She laughed up at him, seeming to enjoy the formal manner he had pretended for her benefit. “Well these didn’t escape!”
“Ah, but man is the ultimate predator.”
The wizened fishwife selling the dories obviously wanted to get to her business as she looked up at him with an inquiring gaze. “How many will ye be wanting, sir?”
He turned to Chastity. “Did the cook say?”
“No, but I should think enough for the household, and the servants would not turn away a meal of fine fish.”
“We’ll have a half-dozen,” he told the fishwife. She smiled, pleased with her sale, and proceeded to wrap up the fish. She handed him the package and he paid her in coin.
“I could have paid her,” insisted Miss Reynolds, her lips forming into an attractive pout.
“Consider it my gift to Lady Sanborn.” He reached for her basket. “Allow me to carry this. As long as we are here, we should procure some sole. That’s a fish that often accompanies other dishes.”
She agreed and they thanked the woman and proceeded to where the sole were being offered. The ordinary task of shopping for fish in which Robbie rarely indulged had become a morning of unexpected pleasure. He relished this new amiability between them as they walked on, speaking of their childhoods.
“I played with the neighborhood boys when I could,” she said. “The only activities in which the girls engaged were sewing and painting. I guess that’s why I spent so much time with my father. He was more interesting.”
“And that’s how you became a designer of shoes?”
She blushed attractively. “Yes, I suppose it was. My father is ever so clever. He designs boots for the finest bootmakers in Northampton. His designs are unusual and are even coveted in London.” Her face glowed with admiration for the man who had taught her the craft.
“You are very proud of him,” he observed.
“I am.” From beneath her bonnet, she asked, “And you? What about your youth?”
“When my twin, Nash, and I weren’t at Eton, we were at sea. It was an ideal life for a boy but often lacking in schooling us in social graces. Seamen are hearty souls but can be a rough lot.”
“Well that explains your boldness,” she said. “Is your twin the same?”
He thought about his soft-spoken twin who Robbie had protected from bullies. “Nash is the serious one.”
“I’m sure your parents thank God for that.”
He laughed, unoffended. She only spoke the truth. He could hardly be offended when her eyes glimmered like sun on azure pools, so vividly blue they were mesmerizing.
By the time they had finished their shopping, Jack and Miss Crockett had returned to find them. They compared purchases, laughing, for much had been bought, more than could be eaten in a few days.
Jack smiled broadly. “I think Lady Sanborn’s cook will have to salt some of this fish to preserve it.”
“I’m certain the servants will appreciate some of this seafood for their dinner,” put in Miss Reynolds. “And then my great-aunt may invite the neighbors to dine with us over the next few days. She likes to entertain.”
“Prawns for breakfast, anyone?” Miss Crockett inquired with a smile.
Jack chuckled. “Why not?”
“Please consider yourselves invited for dinner tonight,” said Miss Reynolds. “Aunt Agatha will have need of your male appetites to help consume some of this.”
Robbie was surprised at the invitation coming from her but he was not one to turn away such an offer. “That is most gracious,” he said with an amused grin. “We accept.”
“’Tis only fair that you should help us eat what you have helped to acquire,” agreed Miss Crockett. She had obviously enjoyed her brief excursion with Jack and the two of them exchanged warm smiles.
“Our neighbor, Maria Fitzherbert, whom you met at the reception, will be joining us,” said Miss Reynolds. “Mrs. Fitz is a lady of impeccable character and my great-aunt’s particular friend.”
“Sounds delightful,” he said. “If you are amenable, I suggest Jack convey Miss Crockett and our purchases to Lady Sanborn’s in my curricle, and I will escort you home by way of a fly.” He looked up at the threatening clouds, noting the wind had picked up. Rain was not far away. “If we hurry, we might just miss the deluge.”
“A fly?” asked Miss Crockett.
“Those are the small covered carriages you see around Brighton drawn by a man and an assistant. Very convenient and with room for two. The ones that Prinny and his noble friends use for midnight excursions are dubbed ‘fly-by-nights’.”
