Vices: Queen's Square

They arrived at Bath quite punctually, despite the unexpected rain and terrible roads, by about four o’clock. The rain had ceased to hinder their journey by the time they had driven past Glastonbury, and Georgiana’s first sight of Bath was a dry one, which was most remarkable, given the rains in the rest of Somerset. Erratic weather was nothing at all out of the ordinary for people of the West Country, and Lady Georgiana, having grown up on the edge of the Dartmoor heath, was not much disturbed by it.

Sir Edmund’s second son, Henry, had been waiting at no. 10 Queen’s Square for the arrival of his cousin. Since they had last seen one another several years ago, Henry had been promoted, and now was properly styled 4th Lt. Henry Tarlton of His Majesty’s Ship the Ionia, and was duly proud of his station, being only five years older than the Lady Huntingdon, who presently arrived at Bath.

Mrs Boyle was the first to remove herself, rather stiffly, from the carriage, and a footman helped Georgiana down. Sir Edmund, much against what one would expect of a man who, for fifteen years, had been obliged to accommodate, educate and tolerate his wife’s imperious little niece, had spared no expense for her first season at Bath.

“Lady Huntingdon,” spoke Henry in his amused monotone. “I do believe you have at last grown into your title.”

“Hush, Henry.” Georgiana felt a little flustered as she adjusted her bonnet. Admittedly, she felt a great deal less buoyant now that she had arrived at her destination than she had expected to. Lady Huntingdon decided, now that she had experienced it, that lengthy travel was really a most unpleasant thing and to be avoided if at all possible.

The young baroness sighed lightly, and cast an eye towards the civilised little park at the midst of the Square, the obelisk rising in its midst, the uniform, stately terraces encircling this patch of artificial greenery. She thought, following this quick assessment, that, really, Bath was a little bland, with its buildings hewn of the same, pale gold stone, its roads neat and grey, and even a little bleak, as the afternoon sun lit the dark slate roofline of Queen’s Square.

She finished fiddling with the ribbons at her chin, and smiled at her cousin distantly. Next to her, Mrs Boyle was heard to cough pointedly as the carriage drew away.

As they followed Mr Tarlton towards Sir Edmund’s impressive residence... (going inside and gratuitous building description)

Looping her arm around her chaperone’s elbow, Georgiana remembered to make the proper introductions. “You do remember Mrs Boyle, Henry?”

“Ah yes. How do you do, Mrs Boyle? I hope Mr Boyle is well?”

The younger lady cast her eyes down, even as her chaperone seemed quite unperturbed by the enquiry.

“He’s quite dead, Mr Tarlton, quite dead.” Mrs Boyle offered a resilient smile as she observed the young lieutenant fumbling for words. “Oh it’s been some time, sir, as you can see I no longer wear black for my husband.”

“M-most sorry, Mrs Boyle. I...um...I suppose you are both very tired and should like to be seen to your rooms immediately.”

“I would be most agreeable to the idea, Mr Tarlton, most agreeable. Come my dear,” she said, patting her charge’s forearm lightly.