Banished to Brighton by Sydney Jane Baily
Chapter Ten
“Absolutely not!” LordHargrove said. “That’s out of the question.”
“But why?” Glynnis was astonished a reputed rake, a rum buck, a libertine of the first order would refuse to put up a woman in his home. It must be the cursed bathing dress!
“Because as swiftly as the starling flies, I would be accused of ruining you, and we would be forced to marry. And even if we married, you would be looked down upon for the rest of your life as a woman lacking in common decency.”
Glynnis pondered both his objections and wondered how to get around them.
“What if you hired a chaperone?” she asked.
“On short notice? Impossible.”
He was probably right.
“What if we don’t tell anyone? And when my fiancé arrives, he, too, stays in your home, which will prohibit any accusations against you, and even prove my continued virtue. If he accepts the situation, it would seem to have been prearranged. You could be a proper guardian, and I, your charge.”
He gaped at her. “I am not a fit guardian for a woman of your age, and you know it. Nor is that what Prinny intended. You shouldn’t even be considering such a thing. I cannot imagine the other thoughts in your pretty head. What’s more, I don’t wish to find out. But you may cease any designs upon moving into my house. It will not happen.”
She could tell his mind was made up and fell silent.
Passing the porter, standing guard just inside the entrance to the Old Ship, she endured his long stare while she dripped across the foyer, along with Hargrove. They went directly to the concierge’s desk. Mr. Melton rushed around it to greet them.
“Whatever has befallen you?” he asked. “Or is it you who has fallen, directly into the sea?”
Then he laughed. This was not his first attempt at humor since Glynnis had arrived, but she sincerely hoped it would be his last. She might demand they reduce her bill to compensate for having to bear it.
By Hargrove’s expression, he didn’t find the man funny either.
“This lady had an incident with an overturned bathing machine,” her rescuer said. “She will need a hot bath at once. If she doesn’t get it, she may become ill, and I would not want to hear of your hotel causing such a thing.”
“Of course, my lord.” Mr. Melton stood straighter. “A deep tub will be taken up to her room at once and filled with the hottest water.”
Glynnis sighed. She might as well add to her bill. “I also need the services of your laundress for my garments that ended up in the saltwater.”
“I’ll take them now, Miss Talbot.”
Feeling a little humiliated, she handed over her linen shift and stays.
The man glanced at her soggy bonnet atop her head, but obviously, he couldn’t give that to the laundress, nor her single glove. When the concierge surveyed what he held, his cheeks flushed.
“I’m not certain your ... um ... that is ... undergarments, I mean the cotton shift, certainly, but your ... um ... corset ... it has wood in it, has it not?”
Her cheeks must be scarlet. To think she was discussing her stays with a man while another listened.
“That is a corded corset without boning or wood. Except for the busk. Thank you for reminding me.”
She reached over and withdrew the slender wooden dowel from its sheath nestled between the bust cups. Her busk seemed to be as solid as ever, undamaged by its short time in the ocean.
Both men were staring at her.
“I believe it to be made from juniper,” she said into the uncomfortable silence.
Mr. Melton cleared his throat. “I shall get these laundered at once.” He paused to look at her salty dripping gown. “And your bathing dress, miss?”
“No,” she told him without hesitation. “I shall not pay to launder this, thank you. When it dries, I will return it to the dippers on the beach.”
“How will you dry it?” he asked, looking down at the puddles forming on the carpet around both her and Lord Hargrove’s feet. “There is nowhere in your room to hang a dripping garment. And we can’t have you dangling it out the window of the hotel.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing so,” she declared as a shiver wracked her entire body.
Despite the man’s promise, Glynnis felt no closer to getting her hot bath and feared she never would, not if she had to wait outside for the bathing dress to dry.
“I’ll escort the lady to her room,” Hargrove volunteered, obviously recognizing her distress, “and she can change out of the dress and give it to me. I’ll return it to the dippers myself.”
