Blame It on Bath Page 0,80
just to please him, nor even you.”
“Of course not! You must dance to please yourself.”
“Precisely,” Cora said, before Kate had completed the sentence. “It just doesn’t please me to dance.”
With a swift bolt of insight, Kate realized why Cora wouldn’t dance, and why she came up to Beechen Cliff to be alone. “You loved your husband very much, didn’t you?”
Cora’s lips trembled, but her smile didn’t dim. “Very much.” She looked away, shading her eyes. “Marks! Bring the picnic, please.” Her servant, lounging under a nearby stand of trees, nodded and got up to bring the basket. “Climbing the hill always makes me ravenously hungry,” she confided to Kate. “I hope you are hungry as well, or I shall devour the whole luncheon.”
Kate laughed, accepting the change of subject. She assured Cora she was also hungry, and they spread out the cold meats and strawberries the servant carried over. She liked Cora very much, and she was beginning to think the two of them weren’t so dissimilar, despite their opposite natures. Cora thought she’d caused pain by asking a question that led, however inadvertently, to mention of the late Lord Howe. Kate, who had some acquaintance with burying feelings deep, saw now the subtle signs of anguish in her new friend. Gerard told her Cora was the widow of a naval man, nothing more. For a moment Kate allowed a little door in her mind to open, just enough to consider the possibility that her own husband might not come back from his next campaign, and all she would have of him would be the memories of their weeks in Bath and a condoling letter from his commanding officer. Just the thought made her chest tighten and her eyes blur. With a shiver she slammed that door shut.
“I have to visit Mrs. Goddard’s shop,” she said, grasping the first happy subject she could find. “I still have only the smallest wardrobe.”
“Indeed?” Cora’s eyes lit with pleasure and relief, as if she, too, were happy to shake off maudlin thoughts. “She’s a wonderful dressmaker. Her advice is always perfectly attuned to my desires.”
“I don’t even know what my desires are,” confessed Kate. “I was assured for so long that quiet colors like beige suited me, but I find—I find I prefer blue and green and other bright colors.”
“Quiet colors!” exclaimed Cora. “No, of course not. The blue gown suited you beautifully the other night. Whoever said beige would flatter you?”
Kate bit her lip. “My mother.”
“Oh.” Cora put her hand over her mouth. “Well, not every mother has an eye for such things . . .”
“My mother does,” Kate assured her. “She’s far more beautiful than I.”
Cora looked doubtful. “Beige?”
“The captain suggested I order a red dress.”
“Hmm. Yes, a nice ruby red would look lovely,” said Cora slowly, eyeing Kate with a thin line of concentration between her brows. “None of those bright, garish reds. Mrs. Goddard has a good selection of silks in, newly arrived. Oh!” Her face shone. “One of them is the most brilliant gold lustring. It would look splendid on you!”
“Gold?”
“Goodness, yes, with pearls on the bodice and perhaps scarlet trim—” She burst out laughing. “You’ve made me want to dash down the cliff right to her shop!”
“Really?” Kate smiled hesitantly. She had rarely ordered clothing on her own; her mother always managed to oversee the process. The idea of ordering clothing like Cora described sounded enormously appealing. Cora never looked less than lovely, even today, dressed for hill climbing. While Kate was pleased with the new clothing she had purchased already, it only made her eager to have more. “You are welcome to come and advise me—most welcome.”
“I happily accept. A dressmaker’s shop is my favorite spot on earth.”
Kate glanced around the hillside. “After this one.”
Cora grinned, and a look of true comradeship passed between them. “Yes. After this one.”
Kate’s belongings arrived from London a few days later. Unfortunately they arrived in the company of her mother and Lucien.
“There was no need to bring them yourself,” she said, trying to conceal her dismay.
Mama was unwinding the veil from her hat and glancing around with delight and interest at the hall. “Why shouldn’t we come? Bath is lovely, and I’ve never been. And my dear, dear daughter, so well married! And so suddenly! I was quite driven out of London, darling, by the incessant questions about the captain. It was unendurable—really, my dear, if you didn’t wish me to come to Bath, you should have kept your new