“I am not even surprised,” said Chastity. Turning to her friend, she added, “You go with M’sieur Donet, Rose. I am happy to share a…a fly with Sir Robert.”
Robbie handed their packages to Jack and offered his arm to Miss Reynolds, guiding her from the shingles to the road. He suddenly realized he’d been so absorbed in their time together, he’d paid little heed to the men gathered on the beach.
Any one of them might have been watching him.
Chastity and Sir Robert arrived as the rain began to descend. Once he had seen her to the door where the vicomte waited, the two men raced for the curricle as the clouds burst forth their well of water. Undaunted by the foul weather Sir Robert shouted, “I’ve endured worse at sea!” His beaver hat caught the rain as he grabbed the reins and urged his grays into a run. Even the thunder and lightning did not dissuade him from his course. “We’ll return for dinner!”
He and the vicomte sped away, but they were already drenched.
She did not doubt he would hold to his word and return. Rogue he might be but Chastity recognized in him a strength of character that was even more attractive than his face. And that morning as he’d guided her over the shingles, her resistance to the man’s charms had begun to fade as she leaned on his arm, drawing from his strength. The ride back to her great-aunt’s home in the fly had been another experience where his intense gaze had dwelt on her.
“A chance to be alone with you,” he said. “But I assure you I will take no advantage. Though I’d rather be sitting next to you, in deference to the two carrying us, I thought to balance the fly.”
Chastity stood at the parlor window, watching the rain turn the Steyne into mud. Rubbing against her skirts, Crispin sounded a loud “Meow.” Even he had softened to the man. Or, did the cat merely mirror her mood toward him? “To my great surprise, he did act the gentleman, Crispin.”
True to his word, later that day, as the rain subsided to drizzle, Sir Robert returned with his uncle. After sharing drinks in the parlor and a reacquaintance with Mrs. Fitz, the six of them ventured into the dining room.
Above the mahogany table a gilded chandelier cast glowing candlelight on Aunt Agatha’s elegant Wedgwood china, a pattern that featured feathers circling the rim.
As the first course of asparagus soup was served, her great-aunt proudly announced, “The asparagus for the soup came from my kitchen garden.”
“Agatha is very industrious,” said Mrs. Fitz. Dressed in a pale green silk gown, the older woman was the essence of aging royalty. Aunt Agatha, in contrast, was dressed in vivid mustard yellow trimmed in cinnamon colored ribbon.
“’Tis very tasty,” offered the vicomte.
Chastity forced her gaze from Sir Robert, who had been regarding her above his soup spoon to consider his uncle. “Do you not have kitchen gardens on Guernsey?”
“Mais oui, we do, and I greatly admire them. Guernsey grows many vegetables.” His manners were elegant and his features aristocratic, whereas his nephew was the kind of man men seemed to favor.
When the soup was taken away, a footman served sole prepared in lemon butter. The flavor was delicate, the fish fresh from that morning.
“This is delicious,” remarked Mrs. Fitz, sitting at one end of the table. “Your excursion to the beach this morning has proven a grand success.”
“We did acquire a bounty of fish,” said Chastity. She had chosen a gown of Cal
amine blue that reminded her of a robin’s egg. She hoped the color didn’t drain her face of color.
“Cook was pleased with the many purchases,” said her great-aunt. “She promises more fish to come. Tomorrow’s dinner will feature dory fish.”
As she savored the sole, Chastity’s mind returned to her morning on the beach and how well she and Sir Robert had done together. She remembered laughing as he explained the strange-looking dory fish, his patience in selecting the sole to get just the fish he wanted and his bold grasp of her waist to keep her from falling as she tripped on the shingles. It had been so natural to be with him.
While her great-aunt and the others were eating their soup, he had been staring at her over his spoon, his gaze so intense it was as if she weren’t wearing anything at all. The knave! Perhaps his manners of the morning proved too great a strain. He might appear the gentleman but beneath the veneer, he was still a rogue who dallied with married women and tavern wenches. She feared if she didn’t guard her heart, she would fall for him like so many other women had. She vowed she would not be seduced.
