by Amanda Scott
“Why on earth should his lordship be expected to inquire after a man who has been dead these many centuries?” Lady Agnes asked, perplexed. “If indeed,” she added conscientiously, “he ever lived at all. I know there was a book about him, for your papa, Nell, had it in his library and tried to explain to me once about the gentleman’s travels. I expect it was his Grand Tour, you know, although I confess, I never truly understood whether the gentleman was real or only one of those very confusing Greek myths. Nell will put us right, I expect.”
Nell chuckled. “He was the mythical King of Ithaca, Mama. The Greeks actually called him Odysseus, I believe. But ’tis of little consequence, since I am persuaded that Rory was making reference to her kitten, were you not, my dear?”
Rory had been staring at her grandmother with an expression of near awe, but Nell’s words recalled her to her senses.
“Indeed I was. How could he be so heartless as to behave as if Ulysses doesn’t exist?”
“What a very odd name for a kitten, to be sure,” commented her ladyship. “Are you perfectly certain you wouldn’t prefer something simpler, my dear? Such as Fluffy or Buttons or—”
“No, for I am confident that his name suits him better than any of those would do,” insisted her granddaughter. “I daresay he had a good many adventures and did a vast amount of traveling before ever he came up against that sea wall. At the very least, he deserves Huntley’s respect for his efforts. You don’t think,” she added, regarding her aunt with a small frown, “that Huntley can have forgotten about him, do you?”
Nell thought that was precisely what had happened, but she could conceive of no good purpose to be served by sharing that opinion with her niece. Nor could she think of any good reason to point out the unlikelihood of a three-week-old kitten’s having had a vast number of adventures. Consequently, she merely smiled and told Rory not to be such a goose.
“I daresay Huntley simply assumes that Ulysses, having found a kind mistress and a good home, is faring very well. I expect,” she added, when the frown did not dissipate, “that he is not profoundly interested in cats.”
“Well, he’d best take an interest in Ulysses,” Rory declared militantly, “for he shall be living at Huntley Green with us, you know. In the house,” she added in a tone that brooked no argument.
“I haven’t the slightest doubt of it,” Nell replied, having no wish whatsoever to debate the matter. Since Rory appeared only too willing to continue the discussion, Kit’s arrival on the scene at that moment was greeted by his sister with unfeigned pleasure and even a touch of relief.
He was looking very dashing in a coat of bottle-green over biscuit-colored pantaloons. His hair had been brushed forward into tapering locks, and Nell had no doubt as to the identity of his model for the new style. Evidently Rory also recognized the source.
“Never tell us you are attempting to ape Huntley’s looks! Do you mean to appear old before you must?”
“Old! I’ll have you know, Miss Wisdom, that your Lord Huntley dresses in bang-up style. A fellow could do a deal worse than to imitate him. Why, he’s as natty as Brummell, and you should be grateful. At his age, he might well have chosen to dress more like Sir Henry and worn a wig!”
“He is not a Methuselah, for pity’s sake!”
“Kit, I protest!” his mama exclaimed over Nell’s indignant outburst. “You should not speak so of dear Sir Henry. He is very good to you—indeed, to us all.”
“To be sure, Mama,” her son replied with a grimace of distaste. “You have no occasion to listen to his endless jobations. He read me a lecture only last night. Said I was drawing the bustle too tightly, only because I chanced to find myself temporarily distressed and asked him to disburse a trifling sum to my tailor.”
“But your allowance is more than generous!”
“You may think so, ma’am, with your paltry notions of generosity,” Kit retorted, his voice taking on tones of a rising temper, “but it scarcely covers the half of what anyone else of my acquaintance spends on the barest necessities. Not that I wouldn’t have paid Holton. I truly meant to do so. But that was before …” He broke off, coloring slightly, then continued airily, “Before something of greater importance intervened.”
“A cockfight or a card game?” asked his sister with wide-eyed interest. He glared at her, but his attention was claimed again by his mother before he was required to answer her.
“I should think it would behoove you, Kit, to pay your tailor what is owed him before you hand over your money to a friend in payment of some stupid wager.”
