by Jenny Brown
“Why, from my Aunt Celestina. It is impossible to become a proficient astrologer without some knowledge of the ancient languages. Many of the most important texts haven’t been translated, and those that have are translated badly by scholars who don’t understand the meanings of the astrological terms.”
“My little seeress, you will never cease to amaze me,” he said, his amusement showing in his eyes. “But how shall I get over the shame of it if the word gets around the clubs that my mistress is a bluestocking.”
“Since the word must already have got around that your mistress is an elderly freckled spinster, the world can have little difficulty adding to its catalog of wonders that she is also a bluestocking, Your Lordship.”
“I have told you to call me Edward. You are my friend, Eliza, are you not? That is how my friends address me.”
“Very well, Edward. But I shall not cease being a spinster, however I address you.”
He shook his head. “You are so hard on yourself. And so very wrong. Just now, as I made my way through town I was approached by two acquaintances, men I know from the clubs in London. Both of them made a to-do of wondering why I had been hiding away such a delicious tidbit as they had heard my latest mistress to be.”
“And what did you tell them?” Eliza asked, flattered despite herself.
“Oh, merely that I am far too jealous to allow anyone to see my latest treasure. Why risk having some other man steal her?”
“What a bouncer! Truly, Edward, if you want me to believe the things you tell me, you shouldn’t admit that you twist the truth so when speaking to others.”
“Perhaps what I told them is the truth, Eliza. I should very much like to keep you well hidden from the sort of men who make up my circle. Without my protection, you would not be safe with them.”
“Would you have me believe that they all incline toward ravishing old maids? I am amazed. This is not the picture I have had of the tastes of the men of the ton.”
“You are not a homely old maid, Eliza. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And you must know that without my protection you would be in grave danger should you come to the attention of such men. Believing you to be a woman of little virtue, they would quickly move to add you to their list of conquests and they might not be too particular about how they got you to agree to give yourself to them.”
“Then I am truly glad to have your protection,” Eliza replied with a shudder. The threat he had sketched out had never before occurred to her.
“You have it, indeed. Anyone who dared trifle with you would have to face me at dawn and I am a devilish accurate shot.”
“But surely you could not duel to protect the honor of a fallen woman. That would be a contradiction in terms.”
“Ah, but I am Lord Lightning! My every act is a contradiction. The world would quickly be brought to understand that a mistress is the only woman whose honor I would think it worth defending.”
“But since I am not really your mistress, you need not duel to defend a slur against me.”
Edward’s expression became suddenly serious and his voice fierce. “I should defend you against anyone who offered you the tiniest slight. You may depend on it.”
“Because a slight to me touches your inverted sense of honor?”
“Because I care about you, Eliza.” The joking tone was completely gone. “And because I couldn’t bear to have anyone to threaten you.”
“Then I fear you are too late,” Eliza said soberly. “When your mother recovered from her surprise at what I was reading, she threatened that if I were not to leave this house immediately, she might take some drastic action.”
His face relaxed. “Don’t worry about that. It was just an act. She is completely dependent on me for her income. She cannot afford to take action against you. But come, my little seeress,” he added, dropping his serious tone. “Let’s not waste what is left of the afternoon. I should like to reward you for agreeing to remain with me by furnishing you with some pleasure. Knowing your tastes, I wondered if you would care to accompany me to the lending library. I’m told that Baker’s on the Steyne has all the latest books.”
Eliza was touched that he had hit upon so perfect a way of pleasing her. It made her feel appreciated and understood. But she cautioned him, teasingly, “If I am to go out with you, Edward, you must give me your solemn promise that you will not make me the occasion for a duel should some pink of the ton be overcome with desire for your freckled spinster of a mistress.”
“You have my solemn promise,” he replied, taking her arm, “though I cannot answer for what might happen should some bounder take an interest in the auburn-haired beauty who is my latest obsession.”
Chapter 12
Because the day was rainy, Baker’s Library on the Steyne was crowded with fashionable holiday makers who had come to see and be seen. Ladies dressed in the latest styles leafed through the lending library’s large assortment of recently published novels while their partners crowded around the card tables or perused the latest issues of the London newspapers.
Upon their entry, Edward stopped to sign the visitor’s book, explaining to Eliza that it was here that members of the ton registered their arrival at Brighton. “Though I doubt I shall receive a visit from Brighton’s master of ceremonies as a result of my signing in,” he added. “I am most assuredly not considered good ton.”
Good ton or not, Eliza could not help but notice that she and her protector were the subject of considerable attention from the ladies and gentlemen filling the room. While they were too well bred to stare, they did seem to find a great deal to interest them in the corner of the room in which she stood with Lord Lightning. Their eyes swept over her, clearly taking in every detail of her looks and her costume.
Over the past few days Eliza had become so used to wearing Violet’s revealing garments that she had almost forgot how provocatively she was dressed, but the scrutiny of so many unknown gentlemen—and ladies—brought her attention most painfully to the transparent nature of the sprigged muslin she had chosen to wear this afternoon. Feeling half-naked, she turned away from Edward and made her way toward the corner where the new books were on display. There she could hide her embarrassment while pretending to examine a volume or two.
