Belinda Goes to Bath by M. C. Beaton

intimidating man.
    As if conscious of her gaze, he turned abruptly and found her staring at his hair. ‘Is anything the matter?’ he demanded sharply.
    Belinda was too tired to do other than tell the truth. To Hannah’s dismay, she heard Belinda reply, ‘It’s your hair. It is red.’
    ‘If you mean my hair is not sufficiently powdered, then say so,’ snapped the marquess.
    ‘It is not that,’ said Belinda, wandering deeper into the thicket of bad social behaviour. ‘Red, don’t you see. Such an unfashionable colour.’
    His lips tightened in disapproval as he turned back to Hannah.
    Now Belinda wished this interminable supper would end. Her ankle had begun to ache again. She looked hopefully towards Lady Jordan, whose duty it was, surely, to rise to her feet and lead the ladies back to the Cedar Room and leave the gentlemen to their wine.
    But it was the marquess who suggested they repair to the Cedar Rooni, and so they all rose together. The marquess led the way with Penelope on his arm, Sir Henry and Lady Jordan followed, then Hannah and Belinda, with the Judds bringing up the rear.
    The confidence she had experienced during the earlier part of the meal deserted Belinda. She felt plain and gauche. Somehow, it was the Jordans’ bad behaviour that had given her courage. But now Penelope was being gracious to the Judds, and her parents, who seemed to take their lead from their beautiful daughter, were following her example. AsPenelope noticed Belinda’s crushed mien, so her graciousness and courtesy grew. She begged Mr Judd to entertain them if he was not too tired, and Mr Judd, flushed with all this exalted attention, gladly agreed. He walked to a pianoforte that stood against the far wall and, flexing his hands like a concert pianist, sat down and began to play. Belinda had expected him to play a virtuoso piece in an effort to impress, but he played a selection of sentimental ballads and then he began to sing. So that’s what the attraction is, thought Hannah, looking at Mrs Judd’s radiant face. Mr Judd played beautifully and had a rich tenor voice.
    Belinda listened enthralled, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes dreamy. Gone was her recent unease and depression. She had dreamt before only of freedom, freedom to live her own life, freedom from marriage. But as the liquid, sentimental music coiled around her, she dreamt for almost the first time of a lover, a merry man full of laughter who would be a companion on her travels.
    Penelope, who was tone-deaf, sat like a classical statue with her mouth in the same little curved smile and her eyes as blank.
    The marquess leaned back in an armchair and stretched out his buckled shoes to the blaze. He looked with admiration at Penelope, at the lines of her body, at the proud set of her head, and then, almost despite himself, his gaze was drawn to Belinda.
    Her eyes were full of dreams, and her wispy, baby-fine hair gave her an elfin look. That splendidlypassionate mouth of hers was in repose, just waiting for a kiss …
    He gave himself a mental shake. The evening had turned out very pleasant after all. Judd was a superb performer. Penelope was behaving just as she ought. Mrs Judd looked happy and at ease for the first time. She was a dainty little thing, thought the marquess, despite her unfashionable gown. Her fair hair was dressed in ringlets and her wide eyes were pale blue and her skin was fine and delicate. When Mr Judd ceased playing for a moment, the marquess asked her, ‘Do you sing as well, Mrs Judd? It would give me great pleasure to hear you.’
    Belinda expected Mrs Judd to blush and disclaim but she rose and walked quietly to the piano and stood beside her husband. She began to sing ‘Cherry Ripe’. Belinda sat up straight, her eyes wide with amazement. Mrs Judd had a beautiful soprano voice, as clear as a bell.
    What a pair of nightingales! thought the marquess. And what are they doing hidden away in a ladies’ seminary in Bath?
    Only Hannah and