“A capital idea!”
How happy it made her to see her father in such good humor. She picked up her paper and continued reading. First, she looked for news about Ellie Macintosh’s murder. There was no new information, only sensational interviews with women thoroughly convinced they were to be the next victims of the evil madman.
When she finished that, she turned to another page. Even though she knew very few people in Bath, she enjoyed reading the silly Society column that was always filled with scandalous tidbits. Today’s mentioned a certain flirtation observed at the Pump Room between a Mrs. A____y and a Mr. P-----n. Then she read one that caused her heartbeat to roar.
What will Mrs. Pr__t think if it’s true her Lord A__le__n is truly to wed the city’s newest heiress?
Now all those things Dot had previously read about Forrester being a profligate came rushing back. Was it not said he kept a mistress? A Mrs. Surname Beginning with the Letter P? Would he keep his mistress after they were married? Dot’s breath stilled. Was he lying with his mistress right now?
Dot could not marry a man who was an unfaithful husband.
Chapter 11
Appleton crumpled the paper. It simply would not do to dismiss Betsy Pratt with a letter. After all, she had been his mistress for the past two years. He thought. He wasn’t very good with dates, and it wasn’t as if he spent very much time with her.
It wasn’t as if one went about in public with a woman of that sort. He had three young sisters to consider. And it wasn’t as if Mrs. Pratt was the kind of woman one wished to spend a great deal of time with. She was pretty enough. And obliging enough. But the woman, who was some half a dozen years older than he, was as dull as a wooden spoon.
There was nothing to do but to go to her tonight and explain the reversal in his fortunes which necessitated a break between them. First he penned a letter to the woman he’d rather go to tonight, the woman whose fortune would rescue his family from ruin. He needed to notify Dot that he would not be seeing her until the next day when they’d go back to Ellie’s street.
With Digby’s assistance, he made himself agreeable looking and presented himself at Mrs. Pratt’s modest but most respectable looking house east of the river not long after dark. “Good evening, my lord,” her butler said, swinging open the door from him to enter. It was clear from the tone of the butler’s voice he was surprised to see Appleton. It had been quite a while since he’d last visited Betsy Pratt.
“I shall tell Mrs. Pratt you’re here. Permit me to show you to the drawing room.”
Though small, the lady’s drawing room was tastefully furnished with a Turkey carpet on the floor and scarlet draperies at the single narrow window. The draperies were not of costly silk but of a cheaper fabric that mimicked it. A single sofa in the same scarlet fabric faced the fire where a mantelpiece featured a fine wooden case clock on balled feet.
Instead of sitting, he paced the chamber.
A few minutes later, she entered. “My lord! I’ve missed you most dreadfully. Have you not come rather early tonight? I am delighted, of course. Shall we go upstairs?”
He looked at her. Even though she was not in mourning, she wore black. That was to perpetuate the myth she was a widow when in fact she had never been married.
Her hair had been a shade of medium brown. Why had he never noticed how many gray strands had woven into it? There was an artificial look about her. Some kind of white powder covered her face and made her look even older, and she’d darkened her cheeks with bright red rouge.
He supposed he’d not noticed these things before because he and she normally spent their time together in her bedchamber with only the light from a single taper or the fire.
Then, too, he’d been more interested in her figure, which he found pleasing, owing to his appreciation of a generous bosom—the only physical trait this woman shared with his betrothed.
Just being here with Mrs. Pratt made him feel unclean, unworthy of Dot. Just being here with Betsy Pratt made him appreciate the purity of the woman he planned to marry. In addition to Dot’s innocence, she was possessed of a tender heart unrestricted by a person’s rank.
He did not presume to harshly judge Mrs. Pratt because of the misfortune of her birth. He was certain she had many good qualities, too. But comparing her to Dot was like contrasting coal to diamonds.
He was not worthy of Miss Dorothea Pankhurst.
“I can’t go upstairs with you,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ve come to tell you I can’t see you anymore. I’ve lost every farthing. It’s fortuitous that I was able to pay the lease on your house through the end of the year—before I lost my fortune.”
Her eyes moistened, which made him feel beastly.
“I will endeavor to endorse you to my gentlemen friends,” he added.
She nodded. “I’ll miss you.”
He drew a deep breath and put even more distance between them. Then he turned and walked away. He would have felt less guilty were he in a position to offer her a financial settlement, but at present he wasn’t even in a position to dower his sisters.
* * *
The clouds and cool winds outside did little to lift Dot’s spirits the following day when Mr. Gibby came for a final dancing lesson before the next assembly. She had looked forward to dancing skillfully in one of her beautiful new dresses with the handsome peer to whom she was betrothed.
But gloom filled her heart as well as the chamber in which they practiced their dance steps. She’d had
