.”
He did need to consider what to do about Mrs. Pratt.
* * *
“What, pray tell, is that sedan chair doing in our entry hall?” Dot demanded, eyeing her father impatiently.
In his usual armchair near the fire, his feet resting on an upholstered stool, Mr. Pankhurst looked up at her, a sheepish expression on his face. “’Tis a shame to waste two such strapping footmen when the act of getting around this hilly city is so difficult for one with my infirmities. Gives them something to do, carrying me to and from the baths and such.”
She put her hands to hips and glared at him. “We came to Bath to get you well, not to make you even more of an invalid. You will become so reliant on the chair, you’ll become a cripple. Is that what you want? At nine-and-forty? To be a frail, reclusive old man?” She knew she was being harsh, but it was the only way to treat him.
He was like a spoiled child accustomed to always getting his own way, and like a child, he did not always make decisions that were in his best interest. Lamentably, because he’d been born to great wealth, he’d always been uncommonly lazy. Even too lazy to walk.
Her father effected a persecuted expression. “Of course I don’t choose to be an invalid. You have no idea how I long for the days of my youth when I was fit. I don’t mind telling you I was one mean cricket player! And I wasn’t half bad at boxing and fencing and any manner of young men’s pursuits that required physical stamina.” He sighed. “And now walking has become an ordeal.”
She came to sit on a chair facing him and spoke in a more tender voice. “I don’t mean to be an ogre, but it’s my belief you’ve brought much of this infirmity upon yourself.”
“How can you say that? How cruel!”
“I believe one of the reasons walking’s an ordeal is because you do so little of it, your bones and muscles cry out from disuse. The best thing for you is activity.”
She prayed she was right, that she was not misjudging a potentially chronic condition of her father’s. “And I truly believe that your penchant for brandy exacerbates problems, like gout, that contribute to painful walking.”
His eyes narrowed. “Fiddlefudge!”
She shrugged. “You’re not only hurting yourself. You’re hurting me. I love you. And what about my future children? Would you deprive them of . . .” The very notion of losing her father caused tears to spring to her eyes.
Topham entered the chamber and stood just inside the doorway, erect as the king’s own sentries. “A Mrs. Blankenship is calling, sir. She has brought two small persons with her and says she has come to see the kittens.”
Dot popped up from her seat, swiped at her moist eyes, and turned to her father. “How delightful! You be all that is gracious to the lady whilst I gather up my kitties.” Only Nellie was currently in the drawing room, curled up sleeping on the window seat.
Which Mrs. Blankenship was calling, Dot fleetingly wondered, but decided it must be Glee since she had broached the subject of bringing her son and daughter to visit Dot’s cats.
Locating three more cats might not be an easy task. She quickly found Preenie Queenie curled up on a window seat, this one in Dot’s bedchamber, the sun almost sparkling off her white fur.
But Dot was having no luck finding Lover Boy or Fur Blossom.
Then she saw that the chambermaid must have left her father’s bedchamber door open. That would be an invitation to her curious cats, who were not permitted in her father’s rooms. She followed her instincts and quickly saw Fur Blossom’s glossy black-and-white fur coiled into Papa’s wash basin. “Come, you naughty kitty,” she said as she picked up the cat.
Someone had left open the drawer to her father’s desk, and that silly Lover Boy had tried to stuff his fat orange body into the drawer half his size. She had to laugh.
Moments later, she strolled into the drawing room carrying Lover Boy and Fur Blossom. She was surprised that it was the elder Mrs. Blankenship who had brought her grandchildren.
When the children looked up and saw her with the two cats, they squealed with delight.
“Why do you not sit down so we can put a cat in each of your laps?” Dot suggested.
The lovely little girl, who looked about five and who vastly resembled her fiery-haired mother, almost flew to the sofa, then patted the spot next to her for her little brother to come sit.
And little he was! The lad obviously could not yet talk and had only just learned to walk. With dark hair and eyes, he was the image of his father. Dot could well understand how the parents and grandmother could dote on such adorable children.
“This cat’s
