Within another block we found ourselves in the heart of Georgian Bath. One sign pointed to the Roman Baths and another to the Assembly Rooms. Without making a plan, we strolled in the direction of the latter.
The main room at the Assembly Rooms was larger than I expected. Isabella and Catherine met here constantly in Northanger Abbey, Isabella to see and be seen and Catherine to search for Mr. Tilney. In Persuasion, Anne met Lady Russell here as well, to tread these same boards and to share news.
When I’d read the books, the Pump Room scenes felt small and tight—intimate. The ladies needed to whisper to keep from being overheard. They bumped into acquaintances rather than simply met them. This room felt too large for that. Even with at least fifty tourists about, I didn’t bump into anyone. It made me again wonder what I’d misunderstood, what I hadn’t seen clearly.
The walls were painted peach halfway to the ceiling; the next twenty feet were covered in plaster and painted in a faux marble design. I’d have thought it was real marble if not for the weight and the fact that Isabel had explained it all to me when peeling the curtain back on Braithwaite House’s plaster moldings.
At one end, columns supported a deep balcony. It, too, was filled with tourists watching the rest of us circle the room below. I fell into step, then noted that the wood floor did not run in parallel slats.
I bisected the room and pulled Nathan with me. “It jigs and jags at odd angles. How did they lay this? How did they get the angles to meet up?”
Nathan pulled me back into the Austen-accepted path. He tucked me into his side and offered a quick apology to an older woman in a bright-pink poncho. “You and angles. You almost knocked her down.”
Outside we continued down Gay Street which, with a quick turn on Stall Street, ended right near the Roman Baths and a central market square. The Bath Abbey capped one end in all its Gothic glory, and shops lined the other three sides. There were hanging baskets of flowers; windows bursting with Union Jacks, postcards, Peter Rabbits, and tiny red double-decker buses; and restaurants featuring bright signs offering tea, crumpets, scones, and ale. The buildings were all Georgian and beige stone, changing from pink to gray in the late afternoon light. And . . .
“The Pump Rooms.” I dragged Nathan inside the door.
The main room of the Pump Rooms, now filled with tea tables and tourists, was exactly what I expected, minus the tables. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The space was small, intimate, with a delicate oval balcony at one end. This was where Lady Russell and Anne met. This was where Catherine and Isabella pressed close to whisper so as not to be overheard—though Isabella kind of liked that.
“I thought the other place was where the women met and gossiped, but this is it.”
“The other was where they went to listen to concerts and where Captain Wentworth went to show Anne he loves her, but gets the wrong impression and leaves.”
“He was kind of dense, especially after she chased after him.”
“Really?” Nathan hiked one brow. “So you’re saying if someone showed up, you’d understand it was because he loved you? You’d notice and believe it? Turn the tables and chase him, even?”
“I . . . Are we talking about a book?”
He tilted his head as if noting I had not answered any of his questions. But rather than answer mine, he offered a half smirk and walked away. I followed him from the Pump Rooms to the Roman Baths.
Moving from one building to the other, we switched from Regency-meets-modern-commercialism to high-tech-swank-meets-ancient-Rome. The atrium was all glass, steel, and informational kiosks, yet right beyond and through a set of glass doors we found ourselves strolling through ancient stones and past altars to gods I’d never heard of. I paused at the gorgeous central green pool.
I envisioned Roman citizens on expat assignments to England sitting on the surrounding stone slabs, lounging, dipping in the baths, and partaking of the waters with their wine—all while they debated where to send the army next and which culture to pillage and destroy. Maybe this was where they lamented their repeated and failed attempts on Ireland.
Costumed characters stepped out onto the stones. Nathan and I looked at each other, stifled a laugh, and moved to the next room. We’d had enough of costumed characters.
“Come try this.” He pulled a cup from a dispenser and filled it at an ornate copper drinking fountain. “Careful.”
The paper cup felt soft from the liquid’s heat. I touched it to my lips. “Bleh and it’s too hot.”
He took a sip. “And these are the waters everyone was so mad about?” He tapped the placard. “Forty-four degrees Celsius.”
“Why would anyone think they could cure—Whoa . . .” I stared at the sign. “Look at that mineral content—no wonder—and 44 Celsius, that’s 111 degrees Fahrenheit. That hot right from the spring?”
“Did you convert that in your head?” Nathan tipped forward and kissed me.
I have enjoyed every moment with you. That is all I wanted. Herman’s words to Helene on my gig ride played through my mind. I had thought they were terribly romantic then. Now they made me blush.
“What’s that for?” Nathan brushed my cheek.
I took a quick breath and jumped. “I am enjoying every moment with you.”
He tipped forward again, with an answering smile. “Okay then.” This time his lips touched mine in a lingering brush.
We wound our way out of the Roman Baths complex and onto the square. The restaurants drew my attention. Through one plate glass window I saw sleek metal tables, colored glasses and chairs, and a highly polished wood counter circling the room—and only a few empty tables. I stepped to a menu posted outside another restaurant’s red front door. The trendy interior boasted prices to match.
“I haven’t really eaten today. Isabel did kind of ruin the tea.” I turned back to Nathan. “But to be honest, I’m not up for Celeriac Soup with Roast Hazels and Hazelnut Oil or Smoked Salmon with Pommery Mustard and Dill Mayonnaise. That’s right up there with tea sandwiches and Regency dresses right now. Do you want to find something normal? A beer and a burger?”
“Yes.” He smiled like that was the perfect meal—or I was the perfect girl. “Follow me. I saw a place called the Marlborough Tavern on our way to the Assembly Rooms.”
Within minutes we were resting on rickety wood chairs at worn unfinished tables. The room felt as if it belonged at Braithwaite House, with its green-painted wainscoting and wallpaper depicting indiscernible purple flowers. Beer taps and wine bottles lined the bar.
The air was heavy with barley, hops, and the tang of red wines and stewed meats. There was a layer of sweet overlaying it all.
“I’ll miss this. Life feels slower here . . . I’ve heard myself think.” He opened the menu. His phone buzzed and he glanced at it. “Speaking of thinking, it’s Craig. He wants me to call him later.”