Banished to Brighton by Sydney Jane Baily

Chapter Fourteen

James felt his mouthdrop open, then he snapped it shut. “I never said her name,” he protested.

Payton grinned. “You did, after about five pints of beer and then a couple glasses of piss quick. With the blue ruin in you, you were ‘Miss Talbot this’ and ‘Miss Talbot that.’”

James felt his cheeks grow hot. Had he truly drunk so much gin in the pub that he’d spilled his guts in such an unchivalrous manner? Naming her! He was appalled at himself.

“Don’t look so horrified. It happens to each of us occasionally,” Payton said, trying to comfort him. “So the woman who tried to trap you in the parson’s noose has now caught your fancy. How rich!”

“Prinny said to keep her safe until her fiancé arrives.”

“But you want to tup her instead?” Payton quipped. The whole thing was a joke to him.

“No,” James said, belatedly determined to protect her. He never would have started the conversation had he known Payton knew his lovely torturer by name.

Payton chuckled again. “It makes me no matter, ol’ chum. Just don’t get in the middle of something and end up at the wrong end of her fiancé’s pistol.”

***

AT NOON THE DAY AFTERthe Castle Hotel assembly when the porter knocked upon her door to say she had a gentlemen caller, Glynnis quickly set a lightweight green hat upon her head, pinned it in two places, grabbed her gloves which she yanked on as she went down the stairs, and then stopped in her tracks.

“Hargrove!” She was thrilled and disappointed at the same time.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “I wondered if you were hungry or wanted to take a stroll.”

“I am,” she said, “and I do.”

How nice of him, but she’d been expecting if any man were to call upon her, it would be Lord Dodd to press his case.

“Let’s stop in the café first and then,” he paused, “perhaps walk all the way to the Royal Crescent. Have you seen the statue of Prinny?”

“I haven’t,” she told him. Suddenly, the day that would have been another dreary one filled with worry over money was, instead, filled with expectation.

After she made sure Hargrove was treating her to the nuncheon, she ordered the most expensive mince lamb pie on the menu and a pot of tea, as well as a rich cake and fruit trifle for dessert.

“So delicious,” she couldn’t help exclaiming. “Is that all you’re having?” Hargrove was eating like a single lady at a London dinner, trying to impress the gentlemen with her dainty appetite.

“I ate not too long ago,” he confessed, setting down his half-eaten wafer before idly sipping his coffee.

How strange! She paused with a spoonful of trifle topped with clotted cream halfway to her lips. “Then why did you invite me for something to eat?”

He smiled. “Because you’re always hungry, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but you...,” she trailed off, rendered speechless by his kindness. If Lord Hargrove wanted to buy her a meal, she wouldn’t protest. Sticking the spoon into her mouth, she enjoyed the remainder of her dessert. But the spark in his eyes was disconcerting. She could only hope she had no cream upon her lips.

After she swallowed, she asked, “Do you know anyone renting at the Royal Crescent?”

“Not renting, no, but I know someone who lives there. You may’ve been introduced to him the first night at the Pavilion. Lord Payton?”

She shrugged. The name meant nothing, and she’d been keeping careful track of whom she met.

Thus, after the meal which Hargrove paid for in full, he took her arm, and they began the long walk up toward the Royal Crescent. In the front of the shallow arc of terraced houses facing the sea, at its heart was a statue.

They walked around it, observing it from all sides.

“It’s Prince George, is it not?” Glynnis asked.

“It is. Paid for by Mr. Otto, a man from India and of some wealth, who wished to impress His Royal Highness and obtain an invitation to the Pavilion.”

Glynnis took another long look. It was impressive, she supposed, at least for its height, which she guessed to be about seven feet. And it was set upon a pedestal that was much taller than her. But the flaw was obvious.

“Why does it only have one arm?”

Hargrove roared with laughter, until she caught his humor and chuckled, too.

“We shouldn’t,” she said. “If the prince saw us, he’d be angry.”

The viscount nodded, but it took him another few moments to catch his breath.

“The sculptor, a man named Charles Rossi, was commissioned to make it from Coade stone, supposedly quite durable to the elements.”

“Apparently not in this case,” Glynnis pointed out. The entire statue had pits and a sad, weathered look.

“It displeases Prinny greatly,” Hargrove admitted. “Because of the arm, people have started to mistake if for Admiral Nelson.” He laughed again.

“Oh my,” Glynnis murmured, thinking how annoyed the Regent must be.

“I’m sure Prinny will order it removed soon. And as far as I know, Mr. Otto fell forever out of the prince’s favor.”

Glynnis had stopped listening for she’d noticed a lady strolling back from town. And the closer the woman came, the more certain she was of one thing.

“That woman has my parasol!”

Hargrove followed the direction of her gaze.

“How can you tell? It looks like every other parasol.”

“Mayhap it does, but I believe it is mine,” Glynnis insisted. The lady drew closer, nodding to both her and to Hargrove before making a circle of the statue.