She had barely begun to browse the beautifully bound books when a young lady a few steps away from her, who was dressed in a simple but elegant white batiste walking dress trimmed in yellow ribbons, reached for a volume and exclaimed to her friend, “Why Amanda, here is Miss Austen’s latest effort. I have looked everywhere for it!”
Without thinking, Eliza exclaimed, “Don’t say Miss Austen has published another novel. She is my favorite author!”
Upon finding herself so addressed, the lady she had spoken to drew back with an expression of shock. Of course! No properly brought-up young lady of the ton would exchange words with a woman who was clearly a member of the demimonde. As the lady turned away after administering the cut direct, Eliza observed Edward’s face darken and hoped fervently that he wouldn’t take offense at the lady’s behavior. A woman filling the role of harlot could expect no other treatment from respectable women. But he merely called out to Eliza in an artificially bright voice he clearly intended should carry throughout the reading room. “I would expect a person with your extensive education to enjoy Miss Austen’s books. While I personally find her work a bit too constrained in its emotional range, several well-read ladies of my acquaintance consider them the best of their type. Allow me to procure a copy of this latest novel for you.”
He motioned her over to meet him at the counter where a scholarly clerk presided, only to discover that the volume the lady had removed from the shelf was the last one to be had.
“I hadn’t known that Miss Austen had published anything after Emma,” Eliza said with some regret. Turning to the clerk, she asked, “What is the title of Miss Austen’s new book?”
“Persuasion,” the clerk replied. “It is bound together with an earlie
r tale, Northanger Abbey. But these volumes are to be her last. A preface in this latest work informs us that the lady has gone on to her final rest.”
Eliza felt a burst of sorrow at the news. She had rarely read a book that had entertained her as much as Pride and Prejudice and, though she had not enjoyed Miss Austen’s later works nearly so well, as none of them had the youthful exuberance of her favorite, she was sorry to hear there would be no more of them. Indeed, the news of the authoress’s death reminded her how precious—and how short—life was.
“Perhaps Your Lordship would care to purchase the set,” the clerk said unctuously. “Besides our lending copies, we also have several available for purchase—in beautiful bindings suitable for the library of the most discriminating buyer.”
To buy a book outright would be a great extravagance. It would cost several guineas—more money than she and her aunt had spent in a week. She didn’t feel right about asking Edward for such a costly gift and protested, “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure I’ll be able to find it some other time.”
But her protector was still playing to the gallery. “I should very much like to buy the book for you,” he said, projecting his voice toward their audience, but also catching her eyes with his own and giving her a meaningful glance. “You are singular among women in that you never ask me for anything. I should greatly like to give you something that would please you.”
Eliza did not protest. She wanted the book too much. Edward was rich enough the money involved could mean little to him and there was nothing personal about his gift—nothing that should make it improper for her to receive it— since it was clear he had decided to buy it for her to send a signal to the curious members of the ton who surrounded them. So she allowed him to purchase it from the clerk and order, still in that voice he intended to be heard by everyone in the room, that the volumes be delivered to his mother’s house.
“Hartwood!” a voice called out across the reading room. “They told me I’d find you here, you devil!” The speaker was a florid man about Edward’s age who sported a flamboyant chartreuse waistcoat. He made his way noisily across the room and when he reached them threw an overly familiar arm around Edward’s shoulders. Eliza saw her protector wince.
“It’s been a dog’s age since I’ve seen you, Hartwood!” the man exclaimed. “I thought you’d dropped out of society entirely. Is it true what they say—that you’ve given up gaming?”
“I have better things to do with my time than throw away my money at the tables,” Edward replied coolly. His tone made it clear he didn’t share his companion’s delight in their encounter. Turning sharply he strode toward the door, leaving Eliza to trail behind him. But the other man didn’t seem to notice his disdain and followed him outside saying, “Don’t try to cozen me that you’ve reformed like that brother of yours did on his deathbed. You’re still fit as a fiddle! Anyway I’m not so downy as to believe that you could reform.”
The man jabbed an elbow in Edward’s side. “Tell me, is it really true what they say—that you forced your mother to dine with your mistress in front of a table full of her dearest friends? Foxworthy told me that gem, but I could hardly credit it, even of you.”
“My mistress dined with my mother and some friends last night. Yes,” Edward replied in a dangerous voice.
“You are a devil, then!” his interlocutor exclaimed. “To foist a glorious red-haired vixen on your mother! Foxworthy said she had breasts like ripe peaches. How I should have liked to have seen your mother’s face when you introduced the woman to her. Good God, that reminds me—” His florid features suddenly contorted as an idea swept through his mind. “Foxworthy also said he’d had it from his valet that you’d tupped the doxy in full view of the household afterward—stripped off her gown and had her there on the floor.” The man’s face shone with perspiration and a kind of boyish glee.
“Tamworth, you go too far when you share with me such gems of backstairs gossip,” Edward said coldly. “Pray, remember to whom you are talking. I have killed men for giving me less offense.”
