As she approached them, her gaze shifted from Chastity to Rose. “Introduce me to your young friends.”
“May I present my great-niece, Miss Chastity Reynolds,” said Aunt Agatha.
Chastity briefly curtseyed.
“And her friend, Miss Rose Crockett.”
Rose, too, made her curtsey.
Mrs. Fitzherbert gave them a warm smile. “Brighton has not seen two lovelier young women since we were girls, Agatha.”
“I don’t doubt you were lovely, Maria, but I cannot say the same for myself.”
“Modest as always.” Maria Fitzherbert gestured toward the gold sofa facing two chairs upholstered in the same green brocade as the chair in which she’d been sitting. “Come, sit. I shall pour.”
Once each had a cup of tea and a slice of tart on the table between them, Mrs. Fitzherbert said, “Has your great-aunt told you that we have become good friends?”
“Oh, yes,” said Chastity. “Rose and I were eager to meet you, Mrs. Fitzherbert.”
“You may call me ‘Mrs. Fitz’. My closest friends do, well, except for my particular friends who call me by my given name.”
Mrs. Fitz asked them about what they’d seen of Brighton and, hearing they had done little yet, proceeded to describe the summer activities they could expect in the seaside town, promising to show them her favorite shops in Castle Square. “It’s the Bond Street of Brighton. A part of it extends onto North Street, which has dozens of shops.”
Chastity would have described Mrs. Fitz as a handsome woman with a calm assurance of one who is content within herself. Stately, if a bit plump, her skin was still smooth and fair. And there was a regal air about her, even in the simple gown of blue cambric she wore. Chastity could well imagine her as a queen, more so than the woman who, in the eyes of the populace, claimed that title. Perhaps in Brighton, however, Mrs. Fitz was treated like a queen. Aunt Agatha had hinted as much.
“Would you like another cup of tea?” she asked Chastity and Rose.
“Yes, please,” said Rose.
Chastity nodded.
Their hostess reached for the silver teapot but was interrupted by Aunt Agatha. “Do let me pour, Maria.”
“If you like,” she said, resuming her seat. Then, returning her attention to Chastity and Rose, she said, “There will be young men for you to meet here in Brighton. They come for the races in July and before that the gambling and theater. The town has many entertainments to offer.”
“Maria is very good at cards,” said Chastity’s aunt. “She will know the best places for a lady to play.”
Chastity did enjoy the game of whist and would look forward to an evening of cards.
“There are several good ones,” said Mrs. Fitz. “But perhaps young ladies such as you might be more interested in the balls. One is held at The Old Ship Inn each Monday. Agatha can act the chaperone and introduce you to some of the young men. And there are private balls, as well.”
“I love to dance,” said Chastity, wondering if Sir Robert would attend any of the balls when he had the Royal Pavilion to enjoy. Silently, she chided herself for thinking of him. Her mission, after all, was to find a match for her friend, not fend off The Rogue.
Aunt Agatha refreshed their tea and helped herself to another slice of tart. “We plan to indulge in sea bathing, too, Maria.”
“Knowing your proclivities, Agatha, I am not surprised, however, I shall leave the bathing machines to you and your young charges. I don’t care if the water is good for one’s health. I prefer my own bath, heated to just the right temperature.”
Chastity liked a hot bath, too, but where else could she indulge in sea bathing?
“My friend likes to do her own market shopping,” said Aunt Agatha. Her eyes shone with pride. “Though I suspect your cook wishes you did not, Maria.”
“That is because Mrs. Ayers thinks I buy too much. I love to watch the ships returning in the morning and listening to the fishermen’s wives with their fresh catches. It seems only right I should buy their fish.” To Chastity she said, “The fish market is a lively place. Mackerel will soon be in season. And there is always fresh sole and turbot.”
“I should like to visit the fish market,” remarked Chastity. “Rose and I saw the ships returning this morning on our walk.”
“Chastity discovered the shingles make for difficult treading,” put in Aunt Agatha.
