Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance. Laurie Benson

       Chapter One

       Bath, England —1820

      It wasn’t as if a small sip of water was capable of changing one’s life. In all the years Clara Sommersby had stood in the Pump Room to have her daily drink, she had never witnessed anyone perform such an intense inspection of a glass of the spa’s mineral water.

      She had seen the tall blond-haired gentleman accept the empty glass from the attendant and approach the fountain out of the corner of her eye. Many people entered Bath each day to stay for an extended amount of time to take advantage of the waters in hopes of alleviating their ailments. There were also those who came to the fashionable town to experience the noted assemblies and various entertainments. She would firmly place this gentleman in the latter category.

      While Clara normally took note of newly arrived visitors, this morning she awoke with a soreness in her lower back and had only been thinking of a long soak in the thermal baths to hopefully relieve her discomfort—until she saw this man swirl the water in his glass and sniff it as one would do while studying a glass of wine.

      As he held the glass up and brought it to his eye, he caught her staring at him through the clear liquid. Too amused to look away, Clara tried to flatten out her smile. The gentleman across from her cleared his throat and went back to studying the contents of his glass.

      ‘The water is an exceptional ancient vintage,’ she offered, not even bothering to hide the amusement in her voice. ‘It might be a bit odd on the palate at first, but people have been praising its quality for ages.’

      He lowered the glass and the faint spark in his blue eyes told her that he understood her jest. ‘I was simply trying to determine the mineral content.’

      ‘Are you a connoisseur of water, then, or perhaps a scientist of some sort?’

      ‘Neither. I was just comparing it to the waters from the Chalybeate Spring in Tunbridge Wells. The water there is also reputed to have healing properties.’

      ‘Reputed?’ She raised her hand to her chest and gave him a false look of indignation. ‘Sir, I would refrain from making such a statement here unless you’re prepared to endure long lectures by numerous patrons on how restorative this water truly is. You’ll be advised on how it has eliminated painful symptoms of the gout, how drinking it has reduced a bilious gut and how it has miraculously helped with a variety of other diseases, half of which you might not have ever heard of and quite possibly might not even exist. Scepticism is met with radical belief here in Bath.’

      As he tipped his head at her, his serious expression softened just a bit. ‘I’ll make note of it.’

      Bath was losing too many visitors to Brighton since the royal court, and George in particular, had made that town fashionable. Clara owned one of the finest hotels here, although she kept that fact a secret from Society. For all she knew, he might be staying at The Fountain Head Hotel. It was in her best interest to create a favourable impression of the town.

      ‘I’m sure whatever it is that ails you, you will find relief here.’

      He seemed surprised she assumed he was here because he needed help. ‘I have no ailments that I’m aware of.’

      Two finely dressed young ladies approached Clara’s side and dipped their glasses into the streams of water, while trying to catch the gentleman’s eye. Instead of offering them some form of encouragement, he reverted his attention back to studying his glass until they walked away, giggling and whispering as they went.

      When they were alone once again, he eyed Clara across the fountain. ‘And you, madam, certainly you are much too young to suffer from any of those ills you spoke of. What brings you to the spa?’

      ‘I am not as young as you might think.’

      ‘Come now, you’re not any older than I am.’

      Ah, so he was one of those gentlemen who liked to flatter women. She had run across many of them in her life. By her estimation he appeared to be in his midthirties, which was ten years younger than she was.

      ‘Perhaps this fountain also holds the key to a youthful appearance,’ she teased. ‘I have been drinking from it for many years now.’

      A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips and softened the hard angles of his features. ‘Then the waters here are far better than those in Tunbridge Wells. I don’t believe they’d dare to make that claim.’ Suddenly, his features hardened once more as he appeared to study her. ‘Perhaps you are one of those charlatans, like the men and women selling miracle elixirs outside in the streets, only you are employed by the Pump Room to convince people they should