Eliza braced herself for the inevitable. Would he call the man out then and there, and duel over the honor of a fallen woman? But to her surprise, her protector merely turned on his heel and, after taking her arm and linking it with his own, strode down the street.
It was only when they had walked for several minutes that Edward stopped and turned his handsome face to her, favoring her with an almost humble look she had never seen on it before. “I hope you are pleased with me this time,” he said.
“Oh, I am! I so wanted Miss Austen’s new book.”
“That’s not what I refer to. It’s that scoundrel Tamworth. I’d have called him out on the spot had you not asked me to keep control of my anger before we set forth. It goes greatly against my nature to let such a slight pass unavenged, but you had just made such a point of telling me it would not please you if I gave in to it.”
“So you controlled yourself for me?”
“I did.” His eyes held a warmth and luminosity that caused an odd sensation to shoot through her middle. She was not sure she liked it, so strong was it. Yet when his eyes broke contact with hers as he began to speak, she found herself longing to feel it again.
“I told you I wished to give you some pleasure this afternoon and I doubted you’d take pleasure in seeing me give yet another display of temper. I’ve heard quite enough from you already about how the Moon and Mars—to say nothing of Persephone, Dionysius, and Minerva—have warped my temperament.”
She found herself unaccountably moved at this confession. It was as close as a man like himself might come to a real apology. How tempting it was to think it sprang from some deeper emotion than his teasing tone betrayed. Was it possible she was not the only one hiding her true emotions? It was a dangerous thought. She suppressed it. “Then I am greatly in your debt,” she replied, softly, “not only for the generous gift of the book but for your exercise of such self-control.”
“Well, don’t expect to see much more of it,” Edward added testily. “It required immense effort. I should have liked very much to kill Tam-worth for the insult he gave you.”
He strode a few more paces ahead of her before turning back to Eliza and asking in a plaintive voice, “Are you sure it would disturb you if I killed him?”
“Quite sure.”
“Then he shall go free, though he doesn’t deserve it.”
Again Eliza was touched by Edward’s show of consideration. But, though she knew she should let the subject rest, she couldn’t keep herself from reminding him that it was precisely to cause this kind of gossip that he had brought her with him to Brighton.
“You’re right,” Edward agreed, “but I’m beginning to regret I let you persuade me to include you in this scheme.”
“You are discovering that you do not like to be gossiped about?”
“On the contrary. I love to be gossiped about. It is my meat and drink. But I do not like to hear an innocent woman described in such insulting terms.”
Again she felt a treacherous warmth seep into her heart. His flippant tone could not disguise the real concern he felt for her. And was it just concern, or something more? She felt a burst of annoyance as she caught herself once again wishing for what she must not allow herself to want, and as a result answered him in a tone that came out sharper than she intended. “It’s only talk, Edward. It can do me no real harm. I don’t know any of these people nor am I ever likely to see them again after I leave Brighton. Besides,” she added with the flippancy she would have very much liked to feel, “though I probably should not admit it, I took a certain pleasure in hearing myself described as an alluring vixen.”
Edward’s eyebrows rose and she allowed herself to savor the look of surprise he had not quite been able to suppress. But it was time to turn his thoughts—and her own—away from the scene that had just concluded. And so, upon noticing that the rain had let up, she took the conversation in another direction.
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nbsp; “If you truly wish to afford me pleasure, Edward, I must tell you I’ve been longing these past two days to get a closer look at the waves. I’ve never seen them.”
“You’ve never walked by the ocean?”
“No. This is the first time I’ve ever visited the seashore.”
Edward’s face brightened, “Then I shall take you to a place along the shoreline where I used to go in my boyhood when I wished to be alone.”
They boarded his carriage and rode some distance along the road that ran along the top of the cliffs until they came to a deserted stretch where Edward told the coachmen to stop. He helped her out of the carriage and conducted her to an outcropping where a narrow path led down the side of the cliff to the beach below.
Standing at the top of the cliff, Eliza found herself looking out over an unbroken expanse of water that stretched to the horizon, its color a mixture of gray and blue under the cloudy sky. Above her, sea birds wheeled in the air, circling and then diving toward the water, their hoarse cries filling the air. She could have easily lost herself in the beauty of the scene, but Edward’s slightly amused voice broke into her reverie. “The prospect pleases you?”
“It does! It is so very rare that something one has read about in books lives up to the expectations one has formed of it. But the poets have not lied about the majesty of the ocean.”
Edward chuckled softly. “It is impossible to say too much about the beauty of the ocean. But poor jaded Eliza! In what have you been disappointed by the poets?” A look of mischief made his mouth quirk upward. “Surely not their praise of physical love?”
“Oh no,” Eliza replied without thinking. “If anything, Ovid underestimates the intensity of pleasure to be found in such experiences—” Then realizing the implications of her words, she stopped, embarrassed. She did not want him to deliver yet another lecture on how she must not fall in love with him.
But no lecture was forthcoming. Instead Edward only observed in a bemused tone, “So you know your Ovid, too, as well as Aristophanes.”
