Free Amanda Scott by Bath Charade

black’s leg was altogether mended. While Cleves examined the fetlock for himself, Brandon began to explain their plan to Salas. The gypsy’s first reaction was to stare in disbelief, whereupon Carolyn added her voice to the discussion.
    “It will be amusing for you,” she said. “You have only to call upon Mr. Manningford at his house in Bath when the time comes, and he will instruct you in precisely what you must do. You have only to be rather dark and mysterious, and silent. ’Tis for a wager, you see. All you need to do is satisfy them for one evening. You will get a very fine dinner out of it, and perhaps we can pay you a little something afterward for your trouble,” she added, hoping he would not demand too much.
    Salas smiled at her, causing her to remember again, and with an inward sigh, Sir Bartholomew Lancelot. “Lady,” the gypsy said softly, “a man would be much of a fool to deny you, but what is to happen to Salas if your plan fails. Your master will be much displeased, I think, and then there will be no gold for Salas.”
    “He is not my master,” Carolyn said sharply, adding on a more reasonable note, “He is, of course, the master of Bathwick Hill; nevertheless, I can assure you that if he should discover our hoax, he will know perfectly well that it was no idea of yours. In any case, Mr. Saint-Denis will never guess that you are not precisely what we say you are.”
    “Then Salas will do as you ask. You need pay him nothing.”
    Carolyn, despite what she had told Brandon, was as surprised as he was that the young man agreed so readily. She had been prepared to argue as long as necessary to convince him, and felt a little as though the wind had gone out of her sails. When Brandon went off with Salas a moment later to let him try on the clothes, she soon realized she was drawing a considerable amount of interest from the other occupants of the camp. She smiled at one woman who stood nearer than the rest, but the woman moved no closer. Nor did anyone else, and since they all continued to stare silently at her, she was glad when Brandon returned.
    “I felt like a freak at a fair,” she told him as he retied the bundle of clothing to his saddle. “Did the things fit him?”
    “All but the shoes,” he said, turning to help her mount. “Jacket don’t fit as snug as it ought, but I daresay anyone thinking about it will put that down to his being foreign. I thought we’d be at a standstill over the shoes though, for after all, even a foreign count wouldn’t be likely to dine barefoot, but Salas said he knows where he can come by a pair.”
    “Legally, I hope.”
    He grinned at her. “As to that, I didn’t want to ask. Told him to come to town tomorrow so I can rehearse him. I’ll let him know the exact date of his performance when we know ourselves.”
    She nodded. “I’ll speak to Godmama today. I think we can arrange it for Thursday evening. Will that suit you?”
    He agreed, adding that the sooner it was done the better.
    “You won’t forget?”
    “Certainly not,” he retorted, offended.
    Carolyn apologized, twinkling, and they parted amiably at Bathwick Hill House a half hour later, with Brandon agreeing that she should send word to him at Royal Crescent just as soon as she had spoken to Lady Skipton.
    She did so at once, and the dowager, despite making a number of disparaging remarks about foreigners in general, was as pleased as Carolyn had thought she would be at the notion of entertaining a count who would not make himself available to her rival members of Bath society to entertain. When Lady Skipton began at once to discuss her menu with Miss Pucklington, Carolyn ventured to say, “I hope Sydney will dine with us, ma’am. ’Twould be a shame for him to miss meeting the count.”
    “He will not neglect to do full honor to a visitor to this house,” the dowager said firmly.
    Carolyn was on tenterhooks for the next three days, and the arrival of Thursday evening did little