The women had become friendly five years ago when they had worked together on a committee raising funds for the Foundling Hospital in London. Days were never dull when Eleanor was around and, for that, Clara was grateful.
‘You always do have the most exceptional tea,’ the Dowager commented, lowering her fine porcelain cup into its saucer and placing it on the table.
‘Thank you. I’ve blended a few special types of oolong for this pot.’
The weight of the head of Clara’s Cavalier King Charles spaniel rested on her foot while Humphrey stretched his small, exhausted, black furry body down beside her after having spent the last fifteen minutes chasing a butterfly along the garden pathways. While he rested on Clara’s foot, his big brown eyes looked up at the Dowager.
‘My, you are a handsome fellow,’ she said, breaking off a piece of her biscuit and placing it down near the ground.
Humphrey looked at the offering and back up at the Dowager.
‘Come now,’ she said to him. ‘If you want it, you have to come to me to get it.’
Clara had never owned a dog before and she was learning how to manage Humphrey through trial and error, but she knew she didn’t want him begging for food at the table. She had been around enough houses with dogs to know that the experience as a dinner guest could be annoying. But before she was able to request that the Dowager not give him any food, Humphrey jumped up and padded over to her to gently take the piece of biscuit she offered.
The Dowager rubbed his little head and brown ears. ‘That’s a good boy. How long have you had him?’
The little imp yawned and went back to Clara’s foot where he stretched out again and closed his eyes. Apparently chasing butterflies and eating a biscuit was an exhausting endeavour for one so small.
‘Only a few weeks now. Juliet gave him to me for my birthday. I think she assumed that I was lonely now that she is no longer living with me and somehow she believes Humphrey will help.’
‘How many years has it been since you took Juliet in?’
‘Four years. She lived with Elizabeth and Skeffington for two years after their parents passed, but we found it was better for her to stay with me in Bath than with them.’
‘I suppose living with one’s older sister can be trying at times and Skeffington certainly did not have the nicest disposition.’ The Dowager broke off another piece of her biscuit. ‘At the time that the two of you left London, I thought it might’ve had something to do with the Duke of Winterbourne’s youngest brother, Lord Montague. But Juliet and Monty are married now, so perhaps that assumption was incorrect.’ Her gaze held Clara’s for a few breaths longer than necessary before she placed the piece of biscuit in her mouth.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
How was it that this woman always seemed to know things that should have been a secret? Clara’s niece Juliet had suffered terrible heartbreak at the hands of Lord Montague Pearce when her guardian refused to allow them to marry. At the time, Clara had taken Juliet out of London to spare her the pain of having to see Monty. The experience had created a close bond between the two women and while Clara had been so delighted that Juliet had finally found her happiness with Monty years later, Juliet’s absence had left a hole in her heart.
The Dowager waved away her statement with a carefree movement of her hand. ‘Very well. Keep your family secrets. They married in the end and I have seen them at various balls in London. It is apparent that it’s a love match so perhaps her time here in Bath was for the best.’
Clara was not about to divulge her niece’s secret. The secrets the Sommersby women shared with each other stayed within the family. She had never betrayed Juliet in the past and she wouldn’t do so now. ‘I think Juliet enjoyed her time here. There is talk of them finding a home in Bath in the future.’
‘How lovely for you,’ the Dowager responded with sincerity. ‘However, having them in town will not be the same as having companionship in this house, and I am not referring to that little fellow at your feet who has been charming us today,’ she said, gesturing to a sleeping Humphrey.
‘Have you run out of people to pair up in London so now you think to turn your attention to me after all these years of knowing one another? My friends and the visits from my nieces are enough for me. I do not want a husband.’
‘Perhaps you just haven’t found the right gentleman.’
‘Perhaps neither have you.’
The elderly woman with the mischievous smile let out a small laugh. ‘Perhaps I already have.’
Clara wasn’t certain if the Dowager was having a bit of fun with her last comment or if indeed the woman had found a gentleman caller at her advanced age. Regardless, Clara was not interested in wading through the waters of another relationship. ‘I will not lose my independence. I have managed my affairs very well over these last ten years. And I have done so going against some of the wishes my husband had while he was alive. I’ve discovered I possess a keen ability to make sound business decisions, placing me in firm control over a comfortable future. I will not give that up for any man.’
She would never turn over control of The Fountain Head Hotel to a husband. That hotel was her security and as long as she owned it, she would never have to worry about being thrown in debtors’ prison—the way she had when her husband Robert was alive.
A murmur of voices drifted over the garden wall and Clara knew the Collingswood sisters had come out into the garden of the house their parents had recently begun leasing next door. She wondered if Mrs Col-lingswood had stood by her window and peered through her sheer muslin curtains and spied them in the garden. The girls were of marrying age and she noticed that Mrs Collingswood was fond of throwing them in Clara’s path whenever she had the opportunity. In fact, she had spotted them yesterday heading towards her in the Pump Room and had walked away from the fountain before Mrs Collingswood approached her, presumably hoping for an introduction to the blond-haired gentleman she had been speaking with—a man whose name she did not know.
Even though the sisters’ voices weren’t loud, Humphrey’s sleepy head popped up and he trotted slowly towards the garden wall between the two properties.
‘You left the Pump Room rather abruptly yesterday. I do hope nothing was amiss,’ the Dowager said, picking up her teacup.
‘No, I just saw people that I preferred to avoid and thought it best to leave before I was obligated to speak with them.’
‘Nothing troubling, I hope.’
Clara leaned closer so her voice would not carry on the breeze over the garden wall. ‘No, just my new neighbours,’ she replied in a low whisper.
The Dowager’s expression filled with interest and she, too, leaned forward. ‘Neighbours can be so trying at times. Tell me about these.’
‘It is the new family who are leasing the house next door.’ She motioned with her head to the low garden wall where Clara suspected the Collingswood sisters were instructed to spend part of the afternoon. ‘The family is nice enough, really. Except the mother seems determined to introduce her daughters to every eligible young man in Bath.’ The fact that Clara had noticed the focus was always on the prettier younger daughter made her amend the statement. ‘Well, she attempts to promote the younger one, at any rate. The older is practically ignored in those situations.’
‘What a pity for the girl. It is not easy living in the shadow