by Dorothy Mack
The marquess continued to regard Lord Altern with what to Cleone seemed unnerving intensity as he backed mechanically into a chair. She had just recalled the incident on the highway and she stiffened a little in apprehension. A quick glance at Philip revealed that he was wearing his sulky look, a sure sign of inner turbulence with him.
“I have it!” Lord Carberry announced in triumph. “You are the fellow who came along during the robbery attempt on my carriage the night I arrived in Brighton. I never forget a face.”
“Well, I didn’t see your face, which accounts for my not remembering you.”
Cleone marvelled at the tranquillity in Lord Altern’s voice. She was as tense as a bowstring and she no longer dared look at Philip.
“A robbery!” Emerald and Lady Pendleston exclaimed together.
“Another robbery on the highway?” Emerald added, turning to Lord Altern with questioning eyes. “You never mentioned this.”
“It happened just before I left for Brighton myself. As I recall, we were all so concerned with Philip’s toothache that I hurried my departure to take him to the dentist.”
“What is this?” queried Lord Carberry. “Was there another holdup in the area recently?”
“An attempted holdup,” Lord Altern corrected. “A pair of inept highwaymen held up my carriage on that road the night I arrived at Bramble Hall.”
He paused, evidently considering that the topic had been covered, and Lady Pendleston urged, “Well, go on! What happened?”
“I chased them off. They were, as I said, inept.”
Lord Carberry had been staring fixedly at Lord Altern while Cleone, afraid her glance might stray to Philip, had concentrated on the marquess with equal intensity. She knew just when the content of the conversation took on a new meaning to him by his quick glance at Emerald and was prepared for the seeming irrelevance of his next question.
“Do I take it you were staying at Bramble Hall at the time of the attempt on my carriage?”
“That’s right.”
“May I ask how you came to be on the Brighton Road that night?”
“Wasn’t that the day you had to take your groom into Brighton to the doctor?” Cleone put in casually, hoping she had disguised the fierce resentment that had risen in her breast at the peremptory note in Lord Carberry’s voice.
“Yes, and by the time we got back it was too late to impose on Bramble’s kitchen staff for a meal. We were heading to the inn to dine when we happened on the holdup.” Lord Altern turned from Cleone to the marquess. “Not that you needed our intervention; your men had the situation under control by the time we came on the scene.”
“Did you ever catch up with the thieves?”
“No, they had the advantage of knowing the terrain,” Lord Altern said with a regretful shake of his head.
“I had the distinct impression that I had hit one of them.”
Lord Altern shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. You must be a good marksman to get a shot off from inside a moving carriage.”
“I do a fair amount of practicing at Manton’s,” Lord Carberry admitted. “Did you get a look at the thieves? Could they have been the same pair who held up your carriage?”
Lord Altern extended his underlip and narrowed his eyes in concentration. “It’s possible, I warrant, since the incidents occurred on the same road, though not in the same spot, but I didn’t get a good enough look at your ruffians to hazard a guess.”
“You said the men who held up your carriage were young and of average size,” Emerald reminded him helpfully.
Lord Altern directed a rueful smile at her. “A description that would fit half the population, unfortunately.”
“There might be other instances in the future,” Philip said, entering the discussion at last. “The thieves seem so inexpert they’re bound to be caught sooner or later.”
“Well, I must say I would have thought twice about coming to Brighton had I known there were highwaymen operating in the area,” Lady Pendleston said with a shudder.
“But, my dear, you arrived in daylight. I haven’t heard of any highwaymen bold enough to chance their luck in sunshine.” Lord Altern’s teasing smile was full of affection. “Besides, are you not delighted to be here now?”
“Oh, yes, and more than delighted to have the company of two such charming girls as Cleone and Emerald.”
Both ladies so designated cast their eyes down modestly, then Cleone looked up with a hint of mischief. “I hope you will not change your mind about one of us after I have kept you in an uncomfortable position longer than you like.”
