Robbie could see the idea of being on the royal yacht enchanted Miss Reynolds. Her eyes were alight with excitement. Though he suspected the yacht might remain anchored offshore, he would enjoy a sail on the Royal George. All of the royal yachts were fully rigged, square sail ships. “If I’m invited, would you like to be my guest?”
“I would, indeed,” she replied.
An hour later, he returned her to Lady Sanborn’s house. A footman held the horses while he escorted her to the door. The red-haired butler welcomed them back, taking Miss Reynolds’ hat, gloves and riding crop.
The demon cat sauntered into the entry hall and rubbed his furry body against Robbie’s boots, purring loudly. Laughter bubbled up in his chest at the change.
“It seems Crispin has decided to accept you,” said Miss Reynolds.
Robbie raised a brow. “And what of his mistress?”
“I’m still considering the possibility,” she said. But he was pleased to see her lovely mouth curve up in the merest hint of a smile.
“You are fortunate I am a patient man, Miss Reynolds.”
She scowled at him, reminding him of her once hissing cat. He chuckled to himself, tempted to take her into his arms and kiss that scowl from her face. Remembering how she had responded to his first kiss, he was certain he could do it.
With a bow, he bid her good day and returned to where he’d left the horses. As he did, his attention was drawn to two men watching the house from the small park in the middle of the Steyne. They were partially hidden by the vegetation, so he could not discern their features, nor could he tell if one was the same man who had followed him and Jack the day before. They could be visitors to Brighton curious to observe the goings-on at the house of the Catholic woman next door who had dared to marry the heir to the British throne. Or, they could be traitors to the Crown intent on vengeance.
He experienced a sudden dread when he realized if they were among those who had been following him, he had led them to Lady Sanborn’s home—and to Chastity Reynolds.
Chapter 8
Chastity had just made her choice of the gown she would wear to her great-aunt’s reception when Rose burst into her bedchamber, an anxious expression clouding her face. “What gown are you wearing?” she asked in a tone that conveyed panic.
Chastity gestured to the gown the maid had laid across the bed. “The claret silk and my slippers to match. The color gives my pale skin and hair some life. At least I shan’t fade into the walls.”
“You silly goose! You could never fade into the walls. ’Tis only you who thinks so.”
Chastity glanced at the deep wine-colored gown she intended to wear, its silk folds shimmering in the candlelight. “I do love this color.”
“It will look glorious on you. But what am I to wear?” Rose sank onto the edge of Chastity’s bed. “I’m torn between my jonquil silk and the ivory satin with the pink petticoat I wore at the Winter Assembly.”
Chastity thought for a moment. “I recall the gowns. I think you might save your new jonquil silk for another event we are sure to attend and wear the satin tonight. Both are lovely on you. But the satin with the pale pink petticoat has a low bodice that hints of your splendid attributes. You will have all the men in a twitter. And first impressions are important.”
“Very well,” Rose sighed, “I shall wear the ivory satin.”
“You can borrow my pink silk shawl to drape over your arms, if you like.”
“Oh, thank you! The shawl will be perfect. Besides, it will give me something to do with my nervous hands.”
“Worry not. I intend to keep a sharp eye out for any gentleman who might be worthy of you. Speaking of which, did you enjoy your ride with M’sieur Donet?”
Rose smiled and looked down at her folded hands. “More than a little. He is ever so accomplished. He told me of his vineyards in France and his father’s ships. Can you imagine he will inherit a chateau? His skill with the reins soon had us racing down the road. I had to hold my bonnet on at one point or see it fly away.”
“But what about the man himself?” Chastity asked, subsiding into a chair facing her friend. Crispin took that opportunity to rub against her legs, meowing his desire to be scratched behind his ear. She was happy to oblige him.
“Oh. He is very kind and most considerate with the gallant manners of a gentleman. I enjoyed his descriptions of the vineyards and the harvest time. How I would love to see that. And his conversation was laced with French, which I found very romantic.”
