Deborah Simmons - Glory And The Rake

‘Or any one for that matter,’ he replied smoothly.

‘But Philtwell is above reproach,’ the duchess exclaimed. Unaware of any undercurrents between her son and her guests, she proceeded to assure a pale Phillida that the village was decidedly more secure than London.

‘But even if Philtwell is deemed the most bucolic and picturesque site in the country, it is too far out of the way to entice any except the most determined visitor,’ Westfield said.

Although Glory felt the duke’s gaze upon her as he waited for her reply, she refused to look at him. Perhaps he was not allied with Dr Tibold, but he certainly seemed to be against the re-opening of Queen’s Well.

‘Yet in the past the spa was successful, and now the roads are better and travel more common than in those days,’ Glory said. ‘And revivals have occurred before. Other spas have fallen into and out of favour again and again.’

‘Or opened, only to close,’ the duke said.

‘Don’t change her mind,’ his mother said. ‘I do so want to see the place as it should be.’

‘I am simply curious as to how she came to her decision,’ Westfield said. ‘The venture is a large undertaking, especially for a woman, an expensive proposition that may not repay in kind. What sort of investors have you secured?’

‘Don’t be rude, dear,’ the duchess admonished.

Thad looked as though he would speak, but Glory sent him a warning glance. Their finances weren’t anyone’s business, and she was not about to discuss them.

‘It is because I am a woman that you feel I am doomed to fail?’ Glory asked. Reaching for a fortifying sip of wine, she eyed Westfield directly.

‘Certainly not, for I am sure many females, including my own mother, are more than capable of astounding successes,’ he answered, his expression bland.

‘Very well put,’ the duchess said. She turned towards Glory. ‘And I’m sure all of us here, including Mr Pettit, wish for the triumph of what can only be an asset to the community.’

‘Thank you,’ Glory said, though she suspected Westfield did not share his mother’s sentiments. ‘I hope the spa will draw people for the simple reason that Philtwell is a lovely place to stay, with beautiful scenery and bracing air that is far more wholesome than the stench of London. If drinking or bathing in the waters proves beneficial, then that is all the better.’

‘There is a bathing pool?’ Westfield asked.

‘No, but we have private rooms for bathing on the upper floor of the Pump Room.’

‘And how soon can we look forward to seeing it all for ourselves?’ the duchess asked.

‘I can take you around at any time,’ Thad said. The offer took Glory by surprise, though it seemed to be directed to Westfield, rather than his mother.

Not to be outdone, Phillida tendered an invitation to the cottage, as well as a trip to the Pump Room, to ‘taste the waters’ on the morrow.

‘Delightful,’ the duchess exclaimed. ‘I am most anxious to see what you’ve done with it. And for the general public?’

‘Well, I had planned to wait until the old buildings had been torn down, but I’m afraid I’ve had some problems with the local workers,’ Glory said. Although earlier she had suspected Westfield’s involvement, that appeared unlikely now. ‘They seem unable to complete their work in a timely manner.’

‘I’ve spoken to them, so we should be soon set to rights,’ Thad said, and Glory wished fervently that it were so.

‘Perhaps when Mr Pettit recovers, he can have a word, as well, for such behaviour reflects poorly on the community,’ the duchess said. ‘Although I understand that not everyone here has been enthusiastic, I’m sure they will all come around once the Pump Room is open again.’

Her words gave Glory pause, and she fell silent, which gave Phillida an opportunity to launch into a recitation of some of the supposed slights she had received since their arrival. While the duchess made soothing noises, Glory reconsidered her plans.

Perhaps it was the dowager’s encouragement that moved her to make the decision. Or it might have been the duke’s discouragement that made up her mind. But suddenly she was quite certain of what to do. And when Phillida finally ran out of anecdotes, Glory spoke up.

‘I think we shall open next week.’

‘Oh, how lovely,’ the duchess said, in obvious delight.

Trying to keep a defiant expression from her face, Glory turned towards the duke, but he did not appear disappointed. In fact, he seemed only mildly curious when he spoke. ‘Why the hurry?’

‘I was going to wait until more work had been done, but now I think her Grace is right. If the villagers see our newly renovated Pump Room and what a wonderful addition it is to Philtwell, they will “come around” all the sooner.’

Although Glory expected the duke to raise some objection or argument, he made no further comment, and her heady sense of triumph began to fade in the face of his apparent indifference. It disappeared entirely when he began to question Thad about the activities available to young people.

Later, when they removed to the parlour, Glory tried her best to get a good look at the man’s boots, but she could tell nothing except that the size of his feet were proportional to the rest of him. And, no doubt, he had an attentive valet to remove all traces of stains, including paint, from his apparel.

Glancing up from her study, Glory caught him eyeing her, one dark brow cocked in question, and she turned away, flushing. Thankfully, the duke did not comment. Nor did he say anything more about Queen’s Well, but played the part of host with ease until the Suttons took their leave, yet Glory could not dismiss the notion that he was playing a part and that the Duke of Westfield was not what he seemed.

It was so late by the time Letitia was able to visit Randolph’s room that she wondered whether she should wait until morning to seek him out. But, eager to hear his opinion, she slipped through the door and was glad to see a candle still burning near the bed.

‘Are you awake?’

‘Well, if I wasn’t, I am now,’ Randolph grumbled, but Letitia noticed that he put aside a book, so he must have been reading. His ill mood probably was due to his continued occupation of this bedchamber, a suspicion that he soon confirmed.

‘I feel like I’ve been cooped up here for ever.’

‘You can’t come out now, or Oberon will surely make plans for departure, for he has nothing to hold him here … yet.’

Randolph said nothing, but glared at her over his half-spectacles.

‘Only a few more days,’ Letitia promised. ‘Once we have dosed them, I will have more faith in our plans.’ Without giving him the opportunity to argue, she went on. ‘So, what do you think?’

‘I think I’m lucky I didn’t get caught sneaking around the house in my nightshirt,’ he muttered. ‘Your son’s valet seems to have eyes in the back of his head.’

Letitia dismissed his complaint with a wave of her hand. ‘Well?’

He sat back amongst the pillows and sighed. ‘I do not like to discourage you, especially since I am the one responsible for your high hopes, but it does not look good to me.’

‘Why?’ Letitia asked.

‘From what I could see, which was precious little, mind you,’ Randolph said, ‘they do not even like each other.’

‘Well, I would be disappointed if they did,’ Letitia said. ‘I don’t want him to befriend her. I want him to fall passionately in love with her.’

Randolph shook his head. ‘I don’t see how that is going to happen when they are barely civil to each other. You could have dined out on their animosity.’