BRIGHTON BEAUTY

by Clay, Marilyn

  Alayna poured two teacups full of the steaming brew, and after handing one to Chelsea, settled back to sip from her own cup. "Are you not curious to know who I am to marry?" she asked.

  Though she honestly did not care a whit, Chelsea said, "I am simply dying to know, Alayna."

  Alayna giggled. "Oh, Chelsea, you always were an abominable liar! I am to marry a cousin of mine, Rutherford Campbell. He is the sixth baron. I have not seen him since I was a child, and to say truth, I do not care for him in the least. Though, he is extremely well-put. Or . . . will be. Our marriage releases his inheritance." She smiled roundly. "In a month, I shall be a baroness and you shall have to address me as Lady Rathbone."

  "In a month, I hope not to be addressing you at all."

  "Oh, Chelsea." Alayna laughed again. "You can be so very droll at times." She leaned forward to set her teacup down. "Rutherford has vast holdings in Honduras, a mahogany plantation, I understand." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "So, of course, I have no intention of joining him there. I should go quite mad in such an uncivilized place. I have not yet told Rutherford of my plans. I see no need to inform him until after the ceremony." She smiled conspiratorially. "I expect it will be too late by then, won't it? My Aunt Lettie and Aunt Millicent, Rutherford's mother, arranged the match. Rutherford and I are both agreeable to it; though we have only discussed the matter by letter.

  "As I said, we have neither of us laid eyes on the other since we were children. I was a mere child of ten or eleven when last I saw Ford. Though, following our betrothal last month I sent him a lovely miniature of myself. It was the best likeness of me yet!" she enthused. "If I had known of your whereabouts, Chelsea, I could have shown the picture to you before I sent it. At any rate . . . this is where you come in."

  Her teacup halfway to her lips, Chelsea's hand froze in mid-air. "Me?"

  "Why, of course, dear. It's the rest of the reason I invited you to take tea with me today."

  Chelsea's heart pounded afresh.

  "Do not look so alarmed, Chelsea dear. I am sure you will be agreeable to what I propose. At the very least, it will remove you from that horrid bonnet shop where you now spend your days."

  "I have no intention of leaving my post, Alayna, and I will thank you to stop meddling in my . . . "

  "It will only be for a month, Chelsea. That is . . . " she smiled wickedly, " . . . unless you refuse."

  Chelsea's heart plummeted to her feet. "And if I refuse?"

  "Why, I shall have to pay another call on Mr. Merribone, of course."

  Chelsea sprang to her feet so fast she nearly toppled her teacup. Her hand shaking furiously, she deposited the clattering cup and saucer onto the tray.

  Watching her, Alayna wore a sly smile. "You appear overset, Chelsea. Do sit down, I have not yet told you the whole of it."

  Chelsea glared at Alayna. "No! I shall not sit down! And I refuse to let you spoil my living for me here as you did with Lady Hennessey in Brighton!"

  "Why, Chelsea, I meant to spoil nothing for you there, and I do not mean to here. Unless, of course . . ." her voice trailed off again.

  Chelsea's bosom rose and fell with heated anxiety. "What do you want from me, Alayna?"

  Alayna turned another sweet smile on her guest. "It is such a simple request really. I merely want you to travel to Chester. Do sit down, and let me explain."

  Chelsea's heart thundered in her ears. As usual, Alayna's way of putting things left her with no choice but to do as Alayna asked. Glaring at her hostess, she edged back onto the settee.

  "Now, then," Alayna began sweetly, "as it happens, Rutherford and I are to be married by proxy in that musty old chapel at Castle Rathbone. You know how I detest the country. So dreadfully rustic. At any rate, because Rutherford will not be present, the marriage ceremony is merely a formality. Aunt Millicent will be there, of course, but no one else of consequence, except myself, and the clergyman. A stranger . . . perhaps even a servant . . . will be standing in for Ford. But in order to be married in this fashion, by proxy, one of us must reside for an entire month beforehand in the parish where the wedding ceremony is to take place. And, since Ford is in Honduras, that leaves only me to satisfy the silly residency requirement. Surely you can see my problem, Chelsea."

  "You wish me to keep you company for the month you are to be in the country," Chelsea muttered flatly.

  Alayna nodded, though a bit coyly.

