by Amanda Scott
“Probably old Lady Crossways tried and failed to teach that chit to mind her manners.” Lady Agnes was sitting upright on the settee now, her vinaigrette forgotten for the moment. Her eyes narrowed. “I should not wish to appear unfeeling, Nell, but I cannot but think that having that girl here will very likely put us all at sixes and sevens. She does not know our ways, after all.”
“No indeed,” Nell agreed. “That is the purpose of one’s come-out, is it not? To learn the ways of so-called polite society? And Rory will learn quickly enough.” Lady Agnes continued to look skeptical. Indeed, the lines near the corners of her mouth looked even a bit mulish. Nell studied her for some moments before a twinkle crept into her eye and she demanded, “Do you think Rory cannot learn, Mama? Because you think her a slowtop, or because she had the misfortune to be born in Kent and not in Sussex? Confess it! You do think that, don’t you? She is your granddaughter, ma’am!”
Lady Agnes winced, but she recovered quickly. “She may be a member of the family,” she stated, emphasizing the final word, “but she is still a foreigner, my dear, and say what you will, foreigners do not always adapt well to our ways.”
“Kent is the very next county, ma’am. It is not darkest Africa. And the ways Rory must adapt to are more or less London ways, now that the Prince of Wales has made Brighton such a popular refuge for his friends among the beau monde.”
“He, at least, is a gentleman,” Lady Agnes said fondly. They had heard rumors to the effect that the prince was not altogether popular in London, but Lady Agnes, like most of Brighton’s citizens, liked and admired the First Gentleman of Europe. He, by the mere fact of choosing their town for a retreat from his royal duties, had brought prosperity upon them all, and little could be heard against him in the erstwhile fishing village.
“Indeed, he can be all that is charming,” Nell agreed. “But you have not answered me, Mama. Surely you will not deny Rory her come-out on the flimsy pretense that you fear she will disgrace us with her Kentish manners.”
“I suppose you and Clarissa will do as you please,” Lady Agnes said wearily, making use once more of her vinaigrette. “But do not expect me to take charge of the girl. You will have to attend to that. And be certain Crossways agrees to a Dutch reckoning,” she added more firmly, the vinaigrette poised in midair. “There are always expenses one does not anticipate, and I shall not wish to be expected to justify every odd ha’penny.”
“No, indeed, ma’am, nor would he expect it of you. It is Clarissa who would make such demands, if such demands were ever made. However, I can safely promise that she will not plague you on that head. Then, you agree?”
“Agree to what?” The pleasant masculine voice speaking from the doorway behind her startled Nell, but she turned to the newcomer with a delighted smile.
“Kit, how was your ride?”
“Invigorating,” the young man replied, crossing the room with a quick stride, then bending to kiss his mother’s powdered cheek. “What sort of agreement is she attempting to wring from you, ma’am? Shall I stand your champion?”
“Dear boy.” Lady Agnes looked fondly upon her son, and indeed, he was a sight to gladden any mother’s heart. Well above medium height, handsome young Christopher Lindale possessed a figure that made his tailor the envy of his trade. Though broad enough of shoulder so that no wadding was needed, he was not yet so broad as to tax his man’s skills when it came to the smooth fit of his coats. Kit had changed out of his riding dress and appeared now wearing a well-cut coat of forest green over tan breeches and well-polished Hessians. His light brown hair was stylishly swept back from his forehead. His neckcloth was elaborately tied, and if his shirt points were a bit too high to be comfortable, he gave all the appearance of the fashionable young man about town.
“Well, Mama?” He glanced roguishly at his sister, his eyes—as blue as her own—twinkling with mischief. “Do you require a champion?”
“She does not,” Nell replied. “I was merely seeking her approval of my own return to the social scene.”
“Were you, indeed?” Kit lowered himself to an armchair, taking care not to crease his coat and disposing his long legs before him with practiced ease. He cast a skeptical glance at Nell. “I am more than seven, sister mine. If that were all, Mama would be cast into transports. Where’s the rub?”
“There is no rub,” Nell chuckled. “Merely a treat for all of us.”