“I do agree,” said Mrs. Fitz, “but if one is to traverse the beach, they cannot be avoided.”
“Shall we take my great-niece and her friend shopping on the morrow?” Aunt Agatha inquired.
“If the weather is fine, why not?” replied Mrs. Fitz. “They might like to see Hannington’s department store.” To Chastity and Rose, she said, “Agatha is a splendid shopper as her many…ah, costumes have no doubt told you.”
“Now don’t go speaking ill of my brightly-colored gowns,” scolded Chastity’s great-aunt in a friendly tone. “They bring me great joy.”
“Oh, very well,” said Mrs. Fitz. “We shall shop for garish hats, bright silks and shimmering gewgaws!”
Aunt Agatha laughed. “Indeed, we shall!”
Chastity enjoyed the repartee between the two women. It was clear they enjoyed each other’s company. They laughed and teased and cajoled until Chastity found it quite impossible not to laugh with them. She discerned that Mrs. Fitz’s spirit was unaffected by her many trials at the king’s hands, making Chastity admire her greatly. Serene and secure, no wonder all of Brighton held her in high esteem. She’d been wronged by a rogue and survived with no bitterness on her tongue.
“They remind me of us,” Chastity later said to Rose when they were alone. “Mrs. Fitz is my great-aunt’s anchor as you are mine.”
“I have always thought so,” said Rose. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not in the least. I expect we will be enjoying adventures together when we are their age. I’ll still be visiting you when you are married and your children grown.”
“And I will serve you an apricot tart!” Rose said, laughing.
The next morning at breakfast, before their shopping trip with Mrs. Fitz, Aunt Agatha waited until the footman set the teapot on the table and left, and then said, “I did not want to speak of it in front of Maria yesterday, but we have been invited to dine with the king at the Pavilion tonight.”
Chastity shared a look of excitement with Rose. “That is marvelous. Just think, Rose, we’ll see the Pavilion in all its splendor.” Her great-aunt had told her of its grand décor and the evening entertainments. But to experience them in person would be the highlight of her trip.
“To think we shall dine with the king,” said Rose wistfully. “I shall have to write my parents.”
“I wonder who the king’s other guests will be,” said Chastity.
“There is always a surprise,” her Aunt Agatha chimed in.
The first thing Robbie noticed as he and Jack strolled through the Banqueting Room Gallery on their way to the dinner to begin promptly at six o’clock was the heat of the rooms. The temperature suggested every fireplace in the Pavilion had been stoked to a hot blaze. They had been out all day, first riding, then enjoying the local taverns and finally scouting the best places for cards. Having experienced the cool air from the sea, the air in the Pavilion was oppressive and warmer than he’d remembered.
“I had forgotten how warm the king likes his rooms,” he said to Jack.
“A few hours of this and we will be melting,” came Jack’s reply. “Versailles is often cold with all the glass and high ceilings. Dieu merci, ’tis nothing like this.”
They had not yet reached the entrance to the Banqueting Room when a liveried footman approached Robbie with a folded letter on a small silver tray. “Sir Robert?”
“Yes,” said Robbie.
“This was delivered less than an hour ago,” said the footman, holding the tray out for him. “I’ve been watching for you.”
Robbie thanked him and lifted the note, step
ping to one side to read it.
You horrid spy! You brood with hellish delight on the sacrifice ye intend to make of those poor creatures you took out of Cato Street on the pretense of punishing them for what you yourself instigated. But know this, on an approaching day when you least expect it, ye will suffer. You will pay!
The note was unsigned. A lump arose in Robbie’s throat and his hand holding the note went rigid.
“What is it, Robbie?”
He must have gone quite pale for Jack’s tone was suddenly serious. Robbie wadded up the note and threw it into the nearest fireplace. “Nothing important. In any event, it can wait. Let us proceed.”
They walked through the large opening before them and into the Banqueting Room. For a moment, Robbie was distracted by the grandeur around them.
People milled about the long table set for twenty guests. From a shallow dome above the center of the room painted with palm fronds, there hung a magnificent crystal chandelier suspended from the claws of the silvered dragon.
