BRIGHTON BEAUTY

by Clay, Marilyn

  "Splendid!" Alayna cried. "Then shall we resume the ceremony?"

  Lord Rathbone directed an icy glare from one young lady to the other. "We shall resume nothing. The only vow I intend to make today is to remain unlegshackled to anyone for the remainder of my natural life!" With that, he flung the letter aside and charged up the aisle.

  "Now look what you've done!" Alayna cried, casting a hurt look at Chelsea.

  "Miss Grant has done nothing," Lady Rathbone declared evenly, "beyond fall in love with my son."

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I Suspected You Knew Something Was Afoot”

  "How could you, Chelsea?" Alayna cried, angrily pacing between the window and the bed in Chelsea's room where the two young ladies had adjourned following Lord Rathbone's exit from the chapel. "You knew very well that Rutherford was set to marry me!"

  Chelsea slipped out of the lovely wedding gown she had been wearing and handed it to Dulcie who dutifully returned it to the clothespress. "You should have told Rutherford the truth just now, Alayna," she remarked.

  "Why did you not tell him a month ago? If Rutherford were at the castle, there was no longer a need for me to be here. His presence alone would have satisfied the parish residency requirement."

  "If I had confessed to Lord Rathbone then that I was not you, he'd have had me hanged!" Chelsea struggled with the hooks on the back of her own gown until Dulcie reached to help.

  "You cannot expect me to believe that, Chelsea. Rutherford may have a short temper, but to have you hanged for such a minor transgression is doing it up a bit, don't you think?"

  Chelsea parked both hands on her hips. "I was merely trying to protect you, Alayna, and myself, by continuing with the charade. Under the circumstances, it would not have been a great leap for your cousin to link me with Sully."

  "Who is Sully? " Alayna cried impatiently.

  "He is the real kidnapper."

  Alayna's brow puckered.

  "Sully was the primary reason Lord Rathbone came to England in the first place." In short order, Chelsea explained the former overseer's plot to steal Lord Rathbone's inheritance and the abduction that resulted from it.

  "Surely you can see why I felt the need to continue with the ruse," she concluded in a somewhat defensive tone, then turning to Dulcie, who had just completed the task of doing up her gown, she said, "Thank you, Dulcie."

  The little maid then set to work on Chelsea's hair, undoing the elaborate coiffure she had created in order to set off the bridal veil.

  "If you must know, Alayna," Chelsea added self-righteously, "this has been the absolute worst experience of my entire life."

  Alayna's eyes rolled skyward. "Do spare me, Chelsea." She pranced to the window again and looked out. "You have obviously quite enjoyed pretending to be me. From the look of it, you meant to carry the pretense far beyond anything I intended." She whirled around to glare again at Chelsea. "I never gave you leave to marry him!"

  "I was merely standing in for you!"

  "Then how do you account for the fact that he knew nothing of it? When did you mean to tell him?"

  Chelsea heaved an exasperated sigh. "If you had returned to the castle yesterday, this would never have happened. You could have attended your own betrothal ball and . . . "

  "There was a ball?"

  Chelsea nodded angrily.

  "Oh!" Alayna pouted. "Well, I should have been here in plenty of time if you had not had me kidnapped so that you might attend the ball yourself and marry Rutherford today in my place!"

  "I did not have you kidnapped, Alayna!"

  "Of course it was you! Who else could it have been?"

  Chelsea shook her head with dismay. "I haven't the slightest notion," she breathed. Nothing made sense anymore.

  Alayna plopped onto the bed. "Thank heaven Harry happened along when he did. And, thank heaven he was able to overcome that . . . that frightful rustic who commandeered the coach and took us on a wild ride through the woods this morning. You can imagine my surprise, Chelsea, when we finally reached the castle and I saw the grounds full of people! They must have reached the castle by crossing the bridge."

  "The bridge? What does the bridge have to say to anything?"

  "Why do you continue to play the innocent with me? The man you hired to kidnap me used the excuse that the bridge was out to take us on the roundaboutation!"

  Chelsea stared at Alayna as if she'd gone daft. "I swear to you, Alayna, I haven't the slightest notion what you are talking about." On impulse, she turned to Dulcie. "Do you know anything of this, Dulcie?"

