by Jane Goodger
He’d been looking out his hotel window, thinking about a meeting he was to have later that day with Herbert Menders about his latest dismal investments, when he’d spied a young woman, wearing a blue hat with a yellow feather bursting from its band, strolling along the beach. Despite her ridiculous hat, she had an elegance, a carefree grace, which struck him. It made him curious. Why was this girl alone? He watched as she talked to a child in the sand, as she went to a souvenir stand, as she listened to the band for a moment. He felt strangely compelled to go down to the beach and get a closer look. Following this impulse was so out of character for him that the thought alone nearly drove him back to his room and his worries.
And then he was standing behind her, watching her, afraid to breathe lest she turn and see him, when a page of her letter lifted off the jetty and floated on a breeze into the water. He knew by the way she was dressed that he shouldn’t approach her—she wasn’t destitute by any means, but she certainly was not anyone he could ever seriously consider—but something about her drew him. She was a fine-looking woman, but it was more than the way she filled out that ordinary dress. He couldn’t have said why he remained there, standing behind her, feeling a longing that he had no name for. When she nearly fell in, he didn’t think, he acted, and found her practically in his arms, laughing and looking up at him. He hadn’t wanted to let go—hadn’t let go, actually—until she looked down at his hand still clasped around her wrist.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said quickly, lest she leave. That could not happen. “My name is Gray. I’m a . . . valet for a gentleman staying at the Royal.” He nearly winced at the lie, but he knew that if he’d told her the truth of who he was, she would curtsy deferentially or blush or, worse, walk away.
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, as if not believing him, though he couldn’t think of a reason she wouldn’t. She looked past him to the large, elegant façade of the Albion Royal Hotel. “Gray the valet,” she said, as if tasting the words. Then she smiled and thrust out her hand. “My name is Katy. I’m a maid for Miss Wright of the New York Wrights.” He must have given something away, for her eyes widened. “You know them?”
“I know of them. I know they have a daughter they are trying to sell to the highest bidder. Or rather, title.”
She looked momentarily shocked, then burst out laughing. “Oh my. I hadn’t realized how quickly news travels in England. I imagine every gentleman with a moldering castle is out looking for her. They are fabulously rich, you know, the Wrights. Your employer wouldn’t be one of those gentlemen with a moldering castle, would he?”
Graham felt a smile tugging on his lips, but he suppressed the action. “My employer is looking for a bride, as a matter of fact.”
“A wealthy bride, no doubt.”
“How cynical of you. But, yes, a wealthy bride would do better than a poor one, I should think,” he said, feeling slightly irritated because it was the truth. Unless his latest investments brought in historic returns, he would be in a desperate state—desperate enough to marry simply for money. And the only families with the kind of money he needed were Americans. One family, the Von Haupts, was already courting him with ferocious tenacity. One of the reasons he was in Brighton was to escape their relentless pursuit. It wasn’t that their daughter, Claudia, was ugly—she wasn’t. But he simply could not imagine spending his life with a woman who reminded him so much of milk and toast, rather than marmalade and scones. Well-made scones with marmalade were his only weakness. It made him nearly ill to think that his title, steeped in history and revered for generations, would be brought this low.
“And your employer is?”
“Graham Spencer, Marquess of Avonleigh.”
He watched as her mouth opened slightly. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said.
Now, that, he didn’t expect at all. “He’s not such a bad sort,” Graham said rather indignantly.
“Perhaps not to you, but I’ve heard things.” She shrugged. “I’m not one to gossip.”
“But I am, and I’m very curious. What have you heard?”
She pressed her lips together as if such an action would keep the words from escaping. “It’s said he never smiles. That he is one of the most miserable men in all of Britain and that his heart—if he has one—is the size of a pea.” She held up her thumb and index finger to show just how small his heart was.
Graham, at first horrified, let out a sharp, and rather rusty, laugh. “Do tell me more.”
She smiled, her full lips looking incredibly enticing at the moment, so Graham forced himself to look into her eyes. They were changeable eyes, green and gray and blue in a field of golden brown. The two were heedless of the people strolling past, giving curious looks at the well-dressed man and the ordinary girl. “It’s said—I overheard Miss Wright talking with her mother about Lord Avonleigh—that he will marry the very first girl he smiles at. Not a polite smile. A true smile.”
He hadn’t heard that one. “Truly? That’s what they say?”
“That and the part about him not having a heart. He’s known as the Miserable Marquess.”
“He has a heart,” he muttered. “Somewhere.”
“Of course he has one,” she said. “He simply has never used it.”
“Would you like to know what I’ve heard about Miss Wright?”
“Not particularly.” And she bent down to retrieve the now-soggy bit of paper the changeable wind had pushed to the sand.
“I’ve heard she’s quite ugly. Has a large wart, right here,” he said, pointing at his nose.
“You’ve heard no such thing,” Katy said, standing up quickly. “She’s quite lovely, actually. And brilliant. As a matter of fact, she’d much rather go to university than marry some old duke.”
Gray gave a mock shudder. “I’m certain Lord Avonleigh could change her mind. He’s neither old nor a duke.”
