Page 4 of Appointment in Bath

Ivo huffed a humorless laugh at his own audacity.

His parents wouldn’t thank him for cracking open the door between their two warring families. Nor would his brothers and sister. But Ivo couldn’t regret his offer to Miss Burton-Smythe. It had been a noble impulse, inspired by his deep conviction in the necessity of progress.

And by all her pretty blushes.

And by her hair—a thickly curling mass of titian red springing loose from its pins.

Strange, that. Not the color of her hair, but the unexpected beauty of it. Of her.

It had been ages since Ivo had encountered Miss Burton-Smythe. As a boy, he’d rarely noticed her. And when he had, he’d dismissed her (rather uncharitably) as a scrawny, freckle-faced shadow.

She’d always ducked behind her nurse, swiftly disappearing, whenever their families had crossed paths in the village. A rare enough occurrence. Indeed, for all that Miss Burton-Smythe had been visible over the years, Sir Frederick might not have had a daughter at all.

Ivo gave Snap another kick as they ascended the final hill toward home. Beasley Park rose ahead—a stately Palladian manor made of honey-colored stone. It had been his mother’s childhood home. She’d been Margaret Honeywell then, the only child of a bombastic, horse-mad country squire. Ivo’s father had been her childhood love. They’d grown up together at Beasley.

After his father’s elevation to the earldom, Ivo’s family had removed to Worth House, the family seat in Hertfordshire. But Beasley still held a special place in his parents’ hearts. The family returned to it often, spending summers there and occasionally even Christmas, as they were doing this year.

Ivo was nearly a month ahead of them in returning to Somersetshire. He’d planned it so. It had been years since he’d been home. After finishing his final term at Oxford, he’d headed straight to Europe in company with a rambunctious party of university friends. One by one those friends had drifted off on their own adventures while Ivo continued with his rum-soaked guide, Signor Ruggiero, roaming the ancient ruins, museums, and coffee houses of France, Switzerland, and Italy.

He needed time to reacclimate himself to life in England—and to country life in particular.

As he rode up Beasley’s expansive gravel drive, a groom jogged out of the stable to meet him. Ivo was nearly upon the fellow before the lad’s face came into focus. It was Andrew Cole, a former stableboy. He’d grown into a strapping young man in Ivo’s absence.

“Welcome back, Mr. Beresford,” he said.

Ivo smiled. “Well met, Andrew. Do I have you to thank for sending Snap ahead to me at the inn?”

“Aye sir. Mr. Partridge said as how you’d be wanting him.”

“Quite right, too.” Ivo brought Snap to a halt. There were no other stablemen about. “Are you in charge now?”

“Only while Whitson is away with Lord and Lady Allendale. It’s he who’s head groom.”

“Is he just. And he left you to manage in his absence? My congratulations.” Ivo dismounted. He tossed Snap’s reins to Andrew. “Look after him, would you.”

The housekeeper, Mrs. Kirby appeared at the top of the stone steps. A short, round woman of sixty-odd years, she’d been employed at Beasley since Ivo was a boy.

“Master Ivo! Upon my word. How tall you’ve grown.” Tears started in the old housekeeper’s eyes. “You are a sight, and no mistake.”

Ivo bounded up the steps. “Come, Mrs. K. I’m not so unique from my brothers. If you’ve seen one Beresford male, you’ve seen them all.” He dropped a kiss on her plump cheek before entering the house. “I trust my valet has arrived?”

Mrs. Kirby followed alongside him through the marble-tiled hall. “He came yesterday with the Italian gentleman.”

Ivo stripped off his leather riding gloves. Signor Ruggiero wasn’t precisely Italian. Not by birth anyway. But Ivo didn’t bother correcting her. There was no point in burdening Mrs. Kirby with the man’s tedious history.

“Have you had any word from my parents?” he asked.

“Lord and Lady Allendale are still in Hertfordshire with Lord St. Clare and Master Jack. We expect them back a week before Christmas. Lady Katherine should be returning then as well. She’s had her season in London, you know.”

“Yes,” Ivo said. “Mother wrote me about it in Italy.”

His baby sister Kate’s debut had been an unsuccessful one by all accounts. A surprising fact—and a dispiriting one. At twenty, Kate was a renowned beauty, with a healthy fortune to her name. If she couldn’t make a match, there was little hope for the rest of them.

He ascended the grand curving staircase. “Is Partridge about?”

“In your room, sir.”

“What about Signor Ruggiero?”