“Would you?” she asked, and thought she had never been fonder of anyone in her life. “That’s settled then. Please order the bath, Mr. Melton, without delay.”
“Yes, miss,” but his gaze followed them up the stairs, concerned either with damp spots on the hotel floor or with the inn’s reputation over a single man going with her to her room.
“He’s thinking wicked thoughts,” she said over her shoulder.
“Well, he can stop thinking them. I will stay in the hallway while you undress. And do hurry. The salt is starting to dry inside my suit and is making me itchy.”
So grateful for his assistance, she didn’t even smile at the notion of salt in his breeches while she led him to her room.
“I will be quick. I promise.” And she opened her door and closed it behind her.
With an odd feeling, knowing Hargrove was directly on the other side, she removed the bathing dress.
Donning her dressing gown, Glynnis had nothing to put the felt monstrosity into, so she simply opened the door and handed the sandy, salty, sodden mess to him.
“I very much appreciate your taking care of this,” she told him, feeling daring standing there barefooted with nothing on but a whisper of cream-colored satin tied at her waist.
Naturally, his gaze took in her appearance head to toe, but he’d seen so much of her earlier, she hardly thought it mattered.
Except the light of interest in his eyes told her otherwise. His appreciation of her was evident.
When he didn’t speak, she couldn’t help wondering if he would kiss her again. Given her scantily clad body and the proximity of privacy behind her in the shape of a soft clean bed, she wondered where it would lead.
His dark blue eyes held hers, and she almost convinced herself in the space of a heartbeat that he was asking permission. For precisely what, she was unsure, yet she found herself debating whether she was prepared to give a rake unfettered access to her person when there was no one to force his hand to marriage.
After all, that was the only reason to let a man kiss her, wasn’t it?
Suddenly she heard footsteps on the stairs, and Hargrove stepped back when the desired bathtub came into view, carried by a man with his sleeves rolled up and his eyes bulging under his burden. Over his shoulder was an oilskin.
A good-sized tub, indeed!Glynnis was grateful she would be able to submerge to her shoulders. She moved out of the way so the hotel employee could deposit it in the middle of her bed chamber. The man was followed by two women, struggling under the weight of a bucket in each of their hands, and the water was plainly steaming.
“I’ll leave you to it, Miss Talbot,” Hargrove said now the moment was lost. “Before the water loses any measure of heat.”
Had she wasted an opportunity? They could have been caught in a passionate embrace by the hotel staff. Looking at the sweating man and the red-faced women, Glynnis doubted any of the three would have been prepared to demand Hargrove behave honorably. More likely, they would have simply ignored the inappropriate behavior the way good employees pretended not to see so very many infractions.
“More water is coming, miss,” the man said, disappearing quickly back down the stairs while the serving girls emptied their buckets into the tub.
“I will collect you at eight for the Castle Hotel assembly,” he promised.
“Thank you.”
***
WHAT WAS HE THINKING?James had lingered at Miss Talbot’s door and would have tried to kiss her again if the bathtub hadn’t arrived.
He lounged in a deep tub in his own bathroom at his house, and tried not to picture her naked and slippery down the street. Impossible! She was all he could think of after having had his hands on her bare skin once that day.
Knowing she had a fiancé and had been a ruthless husband-hunter should be enough of a deterrence. Yet she wouldn’t be the worst wife in the world. She had a lovely face, a luscious figure, and a quick wit. Not to mention a hearty appetite.
That thought made him chuckle to himself.
Miss Talbot probably also had a robust dowry, being a viscount’s only daughter, although he’d heard the son was something of a nightmare. Regardless, if James were interested in marrying, he could imagine her in the role of Lady Hargrove — except he would never know if she’d had a particular interest in him over any other jackanape.
He recalled the man at his club in London and the other one in Lady Sullivan’s billiards room. Both had been treated to Miss Talbot’s wiles. It was clear she’d had a singular plan for being compromised, and cared not a whit who did it.
