Brighton Road

by Susan Carroll

  As Ravenel reined in the shuffling gray mare, Gwenda prepared to jump down before his lordship could come around to assist her.

  "I have given you enough trouble," she said primly. "But before we say farewell, I must tell you how truly grateful—"

  "There's no need to go into that now. I am coming in with you." His lordship leaped somewhat gingerly from the carriage, wincing as he held a hand to his ribs. Bertie bolted right after him.

  When Ravenel came around to hand her down, Gwenda shrank back. "Oh, no. I know how tired and eager you must be to get to your own house. There is not the least necessity for you to come in with me."

  "Indeed there is. I have to speak to your father."

  "About what?"

  "It is customary to consult a lady's father in these delicate affairs. I need to assure him that I am going to marry you."

  So Ravenel's mind had not altered. He was still insisting that she be his wife. A curious sensation of gladness stirred inside Gwenda, but she quickly suppressed it, recalling Ravenel's reason for wanting to marry her.

  She answered rather sharply. "I told you you are not obliged to do that. I am willing to risk my reputation rather than enter into such an undesirable union."

  For a moment, she fancied the saw a shading of hurt in his dark eyes, a pain that had nothing to do with his bruised flesh. "I had rather hoped you were starting to reconsider—" He broke off. "Never mind. I know what is proper. If you won't be sensible, I would as lief refer the matter to your father's judgment."

  His cheerful manner vanished as he squared his jaw in a stubborn manner. He reached up, his hands spanning her waist. He lifted her rather forcefully from the tilbury so that she tumbled against him.

  Gwenda quickly pulled herself back from the all-too-welcome support of his strong arms. "It is you who won't be sensible. You have made your chivalrous offer; I have refused it. You ought to be satisfied."

  "I won't be satisfied until I have talked to Lord Vickers."

  Gwenda started to argue, but she felt exhausted by the futility of it.

  "Very well," she said. "If there is no other way to appease your conscience! But I know full well how Papa will handle the matter."

  Gwenda flounced away from him. While Ravenel consigned the horse and tilbury to the care of a groom, she marched up the town-house steps with Bert frisking alongside, swatting at her skirts with his tail.

  Ravenel joined her at the door, his expression a mingling of obstinacy and unease. He might well have been a visitor contemplating his first excursion inside Bedlam, reluctant but manfully determined to face the ordeal ahead.

  Knowing the contempt in which Ravenel held her family, Gwenda anticipated the forthcoming introductions with dread. Lord knows, she was not ashamed of her family, but at times they could be overly enthusiastic and Ravenel was so stiff-necked.

  She thought again of trying to turn him aside from his purpose, but the oak portal was already being swung open by a servant whose familiar tanned features seemed out of place in butler's garb.

  "Fitch!" Gwenda gasped in utter astonishment.

  "Miss Gwenda," the coachman exclaimed. "Praise the Lord!"

  She could only stare at him, recalling that the last time she had seen the man Ravenel had been stuffing his unconscious form inside the coach.

  "Fitch, what are you doing here?"

  "The master gave over trying to make a coachman of me. He said I should try butlering—"

  "No," Ravenel interrupted, looking equally astounded. "She means, how the deuce did you get here ahead of us?"

  "Ah, Master Jack found me and James and fetched us here late last night." Fitch stepped back to allow Gwenda and Ravenel to enter the foyer. Before Gwenda could demand any further details from her erstwhile coachman, another male voice called out, "Fitch. Who is it?"

  Gwenda tipped back her head, her gaze traveling up the marble staircase to the regions above. A youth attired in scarlet regimentals leaned over the gilt railing So dashing, so manly did he appear in uniform that it took Gwenda a second to recognize her scapegrace brother until Jack's face lit up at the sight of her.

  "Gwenda, you madcap!" He tore down the steps at such a rate he appeared certain to fall and break his neck.

  "Oh, Jack! Jack!" With a glad outcry, Gwenda flung herself into his arms, momentarily forgetting everything but her joy in being reunited with her favorite brother.

  They hugged while Bert leaped up at them barking, then both began to talk breathlessly, not giving the other a chance to reply.