She laughed and started walking back the way she’d come, before turning to face him once again. “I’m afraid I’m not in the business of matchmaking. Miss Wright wants nothing more than to return home and get away from all these pompous, self-involved prigs. It was a pleasure meeting you, Gray the valet.”
Graham watched her, a bit of panic striking him unawares. “Shall we meet here tomorrow? At the same time?”
She whirled about and tilted her head as if solving some great problem; then her expressive eyes flashed. “If I can get away from my duties, then yes.”
Graham smiled, fully and wholly, his cheek muscles straining with the uncharacteristic exercise. He watched her until she was swallowed up by the summer crowd, until even the silly feather on her hat was not visible.
Chapter 2
“Sir, what is wrong. You look . . . happy.”
Graham gave his valet, Mr. Chase, a withering look as he removed his jacket.
“I do apologize, sir,” Chase said, taking the jacket before Graham could toss it on the settee, “but I happened to look out the window, overcome with curiosity as to what it was that had you in such a tizzy . . .”
“I was not in a tizzy.”
“I happened to look out the window and saw you talking to a young lady.”
Graham pulled off his tie and threw it on the settee, getting a small bit of satisfaction at Mr. Chase’s annoyance. He decided to ignore Chase, even though he realized such a feat would be impossible. For some reason, his valet saw himself more in the role of surrogate father than employee. Perhaps because Graham had so much been in need of a father since his had died tragically fourteen years earlier. Mr. Chase was the only one who knew the depths his despair had reached, the only one who knew the truth about his father.
“The young lady in question seemed to quite engage your attention.”
Graham’s collar joined his cravat with a satisfying plop. “Spying on me, were you?”
“Hardly, sir. But it is one of my duties as valet to ensure your safety.”
“It is not and you know it.”
“Be that
as it may, my lord, it appeared as if you—I can hardly credit it—were laughing.”
Graham gave Chase, whom he’d known since he was in short pants, a level look. “And?”
“It was rather singular, sir. That laugh. And that girl. Such an ordinary one, at that.”
“She was hardly ordinary,” Graham said softly, ignoring his valet’s uplifted brows.
“Of course, sir.” Mr. Chase was silent for a moment. “Sir?”
“Yes, Chase.”
“Such girls, well . . .”
Graham took a deep breath, knowing what his old friend was hinting at. “She doesn’t know who I am. She thinks I’m a valet.”
Silence. “Sir, if I may speak frankly.”
“I cannot stop you, so proceed.”
“Why? You are not the type of man to trifle with a young lady who, shall we say, is not a social equal.”
Graham shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of what he’d done. “Damned if I know. Something in the sea air, I suppose. I’m seeing her tomorrow.” Perhaps he was doing so to disprove the theory that he hadn’t a heart, though what he would prove by pretending he was someone else, he didn’t know.
“Do you think it wise to see her again, sir?”
“Not in the least.”
Katherine walked back to her hotel feeling an excitement stirring in her that she’d hadn’t felt for years. What had possessed her to lie to that man? And worse, what had possessed her to agree to see him again? Had she gone mad? No, she realized with honesty, she’d been charmed by a handsome man with a fascinating accent and striking eyes. And if he’d known who she was, he would have changed, treated her as if she were an untouchable bank account rather than a girl.
It was wonderful for a man to see her, to be interested in her, and not her family money. Yes, that was it, the heady realization that a handsome man might actually want to spend time with her. Even though she knew it was wrong, to go gallivanting about on her own unchaperoned, Katherine also knew it would take a hurricane advancing on the shore to stop her. She pushed down a rather strong wave of guilt about lying to her mother. But didn’t she deserve a bit of fun? And not the kind of “fun” she’d been forced to endure since her coming out, the endless balls, the boring suppers, the tedious luncheons. No, this was different, this was an Adventure.
Katherine walked into the hotel, completely unaware of the people who looked at her breezing by. She rode the lift up to the sixth floor, humming the same song the band had been playing earlier. Then, seeing no one in sight, she lifted her skirts and ran down the hall to her room, leaving behind a small trail of sand. She burst into her room and started laughing.
“What happened?” Clara asked. “I saw you talking to a man. Who was he?”
“Lord Avonleigh’s valet.”
Clara furrowed her brow. “It wasn’t!” The two of them had shared more than one giggle talking about the renowned Lord Avonleigh, who was said to have never smiled at a female. His legend had grown to the point that debutantes were making complete cakes of themselves in a misguided attempt to make the stone-faced curmudgeon grin. This, she had learned in her two months in England. She shared everything with Clara, and the Legend of Lord Avonleigh, the Miserable Marquess, was the one they enjoyed the most.
“Oh, it most certainly was his valet. He claimed Lord Avonleigh isn’t as heartless as his reputation would suggest. And, Clara, you won’t believe what I told him. I can’t fathom why I would do such a thing. I told him I was Katherine Wright’s maid.”
Clara’s eyes grew even wider. “You didn’t!”
“I did,” Katherine said, letting out a laugh. “And I agreed to meet him tomorrow. Can you believe I would do such a thing?”
