Her Secret Beau is the first of two stories in my Touches of Austen series that are set in Bath. So, I thought it’d be fun to gather a bunch of images from Deposit Photos (since I’ve never been to Bath, sadly) and make a setting collage.
I like having a few images in my mind when I am writing or reading a story, and these do relate to different scenes in the story as there are a few in gardens, one at the hero’s town home, and of course, the Assembly Rooms. There’s also a scene where the Abbey is mentioned. So, these all seemed to fit the theme.
I’ve selected to share chapter 10 in which you will find the scene where the Abbey is mentioned. We are about halfway through the story by this chapter, and the scheme that Grace is perpetrating is full swing. Here are the basics just so you’re not confused when you read the excerpt below.
Grace Love is secretly courting Mr. Blakesley (Walter). She is pretending to love Mr. Norman (of whom her mother does not really approve, though he’s a lovely fellow). the Claytons (Graeme and Bea) and the Sheltons (Roger and Victoria) know all about Grace’s scheme and why she deems it necessary. The reason behind the subterfuge: Felicity Love, Grace’s sister. I think that’s probably enough details to set you up to read what follows.
Enjoy!
CHAPTER 10
“Mr. Blakesley, what a delightful surprise to see you here.”
Walter, who had risen quickly and found himself a seat other than beside Grace when it was noted that Mrs. Love had arrived, bowed and extended his welcome.
“Is Mr. Norman with you?” Mrs. Love glanced around the room.
“He was, but then he was called away,” Grace answered.
“Yes, there was a patient in need of an urgent consultation,” Walter added. “He has promised to return to collect me before night falls.” Not that Walter cared one bit if he was forced to spend the night at his own estate. There were certain inducements which would make it quite pleasurable. Not only did he have friends and a well-stocked larder and wine cellar here at Erondale, there was also Grace.
Mrs. Love tsked. “Such a life. To be always at someone’s beck and call.” She gave her daughter a pointed look. Apparently, Grace had not exaggerated her mother’s disdain for a physician as a possible husband for her daughter.
“I believe he enjoys it, Mama,” Grace replied. “For he did not look put out in the least. I can imagine that being so very knowledgeable about all things pertaining to health and knowing that you might bring relief and help to another is quite fulfilling. Why if I were to be in possession of such knowledge, I am certain I would not mind one bit being asked to provide aide to another. As it is, you know how much I enjoy visiting those who are less fortunate.”
“You do?” There was no little amount of shock in Mrs. Love’s tone, which pricked Walter’s curiosity.
He could see Grace being quite good at visiting those in need and lending her aide.
“I do.” Grace smoothed her skirt. “I have just decided it.”
Grace was also very good at vexing her mother. Walter relaxed into his chair to watch the scene between mother and daughter unfold before him.
“You have?” Her mother still looked as if she were floundering in the sea without a hope of help.
“Yes. I find Mr. Norman to be very inspiring. If we were not in Bath, I would seek out the parson and discover if there is someone to whom I might be of service for an hour or two.”
“You find Mr. Norman inspiring?”
“Very.”
Walter bit back a grin at the look of utter delight Grace wore, which was in stark contrast to the ashen hue of her mother’s face.
“But,” Grace continued, “I suppose, I might find that I do not like being of service to the less fortunate as much as I imagine I might, and that would be dreadful in the extreme.” Her brow furrowed. “I wonder if Mr. Norman would find me wanting if such were the case?”
“Yes, yes, I think he might,” her mother hurried to assure her.
“Is Felicity not with you?”
Mrs. Love blinked at Grace’s sudden shift of topics. “She was expecting a call from Mr. Ramsey.”
“And you are letting her receive him without yourself being present?” Graeme asked in astonishment.
Mrs. Love smiled slyly. “Her father is there, and I think Mr. Ramsey might wish to see Mr. Love rather than me.”
Grace’s face lit with excitement. “Do you really think he is going to offer for her?”
Something of great interest on the hem of Mrs. Love’s glove captured her attention as she replied, “It is quite likely.”
“And will she accept him?” From the wideness of Grace’s eyes, Graeme’s question surprised her as much as her mother.
“I do believe she will,” Mrs. Love replied. “At least, we are hopeful.”
“Will she marry in Bath? How quickly do you think it could be accomplished?” Grace asked eagerly.
Mrs. Love laughed. “I think we shall leave some of those details up to the happy couple to decide.”
“But to be married in the Abbey would be something worthy of note to all Felicity’s friends. Do you not think?” Grace bit her lip anxiously.
Walter had known Grace was eager to have her sister settled, but he had not thought her quite so eager as she appeared at this moment.
“It would be noteworthy,” her mother agreed. “But there is no rush.”
Grace’s shoulders slumped. “Can my season begin before she is Mrs. Ramsey? Or must I wait until after she marries.”
“She will still need to be seen in company, and I do not see why she cannot enjoy a few more festivities as Miss Love before she becomes Mrs. anyone.”
Grace sighed and slumped down in her seat. “I should like to have a season before I marry,” she said softly.
“Ah, but if you marry Mr. Norman,” Mr. Blakesley said, “you will have the delights of Bath at your door. Your life can be a continual season. That would be a definite advantage to having a husband who lives in Bath.”