  "Damn, Gwen. Father's had me searching all over Kent for you."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry if I've worried everyone."

  "... and even after I found the wrecked carriage and that great looby Fitch, he had no notion where you'd got to—"

  "I've been quite safe. But, Jack! Your new uniform. You look so smart!"

  " It is nothing to cry about, for mercy sakes. You already appear enough of a fright. Where'd you get that hideous dress?"

  While in the midst of these greetings, a door off to Gwenda's right opened and other familiar, well-loved voices were heard.

  "Jack? Did I hear Bertie's bark?"

  "Is that our Gwennie come back?"

  The next instant a short, plump woman rustled forward. Dear Mama, her military-style spencer and skirt as ever neat and precise. And just behind her, Papa, his dreamy eyes already filling with tears of gladness. Gwenda had not a chance to utter a word before her parents swept down upon her, embracing her.

  Lingering upon the threshold, his presence gone unnoticed, Ravenel shifted his feet awkwardly. With some hesitation, he removed his hat and handed it to Fitch. Studying the trio surrounding Gwenda, he had no difficulty recognizing Lord Vickers. The man's leonine mane of silver hair was a familiar sight at the House of Lords. The woman with the lace cap and unruly curls, of course, had to be Gwenda's mother, Lady Vickers. And as incredible as it seemed, the jovial, harmless-looking lad must be the infamous Mad Jack.

  Yet even without observing the Vickerses all together, Ravenel felt he would have instantly known the members of Gwenda's family. It was not so much a strong facial resemblance they shared as it was that exuberance of manner that was so much a part of Gwenda's charm; an unaffected display of warmth and affection that marked them all as belonging together.

  The baron took a step backward, feeling like an intruder here. He was on the point of taking back his hat and slipping quietly away when a lull finally occurred in all the hugging and exclamations.

  "My dear child," Lord Vickers said to Gwenda, blowing his nose into his linen handkerchief. "I thought you were dead."

  "Stuff, my dear!" Lady Vickers exclaimed. "Why must you always be thinking people are dead? One cannot be five minutes late coming back from the dressmaker's without you working yourself into a fret."

  "It was more than five minutes." Her husband raised his hand with a dramatic flourish. "To have one's only daughter vanish from the face of the earth! To find nothing but the wrecked remains of her coach—"

  At this juncture, Fitch startled them all by bursting into a loud lament. "Oh, 'twas all my fault, sir. That accursed drink. You should turn me off without a character, so you should."

  In his fit of remorse, Fitch twisted and crushed the brim of the Ravenel's hat But before Ravenel could rescue his much-abused headgear, the butler turned and stumbled off toward the servant's stairwell, taking the hat with him.

  "Fitch!" Lord Vickers called. "Oh, the poor fellow. Fitch!"

  "Let him go, my dear," Lady Vickers said. "It is best he retires below until he composes himself. One cannot have a hysterical butler answering one's door, can one?"

  It took the startled Ravenel a moment to realize her ladyship had directed this last comment to him.

  "Oh! Er ... no, it would not do at all."

  Lady Vickers nodded in approval. "Such a sensible man. So good of you to call. It is always so delightful to receive unexpected visitors. Who are you?"

  Her l
adyship's acknowledgment of Ravenel's presence had the effect of also turning her son's and husband's attention upon him. To Ravenel, it seemed he was facing a veritable sea of curious green-gold eyes. He had never before experienced any difficulty in pronouncing his own name, but he found himself stumbling over it.

  Gwenda came to his rescue. She pushed her way to his side, looking a little nervous and breathless herself. "This is Lord Ravenel, Mama. He is the gentleman who has been looking after me and has rescued me several times and risked his life fighting with smugglers and all manner of brave things."

  Ravenel felt his cheeks wash a dull red. He wished Gwenda would have given him a more ordinary sort of introduction. He started to disclaim, but the Vickerses were already upon him, pumping his hand with enthusiasm: Lady Vickers reiterating her conviction that he was a sensible man, Jack terming him a "brick," and Stanhope Vickers declaring what a pleasure it was to meet the preserver of his most beloved daughter.

