When In Bath

Chapter 1

“Monseigneur, I have killed you! You are dead! You are dead!”

"You display an unseemly joy,” he remarked. “I had no notion you were so bloodthirsty.”

― Georgette Heyer, These Old Shades

CHAPTER 1

Miss Lydia Pritchard was late. This in and of itself was not an unusual occurrence, but it would seem her that it had been the root cause of the majority of the tangles in her young life and she didn’t want to give Lady Avery any further reason to scold.

Not waiting for her maid, who was a trifle vexed with Lydia for rushing about at such a pace. She quickly glanced to and fro before darting out into the busy street. Lydia was determined to return to Lady Avery’s side post haste and with time to spare.

A rare smile peeked out upon her face. The older woman would be quite surprised to see her operating in a timely fashion—for once.

During the fashionable hour, anyone of quality who wanted to see or be seen would find them selves trudging up the hill to the pump rooms to take the restorative waters that Bath was so famed for.

Just as Lydia began to cross, a high-perched curricle came round the corner at breakneck speed. Even for the highest whipster to have avoided her would have been nigh on impossible. She wasn’t sure if it was fate or simply her propensity to find these rather remarkable situations.

For one moment she was striding at a fairly fast clip and the next she was being thrown to the ground. Luckily the coach did not hit her, for that could have been fatal. But as it was, Lydia had quite had the stuffing taken out of her.

She refused to pass out and as the blackness tried to descend she fought it heartily. If there was anything to be said about Miss. Lydia Pritchard, it would not be that she put on missish airs. However, the lack of air in her lungs was a trifle disconcerting.

Suddenly there was a young man’s face in front of her own. His pallor entirely white, “Dear heaven above, I have killed her. Tom! Get over here!”

The anguish was so raw that Lydia wanted at once to assure him that she would indeed recover—when the world stopped spinning of course.

She opened her mouth to speak when another young man who was the exact replica of the first down to the shock of black hair and dark gray eyes, came into view.

He frowned a little, “Oh, Kit, she is not dead, you ninnyhammer, only knocked up. Give her a moment to collect herself. Uncle Jasper is going to lock you in the sellers when he hears about this one, Twin.”

If at all possible the one called Kit, paled further. “We don’t have to tell him, Tom.”

Tom shook his head, “It won’t work, Kit. Half the city will know about it in less than half an hour. Did you have to run her down right in front of the pump rooms?”

Lydia raised a brow, “Indeed, couldn’t you have found a better location for my demise?”

The twins swung their gazes back to her.

"I had indeed forgotten about you,” Kit exclaimed and then scowled when his brother cuffed him on the back of the head.

"I am terribly sorry for my brother’s lack of manners, ma’am, and his deplorable driving skills. How terrible to be knocked off your feet. Are you feeling just wretched? Please allow me to help you, my name is Mr. Thomas Ridenhour, and this is my brother Christopher Ridenhour.”

Lydia allowed the young man to help her stand. Besides a rather incessant ache in her hip and side, she did not feel that she would have lasting damage from the altercation. “Thank you, Mr. Ridenhour, I am Miss Lydia Pritchard.”

“Miss Pritchard,” Kit looked positively forlorn, “Do you suppose that we could just keep this little incident to ourselves?”

Lydia’s lips almost betrayed her, but she waited until she could speak in a steady tone.

“Well, Mr. Pritchard, you were driving at an unbearably fast clip, especially when there are pedestrians present. Where ever were you going in such a hurry?”

The twins who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen flushed. They were remarkably good-looking boys and in time would be gentlemen of the first stare.

“I do most humbly apologize, Miss Pritchard. You see, it is only that I cannot seem to arrive on-time to anything and my Uncle warned that I was not to be late to meet his Godmomma. It was as Tom said, I was driving much too fast. Especially given that there are people present and I do not know the thoroughfare.”

“That was very prettily said,” Lydia twinkled at him. “And I do believe that you have learned a good lesson today.”

He nodded with aclarity, “Yes, most certainly I did. I shall not allow my valet to over keep me when Uncle Jasper is waiting.”

Lydia could not help the bubble of mirth that passed her lips, “Very well, I suppose that is a lesson, Mr. Ridenhour.”

Tom shook his head in disgust, “She doesn’t give a fig for your toilet, Kit. Your lesson is to slow down you Nod c**k before you kill anyone else. At least you had the good sense to run down someone nice. Had your victim been a harpy we could all be in the suds.”

The light dawned in Kit’s eyes, “Oh yes! By Jove, you are dead right.”

He looked over to see Lydia’s eyes dancing at him, and an answering smile met hers.

“Let me try that again, Miss Pritchard,” Kit began.

But Lydia only laughed and patted Kit’s arm in a friendly manner, “Goodness me, no! I shan’t sit through it another time if you do. Pray, if you were late before, just think about how behind you are now? Whatever is your Uncle Jasper going to think?”

A whiskey smooth male voice answered instead of the youthful exuberance of the twins, “That is a fine question indeed. What is Uncle Jasper to think?”

The three of them turned. The twins in dread and Lydia if only to discover what sort of man was Uncle to two such ramshackle youth.

The arresting sight that met her gaze had her floundering for a moment. He had much the same coloring of the boys. Only this was no youth.

Tall and lean, with steel gray eyes and a square jaw, the boy’s uncle cut an imposing figure. He was rigged out with the finest of linens. His pants cut in the severe style flattering a shapely calf and long muscular thigh. There was no padding or fummery to his costume, his colors were muted, and the only adornments he wore were a signet ring and an ox pin in his cravat.

“Have these two whelps been harassing you, Madam?”

Lydia loved the timbre of his voice. It was dark and decadent. It took her only a moment to realize she had been spoken to.

“Oh, not at all, they have been most,” she paused trying to locate the correct term, “entertaining.”

“I see,” there was not a fleck of emotion in his handsome visage to confirm this.

“Truly, all is well,” she bumbled on, “as you can very well see. And, I had best be on my way.”

With the first step pain radiated from her hip. It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t walk, it was only that the discomfort and ill at ease of the business, showed on her face.

The Uncle frowned, “If you would wait just one moment, please? I am very much assured that all is well, but what I would really like to know is the truth. Out with it, halflings, what have you done?”

Kit swallowed, “Is it too late for you to play dead, Miss Pritchard? I may wish to join you.”