“I think it’s a splendid talent!” exclaimed the vicomte. “And you, Miss Crockett? Do you have any unusual talents?”
“No, not really,” Rose said, apologetically.
“That’s not true,” Chastity protested. “Rose has a voice like an angel and can play the pianoforte rather well.”
“You will have to play for us,” replied the vicomte. “My mother plays the cello and my father the violin, so we are a musical family. Robbie’s, too.”
“Do either of you have musical talent?” asked Chastity, trying to imagine The Rogue with a musical instrument.
He and his uncle shared a look. “Not that I know of,” said the vicomte. Chastity had the feeling each of them was thinking of some other skill they had chosen not to reveal.
From the Pavilion, they turned the horses south, heading toward the shore. When they reached the Marine Parade, they rode along the seafront. A brisk breeze from the sea made Chastity glad she had worn her warm merino riding habit, the deep red color the same as the red flowers on her brown half boots.
During the ride along the seashore, she managed to exchange pleasantries with The Rogue while Rose chatted merrily with the vicomte who Sir Robert had called “Jack”. An odd name for a French vicomte.
As they turned toward the Steyne, Chastity fell silent, thinking of Sir Robert and her new image of him. He carried himself with confidence, his manner with the horses was assured, and now she learned he was a navigator of ships, the industry that had made Great Britain the sovereign of the seas.
She was faintly embarrassed that she had lumped him in with the notorious bucks of London, about whom she had been warned. It was all due to how they’d met, of course. Thinking about how rude he had been and the kiss he had claimed, she recalled what a disorderly lot sailors were. He could well be a rogue of the first order notwithstanding his family business. Hadn’t Prinny been just such a one and he ruled a kingdom? Thus, she would remain on her guard. After all, Crispin had taken a dim view of the man and she trusted the cat’s instincts.
Robbie and Jack bid the ladies good day and began their short ride back to the Pavilion, the two extra horses in tow. As he rode, Robbie thought about The Keeper of the Demon Cat who had made clear her dislike of him. Perhaps he should not have taken the liberty he had, but her sweet lips had called to him and the reward had been almost worth her present ire.
The two young women from Northampton were certainly attractive, each in her own way, and very different from the London women he had known. Miss Reynolds intrigued him, as Lady Claremont no doubt knew she would. His own expectations for a country miss were not consistent with the traits Miss Reynolds possessed. He would have expected a young woman from the country of marriageable age to be overawed, to simper and flirt, especially if the man were well moneyed. Miss Reynolds did neither. She obviously admired Jack, but then most women did, and titles often impressed women from untitled families. But Miss Reynolds gave no hint of being superficial or impressed by his own family’s shipping enterprise.
A sudden thought sprang into his head. “Snow White and Rose Red,” he murmured aloud.
“What’s that?” asked Jack.
“Miss Reynolds and Miss Crockett. It’s as if they emerged from a fairy tale I was reading to one of my young nephews just before we left London.”
“Do tell, old chap.”
Robbie reached into his memory for details. The boy had curled up on his lap fascinated with the story. “As I recall, it’s a tale about two sisters, one fair and one dark, whose kindness gets them entangled with an ungrateful dwarf. In fact,” he said, remembering, “that’s the name of the tale, The Ungrateful Dwarf.”
“Do not leave me in a state of suspense. What happened?”
“Well, the sisters give shelter to a bear during the winter and are surprised to find him gone in the spring.”
“They didn’t know much about bears,” said Jack. “What happened then?”
“Afterwards, the sisters encountered this nasty dwarf who they helped out of several scrapes. One day, they discover the dwarf with a great treasure of gold and he turned on them in a rage. Just then, the bear reappeared to save the sisters. As it turned out, the bear was actually a prince who had been cursed by the dwarf who had stolen the prince’s treasure. Freed from the curse, the prince married Snow White and Rose Red married his brother.”
“I see,” said Jack, “Now, we have only to figure out which of us is to be the bear and who, precisely, is the evil dwarf.”