“Good God, Mama, a man must pay his gaming debts immediately or he can scarcely call himself a gentleman. Holton will wait. He is a mere tailor, after all. Even Brummell does not worry over his tailor’s bills. He merely orders a new coat, and, by Jove, if Sir Henry don’t come across with the juice, I daresay that is precisely what I shall do, myself.”
“Kit, no! Sir Henry would be vastly displeased.”
“And rightly so,” agreed Rory, putting her oar in with uncivil relish. “Why, even I have heard of Mr. Brummell, while I dare say no one outside of Brighton has ever heard of you, Uncle Kit. Mr. Brummell must ever do his tailor credit—and his bootmaker and hatter as well, no doubt—but what good you can do your poor Holton, other than seeing to his eventual starvation, as well as that of his wife and no doubt fifteen or so children, I can—”
“Enough, Rory,” Nell said, laughingly calling a halt to the enthusiastic spate of words when her brother’s complexion threatened to become choleric. “Not but what she hasn’t made a point, Kit,” she added, quite unable to resist making at least that much of a statement herself. However, when he appeared likely to lose his temper altogether as a result of this final straw, she hastily asked if he meant to stay to supper.
He glared at Rory, opening his mouth as if he meant to present them all with a few well-chosen words, but Nell’s question stopped him. He favored her with a long look, then let out a sigh. But he still looked grim, and his answer came more as a dare than as a mere point of information.
“I do. And what’s more, I’ve invited Harry to dine with us, as well. There can be no objection to that, I hope.”
“Of course not,” Nell returned quietly, but Lady Agnes looked doubtful.
“I trust you sent word to Cook, Kit. You would not wish her to lay a meager table simply for want of a bit of warning. It will add to the week’s expenses, of course, but I promise you, I shan’t regard it.”
It was just as well for all their peace that she added the rider, since Kit had looked to be momentarily upon the verge of an apoplectic seizure when she mentioned the extra cost.
Despite the unpromising introduction, supper itself passed well enough. Both young gentlemen were on their best behavior, and Rory declined to bait her uncle. Nell realized that the reason for this abstention was the fact that Harry Seton had taken one look at his friend’s niece and tacitly declared himself her slave for life. The knowledge did little to alleviate her worries about the near future, and when she realized that Rory was flirting quite outrageously with the impressionable Harry, she had to repress a strong desire to box her niece’s ears on the spot. Instead, she quite made up her mind to discuss the matter with her just as soon as the young gentlemen took their departure, which she was certain they would do immediately upon finishing their after-dinner port. Thus, it was with some dismay that she greeted Harry’s announcement that for the ladies to leave them to their own devices was an antiquated notion not worth adhering to, and that he, for one, meant to carry his port straight into the drawing room so as not to have Kit’s sole company foisted upon him along with the resultant, inevitable boredom. Rory grinned at him, but Kit seemed quite as disgusted as his sister.
“I say, Harry, we dashed well promised to call in at … that is, surely you remember we have an appointment. You will not wish to keep the others waiting.”
“Fiddle,” replied Harry, looking quite as astonished as Kit did to hear
himself using such a word. He recovered rapidly, however. “I daresay no one expected us to show before midnight. If we are there by eleven, we shall be betimes. I’ve a mind to teach your young niece here the finer points of piquet. Or,” he added diplomatically, when Kit glowered, “perhaps we might play whist instead, if your sister will oblige us by taking a hand.”
Nell declined, so they finally agreed to play three-handed cassino instead. She left them dealing out the cards and arguing amiably over whether it was a children’s game or one fit only for expert cardplayers, and went to fetch her book and Lady Agnes’s needlework. Time enough later to lecture her errant charge.
The game grew steadily more lively and boisterous, however, and by the time Lady Agnes pointed out that dear Rory would never arise in time to attend chapel services, as one knew she meant to do, if she did not retire to her bed at a seemly hour, both young gentlemen seemed to have forgotten all thought of a prior engagement. The teatray had come and gone again, and the hour was advanced well past eleven. Nonetheless, when Rory agreed promptly that it was indeed past her bedtime, the others announced that it was time and more that they joined their friends. Lady Agnes’s weak protest that Kit, too, required some sleep, was ignored entirely, and both gentlemen departed immediately.