  Dulcie shrugged. "N-no, miss. Perhaps her ladyship could answer."

  "Lady Rathbone? But, why would she . . . "

  "Rubbish! Aunt Millicent would never set kidnappers on me. I still say it was you, Chelsea Grant. I should have known better than to trust you."

  Chelsea swallowed an angry retort as she impatiently snatched the hairbrush from Dulcie's hand and began to yank it through her own hair. When the curls had been brushed out and her hair again hung smooth down her back, she jerked up her old flat chip bonnet and jammed it onto her head. With intermittent glares at Alayna, she hastily tied the ribbons beneath her chin. "I shall be on my way now. Dulcie, if you will please retrieve my bag for me."

  Dulcie dove under the bed and dragged the worn valise forward. "Here you are, miss."

  To forestall her departure, Alayna flounced to the door and positioned herself before it. "Before you go, I should like to know precisely how you and my cousin passed the time while I was away? A month is quite a long time to spend in a gentleman's company. I cannot help but notice that my doltish cousin has . . . well, changed a bit since last I saw him."

  "Changed?" Chelsea murmured.

  "He is . . . taller, and a good deal more . . . "

  "Dashing."

  "There!" Alayna's blue eyes snapped with fire. "I knew you were trying to steal him from me! Admit it, Chelsea, you were!"

  "I will admit to nothing of the sort. I was merely doing what you asked of me, Alayna. And now that you have returned to the castle" . . . she shifted her valise to her other hand . . . "I shall be on my way."

  Alayna reluctantly stepped aside. "With no parting word to Ford?" she chided.

  Her free hand now on the doorlatch, Chelsea paused. "I hardly think your cousin is in a frame to receive me," she replied evenly. "Though I do intend to extend my apologies to Lady Rathbone before I depart."

  A sudden scratch at the door made both young ladies jump.

  "Who is it?" Alayna called out, whereupon a maid stuck her head around the doorjamb to announce that Lady Rathbone desired a private word with Miss Grant. "In her chamber, miss," the housemaid said.

  "So," Alayna cast a triumphant look at Chelsea, "it appears my aunt has a good deal more to say to you before you go. Aunt Millicent can be quite foul tempered, Chelsea." With a gloating look, she headed for the looking glass to pat her own blond curls into place. "I intend to go to the fair. Perhaps I shall find my handsome cousin Ford on the grounds."

  With no further comment to Alayna, Chelsea hurried to Lady Rathbone's suite. Encountering a solemn-faced Jared stationed outside the door, Chelsea smiled a bit wryly at the man.

  "Her ladyship is expecting me," she said.

  His features as impassive as ever, Jared replied, "Indeed, miss."

  Advancing into the achingly familiar chamber, Chelsea spotted the older woman seated in her customary place on the worn sofa as she had so many times before while waiting for Chelsea to come and read to her. Suddenly, Chelsea collected the first time she had stepped into this room. The anxiety she felt now was not unlike what she had experienced then. "You wished to see me. Lady Rathbone?" she said quietly.

  The woman glanced up. "Ah. There you are, Miss Grant." A hand indicated Chelsea's usual place across from her.

  Instead of complying with the woman's wishes, however, Chelsea said, "I shan't be staying, ma'am. I am prepared to leave the castle straightaway." She set her v
alise down at her feet, and moved only a few steps closer. "I should like to say how very sorry I am for . . . "

  "Please, do sit down, Miss Grant. I shall have Jared bring us a nice pot of tea."

  Chelsea shook her head. "I have taken advantage of your hospitality far too long as it is, ma'am. I merely wanted you to know how terribly sorry I am for the mischief I have caused. I . . . should never have let the . . . deception get to such a state. I am frightfully sorry, my lady."

  "Do sit down, Miss Grant," the old woman insisted. When at last Chelsea complied, she went on. "I am not angry with you, my dear. I understand that you were merely endeavoring to keep your word to Alayna. I take it she wanted you to pretend to be her for the month preceding the wedding in order to satisfy the parish residency requirement. Was that not the case?"

  Her lashes lowered, Chelsea nodded. "I suspected that you knew something was afoot."

