Page 91 of Appointment in Bath

Meg went to him in a rush before he could finish. She dropped down beside him in a flurry of skirts and, throwing her arms round his neck, pressed a kiss to his bristly cheek. “I shall make you proud of me.”

His brawny hand came to rest on her back. “I’m already proud,” he said gruffly. “You have the Burton-Smythe spleen. Just see it doesn’t lead you into any more trouble.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Still no sign of her.” Ivo tossed aside his hat as he entered his hotel room in George Street.

Ruggiero came forward to collect his wet things. “You’ve been to the Pump Room?”

“And to Bennett Street, Russell Street, and the Circus. If only this bloody rain would stop, people might be out in greater numbers and then I could find her. As it is…” Ivo sighed, running a frustrated hand over his hair. “I daresay everyone is keeping to their lodgings, attending private parties and the like, rather than venturing out of doors.”

Ruggiero retrieved Ivo’s hat, coat, and gloves. During their week in Bath, he’d assumed the role of valet with a surprising display of enthusiasm. It wasn’t because he had a burning desire to learn the trade. It was because he had a personal loyalty to Ivo, something the estimable Partridge had lacked.

The signore hadn’t at all minded temporarily leaving his post at the Pinnocks, not if it meant helping Ivo in his time of need. Mr. Pinnock hadn’t minded either. The idea that he could be, in some small way, involved in the great romance of a Beresford and a Burton-Smythe had appealed to his matchmaking vanity. He’d all but packed Ruggiero’s bag himself.

Ruggiero and Ivo had set out together within the hour.

Ivo was grateful. Nevertheless, during the past seven days, the signore’s little lapses had begun to strain Ivo’s patience. The fellow didn’t know much about pressing delicate linens, nor about the correct proportion of blackening agents to polish fine leather boots. As a consequence, Ivo wasn’t looking his best.

But that couldn’t wholly be laid at Ruggiero’s door. On arriving at the fashionable watering hole last week, Ivo had anticipated finding Meg easily. It hadn’t been the case. He’d haunted the Assembly Rooms, the Pump Room, and the fashionable shops to no avail. Wherever Meg was hiding, she’d yet to emerge. Or possibly she was here, at all the places he’d visited, but he was cursed to be forever just missing her. Always two steps ahead or behind, always searching, but never getting any nearer.

His sense of desperation was growing by the hour.

If only he’d had the forethought to get the name of Miss Adams’s future mother-in-law, then he might have managed to track down the lady’s town house. But even if Meg had been there to begin with, it must be many days since Sir Frederick had caught up with her.

Perhaps they’d gone away again? Back to Letchford Hall or some other place, far removed from the reach of any of the Beresfords? Ivo wouldn’t put it past Sir Frederick. After Meg’s dinner at the vicarage, her father had forbidden her his carriage. What might he have done when he’d learned of her dancing at Beasley Park?

If this were the dark ages, Ivo would surely discover Meg locked in a remote tower somewhere or confined to one of those beastly gibbet cages employed in hanging troublesome people off the castle walls. Sir Frederick may not have those methods at his disposal, but there were plenty of other ways he could keep Meg under lock and key.

How in blazes was Ivo to find her?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t function. His heart was breaking by degrees.

Sitting down on the edge of his hotel bed, he rested his head in his hands.

“I’ve been to the Saracen’s Head in Friday Street,” Ruggiero said.

Ivo shot the signore a dark glance through his fingers. “Have you, just. And what did I tell you about drinking during our stay?”

“I wasn’t drinking. Not wine. I had a tankard of ale while I talked with the barman. He said as how a baronet arrived in Bath last week. A gouty baronet.”

Ivo slowly lifted his head. “You’re jesting.”

“I’m not, sir. The man didn’t know the gentleman’s name, only that he was cross and kept his manservant on the trot.”

Ivo suppressed a rogue flicker of hope. This was Bath. A gouty gentleman was no rarity. Not even one who was a baronet. The city was full to the brim with titled ladies and gentlemen nursing their infirmities. Nevertheless…

“Where is this gouty baronet staying?” Ivo asked. “Did the barman know the street or—”

“No address, Master Ivo. But he did say as how the baronet’s manservant mentioned his master was attending the ball at the Assembly Rooms Monday evening.”

Ivo knew about the ball. He’d heard mention of it at the tearoom only this morning. Two dowagers had been discussing it over currant buns. Ivo had thought he might attend on the off chance he’d learn something of Meg’s whereabouts. But he hadn’t dared hope to see Meg there herself.

He stood abruptly. “Ruggiero, I could kiss you.”

The signore beamed through his beard. “Shall I obtain tickets?”

“I’ll get them myself.” Ivo collected his damp hat and coat, possessed of renewed energy. “I’ll speak with that barman, too. You can press my evening clothes while I’m gone. And do try not to burn my cravat this time.”