“I am tired, Grandmama, so I will go straight to bed, if you will both excuse me,” Rory said, stifling a yawn.
“Of course, my dear. I mean to go up myself. ’Tis fatal to one of my delicate constitution to keep late hours. I cannot think how I became so engrossed in my fancywork, for usually, you know, I am fast asleep long before now.”
“I’m sorry if we kept you up, ma’am.”
“No such thing. Nell was here, so I might just as well have gone to bed had the thought occurred. Don’t bother your head, my child. I daresay I shall do well enough.”
Nell listened to this exchange with well-concealed amusement, knowing perfectly well that Lady Agnes kept whatever hours suited her. That that often meant staying up reading or working her petit point until well past midnight was a well-kept secret, however. But since her ladyship was quick to assert that she knew she could not sleep if she tried, even Nell forebore to tease her. Lady Agnes’s delicate constitution, while serving as an excellent excuse whenever she wished to avoid any distasteful duty, rarely interfered with her pleasure.
Rory moved toward the door, but Nell spoke before she reached it. “I should like to have a word with you, dear, if you don’t mind. I shall come to your bedchamber directly.”
“Oh, I should like a comfortable coze above all wings, dear Aunt Nell. But as it happens, I have the headache. Only a trifling thing, I promise you, so you needn’t worry about me, but couldn’t we talk just as well tomorrow?”
Nell agreed, although she suspected her niece of laying the sugar on a bit thickly. The next day was Sunday, and they had no pressing plans. Surely there would be a time to have a serious talk.
By the time they had attended services at the Chapel Royal and had entertained no fewer than three afternoon callers, including Mr. Seton, it began to seem as though Sunday would follow the same pattern as Saturday. Nell felt her temper rising, and did not know whether it was out of frustration at her seeming inability to corner her niece or simply because Lord Huntley had been so careless as to fail to number among their afternoon callers. The man simply had to be brought to a stronger sense of his duty toward his intended wife!
Her opportunity to speak to Rory did not occur until the supper table had been cleared and Kit had announced his intention of meeting Harry Seton for a quiet game or two of piquet. Once he had gone, Rory said something about speaking to Jeremy with regard to Ulysses’ supper, and moved toward the doorway, but before she could escape, if indeed that had been her intent, she was stopped in her tracks by her aunt’s voice, sharper than she had yet heard it.
“One moment, my dear.”
Rory turned, her expression one of innocent curiosity. “Yes, Aunt Nell?”
“Once you have dealt with the matter of Ulysses’ supper, I desire that you shall attend me in my sitting room.”
“Of course, ma’am. I had meant to see about—”
“As soon as you have seen to Ulysses, Rory. I shall be waiting.” Nell’s tone brooked no further delay.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rory fled, and Lady Agnes turned a look of distress upon her daughter. “Dear me, Nell, but you sound nearly cross. What can poor Rory have done in order to deserve a scolding?”
Nell’s features relaxed into a rueful smile. “Did I sound as if I mean to scold her?” Lady Agnes nodded. “Well, perhaps I do at that. Have you listened to her, Mama? She speaks only of her own pleasures and seems to have no regard at all for the fact that she is betrothed to Lord Huntley. And last night she behaved abominably.”
“I thought her a trifle high-spirited, perhaps,” her ladyship acknowledged feebly. “However, I daresay ’tis merely her youth makes her behave so.”
“Stuff,” Nell retorted. “Clarissa and Crossways have spoiled that child to death, and she has not learned to behave like a well-bred lady should behave. ’Twas not mere high spirits that caused her to flirt so outrageously with Harry Seton, and surely you cannot wish her to encourage a friendship with that rattle!”
“Well, no, but truly, Nell, it is most unlike you to be so strict. Do you not think that if Huntley were to pay her a bit more attention, Rory might heed his claims more willingly?”
“Of course I do. You will get no argument on that head, ma’am. I intend to speak to him on that very subject before he is much older, too.” With that, Nell got up and went to deal with her niece, scarcely noting her mother’s astonished expression.
