Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance. Laurie Benson

easy to her. It was not so with me when I was younger. Because of that, I often disappeared into the background like wallpaper.’

      ‘You? I find that hard to believe. Did you behave in such a way even with Mr Sommersby? I remember him when he was younger. He was a bit of a charmer.’

      ‘I was like that with everyone except him,’ Clara replied with a smile. ‘He was very easy to speak with. I do think being married to him helped me become more assertive and outgoing.’ She had been forced to become that way when she would regularly have to find ways to convince the shopkeepers that they would eventually get paid for their wares.

      ‘Maybe you can help Miss Collingswood?’ the Dowager suggested.

      ‘And they say I have a fondness for matchmaking...’

      ‘Oh, you know I do. Everyone knows that I do. I’ve never really made it a secret. You, however, are subtler. I have witnessed it. Perhaps you could introduce her to that gentleman you were speaking with yesterday.’

      ‘You mean in the Pump Room? Why would you mention him?’

      ‘My dear, he is a handsome man. I may be old, but I am not dead. What can you tell me about him?’

      ‘The truth of the matter is that I know nothing about him. We had not been introduced before we began speaking.’ Clara took a sip of tea to give her guest time to process that statement. ‘You don’t look shocked.’

      ‘I’m not. I suspected as much when no introductions were made.’ She tilted her head and looked Clara in the eye. The Dowager was of an advanced age, but she never seemed to miss anything that was going on around her, no matter how insignificant. ‘You did speak with him, surely you must know something about him?’

      ‘All I know is that he has spent some time in Tunbridge Wells.’

      ‘That’s all?’

      Clara nodded while considering once more who he was and what had brought him to Bath.

      ‘Did you check the registry book? Surely he must have signed the book in the Pump Room. Everyone who comes to town knows to do that.’

      ‘There were a number of gentlemen who signed the book yesterday. There is no way to know which one he is.’

      ‘Then you do not know how long he will be staying in Bath or if he was merely passing through.’

      ‘I do not.’

      ‘What a pity.’ The Dowager’s keen eyes settled on her again. ‘I saw the way his gaze would drift to you while we stood about talking and I noticed the way you studied him when you thought none of us was looking.’

      There had been a few moments when Clara was speaking with him that she had felt he was giving her his undivided attention—the way you did when you were attracted to someone. It was a lovely feeling to think it might have been possible that she had caught the eye of a handsome young gentleman at her age. Not that she was particularly old or that he was exceptionally young, but she was certainly older than he was. She knew any attraction that might have been there was short-lived and he must have forgotten all about her the moment she had walked away from the fountain.

      But if she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that there was something about their encounter that had stayed with her and she even found herself looking for him in the Pump Room this morning as she stood by the fountain and was disappointed when she didn’t see him. Perhaps he had left town already.

      ‘I thought you wanted me to arrange for him to meet my neighbour’s daughter?’

      ‘Well, you’ve said you do not want to marry again. There is no sense in me matching the two of you together. Unless you are open to having an affair with him.’ That mischievous look was back on her lined face, making her appear almost childlike. ‘I can help you with that endeavour if you like. You did bother to look for his name in the book. That has to mean something.’

      ‘That signifies nothing and I am certainly not looking to have an affair,’ Clara replied, not even trying to hide her indignation. ‘And he is much too young for me, regardless.’

      Humphrey padded down between the rose bushes from where he had been by the garden wall. The small dog stopped near one of the pots on the edge of the border that held lavender. He raised himself up on his hind legs and proceeded to thrust himself against the clay pot a number of times, eliciting a laugh from the Dowager.

      ‘Humphrey, no!’ Clara called out to him, while a hot flush crept up her neck. She had to repeat his name a number of times before he stopped and looked over at her with those big brown eyes. She walked over to him and picked him up. When she returned to her chair, she placed his small body on her lap. ‘Please forgive him,’ she said to the Dowager. ‘He has developed a habit of doing that. I suppose I should be grateful he does that only to things and not people, but I don’t know how to get him to stop.’ The dog in question curled into a ball on her lap and lowered his head.

      ‘I’m afraid I cannot help you with his problem. I’ve never owned a dog. Would it help if you walked him some more? Perhaps if you tire him out?’

      ‘I already take him for a long walk every morning and then I walk him at four o’clock along the Crescent and into the park every day. It has done no good.’

      The Dowager smiled up at Clara. ‘I am certain you will work out the best course of action to take. In the meantime,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘I need something to keep me occupied while I am here in Bath and playing matchmaker for your neighbour’s daughter sounds like the perfect challenge. Why don’t you join me in helping her find someone special?’

      ‘Harriet is a lovely girl. I doubt it will be a challenge. We just need to separate her from her sister.’

      ‘And hopefully your mystery gentleman from yesterday will still be in town and we can find out if he is a suitable prospect for her.’

      The idea that he could still be in Bath shouldn’t have mattered. He was a stranger she had spoken to for less than thirty minutes—and yet the notion made her smile.

       Chapter Three

      Lane stood in the cellar of the coffee house that he had purchased with his friend and business partner the Earl of Hartwick and looked over at the man in question, who was holding a glass of hot mineral water up to the sunlight that was streaming in through the window.

      ‘When I told you to go to Bath because you might find something that would interest you, I didn’t mean the water,’ Hart said, narrowing his sharp blue eyes and taking a cautionary sniff of his glass.

      ‘I know what you meant.’

      ‘Women, not water. I meant go to Bath to find a woman...or two. I’m not one to judge. But this water...are you certain it is safe to drink?’

      ‘I had a glass of it myself only yesterday and I am here today.’

      Hart peered at Lane over the glass. ‘Yes, but you appear agitated. I have no wish to become agitated.’

      ‘I am agitated because you have yet to tell me if you agree that turning this coffee house into a spa is a wise business decision,’ he replied in a clipped tone.

      ‘People truly do drink this hot water that smells like a pocketful of pennies?’

      ‘The room was full of people paying five pence per glass to drink it.’

      ‘And they go there every day?’

      ‘Some do and drink multiple glasses. And some bathe in the hot thermal water as well.’ Lane dug his hands into the pockets of his green-linen coat. ‘How is it that you were the one to tell me to go to Bath and yet you know nothing about the hot springs or the Grand Pump Room?’

      Hart arched his brow. ‘In