  "I am your only daughter, Papa," Gwenda reminded him.

  "So you are, my pet. So you are." Stanhope Vickers clapped his hands together. "Well, Lord Ravenel. We must adjourn to the parlor at once, and you and Gwennie can regale us all with an accounting of your adventures. Prudence, my own, perhaps a spot of tea—"

  "No, sir. Please," the baron said quickly before he found himself entirely carried away from the purpose of his visit. "If it would be at all convenient, I would like the favor of a few words with you alone."

  Lord Vickers's surprise seemed to spread to the rest of his family, with the exception of Gwenda, who leveled a deep frown at Ravenel, which he steadfastly ignored.

  "Why, certainly, sir," Lord Vickers said. "If that is what you wish."

  "Oho! What mischief has Gwenda been about this time?" Jack Vickers called out gleefully.

  "Be quiet, Jack," Lady Vickers said. She disconcerted the baron by offering him a glance of unexpected shrewdness as her eyes traveled from him to her blushing daughter. She briskly shooed her son toward the door. "I am very sure you have some business that requires your attention elsewhere. And as for Gwenda, she is all done in. She should go upstairs for a hot bath and lie-down. I will send Colette—"

  Her ladyship paused a moment to frown. "Oh, no, that is right. Fitch told us Colette has run off. So sadly unreliable, but she did speak French so prettily."

  "Mama, please," Gwenda said as soon as she could get a word in. "I am not in the least tired. I should like to wait—"

  But her mother swept her protests aside. "As your grandpapa the general always said, a soldier is of no use in battle unless she has had the proper rest."

  Ravenel had no chance to so much as speak to Gwenda before her mother was marching her up the stairs, gently straightening her daughter's shoulders as they went. Gwenda shot one anxious glance back at him, her look half pleading, half indignant.

  Damn it, Gwenda, Ravenel wanted to shout. I am insisting upon this marriage for your own good.

  Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the cheval glass mounted on the wall and saw that he looked every bit as tense as she did. He followed Lord Vickers into the study for what he feared was going to prove the most uncomfortable interview of his life.

  "And that is the whole of the matter. So you see why I must marry your daughter," Ravenel finally concluded his awkward and lengthly explanation.

  "Dear me," Lord Vickers said. "You and Gwennie certainly have had a most unfortunate time of it."

  Considering Lord Vickers's usual flair for the dramatic, Ravenel found this a surprising bit of understatement. He wondered if Gwenda's father had understood one word of all that he had just related.

  Seated behind a desk littered with rumpled parchment, half-mended quill pens, and dripping inkwells, Lord Vickers rocked back in his leather-covered chair, bridging his fingertips beneath his chin. He shook his head and blessed his own soul several times.

  "So do I have your permission to go ahead with the marriage banns?" Ravenel prodded.

  "I don't quite know what to tell you, young man." A frown creased Lord Vickers's long forehead. "Any practical considerations of my daughter's future, I usually leave to her mother. We had much better consult her."

  Without waiting for Ravenel's agreement, Lord Vickers snapped to his feet with surprising quickness. He strode to the door, flung it open, and called for his wife.

  Very shortly, Prudence Vickers poked her head in the doorway, a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. "What is it, my dear? Are you ready for your tea?"

  "Not just yet, my love. It would seem Gwennie has gotten herself into some sort of a coil. Last night she and Lord Ravenel were stranded together at an inn, the Nonesuch. By the by, it sounds rather quaint. Remind me to stop over there the next time we are traveling through Kent."

  "Certainly, my dear."

  The baron bit back an impatient oath. "The point is, my lady, that your daughter was unchaperoned and—"

  "And so Lord Ravenel feels he ought to marry our Gwen," Lord Vickers finished.

  Lady Vickers studied Ravenel over the top of her spectacles. "Oh? Is that your only reason for wishing to do so?"

  The baron squirmed uncomfortably. If he had any other reasons, he was not quite ready to examine them. "It seems to me reason enough."

  "And Gwenda?" Lady Vickers asked. "Is she enthusiastic about this notion?"