“You won’t, because I shan’t sit still that long,” Lady Pendleston said serenely.
Lord Altern grinned at Cleone. “I think you have met your match, Miss Latham.”
“My goddaughter is an artist who will be painting my portrait while she is here,” Lady Pendleston explained for Lord Carberry’s benefit. “I only hope Emerald will not be too bored while Cleone and I are occupied with this project.”
“It will by my pleasure to help ensure that Miss Hardwicke does not feel neglected,” the marquess declared fervently.
“And you know I’ll do my part, Aunt Bess.”
Watching Emerald blush with pleasure as two of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom promised to devote themselves to her entertainment, Cleone experienced a lowering of her spirits that honesty forced her to admit had its origin in pure envy. With a smile fixed on her lips, she chastised herself mentally for giving way to such a mean-spirited emotion. Not only was she past the age of romantic dalliance in any case, but she was going to be engaged in the activity she liked best in the world, painting. To begrudge her cousin the company of two attentive gentlemen could only be described, therefore, as the act of a dog-in-the-manger. She had hoped she was above such unworthy conduct and was all the more distressed to find that her hopes were unfounded. Even in a mood of masochistic honesty, however, Cleone could not quite bring herself to admit that she really only grudged her cousin the company of one of the gentlemen present.
“Why so pensive, Miss Latham?” inquired the gentleman beside her.
“I — I was just considering how and where I would pose your aunt,” she improvised wildly.
“I have every confidence that you will achieve just the pose that best captures her essential nature,” he replied with a sincerity that melted a little of the ice that seemed to be forming inside her. The next instant, he had swung back to his usual sportive manner. “Tell me, ladies, has anyone yet tried the bathing machines? A visit to Brighton would not be complete without a dip in the ocean.”
“I put that experience in the same category as swallowing the waters at Bath,” retorted his aunt, “to be indulged in only by those with strong stomachs or an equally strong sense of martyrdom. Having neither, I shall abstain, thank you.”
Philip laughed. “I’ll go bail my sister won’t go closer to those contraptions than the railing above the beach.”
“But think of the benefits to your health, ladies,” implored Lord Altern with a wicked grin that was echoed in part by the other gentlemen in the room.
“No, I thank you,” stated Emerald with a distasteful grimace. “Nothing would persuade me to don one of those flannel shrouds and allow Martha Gunn to dip me in the sea. Perhaps Cleo will try it, though. She likes to do the things men find enjoyable.”
“I think not,” Cleone replied lightly. “I prefer to do my swimming in a nice calm lake.”
“Do you swim?” asked Lord Altern, a tiny smile in his grey eyes.
She nodded. “My father taught me when I was a child.”
Emerald’s laughter trilled musically. “I think you have proved my point, cousin,” she said gaily.
Cleone wondered if the spite behind her cousin’s words was as evident to the others as to her, but a quick glance from under her lashes showed a grinning Philip and an admiring Lord Carberry gazing at Emerald. Lord Altern was engrossed in removing a piece of lint from his fawn-colou
red pantaloons and she could not see his face. He was the first to rise and make his adieux a moment later, and the others rapidly followed suit, leaving the ladies to their own devices until lunchtime.
Before taking his leave, Lord Carberry expressed the hope that they would all stroll down to hear the informal concert later that day.
CHAPTER 17
The ladies soon slid into a smooth routine for passing the warm summer days on England’s south coast. Three mornings a week, Lady Pendleston and her goddaughter left the breakfast table to head directly for the bright northerly-facing bedchamber that had been set aside as a studio. There they remained for a minimum of two hours, for Cleone in her guise of artist had proved as much of a martinet as one of her considerate nature could be, confirming all Lord Brestwick’s dire predictions. The hours of the ladies’ availability to male callers were thus firmly established, for Emerald, as an unmarried female, could not receive visits from gentlemen without the presence of someone to play propriety, and the girls had as yet made no female acquaintances in the resort town.
