Deborah Simmons - Glory And The Rake

Gradually, she had found out more about Queen’s Well, becoming further intrigued. She couldn’t remember when the idea of reviving the spa first came to her, but it had remained at the back of her mind, a tempting possibility for the future—until Thad’s wayward behaviour had forced her to action.

Although neither he nor Phillida had wanted to make the move, Glory had insisted. She had hoped the fresh air and simple pleasures of a village would change their minds, but Phillida complained of the lack of society and Thad remained sullen and uncooperative, evincing no interest in her venture.

Oddly enough, it was their encounter with Westfield that seemed to have wrought a change in him. Perhaps the presence of such an exalted personage had improved Thad’s opinion of Philtwell, Glory mused. She didn’t like to consider the other possibility: that Thad was simply drawn to a dangerous sort who would do him no favours.

The sound of a door slamming made Glory nearly drop the glass in her hand; for a moment she feared the duke was striding through the Pump Room, intent upon her. She turned in alarm when she heard footsteps approaching, even though she had told the workmen not to admit anyone.

But who would dare deny a duke?

Caught unprepared, Glory had no weapon except warm mineral water, but she faced the intruder with a hammering heart. She lifted her arm, only to shudder with relief when her brother burst into the room.

‘Thad!’ Glory admonished, lowering the vessel in her grip.

‘What?’ he asked. A moan from Phillida made him glance behind Glory, a questioning look on his face. ‘What?’ he repeated, ignoring his sister’s warning grimace. ‘Did something happen?’

‘Yes, something happened,’ Phillida said, lifting her head. ‘Your sister made a spectacle of herself in the middle of the street, with a duke!’ Phillida fell back, as though too overcome to continue, but she was bound to be disappointed by her nephew’s reaction.

Instead of appearing shocked, Thad frowned in apparent disappointment. ‘You saw Westfield? You might have waited for me,’ he complained, throwing himself into a medallion-backed chair.

‘It was not a social visit,’ Glory said, glaring at her brother. ‘He was with Dr Tibold, who approached me from behind and began shouting at me.’ She did not add that she had swung at the physician in her own defence. Since Phillida had not mentioned it, Glory hoped her aunt had not seen the blow.

‘The bounder! He needs a good thrashing,’ Thad said, and Glory was comforted by his outrage. She had been right to share her concerns with him, for he finally was taking an interest. Or so she thought until he spoke again.

‘But Westfield? I don’t believe it. Why would he even be seen with such a character?’

‘Perhaps they are related,’ Glory suggested, though she did not need evidence of the duke’s true nature. He had demonstrated it last evening, when he had put his hands upon her …

But Thad shook his head. ‘That doesn’t seem likely, or Tibold would have been bragging of his connections. And why didn’t I see Westfield? I suppose that I wasn’t paying much attention after … Well, now that I know he’s out and about, I’ll keep an eye out for him.’

‘And why would you do that?’ Glory asked, warily. She did not want her brother confronting the duke, nor did she want her brother to seek the man’s company.

‘Perhaps Thad can offer his Grace some kind of explanation for his sister’s outlandish behaviour,’ Phillida said, interrupting Glory’s thoughts. ‘I cannot show my face in society knowing that we will be cut by a famous nobleman. The gossip! The rumours! If only you could make amends, dear boy.’ Rousing herself on to an elbow, Phillida sent her nephew a beseeching look.

Glory found the thought of making amends with Westfield disconcerting, but she did not care to admit as much to her aunt. ‘It is not as though you move in the same circles,’ she said.

‘But aren’t you always claiming that the spas are a perfect place to mingle with all manner of people?’ Phillida demanded. ‘Where else might we be included in such company?’

Where else indeed? Glory thought, her own words coming back to haunt her. ‘But why should we aspire to such an acquaintance? Westfield has allied himself with our enemy and proven himself unworthy of our regard.’

At Glory’s words, her aunt dropped back upon the chaise , moaning again, seemingly unable to respond.

Ignoring the dramatics, Glory turned towards Thad. ‘How did you find the work site?’ she asked, eager to change the subject.

‘Oh,’ Thad said, looking down at the tips of his boots. ‘I gave them a good talking to, and they promised to pick up the pace, as they well should.’

Although his words were reassuring, his demeanour was not and Glory bit back a sigh. More likely the men hadn’t paid any more heed to Thad than they had to her, but she was grateful for his efforts.

‘Thank you, Thad,’ she said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. Before new buildings could even be considered, the remains of the old needed to be torn down and cleared away. As she had many times before, Glory wondered what would convince men to avoid doing the job they were being paid to do, even at the possible forfeiture of their wages. But this time, an answer came to her.

Westfield.

Trapped by the blathering physician, Oberon stood watching Miss Sutton retreat to the Pump Room, her Pump Room, which made last evening’s story more believable. But there were still several things that didn’t quite fit. The young woman seemed too well bred to be in trade and too clever to be involved with a hopeless venture like Queen’s Well. Even more jarring was her array of weapons and her inclination to use them.

Her behaviour was odd, to say the least. Having disdained his help, she had raced towards the Pump Room as though fleeing his company, and it was that, most of all, that raised Oberon’s suspicions. She had dragged her aunt down the road, drawing the stares of the villagers in a public display that would have her ostracised in London. Never had a female been so eager to escape him. But why? Did she have something to hide? And, if so, what made her determined to hide it from him?

Oberon’s musings were interrupted by a stream of gibberish from the man at his side, which might better explain Miss Sutton’s hasty exit. Having discovered Oberon’s identity, the volatile physician had turned the full force of his flattery upon Oberon. No doubt he hoped for a fat purse from a noble patron, but finally his words trailed off as he realised where Oberon’s gaze lingered.

‘As you have seen for yourself, your Grace,’ the man said, his earlier tone of condemnation returning, ‘she’s a bold piece, a menace to society. I’m sure everyone in our little community would be most grateful if you could use your influence to liberate our waters.’

Oberon had yet to determine if Miss Sutton was a menace, and he suppressed a startling frisson of interest at the prospect of finding out. However, she was hardly the low female Tibold made her out to be, and Oberon had no intention of letting the man abuse her. He flexed his fingers in an unconscious gesture, then turned to face the physician, his expression impassive.

‘You will stop maligning the young woman; should I hear that you have approached within ten feet of her, I shall have you brought up on charges.’ With a nod of dismissal, Oberon left the doctor sputtering in his wake and resumed his walk.

Again, he watched for anything out of the ordinary, but for the first time in years he was distracted, his thoughts unaccountably returning to Miss Sutton. He was even tempted to turn around and make sure Tibold did not follow her to the Pump Room.