Belinda Goes to Bath

married the daughter of an equally wealthy tradesman some six months ago. The daughter had been a middle-aged spinster when Mr Biles led her to the altar. She was a fat, plain, rather argumentative woman. It had been assumed her generous dowry had been the attraction, but the marquess was now not so sure. Mr Biles seemed genuinely smitten by the unlikely charms of Miss Wimple, shaven head and all.

‘I am sorry for Miss Wimple. I feel she has an onerous task,’ said Mr Biles defiantly. ‘Miss Earle—’

‘That’s enough!’ snapped the marquess. ‘Not one word. Miss Earle is a highly respectable young lady. Miss Wimple should be more mindful of her duties and guard her tongue.’

Trembling with outrage, the Methodist minister drew himself up to his full height of five feet two inches. ‘Miss Wimple is a precious pearl,’ he said. ‘I would do nothing to harm her. Just because you have a title and lands, you have no call to interfere in my life. You think you can walk over everyone. I, sir, am a Methodist and proud of it. I am not of the Church of England and need not fawn on every lord in the hope of a high living or a bishopric. I spurn you and all you stand for.’

‘Miss Wimple,’ said the marquess with a reluctant feeling of admiration for the minister’s sudden access of dignity, ‘is nonetheless a dangerous gossip. She does not have the interests of her charge at heart. On my arrival in The Bath, I have no other option but to call on Lady Bellamy, Miss Earle’s great-aunt, and tell her I consider Miss Wimple unfit for the position she holds. Good night!’

He walked back to his own bedchamber, but before he reached it, he saw Lord Frederick, in his night-gown, tiptoeing along the corridor. To the marquess’s amazement, Lord Frederick stopped at Belinda’s door, turned the handle and walked in.

The marquess quickened his step and grasped hold of that young man by the shoulder just as he was approaching the sleeping figure on the bed.

‘Wrong bedchamber,’ said the marquess icily, swinging Lord Frederick around.

Belinda gave an exclamation and sat up in bed.

Lord Frederick was holding a candle in a flat stick. The light from it illumined the two men’s faces.

Lord Frederick leered. ‘Sorry if I’m spoiling your game, Frenton.’

The marquess punched him full on the mouth and Lord Frederick went flying. The candle hit the floor and went out.

Belinda scrabbled feverishly with the tinder-box beside the bed and lit her candle.

Lord Frederick was struggling to his feet with a villainous look in his eyes.

‘You took me by surprise, you rat,’ he said. ‘Put up your fives.’

‘Come outside,’ said the marquess. ‘We cannot brawl in a lady’s bedchamber.’

‘Here and now,’ roared Lord Frederick. ‘I don’t care what your doxy thinks.’

The marquess struck him again, this time on the nose, and Lord Frederick reeled back.

‘Stop it!’ screamed Belinda. ‘You are waking the whole household.’

Lord Frederick lurched purposefully towards the marquess, blood from his nose staining the white front of his night-gown.

Suddenly Belinda’s bedchamber seemed to be full of people. Hannah was there, as were the Judds, the countess and earl, the Jordans, and several servants.

‘What are the pair of you doing, punching each other in the middle of the night?’ demanded the countess.

‘I found Lord Frederick in my fiancee’s bedchamber,’ said the marquess calmly, ‘and took appropriate action.’

Belinda blinked at him in a dazed way.

There was a sudden silence. Then Sir Henry Jordan gave tongue. ‘Do you mean to tell me you were courting my daughter while you were already engaged to this … to this …?’

‘Careful,’ warned the marquess.

‘Oh, Lord Frederick,’ cried Penelope. ‘You are hurt. I cannot bear it.’

She swayed and then neatly fell into his arms. ‘The deuce,’ said Lord Frederick, pushing her into her mother’s arms. ‘Let me get at him.’

‘Stop it, both of you,’ ordered the countess, ‘and tell me what this is all about. Frederick! What are you doing in Miss Earle’s bedchamber?’

Lord Frederick opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he raised the hem of his night-gown and mopped his streaming nose. Penelope screamed and averted her eyes. The truculence was dying out of Lord Frederick’s face and he was beginning to look puzzled.

‘Demne,’ he said, scratching his head, ‘looks like I got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Miss Jordan told me this evening that Miss Earle was no better than she should be, and so I decided to try for a bit of sport. Then when Frenton walked in, stands to reason I thought Miss Earle was his … er … little friend, if you take my meaning. Now Frenton says he’s engaged to her.’ He rounded on Penelope. ‘Why did you tell me such a hum?’

‘They cannot be engaged,’ gasped Penelope. ‘They only met the other week for the first time.’

‘It was love at first sight,’ said the marquess in an expressionless voice. ‘I am sorry I hit you, Frederick, but you were misled. My fiancee has suffered enough upset and distress. I suggest you go to bed and let me talk to her.’

‘There’s something havey-cavey in all this,’ protested the earl. ‘You never said anything about being engaged to Miss Earle when you arrived, and yet you must have known she was one of the stage-coach passengers.’

‘I am of a shy nature,’ said the marquess, ‘and my love for Miss Earle made me even more shy. Besides, I was stricken with remorse at having let her travel ahead on the stage in this weather.’

Belinda sat up in bed, unable to move or speak. The sheer gladness that had flooded her body when he had first said she was his fiancee was quickly ebbing away. The marquess’s eyes held a mocking glint now. He was making fools of the Twittertons and the Jordans, that was all.

One by one they all went out, all except Hannah Pym, who stood her ground.

‘You, too, Miss Pym,’ said the marquess.

‘Are you really engaged?’ asked Hannah.

‘Yes,’ said the marquess.

‘No,’ squeaked Belinda.

‘So,’ said Hannah, folding her arms, ‘what is going on?’

The marquess sighed impatiently. All he wanted was to be shot of Hannah Pym and to kiss Belinda Earle’s delicious mouth. He had said Belinda was his fiancee on the spur of the moment and to save her reputation. But now it seemed like an excellent idea. He would have Belinda Earle and that mouth of hers for his sole property for the rest of his life and he found the idea enchanting. On the other hand, he still felt guilty at having behaved towards Belinda in such an ungentlemanly way in the first place, and he had just made a noble gesture. So he opened his mouth and proceeded to put his foot in it.

‘It was all I could think of,’ he said. ‘Frederick has obviously been misled by Miss Jordan’s malicious and jealous gossip, although when I first saw Frederick entering here, I thought Miss Wimple might have had a hand in it. I had to save Miss Earle’s reputation, and so I said she was my fiancee.’

Belinda groaned and sank down on the pillows and drew the blankets over her head.

‘So now what are you going to do?’ asked Hannah.

‘Why, marry her, of course!’

‘Does she want to marry you?’

The marquess looked at Hannah in blank amazement. When did any woman not want to marry a wealthy marquess?

‘Go on, ask her, while I am still here,’ said Hannah grimly.

The marquess approached the bed. He tugged down the covers. Belinda’s furious eyes glared up at him. ‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.

‘No, I will not,’ said Belinda, and jerked the covers up over her face again.

The marquess swung round. ‘Do leave us, Miss Pym. Miss Earle is not your concern.’

‘No, I will not, sirrah. Miss Earle does not want you and so I shall stay right here until you leave.’

Belinda heard Hannah’s words, and instead of being grateful to her, she was suddenly and irrationally furious. Was her life always going to be dogged by middle-aged people who did not think she had a mind of her own?

She struggled up from under the blankets again. ‘I can fight my own battles, Miss Pym. Pray do as his lordship