Amanda Scott by The Bath Eccentric’s Son

that for her to be driven in a sporting carriage through the most fashionable streets of Bath would be unsuitable. Mr. Lasenby, in complete accord with that judgment, volunteered to walk by her chair, but Manningford, with a sardonic glint in his eyes, vetoed the notion, suggesting that it might be as well if neither of them were seen in her company just yet. Sudbury, called in to confer, said he would arrange at once for the men and suggested that if Manningford was on the point of leaving, he might tell the lad holding his horses that Sudbury had need of him.
    “Oh, dear,” Lady Flavia said with a frown. “That means Botten will be further delayed in getting to her sister’s house, which certainly means she will be cast into the sullens. But Nell’s needs must come first. Good day, gentlemen.”
    When they were gone, Nell turned a laughing face to her great-aunt and said, “Is it not the most ridiculous coil, ma’am? Imagine me working for an author of such books. They are so silly and unbelievable, but everyone reads them, even when they claim they do not. Only think of the Regent’s reading them!”
    “Oh, I believe some of the newer tales are quite superior, my dear. I had one out of Baldwin’s Circulating Library that I found to be quite amusing. You may read it before I return it. Much of the tale takes place right here in Bath.”
    Agreeing that she would enjoy such a book, Nell excused herself to change her plain gray stuff gown for something more suitable to visit an invalid. Passing her great-aunt’s room, some minutes later, she opened the door to find Botten within, stitching the pale green crepe.
    The dresser, a woman of some fifty summers, with faded blond hair and a soft complexion, professed herself glad to help Nell with her change, and Nell was soon ready to depart, looking very becoming in a dove-gray half-dress with white thread-lace trim, a simple gray bonnet that set off her flaming curls to admiration, her black gloves and gray knitted reticule, the latter much lighter now than earlier.
    Lady Flavia’s chair being kept beneath the swooping stair in the front hall, the two muscular chairmen hailed in and given the direction by Sudbury waited until that worthy had assisted Nell to enter it, then picked it up with ease and bore her out into the street. She had never ridden in such state before and found it an unusual, albeit generally pleasant, way of traveling, once she became accustomed to the sensation of tilting forward caused by the fact that the taller of the two men had taken the rear of the chair. That sensation ended abruptly once they began to climb, however, and since the streets were not crowded, the men made good time, arriving in Julian Street twenty minutes later to find Manningford waiting alone, except for the dog like a toffee-colored shadow at his side. He helped her out of the chair.
    “Where is Mr. Lasenby?” she asked, shaking out her skirt and adjusting the light shawl she wore draped across her elbows.
    “Inside, writing to tell his grandfather he means to remain for a time in Bath,” Manningford said, firmly shutting the door of her chair before telling the chairmen to carry it into the nearby stable and wait there until they were needed again.
    Placing a firm hand beneath Nell’s left elbow, he guided her toward a tall iron-and-wood gate, pushing it open to reveal a large shaggy garden ablaze with the colors of late spring.
    “Oh, how lovely!” Nell exclaimed. “But why has no one trimmed those hedges, or removed the dead flowers and leaves?”
    Manningford glanced around as though seeing the garden for the first time, shrugged, and said, “My father undoubtedly sacked the gardeners as well.”
    “Well, that will not do,” Nell said with a minatory look. “It would be one thing if there were no money, but since you assure me there is plenty, this is but simple neglect.”
    “Tell him so,” Manningford recommended, reaching past her to open a door into the