“As I would expect of him.” Chastity had been hoping Rose would become attracted to the vicomte. With the summer before them perhaps, in time, love would bloom. Though Chastity would hate to see her friend leave England, if it meant Rose’s happiness, she would support her.
Rose inquired, “What of your ride with Sir John and his wife Letty?”
“I have never met a woman like her. She’s as bold as a man. I must own that quite delighted me.” Remembering some of Letty’s expressions, she added, “Her speech is a bit off-color, but that did not bother me overmuch.”
“And the ride?”
“Letty—she insisted I call her by her given name—is truly an accomplished rider. I had to work to keep up with her even given her years. Our gallop down the racetrack left me breathless. I can only imagine what she was like when she was our age.”
“Controversial if the tales be true.”
Chastity didn’t mind the thought of being the subject of controversy if it gave her an exciting life. Her mother already considered her difficult. Could “controversial” be far behind? She imagined living in her own small estate, designing ladies’ shoes. Perhaps she would become an eccentric and add outrageous hats to her appearance. Aunt Agatha, at least, would approve.
Rose left for her own room and Aunt Agatha’s maid came to help Chastity dress and style her hair, simply as she liked it.
When the maid finished, she said, “I’ll just see to Miss Crockett. Lady Sanborn will soon be asking for you.”
Chastity thanked the maid, grateful she didn’t seem to mind having two young women to attend. Left alone in her bedchamber, she took a seat at her dressing table to consider her reflection in the mirror. The young woman who stared back at her was almost ghostlike with her pale blue eyes, fair hair and skin like cold alabaster. She fretted that her eyes lacked the warmth of her sisters’ rich brown and Rose’s dark eyes.
She tweaked her cheeks to bring a blush to them, glad she had chosen the claret gown.
She glanced down at Crispin whose golden eyes stared up at her. “Crispin, I must remind myself tonight isn’t for me. It’s for Rose. I intend to devote myself to finding my shy friend a suitor worthy of her.”
Rose returned to interrupt Chastity’s conversation with her cat. She looked much like Chastity would have envisioned her sisters. Her dark eyes sparkled with excitement as she twirled around. “So, what do you think?”
“You look beautiful,” she told her friend sincerely. With her dark hair piled on the crown of her head and curls left dangling to her nape and the gown displaying her lovely attributes, she would garner the attention of many men. “But don’t waste your splendid appearance on me. Come, let us go.”
As they descended the stairs, the first guests were just arriving and paying their respects to Aunt Agatha in the entry hall.
“Good evening, Lord Alvanley,” said her aunt. “Ah, here are my summer guests now. Meet my great-niece, Miss Reynolds, and her friend, Miss Crockett.”
The tall Alvanley with the prominent chest made an elegant bow over their hands and glanced up, smiling broadly. “Delightful creatures!”
So, this was the nobleman whose wit was celebrated by all of London, the man Mrs. Fitz had said loved apricot tarts.
Inclining his head, he said, “Summer in Brighton looms more intriguing by the moment, Lady Sanborn.”
Rose blushed as Lord Alvanley wished them a good evening and passed into the parlor. Following on his heels came the Lades, Sir
Bellingham and his wife, Harriet, and Mrs. Fitz, who Chastity warmly greeted as if she were her own aunt.
Richly attired, the woman who had wed Prinny so long ago had a calm, unruffled demeanor. “Good eve, my dears. Don’t you both look lovely!”
“As do you,” said Chastity. She meant it sincerely. Some women didn’t age well, but Mrs. Fitz was not one of those. Her face reflected an inner light, a graciousness few possessed.
A dozen more guests entered behind Mrs. Fitz, greeting Aunt Agatha, Chastity and Rose. After that, the guests came in smaller numbers. As each arrived, Featherstone ushered them into the parlor where footmen waited with trays of sparkling wine, canapés and savories.
The last to arrive were The Rogue and his uncle. While her aunt was speaking to another guest, Rose chatted with the vicomte, giving Chastity a chance to surreptitiously peruse Sir Robert.