  "Well, I simply cannot, Alayna. I cannot just up and leave my post on a whim. I am not like you. I must work to earn my keep, and I cannot . . . "

  "But, I am prepared to pay you, Chelsea. Double what Mr. Merribone does," she added.

  Chelsea's lips tightened. She would not do it. Not for any amount of money.

  "I shall pay you a hundred pounds!" Alayna interjected shrilly. "I promise I shall!"

  Chelsea thrust her chin up. No. She still would not do it.

  Alayna leaned forward, her blue eyes angry. "If you refuse me, Chelsea, I shall have no recourse but to insist. And then, you shall have no post to come back to."

  Chelsea's nostrils flared. Alayna did not make idle threats. She would do exactly as she said. Oh, why did Alayna persist in interfering in her life? At length, Chelsea inhaled an uneven breath. "Well, I . . . I suppose I could ask Mr. Merribone to grant me a month's leave of absence in order to accompany you to Chester."

  "Accompany me? Oh, I shall not be going, Chelsea. I have other plans for the month. You shall be going to Chester instead of me."

  Chelsea's brown eyes widened. "Instead of you?"

  Alayna nodded. "You shall pretend to be me while you are in Chester. We are the same size and have virtually the same colouring. Not that it would matter a whit. No doubt, you will not see a single soul who knows either of us, but in the event that you do . . . "

  "But, Alayna, I cannot . . . you said yourself I am an abominable liar. I could never carry off such a pretense! Not to mention that it would be an outrageous lie!"

  "Oh, you mustn't think of it in that manner, Chelsea. Think of it as . . . acting. As I recall, you are a . . . fair actress. Not nearly so accomplished as I, of course, but you did win the title of 'Brighton Beauty' while we were in school. I never forgave you for that, you know. I thought my Lady Macbeth far superior to your Juliet, but all the same . . . "

  "It was my one triumph at school," Chelsea cut in, elevating her chin to a height equaling Alayna's. "And it has nothing to say to anything. I could never convince your Aunt Millicent that I am you! And it most certainly would be lying," she maintained.

  "Oh, Chelsea," Alayna leaned forward, "of course, you could do it. Aunt Millicent hasn't seen me since I was a child, and besides, she is practically blind, spends all her days sequestered in her bedchamber. I have everything arranged. You shall take my carriage; and wear my clothes. Why, I have already packed a trunk. And my own abigail, Dulcie, shall accompany you. Dulcie is delighted with the prospect of hoodwinking Aunt Millie. She has a half-sister at Castle Rathbone who says my aunt isn't the least popular with the servants. She is far too nasty and cantankerous; doesn't get along with a soul these days. So, you see, it is a perfect plan."

  "I see nothing of the sort, Alayna," Chelsea replied frostily. "And furthermore, I do not see why you cannot go yourself."

  "Because I . . . " Alayna paused, considering, as she chewed on her lower lip. "I think it wiser that I do not divulge my whereabouts to you, Chelsea. Suffice to say that I shall also not remain in London. If my plan should go awry, you may honestly say you have no idea where I am."

  Chelsea stewed. She knew very well it was asking far too much to expect Alayna to tell the whole truth. Besides, she was too upset over her own situation to even care what mischief Alayna was up to. Her own world had come tumbling down around her feet, and for what? A ridiculous scheme, that's what. If she refused, Alayna would see to it that she lost not only her position with Mr. Merribone, but her reputation in Town would be ruined as well, and then what would she do? At least,
this way, if Mr. Merribone agreed to her request, her good name in London would remain intact and she would still have a means of support once she returned to Town. Still . . . she hated letting Alayna think she was giving in so easily.

  She thrust her chin up another notch. "I cannot imagine what could be more important to you, Alayna, than marrying your cousin, a wealthy, titled gentleman. Surely you relish the idea of setting up your own household . . . " Chelsea felt a prick of wistfulness as she realized how very unlikely such a prospect was for her.

  "Oh, fustian! You have never met my cousin Rutherford. No young lady in her right mind would be a-tremor to marry him. He is a bore of the first order. Cross and demanding, and not the least bit entertaining. For the most part, I left off reading his letters ages ago. They were full of nothing but the dull goings-on in that horrid place where he lives. How he can abide living there, I cannot think. Though, if you must know . . ."Alayna's eyes took on a wicked gleam, "I do consider myself quite fortunate to be marrying him. I shall be well set up, after all. And, I shall have all of the freedom . . . though none of the responsibilities . . . accorded to a married lady. I shall be free to do as I please."

