An Affair of Honor

by Amanda Scott

  She was not given much more time to ponder her difficulties, for Madge soon entered and began to lay out her clothes. Less than an hour later Nell entered the breakfast parlor neatly attired in a walking dress of russet sarcenet with a striped tunic and kid boots. Her mother and brother sat at the table, the latter rising to greet her entrance, then seating himself quickly in order to reapply his attention to his high-piled plate. Nell regarded the cup of tea that occupied, in solitary splendor, the space before Lady Agnes.

  “Not feeling quite the thing this morning, Mama?”

  “Oh, I’m perfectly stout, dear.” Lady Agnes smiled wryly. “Indeed, I am a trifle too stout. In no time at all I am persuaded I shall be quite as fat as Clarissa, for Millicent has had to let out three of my new gowns. I thought perhaps I might have a little dry toast if the tea does not satisfy my hunger sufficiently.”

  “Nonsense, Mama, you will never be fat, and you must eat something more substantial than that. Fasting cannot be good for you. You will make yourself ill.”

  “Well, you know I always have a glass of wine and a biscuit at midday, Nell. I daresay I shall do well enough. And only think of the money Cook can save if I don’t eat so much.”

  “I think it would be wiser simply to ask Cook to return to plain fare for a time and to forget the rich sauces you enjoy so frequently. I am persuaded ’twould do you far more good than starving yourself, ma’am.”

  “Oh, Nell, we could not do that. Why, whatever would that young French kitchenmaid find to do if Cook ceased to require her lovely sauces? You know we hired her particularly for the purpose.”

  “Aimée is grateful to have a position, Mama. After the dreadful ordeal of escaping from her homeland to a strange shore with two tiny children in hand, she would scrub floors and still be happy.”

  “But her family is a noble one,” protested Lady Agnes. “It seemed somehow almost suitable when she was merely providing us the benefit of her exquisite sauces. But to ask her to scrub floors … no, no, Nell. I couldn’t.”

  Nell chuckled. “I never said you should, ma’am. I merely said she would not refuse. Our family is also a noble one. You, after all, are the daughter of a marquess, are you not?”

  “You know I am, dearest,” her ladyship replied complacently, “and whatever anyone might say, I did not marry beneath myself when I married your dear papa. His birth was respectable and his fortune made him perfectly eligible. But what has that to say to anything?”

  “Merely, that if circumstances required it of you, I have no doubt that you would have scrubbed floors in order to keep your children from starving after Papa died.”

  Lady Agnes looked doubtful. “I shall not dispute your word, of course, my dear. But I confess I am most grateful that I was never put to such a test.”

  “I am also grateful to have been wellborn, Mama, and in a civilized country where people do not cut off one’s head merely because one chances to be well off. But Aimée and her babies are safe now, and if Cook were to ask her to help with mere plain cooking, she would not object. Now, do let me help you to some of this ham. I am persuaded that you will enjoy it.”

  Lady Agnes agreed that perhaps a small morsel of ham, a bit of cheese, and perhaps even a very small chunk of bread thinly spread with butter would not cause her to burst the seams of her lovely lavender morning gown. Liberally following her directions, Nell soon placed a plate before her and set another for herself.

  “Where is her ladyship this morning?” Kit inquired, sitting back in his chair and nodding when Jeremy asked if anyone would care for more hot tea.

  “I don’t know, I’m sure,” Nell replied. “I believe she will be down when she is dressed. We are going to Donaldson’s this morning.”

  He shook his head. “You will have your hands full, Nell.”

  “Don’t be nonsensical. She is already betrothed. It is merely a matter of making her known to the beau monde. Rory will behave with propriety, my dear. It would please me, by and bye, if you would not provoke her.”

  “I? Provoke her? Seems to me the boot was on the other foot last night.”

  “You were scarcely conciliating, Kit.”

  “See here, Nell, if you mean to begin the day by reading me a lecture.”

  “I mean no such thing, Kit, and I apologize if it sounded like that.” She smiled coaxingly. “What are your plans for the day?”

  He shrugged. “I expect Harry and I will think of something.”