  "True. I did unravel the coil . . . eventually. Though by the time I recalled that my niece's eye were as blue as the sky and your's, gel, are nut brown, I admit I was enjoying your company far too much to turn you out." She smiled sadly. "It was not until Eudora's letter arrived a few days ago, the day you received one from 'Miss Grant', that I put the last of the pieces together."

  "But . . . " Chelsea’s gaze lifted. "You said nothing. Why did you not?"

  "If you recall, I came close to exposing you that evening in the music room. My son's happiness means a great deal to me, Miss Grant. I was quite angry over the idea that you might be pretending an affection for him in order to further the deception. But, last evening, at the ball, I could see that you do, indeed, care for him. And today I fully intended to allow the pair of you to marry." She paused. "It was I who had my niece waylaid at the inn this morning."

  "Oh," Chelsea breathed. Believing that Lady Rathbone was now sympathetic to her plight, she felt her chin begin to tremble. "You must believe me, Lady Rathbone, I wanted to tell him the truth. But, in the beginning, I feared he would think me a criminal, and that I would have to answer to charges along with Sully. I felt dreadful about deceiving you, and Mr. Wainwright and of course, Mr. Stephens. I never meant any of this to happen. Not any of it!"

  "I believe you, my dear."

  "But . . . do you think he will? Will Rutherford ever be able to forgive me?"

  Lady Rathbone's wrinkled cheeks softened. "I expect he will. In time. Ford's pride is hurt right now, but he will not stay angry forever. To your credit, Miss Grant, you did a splendid job of portraying Alayna. Lord Pemberton was set to have the young lady who interrupted the wedding forcibly removed from the castle." She laughed. "To say truth, Miss Grant, I haven't had such a grand time in years."

  Through the moisture that was clouding her vision, Chelsea smiled sadly.

  Lady Rathbone reached to pat her hand.

  "I know you love my son, Miss Grant. And if it's any consolation to you, I am certain he loves you equally as much. I just wish my little scheme to detain Alayna had been successful. If she did not return to the castle in time for her own wedding, I felt it would serve her right to lose him. They do not love one another as you and Rutherford do."

  Chelsea's hopes rose the veriest mite. Did Lady Rathbone think there was still a chance?

  "But," the old woman continued, "now that Alayna is here, Rutherford is honor-bound to marry her. I have attempted to make light of her prank to deceive us, but the truth is, by traveling about the countryside with a troupe of vagrant play-actors, Alayna has disgraced herself. Eudora said word is already out in London that Alayna's stage debut is the on-dit of the Season. Apparently she attempted to disguise herself, but the subterfuge failed miserably; she has fooled no one. If Alayna has any hope for respectability now, she has no choice but to marry Rutherford and leave England straightaway."

  Her hopes dashed to the ground, Chelsea fought the anguish building inside her. The thought of Rutherford married to another was almost more than she could bear.

  "And what of you, Miss Grant? What are you to do now?"

  Chelsea struggled to reply. "I . . . shall return to London, ma'am."

  "Ah, London. And what will you do there?"

  "I design bonnets for my living, ma’am. Although this past month I have been frightfully remiss in my promise to my employer, Mr. Merribone. I had every intention of sending along new designs for the others to make up in my absence."

  "And you've not sent along even one, have you?"

  Chelsea shook her head. "I have let everyone down."

  "You have done nothing of the sort, Miss Grant. You have been a great comfort to me. And you have accomplished far more here at the castle than my niece would have had she been here." She gazed with renewed sadness upon Chelsea. "It is a frightful shame that you and Rutherford . . . well, we mustn't think on that."

  Chelsea bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing aloud.

  "I should like you to stay on a bit longer at the castle, Miss Grant."

  Chelsea looked alarmed. "Oh, no, I couldn't!"

  "But with all the servants occupied with the fair and our guests indoors, there is no one to take you to London, or to Chester to catch the mail coach. You must stay, at least for a day or two."

  Chelsea did not know what to say. She had not expected anyone at the castle to come to her aid. She had meant to set out on foot. Chester was not so very far away. She would manage. She gazed tearfully at Lady Rathbone.

  "I shall have Mrs. Phipps prepare a chamber for you. There must be several available now. I understand news of the aborted wedding caused quite an exodus amongst our guests." Her eyes twinkled with high amusement. "I look forward to seeing you this evening at supper, Miss Grant. Jared!"