Rory entered the small sitting room off Nell’s bedchamber a few moments later looking wary. She greeted her aunt calmly enough, however, and asked what she had done to vex her.
“You haven’t vexed me precisely, dear,” Nell answered, striving to sound fair-minded at the very least. “’Tis merely that I think you do not realize how very easy it is in polite society for a young girl to step beyond the line of being pleasing.”
“I have gone beyond it?”
“Not yet, perhaps. Not really. Although I could not like your manner with Mr. Seton. You were much too forward, I fear, and might easily have caused him to believe you were encouraging his attentions.”
“But I was encouraging them. I like him.”
“That has nothing to do with anything, my dear. You are betrothed to Huntley, you know, and therefore must not encourage others to pay court to you.”
“Oh, Aunt Nell, I never thought you would be so fusty. What harm is there in a simple flirtation? I came to Brighton to find pleasure, and so far I have spent most of my time in the company of persons a good deal older than myself and have done nothing exciting at all. Mr. Seton is, at least, near to my own age, and I thought him perfectly charming.”
“No doubt,” said Nell dryly, “but I daresay his lordship would scarcely approve such a connection.”
“Well, he’s got nothing to say to it!”
“Nothing to say to it!”
“Of course not. He promised, after all, that I should have all the fun of a proper come-out, and I mean to do so. I doubt he will interfere, and I shall take it most unkindly if you do, for you are quite my favorite aunt and would be even if I had more aunts, and it is most unfair to expect me to comport myself as if I was already a prisoner of Huntley Green.”
Nell did what she could to bring her niece to an understanding of the difference between enjoying parties and balls, and behaving in a manner destined to bring shame upon them all, but it could not be said that she enjoyed any very great success in the matter. By the time she dismissed the Lady Aurora to her bedchamber, Nell was exhausted and looked forward to the Castle Inn’s assembly, scheduled for the morrow, with nothing less than a feeling of acute trepidation.
VII
VIEWED FROM THE OUTSIDE, the Castle Ballroom, directly across Castl
e Square from the Marine Pavilion seemed to be nothing more than a tall, rather ordinary red-brick building with arched windows. The interior, however, expressed all the grace and elegance that the architect, Mr. Crundon, had plagiarized—as was his custom—from such masters as Robert Adam and Henry Holland. There were actually four rooms, the principal ones being the ballroom itself and a card room.
The ballroom’s dimensions much impressed Rory, who had seen nothing larger than the assembly rooms at Tunbridge Wells, for the elegant room was eighty feet long, forty feet wide, and forty feet high. Recesses at either end and along one side were framed by the sort of columns Adam favored, with capitals like plain inverted bells with single rows of acanthus leaves, and the walls were decorated with plaster reliefs in panels and medallions, delicate Adamesque moldings, and scroll ornaments. Facing each other above the frieze from opposite ends of the room were elaborate but nonetheless commonplace portraits of Dawn and Night, while the ceiling, a shallow arched vault, was a direct copy of Henry Holland’s design for the subscription room at Brook’s Club in London.
Neither Nell nor her charge had any reason to despise such details, of course, and it was their opinion—as well as that of nearly everyone else in Brighton—that the Castle Ballroom was most elegantly appointed.
Nell had not attended an assembly there since the year of her own come-out, and her first impression of the place, from the anteroom as a haughty footman stepped forward to take their wraps, was that her mother’s friend Mrs. Calvert had had the right of it. The place, besides being much more crowded than she remembered, seemed to contain a vast cross-section of society among the guests.
“Aunt Nell, look at those peculiar women!”
Following the direction of Rory’s astonished gaze toward a group passing through to the ballroom, Nell hid a smile. At least the two women drawing her niece’s attention were not cits’ wives. The first, an enormously fat lady with a vast, undulating bosom, wore an odd, green-striped garment that more nearly resembled a circus tent than an evening gown. Her squat little companion, though wearing a blue gown that was nothing out of the ordinary, had rendered herself quite as much a figure of fun by wearing an inordinate amount of glittering jewelry, including a multitude of bracelets on each of her plump arms, rings that flashed from every finger, plus any number of diamonds and watches pinned to her person.