Katherine expected Clara to be just as thrilled with her adventure as she was, but she was surprised to see her maid frown. “I don’t think you ought to. It was one thing to walk alone along the beach, but it is quite another to meet a man in secret.”
“It won’t be in secret. I’m telling you.”
Clara lifted her chin. “Will you be telling your mother then?” As a guilty flush stole over Katherine’s face, Clara let out an “Aha.”
Katherine, feeling much less excited about her adventure, walked to her bed and sat down. “I suppose I shouldn’t see him. I suppose it would be wrong.” She let out a long breath. “But he was so beautiful. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and I don’t really see what harm could come of going for a walk tomorrow and just happening to run into him.”
“Handsome, was he,” Clara said, sounding cautious.
“The most handsome. Of course, nothing could ever come of it. I live in America and he lives here. If he knew who I truly was, he’d want nothing at all to do with me. These English are so conscious of class.”
“Perhaps . . .” Clara began and stopped. But those two syllables gave Katherine hope.
“Perhaps what?”
“Perhaps it would be all right. You’re a good girl, who knows right from wrong.”
Katherine grinned. “Yes, I do. And I might never have a chance again to be, well, to be me. At least while we’re here in England.” She lifted her nose in the air and took on the persona of her hated governess, Miss Smythe. She was English (her mother had hoped she’d acquire a bit of an upper crust accent), and she’d disdained everything American—including Katherine. “Back straight, do not slouch. Do not laugh aloud. Do not cry. Wear your best. Do your hair. Try not to sound overly intelligent. Try not to look too interested. Or interesting.” She slumped a bit. “It’s all so tiring.”
“All those coins just weighing you down,” Clara said, then laughed when Katherine frowned.
“I know I shouldn’t complain,” Katherine said. “I’m luckier than most. I do know that.”
“Even expensive shoes can be difficult to walk in,” Clara said philosophically.
“You are brilliant, do you know that, Clara?”
“Or dumb as a cow for not running to your mother right now to tell her what you’ve been up to. And what you’re planning.”
That night, Katherine had a sedate dinner with her mother, who continued to complain about her illness, which only added to the guilt Katherine was feeling. Her mother, despite her dislike of Brighton, was sincerely disappointed that this trip hadn’t been a great success.
Her mother only picked at her food, making Katherine feel worse. Apparently walking in the sea air greatly increased her appetite, and she was famished.
“Are you going to eat your beef, Mother?”
“My stomach just cannot tolerate meat right now. I’ll just sip my tea.”
Indeed, since coming to England, her mother’s headaches had worsened considerably and Katherine had begun to worry. Elizabeth had always suffered from an occasional headache that meant a day spent in bed, but she’d never been one to stay abed for days on end. Perhaps the very air that was making her so hungry was making her mother ill.
“All you do is drink tea, Mother. You’ll waste away.” Katherine eyed her mother, who looked rather hale and hearty for a woman who’d spent the day abed.
“I have plenty of pounds to lose before I disappear completely,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “I believe the sea air disagrees with me, but I won’t have to suffer it much longer.”
“Oh?” A shot of joy filled Katherine as she hoped her mother was hinting they could return home.
“Lady Haversly sent me an invitation to a house party. We leave in four days.”
Katherine swallowed her disappointment. “A house party? How wonderful.”
Obviously, she’d failed to fool her mother, who said, “It very well may be wonderful. I’ve heard there will be quite a variety of people invited.”
“Dukes and princes, I suppose,” Katherine said on a teasing note.
Her mother raised one eyebrow. “A whole host of titles seeking rich American brides. I’ll be in heaven.”
She wasn’t coming.
Graham stood by his window
, looking down the beach, his eyes searching for a yellow hat and blue feather bobbing in amongst the crowds. He tapped his chin softly and relentlessly with the knuckle of one hand, feeling his gut twist in disappointment. And hating that his gut twisted in disappointment. Why would he put so much stock in whether some maid failed to meet him? Perhaps because yesterday had been the first time in years that he’d laughed with such abandon. While those stories about him were surely exaggerated, he was honest enough to realize they weren’t so far off.
And then he saw her—not wearing the little hat with the blue feather, but a large one made of straw, affixed to her head with a wide yellow ribbon tied to one side of her jaw. His relief was ridiculous. He smiled as she stopped to help an elderly man retrieve a handkerchief that flew out of his hand in the stiff sea breeze.
“She does seem to have a certain charm about her,” Mr. Chase said from behind him. “I’ll give her that.”
“So kind of you, Chase. I am off. I will be back in time for dinner.” Graham couldn’t stop the grimace. He was dining with an old Cambridge classmate—Charles Lynch—one he hadn’t really cared for then and one he didn’t want to spend time with now. They had bumped into one another in the lobby, and Graham could hardly refuse the man’s invitation. He hadn’t been quick enough on his feet to come up with a viable excuse.
By the time he got to the jetty where he’d met her the day before, she was already there, staring out to sea. She looked like a Monet painting, all brightness against the darker blue of the ocean and sky. A long, curling strand of red-gold hair had escaped her hat, and he had the urge to step close enough to her so that strand would touch his face. She didn’t turn when he walked up beside her, but he knew she sensed his presence.