“We will hope so,” muttered her ladyship sotto voce to her vinaigrette.
“You’ll see, Mama. I think Clarissa is doing us a kindness. We shall all enjoy the festivities much more seeing them anew through Rory’s eyes.”
“Rory!” Kit’s posture underwent a sudden change as he registered wary alertness. “Not that upstart blond baggage with the flyaway plaits and rude manners!”
“I’m quite sure the plaits will be gone, Kit,” Nell laughed. “After all, Rory is turned seventeen. No doubt she will be much as I was at that age, full of eagerness and anticipation of delights to come.”
“Well, if she’s as tongue-tied as you were, you may call me a Dutchman,” Kit retorted. “Why on earth does Clarissa want to fire her off here? Brighton is scarcely the proper place for a young thing to be trying her wings.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Brighton,” put in her ladyship loyally. “And if there are some persons who come from other places who do not know how to keep the line, I am sure Nell will know how to send them to the rightabout.”
“Nell! Why not Clarissa?”
“She and Crossways are wanted in Chatham,” Nell replied evenly. “The dowager thinks they do not visit often enough.”
“Not sick, is she?” Kit’s face expressed sudden alarm.
“No, of course not. Why should she be?”
“With our luck it would be just like the old lady to pop off and plunge us all into mourning again.”
“Oh, no, she couldn’t,” moaned her ladyship.
“Kit, for heaven’s sake! Mama, don’t be a goose. We should not even be forced into black gloves. She is only Clarissa’s mama-in-law, after all.”
“Well, she is the gypsy’s grandmother, so you cannot expect her demise to leave us entirely unaffected,” Kit returned.
“You could scarcely squire the chit about if the old lady cocks up her toes.”
“Don’t call her the gypsy!” Nell snapped, annoyed by his attitude. “She has a perfectly good name. And the fact of the matter is that Lady Crossways is not on her death bed. You,” she added tartly, going for the throat, “are merely irritated because you are used to being the center of attention yourself, Kit.”
“And why not? After all, she is likely to put this house in an uproar, and you’ll both be expecting me to lend my escort—probably to the dashed assemblies at the Castle and the Old Ship as well. And just because she’s a dashed female, no expense will be spared to furbish her up. Ha!” he exclaimed as a new thought occurred to him. “I’ll wager that’s why Clarissa’s saddling you with the charge. Only one set of gowns that way. She surely won’t expect to pay for yours, Nelly dear, but she’d dashed well have to tart herself up if she brought the chit out. This way, most of the expense will fall upon Mama. I call it dashed unfair.”
“Kit, do stop thinking of yourself for once,” Nell begged. “No, no,” she added when he made a gesture of protest, “that’s precisely what has thrown you into such a pet. You are afraid Mama’s purse will have to be opened for Rory and that your pockets will suffer accordingly.”
“Well, and why not?” He hunched a shoulder, looking more like a sulky schoolboy than a young gentleman of nineteen summers. “I should have been allowed a proper come-out in London, and well you know it. But, no, Mama and Sir Henry said I was too young, so I must make do with the delights of Brighton. But only such delights as they approve of. And now you will be wanting me to dance attendance on this young chit—two years younger than I am myself—and everyone will be falling over to puff her off so that she can find a proper husband.
If you were at all concerned about my welfare, Nell, you’d see that her coming here will be a dashed nuisance.”
“Stuff,” retorted his unsympathetic sister.
“Children, don’t bicker,” pleaded her ladyship. “You will give me the headache. Really, Nell, it is most unkind of you to tease Kit so,” she added reprovingly. “You ought to have told him at the outset that I shall not be obliged to disburse so much as a penny on Aurora’s behalf. And you, Kit,” she went on, effectively stifling the smile that was beginning to spread across his handsome face, “you should be ashamed to speak so of Sir Henry, when you know he has only your best interests at heart.”
