Bath Scandal by Joan Smith Page A

repute, only because I was wearing an evening gown.”
    “My understanding was that Bath was very strict, even more so than the provinces. I had not thought learning the waltz would be a priority.”
    “Why, waltzing is allowed at Almack’s, the strictest club in all of England! We must not be overly rigid.”
    “It was not the way in my day.”
    “Nor in mine, either, but things change, and we must change with them or become hopelessly outdated. The old-timers are forever telling me that morality has gone to hell in a hand basket, but for myself, I enjoy the greater freedom that prevails now. Especially to a widow. I will admit, however, that in Bath the waltz is only done in private homes. You will not see any waltzing here at the Assembly Rooms.”
    “Pity.”
    “I joined Gillie up for the dancing class in hopes that you would give her a Season, Lord Southam,” she said, and looked for his reaction.
    “As you know, that was not my intention. Now that she has nabbed Cleremont without aid of a Season ...”
    They parted, and when the dance permitted, she continued the conversation. “She has not nabbed him. She has caught his interest, but he will be going to London in May.”
    “That gives her a few weeks.”
    “Unfortunately, it does not. The duke is leaving soon for Newmarket. He has some nags entered in the races and will be going before then to work with his trainer. At this time of year he is darting hither and thither to small meets as well.” Again the demands of the dance took them apart. Southam found this method of conversing difficult, but Mrs. Searle apparently had no trouble with it. When they met again, she continued her persuasions. “He is far from reaching the sticking point. As far as that goes, I am not at all sure Gillie would have him.”
    “She’ll have him all right,” he said firmly. Bea just looked at him uncertainly. She disliked that decisive tone. “She mentioned she rides and drives with him daily,” he reminded her.
    “Not every day. They are good friends, but Tannie doesn’t realize yet that he is in love with her, you see. As to Gillie, she is in love with his team, which is not precisely the state of affairs that would lead to acceptance if he offered.” She wafted away to the steps of the dance.
    When they met again, Southam had his answer ready. “He’s not likely to hand over the team without including himself in the parcel. He ain’t that big a booby.”
    Beatrice drew a deep sigh. “Why is it that men, who can run vast estates, cannot understand the simple elements of making a match?”
    Southam cocked his head and answered frivolously, “It’s because animals and acres of crop and forest don’t insist on falling in love, I expect. If you ladies were running things, you would insist on only breeding a prime stallion with one mare.”
    At the end of the dance the party went to the tearoom, where Bea made sure Southam and the duke were seated at the same table. Southam was at pains to draw the duke out. “I hear you are interested in racing,” he said, smiling.
    “My name is up for the Jockey Club.” As this came perilously near to boasting, something the duke abhorred, he added, “Daresay I shan’t be let in for a decade yet.”
    “One can only try,” Southam said supportively. “This is an interesting time for you—the five classics.”
    “Four in spring. The Saint Leger is run in September.” The duke wanted to make a favorable impression on Gillie’s brother. This, unfortunately, required conversation of more than two or three syllables. Racing was the only area in which he felt competent to discourse rationally, so he rattled on. “One and three-quarters miles.”
    “I thought it was one and a half,” Southam said.
    “Derby’s one and a half. Oaks is one and a half. Ascot’s two and a half. All ages and sexes. Gold Cup.”
    “Just so. Well, I daresay you are looking forward to the Season.”
    “I have a sweet filly running in the Oaks.