  "No," Ravenel said reluctantly. "I admit that she is not. But under the circumstances—"

  "Then under the circumstances, she had better not do it."

  "That is your opinion, is it, my dearest heart?" her husband asked.

  "Indeed it is. Stanhope, only consider. Gwenda has already betrothed herself twice and broken it off because the affection was found wanting. A third time and it could develop into a most disagreeable habit."

  Lady Vickers gave Ravenel an amiable smile so very much like Gwenda's. "Thank you all the same for your offer, my lord, however misplaced it may have been. I am sure in all other respects you are a most sensible man. Now do forget all this, and hurry along for tea."

  With that, her ladyship popped back out again, leaving Ravenel gaping after her, Containing his astonishment, he made one last attempt to reason with Lord Vickers.

  "Sir, with all due respect, what you and your wife don't seem to understand is if this tale leaks out, your daughter will be ruined. Society may begin to say a deal of other things about Gwenda, things far less pleasant than whispers of broken engagements."

  "Shall they?" Lord Vickers asked. "Well, I think it far more important not to force two delightful young people into a marriage neither wants rather than take heed of idle gossip."

  Ravenel opened his mouth and closed it again. What was he to say in the face of such impracticality?

  Lord Vickers smiled and continued, "Lady Vickers and I only want our daughter to be happy."

  "But, my lord—"

  "In truth, those who love Gwenda, who value her as they ought, would know she could never have done anything bad. The opinion of the rest of the world simply doesn't matter."

  Ravenel could only stare at the man. This was utter folly. He knew it was and yet there was a soft glow in Stanhope Vickers's eyes as he pronounced these words, and a quality to his voice infusing it with a gentle, loving wisdom that made the baron's own notions of duty and propriety ring quite hollow.

  Perhaps it was not the Vickerses who were the fools, but himself and the rest of the world. Ravenel ran one hand across his brow in confusion.

  "There, there, young man." Lord Vickers patted him on the back. "You come along with me. Things always seem much clearer after one's had a cup of tea."

  The fiery ball that was the sun poised on the verge of dipping below the sea, the ever-darkening waves frothed against the shore, and the twilight sky streaked with rosy ribands of sunset.

  "Blast!" Gwenda hissed, letting fall the delicate organza curtain. She had only laid down upon the bed for a few minutes, never intending to fall asleep. What if Ravenel were alr
eady gone?

  She stumbled to the French gilt wardrobe and found a simple white muslin gown, which she donned. Barely taking the time to tame her mop of curls, she flung an Indian shawl about her shoulders and raced out of her bedchamber. She rushed to the gilt railing and was about to tear down the stairs when she noticed the tall, broad-shouldered figure pacing the hall below.

  Ravenel. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief. So he had not already fled the Vickers household in horror. He appeared to have survived the talk with her father, although exactly what had passed between the two men Gwenda could not tell from Ravenel's expression. He looked neither relieved nor disgusted, merely thoughtful.

  When Gwenda began to descend the stairs, he glanced up at her, his mouth tightening. "You need not look so apprehensive, Gwenda. It is all over."

  Gwenda paused at the foot of the steps. "And?" she asked anxiously.

  "Your father has convinced me you were right to refuse my offer. I have no intention of troubling you any further." He drew himself up stiffly and Gwenda thought she detected a flash of pain in his eyes. For the first time, it occurred to her how she must have wounded Ravenel's pride.

  She wished she could think of something soothing to say, but ended by blurting out, "Then why are you lingering here in the hall?"

  "I was on the point of leaving." He gave an exasperated laugh. "But it seems that Fitch has misplaced my hat. Your family is tearing apart the servants' quarters looking for it."

  "Oh, Ravenel, I am so sorry—" she began, then stopped. "No, I am not. I am glad of it, for otherwise I should have missed you " She added accusingly, "You were going to leave without saying goodbye."

  "Of course I wasn't! But you were resting. I did not want to disturb you. Now you look ..." He paused to study her, a warmth coming into his eyes. Then he quickly averted his gaze. "Much better," he concluded.