“It used to look much nicer,” the woman declared. “I live right there,” she boasted, pointing to one of the exquisite homes standing parallel to the road. Each was faced in black-glazed mathematical tiles, and where the sun hit them, they shone with a brilliant iridescence.

But Glynnis could only stare at her parasol.

“Were you at the prince’s picnic?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?” the woman replied.

The lady lived in one of the nicest homes in Brighton, second only to the Pavilion itself, or maybe Mrs. Fitzherbert’s home. And yet, she’d snatched Glynnis’s precious parasol, which she’d been unable to afford to replace. Her dudgeon was high.

“What kind of person helps themselves to someone else’s parasol?” she demanded.

The lady’s jaw dropped, then her mouth compressed into a thin line.

“I’m sure I have no idea, but perhaps you have been out in the sun too long and ought to procure a parasol with all due haste.” She turned to walk away.

“Miss Talbot,” Hargrove began. “Surely, you are mistaken.” He looked uneasy, when she’d hoped he would stand up for her and demand the return of her personal possession.

Darting forward, Glynnis snatched at the silk umbrella, ending up grabbing it by one of its tassels.

The lady exclaimed and stepped back in fright. When she didn’t relinquish her hold, the tassel broke off in Glynnis’s hand

“Oh!” she exclaimed at the same time as the woman. “I love these tassels.” Her fury rose at the damage, even though she’d caused it herself.

“Bertram!” the woman yelled, far more loudly than Glynnis could have imagined. Perhaps the sea air did strengthen one’s lungs as it was purported.

“Just let me have it back,” Glynnis told her. “Even with the loss of a tassel, I want my parasol.”

“Miss Talbot,” Hargrove warned again, But Glynnis didn’t look at him.

The woman’s eyes widened. Slowly, with her gaze snapping between Glynnis and Hargrove, she started to back away.

“Bertram!” she screamed again.

Glynnis made another lunge for it, but the well-dressed lady used it as a foil. Like a prize fencer, she thrust it toward Glynnis’s stomach before she turned to dash across the Marine Parade.

Glynnis moved to follow but Hargrove’s arms came around her.

“Stop this at once. Even if it’s yours, your dignity must be worth more.”

Sadly, at that moment, her dignity was as valuable as her only parasol, given the strong coastal sun. Thinking quickly, she relaxed in his arms, enjoying for a moment the feel of him at her back, solid and comforting. However, as soon as he loosened his hold, she slipped easily from his grasp, chasing after her quarry who had already crossed the boulevard and was racing toward one of the four-story homes.

Its door opened under an ocean-facing balcony trimmed in cast-iron railings, and a man, probably Mr. Bertram, stepped out.

Glynnis was undeterred by the doubling of her foes. As the lady closed the parasol, beginning to tell the man her troubles, Glynnis simply reached out and snatched it by its straight wooden handle.

Wooden? Oh dear!

She stared at it, unable to believe what she was seeing. Sighing, she looked up into the shocked faces of the couple.

“This isn’t my parasol,” Glynnis mused aloud.

“Of course not,” the lady said. “How could it be?”

Hargrove arrived at her side. “Please excuse my ... friend. She’s had too much sun, as you noted earlier.” Then he turned to her. “Give it back, Miss Talbot. Now.”

Glynnis, her cheeks burning, tried to hand the silk umbrella back to the lady, but she flinched, lifted her chin, and went inside.

Hargrove took it from her and gently handed it to the stunned gentleman.

“And this,” Glynnis added, giving the man the torn tassel. “Please give your wife my sincere apologies,” she said, her voice raspy with humiliation.

The man still said not a word, staring down at the tassel in his palm as Hargrove grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away.

“Leave them in peace,” he ordered.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she called over her shoulder. Then she said to him, “Well, it certainly looked like mine.”

His face was set in stone until they’d walked a few hundred feet, and then he turned to her, a mirth-filled expression.

“The look on that man’s face!” And the viscount started to laugh.

Glynnis was glad he wasn’t angry with her, but she still didn’t have her ivory-handled parasol with its fashionable twin tassels.

“Perhaps you should send the lady a basket of apples or some flowers to make amends,” he said.

She cringed, thinking of the cost. Then she smiled at him.

“If you wish to do so on my behalf that would be most welcome.”

He stared at her.

“I am of the firm belief it would be better coming directly from you.”

She made a face. “Very well.” Although she had no intention of doing so.

She realized they’d left the area of the Royal Crescent without stopping.

“What about visiting with Lord Payton?”

“I thought it best if we weren’t seen by the Bertrams entering one of their neighbor’s homes.”

Deflated, Glynnis wished she’d had the opportunity to see inside. It might have been her only chance.

“I am exceedingly thirsty,” she declared. “Will you buy me a barley or lemon water?”

After managing to also get Hargrove to open his plump purse for a large sticky bun studded with raisins from Perry’s Doughey, a nearby bakery, Glynnis let him escort her back to the Old Ship.