  “I cannot conceive why you should wish to spend so much of your time with Harry Seton,” Lady Agnes said, narrowing her eyes. “I am persuaded that neither your papa nor Sir Henry would approve of the association. Mr. Seton appears to me to be the sort of young man who would sit in a window with his telescope trained on the ladies’ bathing machines.”

  A slight flush on her brother’s cheeks informed Nell that this pastime was not altogether unfamiliar to him, and she judged it time to intervene in the conversation. “Mr. Seton has been a good friend to Kit, Mama. You know he has. I expect they will join the rest of the world in a stroll on the Steyne. Will you not, Kit?”

  He smiled at her gratefully. “I expect so. Will you both excuse me now?”

  “What, not leaving on my account, are you, Uncle Kit?”

  Rory stood in the doorway, a vision in narrow turquoise-and-pink stripes. Her lovely hair was bound with fillets, à la Greque, and her slimly tailored walking dress showed her trim figure to advantage. She grinned at her uncle, already half out of his chair.

  Kit straightened. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

  Nell hid a smile. Clearly, her brother was determined not to be drawn. Rory stepped forward to inspect the dishes laid out for breakfast “I slept very well, thank you. Good morning, Grandmama, Aunt Nell. Are there any sausages? I adore sausages.”

  “Under the silver cover on the left,” Kit directed. “Good day to you, ladies. I’m off.”

  “I hope I didn’t scare him away,” Rory said sweetly as she took her place.

  “Don’t be absurd, child,” Lady Agnes said with a warm smile. “Gentlemen are always in a rush to begin the day, don’t you know.”

  Rory returned the smile and brought her plate to the table, declining Jeremy’s offer of tea and requesting chocolate instead. “Shall we go to Donaldson’s directly after breakfast, Aunt Nell?”

  Nell nodded, her mouth full of Yorkshire ham.

  “’Tis a fascinating place, Donaldson’s,” offered Lady Agnes. “I purchase my paints there.”

  “Goodness! Do you paint, Grandmama?”

  “Mama paints elegant little things on velvet and satin,” Nell told her.

  “How clever of you! Is it very difficult?”

  “Well, not if one finds the proper paints,” Lady Agnes explained. “So many of the dyes are quite wrong and will run or bleed or simply fade away. That is why I go to Donaldson’s. Their supplies are always to be relied upon.”

  Once breakfast was over, Nell and Rory collected their hats and gloves, and Nell ordered the landaulet.

  “I frequently walk,” she explained, “but Mama would prefer that we take the carriage,” She paused in the entry, waiting for Rory to finish pulling her pink kid gloves on. It would never do for a lady to be seen departing the house while still in the act of donning her gloves. Soon they were both ready, however, and Pavingham escorted them to the waiting carriage with a properly stately air.

  The carriage took them by way of Edward Street to the Steyne, past the Duke of Marlborough’s house and past Mrs. Fitzherbert’s house with its three arched bays and distinctive first-floor balcony. The balcony was deserted when they passed, but Nell explained that Mrs. Fitzherbert and the prince often sat there together or with friends and nodded graciously to such passers-by as might merit their notice.

  They were set down at the door of Donaldson’s Library, and Nell instructed her coachman to collect them again in an hour.

  “That will allow plenty of time for you to become acquaint
ed with the best of the little shops hereabouts. Is there anything in particular you desire to purchase?”

  “Only some green ribbons, if I can discover the correct shade,” Rory replied. “I have a bit of the material I want to match in my reticule.”

  It was a matter of but a few moments for Rory to inscribe her name and direction in the visitors’ book. Looking about the library afterward, she professed herself charmed by the decor, but Nell noted that her glances fell a good deal more readily upon the various young men visiting the place than upon the books, art supplies, or card tables. She hid a smile.

  “Shall we look for your ribbons now?”

  Rory, gazing in rapt admiration at a tall, dark-haired young gentleman in the dashing blue and gold uniform of the prince’s regiment, did not seem to hear her, so Nell patiently repeated her suggestion.