It was not to be supposed, of course, that any gentleman as enterprising — and as infatuated — as Lord Carberry would submit tamely to having the object of his pursuit kept just outside of his reach. The first time the entrée to the villa was denied him, he cast about in his mind for ways around the interdiction and presented himself on the doorstep during the next painting session with Viscount Henley in tow. Not the strictest high stickler would deny a brother access to his sister, so a bored Philip glumly sat out his martyrdom in Lady Pendleston’s saloon, leafing through the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée, while his sister and his erstwhile gambling opponent proceeded to become acquainted, unhindered by the usual interruptions that obtain in crowded social settings.
When asked how she had spent her morning, Emerald blithely mentioned her brother’s visit, adding that Lord Carberry had come with Philip. Lady Pendleston’s spoon paused momentarily on the way to her mouth with a portion of raspberry fool, but her smile never faltered as she asked after the health of the gentlemen.
The next scheduled painting morning saw the villa’s visitors increased by one in the person of Lord Altern, whose ostensible purpose in calling was to inquire if his aunt had any commissions for him to execute in town.
“Though when I informed him you had left no messages for him, he remained anyway for the whole duration of a social call,” Emerald reported with a sweet smile for her hostess and a glance of triumph slanted toward her cousin. Cleone continued to eat her lunch in an unhurried fashion, but she was not so oblivious to the thrust as she pretended.
The ladies rested or pursued their individual interests for an hour or two after lunch and generally took the air together once the hottest part of the day had passed. During these late-afternoon promenades, they explored the town and investigated the well-stocked shops along the Steine and in the New Road and North Street. Invariably they gravitated toward the Promenade Grove for the outdoor concerts and, invariably, they encountered most of their acquaintance, which increased daily as Lady Pendleston met old friends who had not expected to see her in Brighton. Some of them had sons and daughters, so the girls gradually found themselves part of a circle that included a number of young people. The Promenade Grove was an especially popular spot with its poplar trees, pleasant walks, and lush plantings.
Cleone was idling among the flowers one day early in their stay when Lord Altern approached, doffing his hat with a smile. She had fallen behind Emerald and Lady Pendleston and was half-listening to a seemingly interminable description of the last assembly at the Castle Inn by the garrulous daughter of one of Lady Pendleston’s friends. Consequently, her smile held as much relief at the timely rescue as pleasure when she performed the required introduction to Miss Spengler. An answering gleam in the earl’s dark eyes reflected his understanding and produced a momentary glow of satisfaction in Cleone. They had met almost daily in Brighton, but always in company, as now. Indeed, the giggling Miss Spengler had already transferred the direction of her conversational barrage to Lord Altern and was interspersing her comments on the social scene with none-too-subtle attempts to ascertain whether he would be attending tonight’s assembly at the Castle Inn.
Lord Altern obliged her with an affirmative and turned to Cleone. “And you, Miss Latham? Do you and Miss Hardwicke plan to grace the assembly with your presence tonight?”
“Yes, this will be our first, although we attended a card party at the Old Ship the other evening as our introduction to Brighton’s society.”
“Silver loo?” he inquired, lifting one eyebrow in amusement.
“No, whist actually.” She twinkled back at him.
“I simply adore cards myself,” confided Miss Spengler, not one to allow herself to be overlooked, “but Mama does not approve of young ladies playing serious card games; she finds gambling for more than chicken stakes inappropriate behaviour in a female… Oh, not that I meant to imply that Miss Latham’s playing at whist was unladylike. I am sure it is quite acceptable, only —”
“Not by your mama?” finished Lord Altern. If he hoped to close the subject, his hopes were dashed by Miss Spengler, who continued with barely a check.
“That’s right. Some people might consider Mama a trifle old-fashioned perhaps, but she holds that one cannot be too careful of one’s reputation — if one is female, that is. Of course it is different for gentlemen.”
“I take it that your mother does not frown upon dancing for young ladies?”
“Oh, no, except that she does not quite like to see the waltz danced, but now that it has been approved by the patronesses of Almack’s, it must be thought to be acceptable.”