“’Tis only a children’s story,” said Robbie, wondering why he had thought of it. “I’m sure it was the ladies’ strikingly different appearance that brought the story to mind, that and Miss Crockett’s given name.”
“By the bye,” said Jack. “I do not believe the fair one is the shrew you made her out to be. For me, she had only smiles.”
“Don’t be too sure of yourself. You have yet to meet her demon cat.”
Jack laughed. “Oh, yes, the cat you warned me about.”
It was as Robbie turned into the path leading to the Pavilion’s stables that he had the queerest feeling he was being watched. A silly notion when he considered the other riders passing him and Jack. But a spy’s instincts had not failed him in his many missions for the Crown. So, while he did not mention his discomfort to Jack, neither did he dismiss it.
Chapter 6
“Good fortune, my dears!” Aunt Agatha pronounced from her seat at the head of the dining table as Chastity and Rose joined her for breakfast a few days later. Her great-aunt had donned an orange morning gown with puffed sleeves and stripes of bright yellow ribbon from the high waist to the hem. It was a surprising choice of colors for a lady her age but they suited her lively personality.
Chastity instantly thought of slippers she would design that would complement the dress. Taking her seat, she asked, “What is this good fortune?”
“Maria Fitzherbert has invited us to tea tomorrow afternoon!”
“Lovely!” exclaimed Chastity. “I so look forward to meeting her.” Placing a slice of pound cake on her plate, she watched the footman pour steaming chocolate into her cup, the morning drink favored by her great-aunt.
“How was your seaside stroll?” asked Aunt Agatha, rising to look out the window. “Windy, I expect, as the branches of the trees are blowing around.”
Rose set down her coffee. “Our walk was most refreshing, Lady Sanborn.”
“Brisk, if the truth be told,” said Chastity. She had been glad for the fire burning in the hearth that gave warmth to the room. “You are right about the wind, Aunt. The wind off the Channel was downright cold. And if one is to walk along the shore, one must traverse over rocks. Definitely a cause for half boots and not slippers,” she said, shooting a glance at Rose who had worn what Chastity considered an insubstantial pair of shoes for such an outing.
Aunt Agatha returned to her seat. “Ah, yes, the shingles are a nuisance. As for ‘brisk’, it will grow warmer as the day goes on, though the shingles will remain. If you enjoy the seafront, one thing you simply must try is sea bathing. The dippers, who assist you to the water, operate all year as cold seawater is considered beneficial.”
Chastity shivered, still chilled from her walk with Rose. Taking up her chocolate, she took a hearty drink of the warm liquid. “The idea of sea bathing appeals but perhaps not in frigid water.”
Aunt Agatha reached over and patted Chastity’s hand. “I always like to wait for a warm day myself before seeking out the bathing machines. By then, everyone will be flocking to the water, of course.”
“Bathing machine?” asked Rose.
“Those small chambers that are wheeled into the water so that a lady may take the seawaters in privacy. ’Tis quite invigorating.”
The idea of swimming, perhaps without clothes, sounded delightfully wicked to Chastity. “I think I would like to try that.”
“Then you shall,” said her great-aunt. “We all shall,” she enthused. “In the meantime, u
ntil the weather warms, there will be shopping and other things to occupy us.”
“I would love to go to a shop that sells silk cloth,” Chastity said. “I’ve a mind to purchase some for slippers.”
“Slippers?” asked Aunt Agatha.
“Chastity designs shoes,” said Rose. “Beautiful slippers and half boots. You should ask her to show you the ones she brought with her that are her own designs.”
“How is it I never knew this?”
Chastity recalled just when she began to design shoes in earnest. “I don’t think I was doing as much of it when I last saw you, not as I am now.”
“I should be most interested to see them,” said Aunt Agatha with a smile. “Let me see, what else might you two look forward to? Well, soirées, which reminds me, I am planning a reception to introduce you to my friends.”
Chastity exchanged a knowing look with Rose, suspecting they both pictured a gathering of white-haired men and women speaking of the days gone by, but she would not discourage her great-aunt’s kindness. “When might that be, Aunt?”