  The younger girl turned quite pink and glanced sharply at her. “Oh, yes, of course,” she replied quickly. But she could not resist a look back over her shoulder as they passed out of the library.

  “That is not the only uniform you will see, my dear. The town is quite heavily littered with them.”

  “Uniform?” Rory shot her a saucy grin. “’Tis not the uniform but the young man in it, Aunt Nell. Was he not the most shockingly handsome gentleman you have ever clapped eyes upon?”

  “You only think it is not the uniform,” Nell replied gently, stifling an impulse to remind her niece that she was betrothed. “In my experience, nearly every young man looks extraordinarily handsome in a uniform. And those Hussar kits are particularly becoming. Just you wait till you see one of them in full dress with his pelisse and silver lace.”

  Rory looked dubious, but she did not argue, and they moved on to visit the shops. They soon found her green ribbons, made a good many other trifling purchases, and then Nell suggested they simply stroll for a while and enjoy the sights.

  Rory had already exclaimed her astonishment over the changes wrought in the prince’s Marine Pavilion since her previous visit. The onion-domed roof of the stables seemed to her to be something straight out of a fairy tale. She glanced at it again when they emerged from the last shop.

  “What a truly magnificent imagination his highness must possess,” she said solemnly.

  “What a very expensive imagination would be more to the point,” remarked a dry but familiar voice from the flagway close behind them.

  Rory muttered something under her breath, but Nell was grateful to observe that her charge was all smiles as they turned to bid good day to Lord Huntley.

  “Good morrow, ladies,” he said with a polite bow. “I chanced to observe you from across the way but decided to await your emergence from that tiny shop before accosting you.” He glanced at their many parcels and lifted an eyebrow. “Have you emptied the shops?”

  He was looking very well this morning, Nell thought with a small glow of pleasure as she replied in kind. He wore a well-cut coat of dark blue superfine over cream-colored pantaloons and tasseled Hessians. Once again his neckcloth was neat but not extravagant, and his waistcoat of plain light blue moiré silk was typically conservative. The only glitter about his person was supplied by the four gold buttons on his coat and his heavy gold signet ring.

  Rory seemed to notice none of this sartorial elegance. She eyed him with mock—at least, Nell hoped it was mock—disfavor.

  “It is quite like you, my lord, to think of the expense of that magnificent structure instead of its beauty. He is quite abominable, Aunt Nell. Do you know,” she added, pouting prettily, “that he does not even approve of fairy-tale knights in shining armor?”

  “My dear sir!”

  “I never said I disapproved of them,” Huntley corrected evenly. “I merely gave it as my opinion that you would not really enjoy being courted by one.”

  “I said”—Rory turned pointedly toward her aunt—“that I thought it would have been wonderful to live in those days and to have a handsome knight in shining armor sue for my favors. And he”—glowering now at Huntley—“said they must have smelled quite dreadfully after being cooped up for an hour or two in their armor.”

  Nell looked at Huntley, her eyes dancing. “You didn’t!”

  He smiled. “I did. And before this young lady manages to prejudice you further, let me hasten to confess that I also pointed out the probability that being confined in all that tin was bound to make a man itch.”

  A gurgle of laughter escaped Nell, but Rory merely scowled.

  “I told you he is not in the least romantic, Aunt Nell.”

  “So you did, my dear. Well, my lord?”

  “Correct again, I fear.” He smiled again. Really, Nell thought, it was quite odd how that little smile could gentle his harsh features. At times it made his lordship look almost like the young boy she remembered. The absurdity of the thought brought a touch of extra color to her cheeks, and she looked away quickly.

  “We must not stand like stocks,” she said a moment later, glancing at the little watch pinned to her bodice. “My carriage collects us at Donaldson’s in ten minutes, sir. Will you walk along the Steyne with us?”

  “Gladly, Miss Lindale. I have been noticing a good many changes since I was last here. Doubtless, it has been interesting for you to watch the continuous progress of things.”