  At the sound of Lady Rathbone's familiar bellow, Chelsea smiled ruefully. Despite the bell-pulls being newly repaired, apparently the woman still preferred shouting when she required something.

  "Miss Grant will be staying," she told Jared, when he appeared in the doorway. "You will have Mrs. Phipps see to her accommodations."

  She smiled up at Chelsea, who had risen to her feet to fetch her valise. "You may wait in our little sitting room. I expect no one will disturb you there."

  As instructed, Chelsea settled herself in the sitting room to wait. On the one hand, she had no desire to remain any longer at the castle, on the other, she was finding it more difficult than she'd imagined to drag herself from Lord Rathbone's side.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Wherefore Was I to This Keen Mockery Born?”

  Chelsea would have sooner died that evening than take her place at table alongside Lord Rathbone and Alayna. Apart from the fact that she was now forced to appear in Polite Company dressed in one of her own gowns, frocks that were far more suited to the workroom of Mr. Merribone's shop than the dinner hour at a castle, she was consumed with fear over how Lord Rathbone would react toward her now that her treachery had come to light.

  Slowly descending the stairwell that evening, the muffled sounds of people talking and laughing in the drawing room drifted upward toward her. Judging from Lady Rathbone's comments earlier, she had expected that only the immediate family would be present for the meal. Yet the noisy hubbub below sounded rather like a party in progress. Which, of course, had been the original intent, a gala celebration of the wedding that had taken place that day. But there had been no wedding today.

  A knot of anxiety formed in Chelsea's stomach as she drew near the entrance to the cavernous room. Hesitating in the doorway, she noted that apart from Alayna and Lord and Lady Rathbone, there were, indeed, a number of unfamiliar faces present tonight.

  One gentlemen, she noticed in particular, not because she recognized him or because he was unusually attractive, but because he was attired in a wildly absurd fashion. Not a tall man, he wore bright red pantaloons, a pea-green waistcoat and a dotted black and yellow shirt. His light-colored hair was slick with pomade and his cravat was wound with a flourish. His collar rose so high about his neck as to make turning his head nigh on
impossible. Yet, while conversing with Alayna, he still managed to illustrate every single word with an exaggerated pose or posture. Was this the infamous Mr. Hill, the man who had rescued Alayna from Lady Rathbone's feeble attempt to kidnap her? The oddly dressed man may be a splendid actor, but beyond that, Chelsea could only wonder what Alayna found so captivating about him.

  Her reverie on the dandy was cut short by a greeting from Lady Rathbone.

  "Do come in, Miss Grant!" the woman called from her place near an intimate grouping of sofas and comfortable looking chairs.

  Flinging only a furtive glance toward the imposing figure of Lord Rathbone, who stood at the far end of the room, engaged in conversation with another gentleman whom Chelsea had never seen before, she headed with some relief toward Lady Rathbone.

  "You look very pretty tonight, Miss Grant," the older woman said, her voice loud enough to be heard by a tall, angular gentleman who stood but a few feet away, holding a goblet of claret in his hand.

  With a rather lopsided grin on his face, the gentleman ambled over.

  "Ah, Lord Weymouth," Lady Rathbone said, "may I present Miss Grant? Weymouth and his sister, Lady Anne, only just arrived," she told Chelsea. "Weymouth is one of Rutherford's chums from his days at the university."

  "How'd you do, Miss Grant," the likeable gentleman said, his words a trifle slurred. "This is my sister, Lady Anne." He gestured toward a young lady, who greatly resembled him, in that they both had wide brows and rather longish, pinched noses.

  But the young woman was beautifully dressed in a lavender silk creation with ropes of sparkling jewels around her neck. She strolled over, and after acknowledging Chelsea with a cool nod, took a seat in a brocade wing chair near Lady Rathbone. Chelsea slipped onto the sofa nearest Lady Rathbone's chair, while Weymouth lowered his lanky frame into what was appropriately called a drunkard's chair.

  Fixing a languid gaze on Chelsea, Lady Anne said, "I was unaware there were small children in the household, Lady Rathbone."

  The old woman's wrinkled face registered some surprise at that, while Chelsea, pinned beneath Lady Anne's condescending look, squirmed a bit. She supposed that in her dowdy gray frock with the high-neckline and simple white collar, she did look rather like a governess.