“I am thinking ’twill be a week from Saturday. That will allow time for word to spread that I have young, attractive guests.”
Chastity helped herself to another piece of cake, thinking of the evening gowns she and Rose had packed. She had only to decide what shoes she would wear.
As the morning wore on, the weather turned dismal. Chastity spent the middle of the day inside, her sketchpad in her lap, designing slippers for her aunt. Rose, sitting beside her, read a novel. Her great-aunt, whose chair, like theirs, faced the warming fire, devoted herself to needlework. As Chastity looked closer, she glimpsed embroidery featuring an intricate sunflower in bright yellow. It gave her an idea for the shoes she would design.
“Aunt,” said Chastity, “since we’re to take tea with Mrs. Fitzherbert tomorrow afternoon, might you tell us more about your friend?”
Aunt Agatha looked up from her needlework. “I’ll be interested in your opinion once you’ve met her. I find Maria as poised as any noblewoman, perhaps more so. She conducts herself with all propriety, even teases me for my extravagant ways. I suppose I should add she is still lovely even at two and sixty though she has become a bit plump. But then the same could be said of me,” she added with a twinkle in her eye. “There are men in Brighton who seek her company but, for the most part, she remains a solitary figure, still faithful to her unfaithful husband.”
“But they are not together,” put in Rose.
“No,” said Aunt Agatha sadly. “After nearly ten years as man and wife, he cast her off to marry that German princess who was foisted upon him.”
“That hasn’t gone well,” said Chastity.
“Indeed,” said her great-aunt. “And once Princess Charlotte was born, Prinny, who had come to hate his German wife, left her to pursue Maria once more.”
“And she took him in?” Chastity asked, aghast.
Aunt Agatha nodded.
Chastity screwed up her face in a grimace. “How could she deign to take back that… that man?”
Rose inhaled sharply. “Chas, you speak of the king…”
“You must understand,” explained Aunt Agatha, “in the Catholic Church’s eyes, they were still married. Maria is a woman of faith. She only returned to the prince after consulting with Rome and was advised that she was the prince’s true wife.”
“So she went back to him,” said Rose under her breath. “Imagine!”
Chastity stared into the fire trying to imagine what it must have been like for Maria Fitzherbert, not to share the name of the man she loved, not to be acknowledged as his wife.
“I think they were happy for the next years they were together,” said Aunt Agatha. “But nine years ago, she broke it off.”
“Why?” asked Rose, her brows wrinkling.
Aunt Agatha shook her head. “Because of his philandering. It was quite outrageous, you know.”
“The poor woman,” said Rose.
“Another victim of a rogue,” added Chastity, remembering her own painful experience.
“Maria prefers the quiet life,” said her great-aunt. “Like you, she was a squire’s daughter, a country lady. Though she does not say, I think she still loves the king.” Concentrating on her embroidery, Aunt Agatha said, “She often wears that diamond-studded locket the prince gave her, the one containing his picture. He was a very handsome youth.” She raised her head, staring into the distance as if seeing the young prince. “Tall with magnificent blue eyes, light red hair, clear skin and rosy cheeks.” She looked back at her stitchery. “Oh, yes, quite handsome. And charming.”
“Rogues are invariably handsome,” put in Chastity, an image of Sir Robert coming into her mind unbidden. “And charming.” She determined right then not to allow herself to be charmed by him. She did not wish to end up brokenhearted like Maria Fitzherbert.
Aunt Agatha glanced up from her needlework. “The worst of it is that even though he married her before a priest and spent nearly twenty years of his life with her, he allowed the world to think she was no more than his mistress.”
“Why?” asked Rose.
“Because of her commoner status and her Catholic faith, of course.” Seeing Chastity’s frown, she added, “He wanted the Crown, you see.”
“A rogue, indeed,” pronounced Chastity, stiffening her resolve to resist the allure of Sir Robert, for she remembered his kiss. Any woman would.
Robbie was aware the instant the king arrived at the Pavilion. Servants straightened at their posts, tugging their waistcoats into place. Fires were stoked to a blaze. And the servants attending the king’s suite of rooms hurried in for a last check.