Jack gazed up at the ceiling. “Mon Dieu! It is as you say! Fantastique.”
Above the dangling crystals of the extravagant chandelier were six smaller dragons exhaling light through lotus glass shades of gas lamps. Robbie had seen it before but, still, the workmanship never ceased to amaze him.
“’Tis dazzling,” Jack murmured. “However, the room smells like a bordello. Too much scent, even for a Frenchman.”
Robbie nodded his agreement but his mind was elsewhere. How have they found me? And if all the conspirators were captured who could have authored the note?
The same footman who had delivered the missive approached. “Sir Robert and Monsieur le vicomte, may I show you to your seats?”
Robbie wanted to ask him if he recognized who had brought the note but did not wish to draw attention to his interest in the matter. Instead, he nodded and, with Jack beside him, followed the footman farther into the room, past wall panels featuring scenes of the royal court of ancient China.
Against the tall windows covering the left side of the large room, servers stood at side tables pouring red wine into decanters. The sun had not yet set and light poured into the room adding to the heat from the fireplaces and gas lanterns, making the room’s temperature nearly unbearable.
Down the middle of the main table marched golden candelabra and baskets spilling over with grapes and other fruits.
“Your seats,” the footman said, gesturing to two chairs, one on either side of a lady. As she turned to look up at him, Robbie recognized Lady Lade, wife of Sir John Lade. Though she was seated, he recalled her being a very tall woman at six feet, who her friends fondly referred to as “the Amazon”.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said. “May I introduce you to my uncle, the vicomte de Saintonge, or, as he would prefer, M’sieur Donet?”
Jack bowed over her offered hand. “Enchanté.”
Letty returned him a wide grin of approval. “A Frenchman, how merveilleux. Are you as much of a devil as your nephew? And do you ride?”
“Oui to both, my lady,” Jack said in a tone of feigned innocence, belied by the sly grin that accompanied it.
“Then the evening promises to be quite memorable,” she said, returning his grin. “Wait until I tell Sir John. He’s just over there.” She gestured across the table. “Too far for him to hear in this crowd.”
The conversations that filled the Banqueting Room had risen to a cacophony and, agreeing he could not be heard, Robbie waved to Sir John.
As Robbie took his seat on her right, Letty said, “What’s this I hear of you being made a baronet?” When he did not reply, she said, “You devil! You’ve done something very brave, haven’t you?”
“I cannot imagine what,” Robbie said with a shrug. He intended to reveal nothing.
“Damn you, Powell!” She slapped his sleeve with her fan. “I must know what noble deed it was, else I’ll have little to tell the Brighton gossips.”
He returned her a smirk. “Just as I feared.”
At that moment, the band that had been quietly sitting in one corner began playing God Save the King. Everyone got to their feet and turned to welcome the king who strode into the room in his glorious finery, his current mistress, Elizabeth, Marchioness Conyngham, at his side. That her husband was not in attendance was likely noted by no one, save possibly Robbie.
The king stopped at the head of the table and raised a hand to motion them back to their seats. The music stopped.
Once he had seen the marchioness to her place beside him, the king said, “Welcome, my friends! I trust you will enjoy the splendid menu this evening. I approved it myself. After we dine, there will be rooms for cards with plenty of refreshments. And, of course, there will be music.”
Easing his great girth into the chair a footman held out for him, the king accepted a glass of iced champagne. Immediately, the first course of green turtle soup was served.
Robbie was relieved to hear the band begin to play something more conducive to the dinner hour.
Conversations resumed. Robbie turned from Letty, who was getting acquainted with Jack, and introduced himself to the woman on his right, who had slipped into her chair as the band stopped playing. The attractive woman turned out to be Dorothea, Countess Lieven. Many tales were told of the intelligent and politically savvy wife of the Russian Ambassador to Great Britain—and of her affairs—but he had not met her before now. He judged her to be about his age, perhaps a bit younger and nearly his height.