“I collect you young people enjoyed yourselves this morning,” said Aunt Agatha from the end of the table opposite Mrs. Fitz.
“We did,” Rose said. “M’sieur Donet was ever so helpful in selecting just the right prawns.”
“I’m certain Cook will bring some of them to the table in due course,” said Aunt Agatha. “When I left her, she was studying a recipe involving prawns and truffles.”
A chuckle issued from Mrs. Fitz. “Agatha told me she was tempted to ask Cook to compose the entire menu from what you brought back as there was so much fresh fare.”
Chastity’s great-aunt shook her head. “I could not persuade her. She insisted on having the chicken fricassee and a haunch of lamb added to our menu.”
“Dining with you, Lady Sanborn is like dining at the Pavilion,” said the vicomte, one auburn curl falling to his forehead as he focused on his sole. “I must pace myself if I’m to arrive at the puddings with any appetite at all.”
“You remind me,” put in Aunt Agatha, “you know the king has been in London for that dreadful hanging of the men who meant to murder the Cabinet. I am told he will soon return to Brighton, coming in his yacht, the long way from London. No doubt the whole town will turn out to see him standing on the deck.”
Knowing to speak of the king might raise a sensitive chord for Mrs. Fitz, Chastity thought to involve her in the conversation. “Have you sailed on the royal yacht, Mrs. Fitz?”
“Not the one the king sails today, my dear. I sailed with him on the Royal Caroline many years ago before he became regent.”
“I should look forward to sailing,” said Chastity. She gave Sir Robert a hopeful glance as he had promised to include her should he receive an invitation from the king, but he was lost in his thoughts.
As the plates were removed and the next course served, her great-aunt said, “My friends tell me there’s to be a ball at the Royal Pavilion celebrating the king’s return. I imagine you will be invited, Sir Robert, as well as M’sieur Donet, since you are his guests for the summer.”
“A ball at the Pavilion!” exclaimed Rose. “I can only imagine.” Her eyes glistened with excitement.
Chastity was a little excited herself. Except for the Winter Assembly in Northampton, which didn’t really count, she had not been to a ball since her failed first Season in London. Perhaps this ball would provide a better memory.
“You must go if you can,” said Mrs. Fitz to Chastity and Rose. “The balls held at the Pavilion are something to see and the music grand.” Chastity was pleased to observe that the woman who was once Prinny’s favorite held no rancor for her erstwhile husband but unselfishly delighted in the possibility of Chastity and Rose enjoying themselves at his Pavilion.
“I wonder when such an event might occur,” Sir Robert said, but he appeared distracted. She puzzled over the cause. A moment later, he leaned toward Chastity. “Even with all those years on my family’s ships, I did manage to learn to dance. Of course, ’twas most often the sailor’s hornpipe we danced to, not a waltz.”
She was tempted to utter a “Humph” but kept silent in light of the company. She was familiar with the rollicking fiddle music but could not imagine dancing to its tune. Then again, on a ship’s deck, she might be persuaded.
The vicomte turned to Rose. “I learned to dance in Guernsey, the same place I learned to fence. But since a Bourbon now sits on France’s throne, I can again dance at the Tuileries.”
Rose smiled at the Frenchman. “That sounds very romantic, M’sieur. I imagine you are a very good dancer.”
In a deeper French accent than typically characterized his speech, he replied, “You will have to allow me to show you, Mademoiselle.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Fitz, “it strikes me you will certainly have a grand evening should the ball come to pass.”
After dinner, they retired together to the parlor where tea was served for the women and brandy for the men. “You may rest assured, M’sieur Donet,” said Aunt Agatha, “that the brandy you drink is the finest French cognac.”
“I will have to bring you some from my family’s estate,” said the vicomte.
Chastity took that opportunity to urge Rose to entertain them with a song.
“If you’re sure you would want me to,” Rose said shyly.
“Of course we do,” said Aunt Agatha. “We’ll sit here enjoying our drinks and listen to your lovely voice.”