Robbie had persuaded Jack to join him in the Long Gallery where they now stood awaiting the king’s appearance. Soon, Prinny strode into the Gallery, his long legs quickly eating up the carpet. Covering his hair was the same curled auburn wig Robbie had seen him wear in London. On the left breast of his coat the large diamond star of the Order of the Garter flashed in the light of the lanterns above him. Behind him, his entourage of servants hurried along in an attempt to keep up.
As he was about to pass Robbie and Jack, he came to a sudden halt. “Sir Robert! How do you find my Pavilion since your last visit?”
“Magnificent, Your Majesty,” he said bowing. “As is the pair of grays you generously bestowed upon me.” With a glance in Jack’s direction, Robbie said, “May I present my uncle, Jean-Jacques Henri Donet, vicomte de Saintonge?”
Prinny regarded Jack with a curious expression. “A French vicomte has come to visit us?”
Jack bowed. “With your gracious permission, Sire.”
The king’s face broke out in a wide grin. “We are glad the French monarchy has regained its titles, young man. You are welcome to join your nephew at the many entertainments to which he will be invited.”
The king took a deep breath and exhaled. “I am weary of London and alive, once again, now that I breathe Brighton’s air.”
Without another word, he marched off toward his apartments, his entourage acknowledging Robbie and Jack with brief nods before scurrying off to join the king.
“He cuts quite a figure,” remarked Jack. “A royal presence even if he had not donned his splendid attire.”
“I have always thought so,” said Robbie. “And he appears to be in a happy mood. Meanwhile, let us see to our breakfast. Tiller told me it’s being served in the South Galleries.”
The room set for breakfast was smaller than others in the Pavilion, but the walls were painted a vivid azure blue and overlaid with strips of paper made to look like bamboo. A footman led them to a small table where Robbie pulled out a chair whose legs and back were also made to look like bamboo.
“Would you like coffee and a newspaper, sir?” the footman asked them.
“Most assuredly,” said Robbie.
The coffee arrived shortly along with The London Times. Jack lifted the paper and began to read.
Robbie content
ed himself with his coffee as he’d had only the one cup Tiller had brought to his chamber. “Is it possible to get eggs and ham?” he asked the footman when he again approached.
“Oh, yes, sir. The Pavilion’s kitchens can prepare most anything.”
Jack looked over the edge of the paper. “I’ll have the same, merci.” When the waiter walked away, Jack said, “You’ll be pleased to hear they have captured all of those criminals who thought to attack your Cabinet.”
“Oh?” Robbie said with feigned indifference as he experienced a flood of relief. “When will the trial be?”
“It says here that the trial begins this week in Session House of the Old Bailey.” Jack set down the paper and lifted his coffee to his lips. “Twill soon be over.”
Robbie would only completely relax when the conspirators had met their inevitable ends. Only then would he know a measure of satisfaction that his last assignment was truly over.
Chastity followed Aunt Agatha and Rose to their next-door neighbor’s house, her great-aunt explaining that the house in which Mrs. Fitzherbert lived had been a gift to her from her husband when he was the Prince of Wales. It boasted a long veranda overlooking a well-tended front garden. Beyond the garden lay the Steyne and the park in its midst.
The butler opened the door and immediately recognized Aunt Agatha, smiling widely at her. “Lady Sanborn, do come in. Mrs. Fitzherbert is awaiting you and your guests in the parlor.”
“I know the way,” said Chastity’s great-aunt, raising her hand. With Chastity and Rose in tow, she glided toward a sunny room with tall paned windows facing the Steyne.
The smell of freshly-baked pastry greeted them as they entered. “Oh, you are serving my favorite!” exclaimed Aunt Agatha.
Mrs. Fitzherbert rose from a green upholstered chair near the windows. A shaft of sunlight made her silvered golden-blonde hair glisten. Chastity thought her dark brown eyes were quite lovely. “I have not forgotten you are partial to apricot tarts, Agatha. You and Lord Alvanley,” she added with a warm smile.
Rogue’s Holiday Page 7