Sighing, he decided he should let her go to her Welsh fiancé and hope again the man turned up quickly before James did something stupid, like bed the chit.
But those nipples! And her lips! And her eyes!
He sank under the water to soak his head and stop himself from musing upon her.
A knock at his door was a welcome interruption The house had come with a staff, who were performing adequately, although he missed his own butler.
“Yes,” he called out to Mr. Sparks.
“An urgent message for you, my lord, from the Prince Regent.”
James sneered. Even in his tub, he wasn’t safe from Prinny’s tyranny.
“Come in.”
The door opened and Mr. Sparks entered, keeping his eyes averted from the tub, even as James sat up sloshing water onto the tiled floor. Shaking dry one hand, he took the missive from the silver tray, and the butler retreated. The note was brief:
Not feeling sparkish.
Canceled the Castle until tomorrow.
He stared at the squiggly mess that was Prinny’s signature.
Canceled the Castle?
He hoped word had been sent to all the other establishments offering evening entertainment for some of them closed on nights when the Regent was holding a large event elsewhere. They ought to be given the chance to reopen.
Quite shoddy of Prinny to do something so last minute. But that was the prerogative of royalty, James supposed. Before sinking down into the bath once again, he dropped the letter over the side onto the floor, unmindful of how the ink ran as soon as it encountered his splashed bathwater.
Belatedly, when clean, dry, and seated in his own dining room enjoying a meal while reading the newspaper, James thought of Miss Talbot. Had anyone notified her of the change in plans?
Doubtful. Knowing Prinny, he’d sent his message out to a few key guests, expecting them to disseminate the information. The rest would turn up at the Castle Hotel to be sorely disappointed. Since Miss Talbot expected him at her hotel to escort her, she would be saved that embarrassment as long as she stayed put. Yet he hated to think of her getting dressed and waiting for him. He wouldn’t like to be considered the type of clod who left a woman in the lurch.
Finishing his repast, James hurried back upstairs and let his valet ready him for nothing more than walking a few hundred yards to Miss Talbot’s hotel and telling her their evening was postponed. Then he might head to the house of that flash mollisher with the luscious curves and enjoy a quick roll. What was her name?
When he knocked on Miss Talbot’s door a little after eight, he’d had the uncomfortable experience of the nighttime porter giving him a sideways glance when he went toward the staircase. Since this was most definitely not a brothel, he supposed single men coming and going was unusual if they weren’t registered guests.
Miss Talbot opened the door, and James could honestly say she took his breath away. Dressed to the nines, as his mother called it when she was at her finest. Nine what, he had no idea, but he knew a beautiful woman when he saw one.
Wearing a deep mauve gown with a lacy gray bodice and little cap sleeves that left her slender arms on display, he wouldn’t mind starting at her wrist and kissing his way up to her delicate shoulder.
“Your fiancé is missing out on a vision of loveliness tonight,” he declared.
“Thank you. And you cut a bosh figure, my lord.” She turned from him. “Let me get my shawl and my very last reticule. It’s already after eight, and I wouldn’t want to be too late in case the champagne has been poured.”
Then James recalled why he was there.
“I am afraid there is no champagne tonight. Prinny has called off the assembly.”
She blinked up at him, looking immediately disappointed, and he realized he didn’t want to leave her so finely dressed and go elsewhere — not even to tup a welcoming whore.
After all they were both ready for a night out, and the storm had passed and gone somewhere farther inland to the east. It would be a shame to waste the fair weather.
That was the only possible reason he said his next words.
“Why don’t we go to the theatre?”
Immediately, her expression brightened. Before he could even consider retracting his invitation, she stepped out of her room and pulled the door closed behind her. Then she took hold of his arm and looked up at him.