“Sir Robert, you are a friend of His Majesty?”
“I like to think so, Madam.”
The footmen served steamed turbot in butter sauce, a mild fish Robbie quite liked. Along with the iced champagne, wine was served.
His gaze shifted to the king’s mistress whose high-pitched trilling laughter caught his attention.
Countess Lieven huffed. “Alas, that woman has not an idea in her head, not a word to say for herself. Nothing but a hand to accept pearls and diamonds, and an enormous balcony to wear them on.”
Robbie sputtered, nearly choking on his wine. Sweeping a napkin over his mouth, he whispered, “You must warn me, Countess, when you are to make so witty a remark.”
The countess tilted her head and smiled coyly at him, allowing a dark auburn curl to fall to her forehead. For the astute female he knew her to be, the gesture surprised him. But the interest in her gray eyes and the suggestive sweep of her long fingers over the mounds of her breasts rising above her gown could not be mistaken. It was an open invitation to come to her bed.
Many of the king’s guests would be surprised to learn that when it came to affaires de coeur Robbie had rules to which he assiduously adhered. Unlike the king, for example, Robbie did not share the bed of married women, even if invited. Widows, on the other hand, were fair game and almost always willing. And there were never husbands to make cuckolds.
The next course was venison served with carrots and roast potatoes. Pondering the vegetables, Robbie turned to respond to something Letty was saying and was distracted by a movement of blue-green froth on the other side of the table some way down. Miss Reynolds. He had no idea she would be attending the dinner but, given Lady Sanborn’s friendship with the king, he should have considered it a possibility.
The fair-haired hoyden presented a captivating picture in a gown of some wispy sea-green material that reminded him of a lagoon he’d encountered on a voyage to the South Seas. The room was certainly warm enough to bring back a memory of those hot tropical days. He imagined her there on a white sand beach, the breeze blowing her pale gold hair behind her, only in his imaginings, she wore nothing at all.
He lifted his wine and took a sip, watching her as she chatted gaily with the two men sitting on either side of her, unaware, as Robbie was, of their character. He had to wonder what had been the thinking of the one who arranged the seating. The two were rakes of the first order. He suddenly felt protective of her and, though he was certain she believed she could take ca
re of herself, he decided a rescue was in order. The Countess of Claremont would surely expect it.
At last, the dessert was served, accompanied by more wine. Robbie watched his lemon ice melt in the heat of the room, anxious for the dinner to end. When it did, he rose from his chair and bid Countess Lieven and Lady Lade a good evening. The two ladies departed together. The countess gave Robbie a lingering look over her shoulder.
He took a step away from the table as Jack came to his side.
“I expected you would be leaving with that striking woman with whom you’ve been conversing.”
“The countess?” Robbie watched her tall, retreating figure. “No, I think not. What do you say to a game of whist, Uncle?”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “I thought your game was brag.”
“Most often it is, but ’tis not a lady’s game and I thought to invite Miss Reynolds and Miss Crockett to join us.”
“Snow White and Rose Red?” Jack asked with an amused expression. “That might be entertaining.”
“Exactly my thought.”
“Give me a glass of the king’s potent brandy, Nephew, and you’re on. But you will first have to pry the two of them loose from those men who have been monopolizing them all evening.”
“You noticed?”
“I did happen to glance in Miss Crockett’s direction once or twice, a lovely figure in that rose gown.”
Robbie looked over Jack’s shoulder where the two men were escorting the young women toward the door. A concerned Lady Sanborn followed. “This will not be a problem, Uncle. Stay close and watch a master at work.”
Jack chuckled. “Lead on, old thing.”
Robbie crossed the room to the small group making their way to the exit. He first greeted Lady Sanborn, which had the effect of bringing them all to a stop. “Good evening, Countess.”
“Ah, Sir Robert, how nice to see you!”
Relieved more like, thought Robbie.
“You know my great-niece, Miss Reynolds, and her friend, Miss Crockett.”
Rogue’s Holiday Page 8