Rose nodded and took her place at the pianoforte. Setting her fingers on the keys, she began to play. Soon she was singing a haunting melody. Her voice had an unusual quality, a throaty, pleasing sound that brought much emotion to the music. The song she chose was the Irish tune “Robin Adair”, one she often sang in Northampton to great effect.
What made the assembly shine?
Robin Adair.
What made the ball so fine?
Robin was there:
What when the play was o’er,
What made my heart so sore?
Oh! It was parting with
Robin Adair.
Chastity watched the vicomte as he listened, enraptured, his eyes never leaving her beautiful dark-haired friend. Glancing at Sir Robert to see his reaction, she was surprised to observe he had fallen into brooding silence, drawn into his thoughts. His eyes were downcast as he pensively twisted the glass of brandy in his hand. What could have brought about such a change—from smiling rogue to brooding dinner guest—in so short a time? Whatever was he thinking?
Robbie had not been able to take his eyes off Chastity Reynolds as they dined. A vision in blue, her eyes the color of a calm sea in tropical waters, he recalled the feel of her body as he’d reached for her waist that morning on the beach. Now, staring into his brandy, his mind considered the danger surrounding him in Brighton, a danger that could plague her as well.
Since the day he’d been followed on North Street, he’d not experienced the uncanny feeling of being watched. Nor had he observed anyone hiding in the trees that morning on the grounds of the Pavilion. But someone could have been there, watching. Distracted as he was by Miss Reynolds, it was possible he’d failed to detect eyes upon him. The crowded fish market had contained all levels of society. While the people perused the fish, they also watched each other. Surely he and Chastity Reynolds had been observed. Again, he worried that the enemies of the Crown would turn their eyes on her or even her great-aunt.
The friends of the conspirators could have shot him many times over. The note had said “…when you least expect it, ye will suffer.” That could be at any time his back was turned. Yet they had not taken action. What was their intent? Why did they wait, only observing? He could only hope Chastity Reynolds was not with him when their attack came. Perhaps he should set another trap, this time for his pursuers.
Standing in the shadows of the rooms he had rented just off 4th Street, Aaron Ings studied the men he had chosen to exact his revenge. They were a
rough lot, the kind who would do murder for a price with nary a concern. It helped his cause that they regarded a spy for the Crown to be the worst of men, a loathsome wretch. Powell was just such a one, the only one who’d been there at the beginning with Aaron’s brother, James, when Thistlewood had first spoken of the need for action, but who’d not been there at the end. It had taken time, but Aaron had tracked him down.
Once Aaron knew where the spy was headed, he followed him to Brighton, arranging to meet his hired men a few days later. That Powell was the guest of the king and staying in the Royal Pavilion made things difficult as it was well guarded. But Aaron would have his revenge, even if it took him the summer to see it done.
He leaned against the planks of the wall in the dismal lodgings, listening to his men discuss how he might go about it. With the shades drawn over the windows, he and the men he’d hired in London were left in near darkness, save for the two tallow candles burning from the sideboard. The shabby surroundings were not up to his standards but the entrance in the alley off North Street enabled them to come and go without notice. It was on North Street he had first discovered the despicable spy strolling along with his companion as if he had not an ounce of guilt for betraying good Englishmen to the gallows, including Aaron’s own brother.
Aaron was curious to hear what his men had to say since they had just returned from the seafront where they had been watching Powell that morning.
“Ye should have seen him eyein’ the chit,” said Duffy. “No sister that one. A real looker she were, too. I seen him with her the night I trailed him from the king’s palace to that fancy house on the Steyne.”
“Aye,” agreed Augie. “Whoever she be–sister, friend or roll in the hay, he were careful of her, quick to help her over the stones and carryin’ her basket.”
Pete rubbed his hand over his bristled chin. “Is it just killin’ the bastard ye’re after, Guv? Or would ye care to make him pay in kind for what he done? I say take from him, like he took from ye!”
Rogue’s Holiday Page 13
