Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance. Laurie BensonЧитать онлайн книгу.
his shoulders.
It seemed he was not going to make suggesting what he should do an easy endeavour. ‘Well, one can assume you do not enjoy long strolls.’
‘No. That is not true. I do enjoy a brisk walk. It helps me clear my thoughts.’
‘Then we will put brisk walking on the list. Perhaps you would enjoy visiting the Lower Assembly Rooms. They are near the bowling green and close to some lovely walks that are laid out by the river. If you time it just right, you might be able to walk the pathways before the crowds descend. And the public breakfast that is served there every Wednesday is quite good.’
‘That’s a much too leisurely way to spend my days.’
‘Well, you could always attend the dress and fancy balls in the evenings in the Upper Assembly Rooms. I prefer the dress balls, myself. And there are cards rooms at those if you do not dance.’
‘What makes you think I do not know how to dance?’
‘Forgive me. I meant if you were not inclined to dance.’
‘I find balls rather tedious. Too much talking about the weather and the state of the roads.’
‘Of course. Who would want to speak to all those people enjoying each other’s company?’
His lips pressed together which made her laugh again.
‘Then perhaps you would prefer a concert or the theatre. Bath has a vast array of ways to entertain yourself while you are here. Your wife might enjoy those activities.’ She waited to see if he would confirm that he was married. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be until now.
‘Was that your way of finding out if I am married?’
She was not one to hide her inquisitive nature so she smiled up at him. ‘Are you?’
Instead of appearing affronted by her question, the hint of a small smile played on his lips. ‘No. I am not.’
‘Neither am I.’ Clara held back a groan. Why, oh, why had she offered that bit of information? It wasn’t as if he had bothered to ask her.
‘I know. I assumed from the Pump Room that you are widowed. I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you, but my husband passed a long time ago.’
The small creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as they looked at one another.
Humphrey’s head nudged her ankle, drawing her attention down to her dog. When she saw him eyeing the gentleman’s boot with that expression she had come to know, a sense of dread filled her chest. She held tight to his leash and tugged him back, closer to her.
Humphrey let out a series of barks in protest.
‘I really should be taking him home. He is probably hungry.’
‘Would you like me to escort you back from where you came?’
‘No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. I don’t have far to go.’ Humphrey pulled on the leash in the direction of the gentleman, making their departure all the more urgent. ‘I do hope you’ll take my suggestions. It would be a pity if you spent your time here without enjoying some of what this town has to offer.’
His eyes seemed to darken momentarily. ‘I’ll consider your suggestions.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
There was something about being around this gentleman that made it hard not to smile. She was just glad this time she did so only after she had turned to walk away.
‘Wait. I do not even know your name,’ he called after her.
Clara pulled back on Humphrey’s leash and turned around. ‘Mrs Clara Sommersby. And you are...?’
He tipped his head and held the brim of his hat. ‘Mr William Lane.’ A smile softened the hard planes of his features.
There was no reason to hide her smile now as she bobbed a curtsy. ‘Good day, Mr Lane. Perhaps we shall meet again.’
* * *
It had taken all of Lane’s restraint not to follow Mrs Sommersby out from behind the hedgerow in their secluded spot in the park. As it were, he watched her slowly walk away from him with her small dog trotting along beside her until she reached the end of the hedge where the dirt path they were on merged with the gravel pathway that would take her out of the park.
There was something about being around her that had him wanting to talk with her some more and not rush back to the coffee house as he had originally intended. But now, running back to the coffee house was the furthest thing from his mind as he wondered if she walked her dog here often. When he reached the edge of the wooded park, he looked left and right, trying to catch sight of her, but to no avail. She was nowhere to be found. Digging his hands into his pockets, he resumed his walk. This time he didn’t mind the slow pace, since, instead of focusing on reaching his destination, his mind was filled with thoughts of Mrs Sommersby. And the fact that for those few moments she was stuck to the bush, more than anything, he had wanted to kiss her.
Two days later Lane sat across from Hart and the Duke of Lyonsdale in the office in the back room of the coffee house and tried his best to decipher the man’s expression. Lyonsdale had listened intently to what Hart and Lane had to say about the planned spa—but he hadn’t asked any questions. The Duke had invested his money with them in past ventures and in prior instances he always had some questions. However, today he sat with his arms crossed and a neutral expression on his face. It couldn’t be possible that Lyonsdale was going to turn them down. This spa had the potential to become one of their most profitable ventures yet.
Tapping his finger on the proposed budget that laid between them on the table, Lane leaned closer. ‘You have yet to tell us your thoughts. You see the potential, do you not?’
Lyonsdale nodded and sat back in his chair. ‘Those numbers are impressive—however, I’m afraid I cannot invest in this.’
Lane could feel his composure start to slip and he almost had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from calling this well-respected member of the House of Lords an ass. ‘Might I ask why?’
‘Because I have been coming to Bath for years and I see the changes that are taking place here. How many times have you been to Bath, Lane?’
‘I just started visiting recently.’
‘I see. Well, let me tell you what I’ve observed. This town was once overflowing with members of the ton. Parading along the Crescent resembled making your way through the crowds at Almack’s on a Wednesday night. But do you know what I see now?’
Lane shook his head, wishing that he could tell Lyonsdale that he didn’t want to know. Those numbers on that page spoke louder to him.
‘Now I see a town fading somewhat in its glory as the most fashionable place to be outside of London. There are not nearly as many members of the ton here as there once were. Brighton is where the Regent is. Brighton is where the growth is. Do not mistake what I am saying. Bath is still a desirable destination, but for how much longer? It may be profitable now, but can you truly tell me it will continue to be profitable ten years from now...or twenty?’
While Lyonsdale, unlike many members of English Society, always treated Lane with respect, Lane had never felt the divide in class as acutely with the man as he did at this very moment.
‘There are no guarantees in business,’ Lane replied, looking Lyonsdale directly in the eye. ‘I cannot say with one hundred per cent certainty that this venture will be profitable ten years from now or twenty. But what I can guarantee is that right now...now, those numbers are sound. And while people of your class and position may not be flocking here the way