He had come dressed as the finest of gentlemen, a superfine black coat well fitted to his broad shoulders set off by a brilliant white shirt and ivory satin waistcoat with a black silk cravat. His long legs were encased in tight-fitting cream-colored pantaloons, leaving no doubt as to his manly attributes, which, she surmised, had been his intention. His ebony shoes, she noticed, had been polished to a high gloss.
The vicomte was not as tall, nor did he have shoulders so broad, but he was nevertheless handsome in the more refined Continental way. His auburn hair had been smoothed back to curl at his nape.
She supposed The Rogue must be intending to capture a lady’s attention, though she didn’t recall seeing Countess Lieven on the invitation list. Doubtless he would attract any number of ladies. Did all rogues have that sparkle in their eyes? That dashing smile of white teeth? Likely so. Else how did they beguile every female in which they took an interest?
“Good evening, Sir Robert,” she said in formal welcome as he turned toward her.
His hazel eyes glistened as he took in her gown from the mounds of her breasts to her claret slippers, making her pulse race. “And to you, Miss Reynolds. Enchanting as always.”
Chastity returned him a brief smile with her thanks and, leaving him to converse with Rose and the vicomte, sallied forth into the parlor, lifting a glass of champagne from the footman’s tray as she did. Disarmed by Sir Robert’s bold appraisal, she took a deep drink of the sparkling wine and gazed about the crowded room, determined to find someone for Rose.
In one corner, a small group played chamber music, adding to the ambiance.
As she ventured deeper into the crowd, she noted that the guests were not all over the age of sixty, as she had expected. Instead, she found herself surrounded by both young and old engaged in lively conversations.
Judging by appearances, the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Her great-aunt’s reception would be counted a huge success and, for that, Chastity was grateful. She wanted Aunt Agatha’s kindness to be recognized.
She was about to seek out Letty when a gentleman Chastity had been introduced to at the front door approached her.
She recognized the handsome man immediately. “Mr. Henry Cairo, I believe?” With a name like that and a winning smile, she could never forget him.
“Indeed, I am, dear lady, and grateful you have remembered me.”
“Your name is so unusual. Is it too obvious to ask if your family is from Egypt?” His ruffled cravat hinted of the Continent, but there was nothing foreign about his speech and his curly dark brown hair framed a fair complexion.
He gave out a chuckle. “No, indeed. I’m from Coventry in the north.”
She peered into his dark eyes with genuine interest. “Why, that’s not far from my home in Northampton. What brings you to Brighton?”
“I was planning to summer in London, handling some business for my family, when I met Sir Bellingham at a showing of our latest designs. He persuaded me to come to Brighton for a visit as his guest.” Mr. Cairo fixed her with an intense gaze. “I am thinking it was a wise decision.”
The man was fascinating and might prove an acceptable suitor for Rose if he were unattached. “If I might inquire, what business has you displaying designs in London?”
“I like to think of my family as ‘artisans in time’.”
She returned him a puzzled look. “Artisans—”
His laughter interrupted her question. “That’s what everyone does when I use that expression.”
His speech was animated in a way that conveyed his excitement for the subject and Chastity leaned in, listening with great interest to hear him over the noise around her.
“To put it in common terms, Miss Reynolds, we make fine watches and clocks, and have since our family’s early beginnings in Italy.”
“But you have no Italian accent,” she said, speaking aloud her thought.
He grinned. “Not for generations, I suspect.”
“I have always admired a good timepiece,” she said. “I’m fascinated by clocks of all kinds.”
He took his pocket watch from his gold brocade waistcoat and, placing it on his palm, offered it to her for inspection. “This is one of my favorite designs. Unusual, don’t you agree?”
She stared in amazement at the open face pocket watch, its offset hour dial in white with gilded hands. The larger face had been painted with a scene out of classical Greece: a lady in a bright red cloak over a white gown held an urn as she stood in front of a domed stone building. “Why, it’s positively masterful! Truly, a work of art.”
“My father and brothers design the mechanism and I paint the faces. I am delighted it’s to your taste.”