Nell watched to see how her brother would respond to the rebuke. Sir Henry Sinclair, his principal trustee, was ever a thorn in Kit’s side. Sir Henry was no doubt a very wise man when it came to handling finances, but he possessed no tact whatsoever when it came to handling the boy. Nell knew he was much more likely to lecture than to sympathize. Lately, he had been hoping, vocally and constantly, that Kit would prove himself a gentleman during the upcoming Season. But since Kit’s head seemed to be as full of potential card tables and cockfights as it was of canapes and country dances, Nell had no great hopes of his making it through the Season unscathed by at least one or two of Sir Henry’s fiery lectures. He frowned now, but contained his often uncertain temper.
“I am sorry if I offended you, Mama, but Sir Henry is an old woman. I am not a child to be constantly guarded and scolded, but he treats me like one. I daresay he will tell me I should be grateful for the diversion of my—Lord, she’s my niece, ain’t she?” He shook his head in wonder at the thought of having a niece two years his junior. “Well, he will be sure to say as much, anyway. I’m going to Harry’s.” And, with a bitter glare for his sister’s benefit, he got to his feet and left the room.
She glanced at Lady Agnes. “I hope he doesn’t mean to be difficult, Mama.”
“Kit?” Lady Agnes considered the possibility with knit brows. “I daresay Sir Henry’s right, you know. Or would be,” she added when her daughter looked perplexed. “If he had said what Kit said he said. Oh, dear. I mean it would not be a bad thing if Kit were to find Aurora diverting. Not that it would do as a match, of course.”
Nell grinned. “I don’t think we need worry about that possibility, ma’am. Although it would be very nice if I could manage to find a suitable husband for Rory while she is here.” The mischief was back in her eye. “Just think of all the money I would save Clarissa. She wouldn’t have to spring for a London Season at all if I could get Rory riveted here. Perhaps,” she added, further scandalizing her parent, “I have a turn for economy after all. Do you not think so, Mama?”
II
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS were busy ones for Nell, and while the time passed quickly by, she found herself growing daily more excited about the prospect before her. She had not seen her niece for nearly six years, for it had not been thought necessary to drag the young girl to any funeral since Uncle Edgar’s and that only because he had died right here in Brighton. But as Nell struggled to remember the scrubby twelve-year-old who had set them all by the ears with her pranks and mischief, she smiled. By no stretch of the imagination could she conjure up an image of Rory as the shy, nearly tongue-tied sort of debutante she had been herself.
No, indeed. There would be no need to coax her into company. On the contrary, it would no doubt be necessary to curb the child’s enthusiasm, because it would not do for her to acquire a reputation for being fast or, worse, flirtatious. But Nell worried only briefly over such possibilities. She had not realized until the opportunity presented itself how much she desired a more active social life. She had indeed been serving as a comfort to her mama. For nearly two years. For there had been nothing really to stop her going back into society the year after Cousin Pallworthy’s demise. Lady Agnes had certainly recommended it. However, she had also looked faintly alarmed whenever Nell had received an invitation that tempted her in the slightest.
Lady Agnes enjoyed, if not actual ill health, at least a languorous disposition. The series of deaths in her family had served only to encourage a natural inclination to indulge her solitary habits. Without her husband’s encouragement, Lady Agnes had discovered little desire to decorate the social scene by herself. An occasional ladies’ card party was all she exerted herself to attend. But her spirits required constant support. And if Nell suggested leaving her to her own devices for an evening, although she would certainly encourage the outing, she would also wonder rather sadly how she would go on without Nell’s companionship. Nell had made the attempt once or twice but had found it difficult to pursue her own pleasures while her thoughts kept returning to Upper Rock Gardens.
Pursuing a social life without her mother’s active support proved to be nearly impossible anyway. Even at the age of four-and-twenty, as a single lady she had required suitable escort. Her brother was still too young for the office, and although many friends from earlier days were married and might have served her, she was made to feel disconcertingly like a third wheel on the few occasions that she had accepted their invitations, and she had quickly been convinced that such arrangements would not answer.