  Chelsea blushed. She knew exactly what Alayna meant, and it was an arrangement that would never suit her. A man and his wife belonged together. "How very cold-hearted you have become, Alayna."

  "Moi? Rutherford has the cold heart. He is only marrying me to benefit himself. At eight-and-twenty, he can suddenly wait no longer for his inheritance. I expect he means to increase his holdings in Honduras, or some such nonsense."

  Chelsea said nothing further on the subject of Alayna's marriage. And neither did Alayna, except to reassure Chelsea again and again that she would, indeed, arrive at Castle Rathbone in time for the proxy wedding ceremony. Two stand-ins would never serve.

  At length, after Alayna had outlined Chelsea's travel plans to Chester, Chelsea rose to take her leave. The prospect of telling an untruth to Mr. Merribone in order to be granted a month's leave of absence loomed like a dark cloud before her, but, as usual, she had no choice in the matter. Still, as she scurried back to the millinery shop that evening, she reminded herself with some relief, that at least, this time, if Mr. Merribone agreed to her request, she would have a position and a living to come back to.

  Chapter Two

  “An Unexpected Journey”

  As expected, Mr. Merribone was not pleased.

  "I view your request as quite out of the ordinary, Miss Grant," he replied coolly. "And, by all that is right, I should not allow it."

  "I understand your position completely, Mr. Merribone. But, you see, my . . . my aunt is ill. I am told she rarely leaves her bedchamber these days, and I . . . I am her only living relative. I assure you it will be only for a month, after which I shall be returning again to London and to my post, if . . . if you will have me," she added contritely.

  Mr. Merribone continued to protest. "Such a lengthy absence, Miss Grant, will serve only to diminish your popularity with the ton. They are a fickle lot, professing undying allegiance one day, then abandoning the very proprietor they declared a favorite the next."

  Chelsea fidgeted. "Perhaps if I sent along new designs every week, Mr. Merribone. Annie and the others could make them up just as if I were here. I expect to have plenty of time in the coming days to attend to my sketching," she added with a smile, hoping to sway him with charm. It had worked for Alayna. "My absence would hardly be noticed. I assure you, Mr. Merribone, I shall be returning to my post, just as soon as . . . I find someone to properly care for my aunt."

  Mr. Merribone's lips pressed tightly together, but at length, he acquiesced to her plea. After thanking him profusely and assuring him once again that she did, indeed, mean to return to London, Chelsea left the shop. Deceiving her employer in so shameless a fashion went against all she stood for, but in this case, she saw nothing else for it.

  After a quick bite to eat that night, Chelsea packed up her few belongings and climbed into bed. She'd leave a note tomorrow for the landlord explaining her sudden exit. No doubt, she'd be obliged to find new lodgings upon her return to Town, but that was the least of her worries now. The Marchmont coach would be arriving for her at first light in the morning, and for the month following, everything . . . including her name . . . would change.

  The journey to Chester took three days. All in all, it proved to be a less than dreary ride; the Marchmont equipage with the fancy gold crest on the side door was plush and comfortable. Though Chelsea was still not particularly happy to be here, she had to admit, she half enjoyed the trip. Alayna's abigail, Dulcie, was agreeable. About seventeen, she was light-hearted and amusing, and even managed to make her nineteen-year-old companion smile upon occasion.

  Chelsea's smile faded, however, when late on that final afternoon, the dusty black coach wheeled onto a narrow, overgrown road that caused the elegant high-sprung carriage to jostle and sway dangerously. So shaken was Chelsea that she barely noticed a weathered sign hanging limply from a wall that spelled out Castle Rathbone in dim letters. When next the great coach rumbled onto a rickety wooden bridge, which Chelsea rightly assumed must have once spanned the castle moat, she found herself fearing for her very life and wishing she'd queried Alayna further about her illustrious ancestral home.

  In a matter of minutes, the carriage drew up in front of a crumbling stone relic that was covered top to bottom with a tangled growth of gnarled old vines and brown-tipped ivy. Several wings of the castle jutted from either side of the foremost tower, but all the narrow windows were shut up tight with ill-fitting shutters and, in some cases, pieces of discolored clapboard. Sucking in her breath with dismay, she wondered how even she was to bear spending a month here?