“I feel so much better than when you left me earlier.” She squeezed against his arm, causing her breasts to nearly escape the top of her décolletage. “And I’m exceedingly pleased to go to the theatre. Will there be food there? Or will you take me to supper afterward?”
He almost laughed. There was that hearty appetite.
“Sometime this evening, we shall find nourishment,” he assured her. Even though he had just eaten, he wouldn’t deprive Miss Talbot lest she faint again.
They made their way down the stairs, and James made sure to nod at the porter so the judgmental lout would recall how quickly he’d vacated the premises with the lady, not lingering for even a kiss at her door.
While strolling along Ship Street, he told her the little he knew from Prinny.
“I hope he holds the assembly tomorrow night,” she said. “I have yet to go inside the Castle Hotel.”
“And if you don’t see it soon, you won’t see it at all,” James told her.
“Whatever do you mean?
“I believe it is the end for the Castle.”
They turned right onto North Street. At the end of it, one could make out the distinctive roof of the Castle Tavern, as he thought of it, though it was, indeed, a hotel and public rooms, too.
“It looks to be in good state of repair from the outside,” she said.
“Oh, it is,” he assured her. “A confirmed rumor has it that Prinny is buying the Castle to enlarge his already stupendous home.”
“You don’t sound pleased.”
Best if he didn’t speak ill of the prince even in front of a woman of no influence. Despite not spending much time in Brighton, James thought it to be a damnable shame for the Regent to snatch up the well-liked business if he meant only to demolish it.
“The passing of an era,” he quipped.
She laughed, covering her mouth with her glove.
“I mean no offense, but the building is reputed to be about sixty years old, hardly a classical antiquity. I wouldn’t mourn its loss as, say, the Tower of London or Windsor Castle, would you?”
He shrugged, and they turned left onto New Road and came upon the Theatre Royal with its line of slender Corinthian columns heralding its entrance.
“Regardless, if Prinny regains his spark, then there shall probably be a ball in one of the Castle’s assembly rooms tomorrow. It may be the very last one, and you and I shall attend.”
She beamed at him, and he gestured for her to precede him when the porter opened the theatre’s door.
The antechamber was cool with marble floors and impressive statues, reminiscent of the theatre at Covent Garden. Here, too, the antiquity she’d made fun of regarding the jolly Castle was equally false as the building dated back only to 1807, and the life-sized Greek-style sculptures were modern representations of comedy and tragedy.
A grand staircase and twin side stairs led to the boxes, as well as the prince’s private saloon and box, and a lounge upstairs. They toured everything in the crowded theatre, as James guessed it would be. With Prinny canceling the premiere event, Brighton’s quality folk had sought out any open venue. Inside the oblong-shaped auditorium, there was nary a vacant seat in the pit, nor in the boxes.
Naturally, there was always room for a viscount and his guest. Thus, in short order, James had the singular experience of sitting alone in a second-tier box with a lady who had no chaperone. Absolutely outrageous! But she seemed not the least concerned, taking in the setting like a curious child and becoming even more excited when the performance was revealed to be William Congreve’s Love for Love.
“Not that I don’t appreciate Shakespeare or even Sophocles,” Miss Talbot assured him, drawing out a fan from her reticule and opening it with a satisfying swish, “but they are sometimes so very...,” she trailed off, looking pensive.
“Dramatic,” he supplied.
“Exactly,” she agreed. “And while it is soul-cleansing and heart-breaking to witness a good production of Hamlet, it’s also a pleasure to be entertained by farce and comedy, is it not?”
“A time and place for both,” James said, finding himself in full agreement. The seaside theatre didn’t seem a place to watch the eventual piling on of bodies that ended many of Shakespeare’s tragic plays.
During the intermission, she seemed to be as thrilled to enjoy wine and sugar biscuits as she had the first three acts. James couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she bubbled over with commentary on the play and the actors. She made him laugh more than the play itself.
A male voice interrupted their intimate gathering of two.
“There she is, my swimming pupil, Miss Talbot.”