  “Indeed, sir.” She was at ease again, and they were able to discuss the changes that had occurred over the years as they strolled along the broad brick path on the inside of the railings that separated the spacious lawns from the encircling carriage road. It was Brighton’s most fashionable promenade, providing the same opportunity that Rotten Row provided in London for the members of the beau monde to see and be seen. Almost every day the prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert and their friends, as well as many of the nobility, joined the general throng of visitors on the Steyne. Although it was the fashionable promenade, it had not always been the most delightful place for walking, Nell remembered, especially in the wintertime. In earlier years when the ground had been rough and often muddy or encumbered by the fishing nets spread around to dry, the grass had been patchy and uneven, and a stagnant pool of dirty water had stood almost perpetually in front of the Pavilion. In wet weather, the water of the Wellsbourne flowed into it and ran down the Steyne into the sea at Pool Valley.

  She reminded Huntley of that nuisance, and he nodded. “I remember the year the prince and the Duke of Marlborough provided for the arched brick sewer to be built,” he said.

  “So they did,” Nell said with a smile. “And in return the Lords of the Manor gave them permission to enclose a portion of the Steyne in front of their houses. I confess, I am astonished that this lovely expanse of grass has been allowed to remain. One would expect a main road to have been cut through here by now. Do you know that even the footpath connecting St. James’s Street with Castle Square has been left as it was? But the little winding stream is gone. Do you remember the black pigs that used to graze along its banks, sir?”

  “I do. And,” he added with a wry grimace, “I remember as well that one had to watch carefully where one trod.”

  Nell chuckled. “Rory is quite right to say you lack a sense of romance, my lord. I thought the little pigs quite picturesque myself.”

  “I daresay. I prefer to think myself a realist, however.”

  Rory made a small sound closely resembling a snort, and Nell grinned at her. “We are leaving you out of our conversation, my dear. It is vastly unfair of us to discourse upon a subject of which you can know nothing. Pray forgive us.”

  “I don’t mind,” Rory said, smiling back at her. “I was trying to picture the place as it must have been in the olden days.” Nell stifled a choke of laughter and looked quickly at Huntley, who was looking very much taken aback. But before she could comment, Rory went on, “Those houses look new, Aunt Nell. What could you see there before they were built?”

  “Only the Downs, my dear, and a distant view at that. This whole central area was open, too, for the railings were not here then.
And the grass itself was not so carefully mowed and evenly thick as it is now. Most of the changes, I must confess, have been for the better.”

  There were a great many people strolling about now on the smooth green lawn and the brick path, the ladies lovely in their clinging gowns, and the gentlemen more severe in their dark cloth coats and pale pantaloons. Rory saw her first real fops mincing along arm in arm, their pomaded locks confined in intricate topknots or braided and curled to compete with any of the women. Unlike the other gentlemen, they reveled in brilliant colors and startling effects.

  There were others, too.

  “Who on earth is that?” Rory demanded suddenly.

  Nell, following the direction of her gaze, saw the object of her amazement immediately. He was a spruce little man driving a green gig. But it was not the color of his vehicle that was so startling. Rather it was the fact that everything else about him was tinted to match. He wore green pantaloons, a green striped waistcoat, a green coat, a green cravat, even a green watch string and green seals. His gloves, the livery of his servant, and his whip were all green as well. But the most astonishing fact was that his hair, sidewhiskers, eyebrows—even his ears and chin—had been tinted with green powder.

  “That,” said Nell with a laugh, “is Mr. Cope, one of Brighton’s best-known citizens. He is, for obvious reasons, known as the Green Man. They say that even his rooms are painted and furnished in green and that he eats nothing but greens, fruits, and vegetables. Altogether a rather eccentric gentleman, I believe.”

  “Goodness,” Rory said, staring at the Green Man as he passed by. Huntley pointed out the fact rather astringently, and she looked at him in amazement. “But he must want people to stare if he dresses so,” she protested.

  Nell thought it politic to intervene at that point. “I see my carriage waiting,” she said, holding her hand out to Huntley. “We shall expect you this afternoon, sir.”

  He agreed, promising to call for them at two o’clock. On an impulse Nell invited him to dine with them that evening as well.