Mrs. Love looked at him in horror, and he thought for a moment that Grace was going to giggle. However, she refrained. Roger did not. He chuckled while his wife discreetly captured his hand and, most likely, gave it a squeeze to remind the fellow that he was not to find the conversation so entertaining.
“I suppose it is.” Grace sighed loudly. “Then, Felicity may marry whenever she wishes.”
“A wedding in the Abbey would be noteworthy,” her mother said, this time with a great deal more conviction than she had the first time.
“A double ceremony would be even more noteworthy,” Roger said as he shot a quick glance in Walter’s direction.
It was a thought worthy of consideration. He tilted his head and studied Grace. Grace Blakesley? It had a pleasing ring to it. However, the double ceremony would never happen. Grace deserved her own day, far removed from her sister. She had lived in that shadow long enough.
“No, no,” Mrs. Love said, “one wedding at a time will be trying enough. And I am certain Grace is not yet ready to marry.”
“I might be,” Grace said.
“It is not a thing to be rushed into,” Mrs. Clayton said softly.
“Oh, goodness, no!” Grace agreed.
“However, if one meets the right gentleman and falls in love with him and he with her, then is it rushing?” Walter asked, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Clayton and not allowing them to roam to Grace as they wished to do.
“I would say no,” Graeme answered.
“I would agree,” Roger said.
“What of the ladies? What do you think on this matter?” Walter asked.
“This imaginary couple is truly in love?” Mrs. Shelton asked.
Walter nodded. “They would give all they had to see the other happy.”
“Then, no, if they are certain they are in love and do not just fancy themselves so, I would say it is not rushing.”
“I think I would agree if that is the case,” Mrs. Clayton said.
Walter turned to Mrs. Love.
“I do not think I wish to answer that,” she said, lifting her chin. “I shall leave it up to Mr. Love to decide if it is rushing.”
Walter had to admit that hers was the perfect answer, for if she had said she did not think it was rushing, it would have given her daughter, whom she feared thought herself enamoured with the unacceptable Mr. Norman, freedom to run pell-mell into marriage with the fellow. However, by deferring to her husband, who was not present, she allowed room for the delay of an untenable marriage and avoided any present argument with her daughter.
“He would give all he had to see her happy?” Grace asked when Walter turned to her for her answer.
Walter nodded. “And she would do the same for him.”
“Even if it led to misery?”
“Or death,” Walter added.
“Oh, my.”
He had never seen Grace look so very serious.
“Is that how you feel about your husbands?” Her eyes shifted to Mrs. Shelton and Mrs. Clayton, who both nodded. “And you about your wives?” she asked Graeme and Roger, who also nodded. Her brow furrowed, and she turned to her mother. “And that is how you feel about Father?”
Mrs. Love glanced around the room, her cheeks growing the faintest bit rosy. “Well, that is rather dramatic, and I am not one to be dramatic.”
Walter doubted that. He had seen her daughters, and both appeared to him to be perfectly capable of dramatics.
“However,” she continued, “I suppose that is how I feel about your father.”
“The question remains, Miss Grace,” Walter pressed. Her answer was the most important one in the room. “If those were the conditions, do you think it would be rushing to marry in haste?”
She sat quietly for a moment before her lips curled upward. “I suppose that would depend on what the gentleman who loved me thought, for if I am willing to live in misery on his behalf, then if waiting to marry, which might prove miserable, is what would make him happy, I would have no option but to defer to his desire. If I did otherwise, would that not prove I did not love him as deeply as I should?”
That was not an answer he had expected her to give. “I had not thought of it so,” he admitted.
“But does this gentleman know that making you wait would make you miserable?” Roger asked. “Would that not then call his own devotion to you into question?”
A pained expression created a great furrow between Grace’s eyes. “Then, how is one ever to know if one is in love enough to marry?”
“That is an excellent question,” Roger replied, turning to Walter. “Do you have an explanation? You always had some reply when we pondered such impossible things in school.”
Walter shook his head. “I am afraid my answer will not be satisfying, for I think that love is not something which can be dissected into bits and pieces to be analyzed for proof of existence. Not that it cannot be examined and found to exist.”
“I am terribly confused,” Grace said.
Walter smiled at her. “I think that one just simply knows, and that, for each person, the item of proof differs despite some similarities in all cases.”
“You are very wise,” Mrs. Love inserted.
“Thank you,” Walter answered, though his eyes did not leave her daughter.
“And have you found that measure of proof with your lady?” Mrs. Love prodded.
Had he? Was it not too soon to have discovered such a thing? He had not known Grace for more than a handful of days, though he had known of her for a few days before that. He shrugged. “I am not entirely certain.”
“You are not?” Mrs. Love sounded eager as if she was hoping he would give up this lady whom she did not know was her daughter.
“No, I am not. Though,” his heart beat a bit faster as he considered giving Grace up to another gentleman, “I dare say I could not be persuaded away from choosing her.” And within the walls of that thought lay the truth. His heart belonged to his mysterious angel – even if it did feel a bit as if he was rushing into something – something which, he suspected, would be quite wonderful.