Seeing no ring on his finger, she smiled up at him, a plan forming in her mind. “Did you have an opportunity to speak with my good friend, Rose Crockett?”
“The dark-haired young woman I met at the door? I did not.”
“You simply must have a chance to show her your watch! She, too, is from Northampton.”
Chastity glanced around the room. Rose had drifted to the far corner, still speaking with Mrs. Fitz. “Come, I will take you to her.”’
He swept his hand before him. “Lead on, my lady.”
To get to Rose, Chastity had to skirt the crush of people. As she was doing so, she passed her great-aunt, who was chatting with Sir Robert and M’sieur Donet.
Over the noise of the many conversations, Chastity heard Sir Robert say, “Please forgive our late arrival, Lady Sanborn. We were unavoidably detained.”
“I’m so glad you came,” replied her great-aunt. “I was quite worried you might not. I am gratified you are here at last.” Aunt Agatha smiled at them. “The footmen will get you any drink you desire and there are plenty of hors d’œuvres to enjoy.”
Chastity was aware of Sir Robert’s gaze following her and Mr. Cairo as they continued toward their destination.
“My friend has accompanied me from Northampton,” she told Mr. Cairo. “She will be most interested in hearing of your family business.”
Finally reaching Rose and Mrs. Fitz, Chastity begged permission to speak to them of her new acquaintance.
“Mr. Cairo comes from a most talented family,” she said. “Ask him to show you his remarkable watch,” she urged the two women.
Rose and Mrs. Fitz greeted Mr. Cairo with expectant gazes.
“I will see you a bit later,” Chastity said to him as she left the three of them and walked into the crowd but not before she looked over her shoulder and winked at Rose. Now there is a suitor for you.
Standing with Jack and Lady Sanborn, Robbie had observed Chastity Reynolds staring enraptured into the face of a man he had never met. His attire was that of a successful gentleman, his coat cut by a skillful tailor. Robbie must know more of this man before the evening was done. After all, he had promised The Grand Countess to look after The Girl Who Needed Watching. That he no longer thought of Chastity Reynolds as a girl, but a ravishing young woman, mattered not. He had a duty to fulfill.
Lady Sanborn excused herself and moved toward her other guests.
By his s
ide, Jack sipped his brandy, casting a glance around the large room. “Have you noticed that every man in attendance under the age of seventy appears to be smitten with the lady you would have me believe is a virago?”
“Miss Reynolds?” Robbie watched as she passed through the room, men’s heads turning to follow her as she led the man with curly brown hair through the crowd. In that glimmering red silk gown, she was something to behold. Her pale skin was nearly translucent as if glowing from within like fine marble. A rare beauty even by London standards. “Perhaps ’tis just that she is new on the Brighton scene.”
“Even you don’t believe that,” Jack chided. “It was the same at the Pavilion the night we dined with the king. Miss Reynolds passes through a room like a bright candle in the darkest twilight. Un rare spectacle.”
“There you go again, Jack,” Robbie teased, “spouting that French romantic gibberish.”
“You need a bit of French gibberish in your life, Nephew. Just ask your mother.”
“My mother, née Claire Donet, can be quite fierce when she speaks French. It’s the language in which she chooses to discipline her sons, so I hardly think of it as romantic.”
“What a waste of good words,” said Jack.
“However, I agree with you that Miss Reynolds is unusually attractive.” In London, Robbie had noticed that some ladies of the ton walked with an arrogant stride, their noses ever in the air. Not so Chastity Reynolds. It was as if she were unaware of how beautiful she was or how men watched her. A beauty who is all fire and cheek. A woman, he suspected, who would be passionate in bed.
With her mission to find Rose an acceptable suitor at least partially successful, Chastity squeezed her way through the throng in the parlor looking to see if she recognized anyone.
“Miss Reynolds,” said Sir Robert, suddenly appearing at her side. He and the vicomte each held a glass of brandy. “Might you have a moment?” His amused expression suggested he thought she might try to avoid him altogether which, truth be told, had been her intention at the outset of the evening.
Rogue’s Holiday Page 11