  Suddenly, the carriage door flew open from the outside, causing her further alarm. Stepping tentatively to the ground, she became aware of the rapid pounding of her own heart in her breast. A quick glance about revealed the pitifully kept yard inside the bailey. At the moment it was rapidly filling up with what appeared to be peasants, most of them unkempt and dressed in tattered garments. Adding to the confusion was a pack of mongrel dogs, whose excited barking and tail-wagging told Chelsea she must be the first stranger to visit here in quite some time.

  She shrank when an especially filthy footman stepped forward to usher her into the castle foyer. Dulcie lagged behind as other servants began to unload the many trunks and boxes Alayna had sent along with Chelsea.

  Indoors, she blinked into the semi-darkness, beginning to understand further why Alayna had been so loath to come here. Thus far, Castle Rathbone could only be described as grim and oppressive. The cool, dank foyer was almost bare of furniture; only a few high-backed chairs were positioned here and there before the cold stonewalls. Suddenly, a solemn-faced gentleman dressed completely in black appeared out of nowhere.

  "Miss Marchmont, I presume?" the man said, gazing the length of a pinched nose at Chelsea.

  She gulped. "Y-yes."

  "This way, miss."

  Lifting the folds of her skirt a bit, Chelsea followed the man down a dark, narrow corridor, its meandering length seeming to take her deeper and deeper into the bowels of the high-ceilinged tomb. The clicking sound of Chelsea's half-boots on the bare stone floor echoed like bells in the eerie stillness. Feeling a sudden chill overtake her, she ran a gloved hand up one arm in an effort to ward it off.

  Glancing warily at her surroundings, Chelsea absently noted a row of dusty portraits hanging on the wall to her left, their expressionless faces and hollow eyes seeming to follow her progress through the castle. At intervals on the opposite wall, single candles in sconces flickered as Chelsea and the man in black passed beneath, their movements stirring the stale air trapped within the castle walls.

  Other eyes watched her . . . brighter, human eyes, glittering from shadowy corners and through cleverly concealed hidey-holes in the dimly lit corridor. But, absorbed in her own thoughts, Chelsea was also unaware of them.

  A
fter she and the butler, who, she assumed this man to be, had ascended an ancient staircase, sans railing, they moved silently down yet another long corridor, crossed a room lined all around with musty-smelling books, and even passed through a secret passageway hidden in a cobbled wall. At length, the man paused before a set of immense wooden doors, whose huge ornate hinges looked sadly in need of polish.

  Chelsea waited breathlessly as the butler rapped insistently on the door. For a farthing, she would turn around and flee, though there was some doubt in her mind that she'd be able to accurately retrace her footsteps to freedom. Instead, she willed her pounding heart to be still and drew in a long breath in an effort to bolster her courage. She had come this far; she must at least present herself to Alayna's Aunt Millicent, and then hope for the best.

  As the butler rapped again, louder this time, Chelsea nervously smoothed a wrinkle from the skirt of her gown, which wasn't her gown at all, but one of Alayna's . . . a lovely beige travelling suit, with York tan gloves, and a matching casquet bonnet. Though she felt quite elegant wearing the attractive ensemble, she knew the lovely gown could do nothing to diminish the fear and trepidation wrinkling her brow.

  Suddenly hearing what could only be described as a 'bellow' coming from the other side of the closed doors, Chelsea jumped with fright. By way of response, however, the butler merely pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside.

  "Miss Marchmont has arrived, my lady," he said, solemnly.

  The unexpected reply to this pronouncement made Chelsea recoil with fresh fear.

  "Well, show her in, you old fool!"

  A lesser mortal would have taken umbrage at the tone, let alone the words, but this manservant merely turned again toward Chelsea and said evenly, "Her ladyship will receive you now, Miss Marchmont."

  Her brown eyes wide, Chelsea prayed for additional courage as she advanced one small step into the room. Here, the darkness seemed to envelop her. Blinking into it, her eyes were drawn to the one bright spot she saw, a low-burning fire on the hearth. Above the massive mantelpiece hung a tattered tapestry, the top partially covering two narrow windows that stretched nearly as high as the vaulted ceiling.