Blame It on Bath Page 0,110

you wished to renegotiate your debts.”

Howe stiffened. “I confess I heard those rumors.” He paused to master himself. ”Not without some un-Christian enjoyment. But I did nothing to spread them. I believe gossip is a sin and an affront to God. I do not contribute to it.”

Gerard remembered what his aunt and her friend Lady Eccleston had called Howe: the young zealot. “The stories grew quite lurid immediately following your arrival, by some odd coincidence.”

For a moment Howe said nothing. “I believe . . .” he began. “Mrs. Hollenbrook does not share my beliefs. I believe she felt no restraint in discussing the matter in public conversation.”

Great God. His own mother-in-law was trying to ruin him? He exchanged a glance with Charlie, who raised his eyebrows. He turned back to Lord Howe. “You’re blaming my wife’s mother?”

Now the viscount’s expression turned pitying. “You might as well learn her nature now. She wants but a cordial companion, and every rumor and whisper she’s ever heard are readily shared. And she is, as you may have noticed, a very handsome woman; she rarely lacks for company. She depends upon it. Mrs. Hollenbrook becomes restive and cross without a man nearby to admire her, and the higher the man’s rank and status, the better.

“From the moment you arrived as Katherine’s husband, she spoke constantly of wishing to be on better terms with you, your family, your friends. Visiting Bath was the only way she could insert herself into your circles, although her hopes were mainly disappointed. In truth, I think her only gratification came from Lord Worley’s company, and once he left, her interest in the city waned.”

The name caught Gerard’s attention. Worley again. It was undoubtedly mere coincidence, but it was a conspicuous one. He’d made a few subtle inquiries into the man but never learned much of interest. “Worley?”

Howe nodded. “Yes. The Earl of Worley. He’s got property in Wiltshire. He and Mrs. Hollenbrook spent many evenings together.”

Behind him Charlie made a slight noise. Gerard looked at his brother. There was an odd expression on Charlie’s face, as if he’d just thought of something long forgotten. His brother said nothing, though, just turning away and walking to the window. Gerard focused his attention back on the man across the table from him, once again shoving aside the mention of Worley. “Is Mrs. Hollenbrook given to whims? She came to Bath barely a fortnight ago and now has gone home, not back to London.”

“Whims,” Howe repeated with a sour smile. “Whims and fancies and fits of temper that change course with the wind. I tell you, she was a principal reason I cared little for marrying Katherine. If the daughter should turn out to be like the mother, a man might run mad. She’s thoroughly absorbed in herself—not from malice, I believe, but her desires are always paramount, and she wears away one’s resistance. Even a man of discipline and resolve would find himself buckling under her entreaties. She weeps like a Madonna at the foot of the cross.” He sighed heavily. “But now she is your mama-in-law, and not my concern. And if we could just strike a more equitable bargain—”

“Yes,” murmured Gerard, his mind racing. “You may have six months’ grace, and I shall drop the interest to two percent. I trust that will enable you to retrench.”

Howe’s expression broke with relief. “Blessed be! Thank you, sir.”

Gerard shook his hand. “You will hear from my solicitor, confirming it.”

He and Charlie left the inn in silence. Gerard shuffled things around in his mind, connecting parts and filling in gaps. He’d long thought her mother wasn’t a good influence on Kate. Any woman who told Kate the hideous brown dress flattered her was either blind or cruel—and it was clear Mrs. Hollenbrook wasn’t blind where fashion was concerned. Howe claimed it wasn’t malicious, but Gerard wondered if, just perhaps, Mrs. Hollenbrook preferred Kate to remain a quiet, obedient creature so there was no possible chance of anyone’s diverting attention from the mother to the daughter. It might not even be a deliberate choice, but he had known too many society beauties to think it was impossible.

In Kate’s case, it was far from impossible that it might happen. Dressed in stylish, flattering gowns, buoyed with a bit of confidence, and encouraged by friends like Cora and even those two magpies, Lady Darby and Mrs. Woodforde, his Kate was arresting. She would never have the stunning looks and vivacious manners that often caught men’s