She wondered if Mrs. Surname Beginning with P was beautiful. How long had the woman been under Forrester’s protection? Was he in love with her? Had he offered for Dot merely to secure her fortune?
This was the first time since Dot had come to Bath that she regretted having left her home in Lincolnshire. For if she had stayed at Blandings, she would not be suffering like this. She and her kitties would have slept soundly in her bed without a care in the world.
“I sincerely hope, Miss Pankhurst, that you will be merrier at the next assembly,” Mr. Gibby said as she moped along an imaginary longway with him.
“Don’t know what’s gotten into my gal,” Mr. Pankhurst said. “Any other young lady who’d just become betrothed to the best matrimonial prize in all of Bath and who was wearing such fashionable attire—not to mention having been instructed in dance by the city’s finest dancing master—would be looking forward with delight to Tuesday’s assembly. You do know, do you not, Mr. Gibby, that my daughter is betrothed to Lord Appleton?”
“Indeed I had heard, and I cannot convey what an honor it is to have the future Lady Appleton as my patron.” He shrugged. “Perhaps Miss Pankhurst’s reticence is merely because she’s shy. This will be your first assembly, yes?”
She shook her head. “Second, actually, though I was not really at liberty to dance at the first.”
“Now you will be as accomplished a dancer as any young lady in the highest social circles in all of Bath,” Mr. Gibby said. “Even in London, I daresay.”
She should be comforted by his praise, but it wasn’t as if she were worried about her reception at Tuesday night’s assembly. Whether strangers thought well of her mattered little. What mattered to her was Forrester’s feelings—especially toward his purported mistress.
At some point before they married she would have to bring up the subject of his mistress because she could never countenance an unfaithful husband. Even if it meant she would have to break the engagement.
The time for such a conversation, though, was not now. She wasn’t sure if Forrester had even become comfortable with the notion of being married. It was harder for men, especially men who were thirty years of age, to easily adjust to such a complete change in their lives. It would take time.
For the last few minutes of her lesson, she forced a smile simply to please her patient dance master and her indulgent father.
After Mr. Gibby left she reminded her father that he must accompany her Tuesday night. “I should love to see you dance with Mrs. Blankenship.”
He perked up. “Will she be attending?”
“I’m not precisely sure, but think how disappointed you’d be if you didn’t go and you found out the next day that she went and you weren’t there. I believe she’d be very disappointed, too.”
“Do you really think so?” he asked.
“Indeed I do.”
* * *
“Should we again take your coach to Lower Richard Street?” Dot asked Appleton late that following afternoon.
He was unable to suppress a smile as he stood there observing her. She held one of those cats of hers in the most adoring manner. He couldn’t say which one it was. The only one he knew was that annoying orange male cat whose name he refused to repeat.
It was as if thinking about the wretched creature signaled him to come and rub himself against Appleton’s leg.
He ignored it.
Over these past two weeks Appleton had come to understand a good bit about the workings of Dot’s mind. “Knowing you, my dear one, you’ve analyzed this and have a mental list of reasons for and against taking my coach.”
She giggled. “That is true. If we arrive in your aristocratic coach, it will draw attention from those on the modest street who are not accustomed to seeing a carriage of the nobility calling upon their neighbors. Because of that, I believe it may be easier for us to find residents who will be willing to talk to some fancy lord.”
He tossed his head back and laughed.
“On the other hand,” she continued, her eyes narrowing at his joviality, “if we act like we don’t consider ourselves above them—though really it’s only you who is actually above them in station—they might speak more candidly. Those not accustomed to the nobility could be too shy to speak to said fancy lord.”
“As said fancy lord, I’d like to weigh in on this. I tend to agree with your idea of arriving in the coach. I have found it does tend to draw attention from those in the lower classes—none of whom have I ever felt were too shy to speak with me.”
“But you didn’t come in your coach.”
“There is that,” he said with a shrug. He leaned into her and pressed a kiss upon her cheek.
Why had he gone and done that? He’d not ever kissed her before. Now that it was done, he felt awkward, but at the time it seemed perfectly natural. Recovering quickly, he added, “My betrothed appears to be far more analytical than I.”
The unexpectedness of the kiss must have stolen her tongue, which was uncharacteristic for Dot. She looked downward. “Oh, look how much Lover Boy loves you, Forrester! How can you not want to pick him up and get a good kitty cuddle?”
A kitty cuddle? Spare him, please. He peered downward. “My valet would have apoplexy if I allow cat hair on my dark coat.”
She put down her black and white cat. “You sound just like my Papa.”
He assisted with her fur-trimmed cloak, and they left to walk back to Appleton House on Camden Crescent to fetch his coach. Neither spoke at first. Was she, too, pondering his spontaneous cheek kiss? It only now occurred to him that this was the fourth day since she had agreed to marry him, and he’d never kissed her.
Having never been betrothed before, he