It seemed to her one day in the midst of her preparations for her niece’s arrival and the rapidly approaching Season that, had she truly wished to return to an active social life at an earlier date, she might have made more of a push to do so. But in all honesty she had to acknowledge that she had not wished it. Such doings had suddenly seemed childishly foolish. She had felt out of place and old at twenty-four. Not just old, she amended to herself with a slight smile, but quite ancient in fact. Some of her married friends had also seemed childish, as though their mental growth had stopped while hers had gone on. If marriage did that to one, she had decided dispassionately, she could do as well without it. She had her books, her music, her needlework, and her riding to occupy her time. She had also, thanks to Lady Agnes’s disinclination to bestir herself, had a house to run. She had not been bored. But now, it was as if she had a real purpose in life. Though she had not been able to attend the balls and assemblies alone, as a spinster lady she could well serve as chaperon to her niece. She could renew old acquaintances, wear lovely gowns, and generally amuse herself; and, at the same time, she could oblige her elder sister and her niece. Even Lady Agnes could scarcely cavil at being left alone when Nell would be engaged in such an admirable activity. In the past weeks since Clarissa’s letter had arrived, with Nell’s own experience as a dreaded example, it had occurred to Lady Agnes that her granddaughter should be safely wedded as soon as possible.
The day appointed for the arrival of the Crossways family came at last, and while instructing the chambermaid in the final preparations of Rory’s bedchamber, Nell found her thoughts straying once again to the problem of finding a suitable husband for the girl. With the Prince of Wales’s Own Regiment of Hussars stationed right here in Brighton, there were, of course, any number of eligible gentlemen available, even if one did not consider the stream of summer visitors that had already begun to descend upon Brighton.
It was expected to be a busy Season. Many tourists had stayed away in recent years, fearing French invasion, but the successful outcome of the Battle of Trafalgar the previous fall had put an end to such worries, and every nook and cranny in Brighton was expected to be full this year. The prince himself had been in town for nearly a week, with his friends and followers arriving daily.
Nell did not doubt that a suitable husband for her niece could be found among these visitors or even among the permanent residents of the town. But the thought of being solely responsible for sifting the suitable from the unsuitable she found a trifle daunting. Back in the days when Mr. Wade, master of ceremonies at the Castle Inn, and Mr. Hicks, his counterpart at the Old Ship, had been at the height of their power, she might have depended upon them to guide her. But of later years their power had begun to wane. Rory might meet some young gentleman at Donaldson’s Library or along the
esplanade who had not condescended to sign the visitors’ book—a social solecism of great magnitude in days gone by, but nearly acceptable behavior now—and such a gentleman would therefore be quite unknown to either of the masters of ceremony.
Sir Henry Sinclair might assist her, of course. Lady Agnes certainly turned to him often enough, and Kit, of course, was greatly dependent upon him. But Sir Henry was a gentleman inclined to be overly conservative in Nell’s opinion. Surely, if she turned to him once, he might expect her to bow to his authority rather more often than would be consistent with either her own or her niece’s comfort.
Of course, once she had renewed her own acquaintance with various members of the beau monde, there would doubtless be any number of persons to help her. Comforted by that thought, she put her worries aside and turned her mind instead to the pleasure she would enjoy while watching her niece try her wings. The matter of a husband, considering Rory’s ample fortune, would no doubt take care of itself quite satisfactorily. It never once occurred to Nell that the matter might already be well in hand, but she was brought to realize her error immediately upon the arrival of the Crossways party.
She was reading aloud to Lady Agnes in the morning room when the pretty chambermaid who had helped prepare Rory’s bedchamber entered to inform them that the visitors were, at that very moment, descending from their carriage onto the flagway.
“Please, my lady, Mr. Pavingham says he will need Jeremy to deal with her ladyship’s baggage, and so he sent me to tell you they have come and will be up directly.” Lady Agnes inclined her head.
“Thank you, Katy,” Nell said, laying her book aside as she rose to her feet. “Tell Pavingham to show Lord and Lady Crossways and the Lady Aurora into the drawing room, if you please.”
“Yes, Miss Nell.” The maid disappeared through the door, and her muffled footsteps could be heard on the carpeted steps as she hurried back downstairs.