“Well, then, I trust we shall meet at the Castle Inn tonight, Miss Spengler. I shall look forward to seeing you there also, Miss Latham. And now, ladies, if you will excuse me, I must speak with my aunt.” He included both girls in his attractive, slightly mocking smile.
Cleone watched him lengthen his stride to catch up with Lady Pendleston and Emerald, who were chatting with Lord Carberry. Within thirty seconds he had insinuated himself between the women, both of whom took an arm as they strolled on. Behind them, Cleone presented an attentive face and a deaf ear to her loquacious companion as her own thoughts occupied her mind to the exclusion of Miss Spengler’s chatter.
Lady Pendleston and her guests were escorted that evening by her ladyship’s nephew. Emerald and Cleone were pleasantly surprised by the size and appointments of the Castle Inn Ballroom, which certainly compared favourably with Almack’s in London. The large rectangular room was made to appear even more spacious by virtue of a forty-foot ceiling rising to a shallow arched vault. Attractive columns formed recesses along both short and one long wall and contributed to the understated elegance of the room. There was another good-sized chamber given over to cards, but the girls were looking forward to dancing. Emerald’s beauty was enhanced by excitement as she stood in the entrance tapping her foot and gazing around the dancefloor at the twirling couples. On the other side of Lady Pendleston, Cleone confessed to a little trepidation at the thought of dancing again after five years.
“Did you enjoy dancing before, my dear?”
“Yes, very much.”
“Then you will again. One doesn’t forget the motions.” Lady Pendleston gave her goddaughter an encouraging pat on the arm. Turning to her nephew, whose dark head was angled to catch something Emerald was saying above the sound of the music, she exhorted, “Assure Cleone that she has no need to worry, Jason. She is a trifle nervous of dancing again after such a long time.”
The rare smile that never failed to reduce Cleone’s insides to quivering jelly was curving his lips as he straightened toward the now-blushing girl. Not for anything would she have desired to give the impression of seeking reassurance or — worse yet — a commitment to partner her, but, thanks to his aunt’s well-intentioned tactlessness, that was exactly the position in which she found herself.
“A
unt Bess is in the right of it, you know, Miss Latham. Once learned, never forgotten. You will be right as rain after a few bars of music. And I shall be your first partner, so you needn’t be concerned with making conversation with a stranger while you find your feet, if you will pardon the pun.”
Lord Altern had been leading his party to chairs set in the recess of the long wall as she spoke. Emerald flashed her cousin a darkling look, but just then the music ended and a number of gentlemen were seen to be moving purposefully in their direction. Miss Hardwicke’s pout quickly changed to smiles as Lord Carberry outdistanced the herd to claim her for the next number.
In the hiatus before the orchestra struck up again, a number of introductions were performed by Lord Altern, willingly, and Lord Carberry, grudgingly, and both girl’s dance cards were liberally inscribed with masculine scrawls. Mr. Wyscombe came up at that point to chat with Lady Pendleston, thus depriving Cleone of her last excuse to avoid dancing. She did hang back initially when the music began, muttering in tones in which a trace of desperation sounded, “But it’s a waltz!”
“Do you not waltz, Miss Latham?” inquired Lord Altern.
“Well, I never have, although Cecily taught me the steps when they came home from London.”
“No time like the present for experimentation,” he declared, sweeping her onto the floor with a ruthless disregard for her fears.
For a moment or two neither spoke as Cleone moved stiffly in her partner’s arms, trying to concentrate on her feet, the music, and keeping a tenacious little smile on her lips while trying at the same time to ignore the disturbing sensations emanating from his guiding hand at her waist. When no disaster occurred in the first few minutes, however, the lilting music took over and she relaxed perceptibly.
“There, what did I tell you?” Lord Altern, his expression that of a proud schoolmaster showing off a pupil’s achievement, whirled his compliant partner into a more daring turn as they proceeded down the length of the ballroom in perfect unity.