“No assembly tonight,” she reminded him, wondering how she would fill her time.

“Even Prinny needs a night off,” Hargrove said, “although I’m sure he’ll carry on as if he’s hosting a gathering.”

He hesitated before leaving, although since they were in the public foyer, there was little he could do or say of a private nature, nor could she imagine what might be on his mind. With a smile and nod of his head, he left.

Clutching the tart wrapped in waxy paper, she watched his broad-shouldered form turn left toward his own home, wishing she had a reason to call out to him and make him stay — a reason beyond her heart caring for him above any man she’d ever met.

Sighing, she climbed the stairs and entered her room, stepping upon two missives that had been slid under her door. With excitement, she set the tart on her bed, stripped off her hat and gloves and bent to retrieve the notes.

The first one had the stamp of the Old Ship upon it, and its contents made her blood chill. Her account was coming due in two days. She stared at the sum, knowing it was more than she had. Swallowing her panic, she tossed it onto the bed next to the tart and opened the second folded paper.

What met her eager gaze was an invitation from Lord Dodd to his home the following night. She closed her eyes and thanked her good fortune before running back downstairs to beg a single sheet of paper from the manager. Then, seated at the small writing desk in her room, she accepted his lordship’s invitation, noting that it was only for the two of them.

Improper but intriguing.

Obviously, he was going to propose marriage. With one of her last copper ha’pennies in hand, she brought her response downstairs to the porter, handing him the coin to ensure delivery to Lord Dodd’s home on the Steyne.

***

THE FOLLOWING DAY,Glynnis made her way unescorted to the Theatre Royal in the middle of the afternoon where the Regent had invited his “friends” to a puppet show. She was half expecting a booth to have been set up center stage with hand puppets to amuse them. Instead, a company of fantoccini, or Italian marionettes, performed a comic opera.

She sat in the pit, along with everyone, including the Regent, who was in the middle of the first row. A scaffolding built across the top of the stage with a red velvet curtain tacked on front created a hidden platform for those who handled the marionettes, and no one sat in the boxes overlooking the stage as the view there would spoil the illusion.

Beside her was a single gentleman who enjoyed the opera immensely, laughing so heartily, he brayed and snorted. Glynnis didn’t mind in the least, for in the back of her mind was the thrilling notion she was going to be proposed to that night. And while she’d dreamed the night before of Hargrove, it would be Dodd who finally fulfilled her wish.

To her amazement, at the performance’s conclusion, Prince George made his way onto the stage and voiced a large wooden puppet fashioned to look like him — or, at least, an improved svelte version of him. His entire speech, performed standing to the side while a puppeteer handled the marionette, was one of naughty jests and lewd innuendo. Glynnis wished Hargrove was there to see the spectacle, but alas, there was no sign of him, nor of her dinner host, Lord Dodd.

Afterward, she wandered alone toward the shops on North Street, wishing she had a few spare coins to buy herself something fine and lacy to celebrate the upcoming event.

Suddenly, making her heart instantly race was the dash-fire viscount, wearing a frown as he strode in her direction. When his gaze landed upon her, however, he smiled, and her insides twinged with pleasure.

“Good day, Miss Talbot.”

“Good day, Lord Hargrove. Were you shopping?”

“Nothing so frivolous, I’m afraid. I just left a letter at the Pavilion with sketches of the art from the Louvre, hoping they will entice Prinny to let me show him the pieces.”

“You should have come to the theatre. It was enjoyable, and you could have shown him the drawings in person.”

He made a face. “I wasn’t in the mood for puppets. I thought it best to drop off something he can look at when alone, although that is so rarely the case, I may be in Brighton the rest of my life.”

“There’s Mrs. Fitzherbert,” Glynnis pointed out, seeing that impressive lady strolling along in front of them, past the row of the most expensive shops. As a year-round resident since 1804 with such close ties to the Prince Regent, shopkeepers probably didn’t dare charge her more when her former “husband” was in residence at the Pavilion.

“Why don’t you see if you can get her to put in a good word for you? Isn’t that how royal influence usually works? You go to those who have the prince’s ear rather than to the prince himself.”

He stared at her. “By Jove, I believe you’re getting the hang of all this lickspittle toady nonsense.”

She laughed. “Do you think you can charm Mrs. Fitzherbert?”

He cocked his head. “You’re a woman. Do you think I can?”

Heat rushed to her core. “Most certainly, my lord.”

Their gazes locked and held for the span of many moments until a couple had trouble getting around them on the pavement. Stepping aside, Glynnis dragged her thoughts from how much she admired Hargrove back to the task on North Street.

“Come, maybe I can help, too. At least, you won’t be a single man accosting her.”

Nodding, they fell into step, trailing along behind the prince’s former wife and mistress.

“Tell her about the best pieces you have and where you think—” Glynnis broke off.

“Is something the matter?”

When Mrs. Fitzherbert had slowed down and turned to look in a shop window, Glynnis received a nasty shock.

“She has my parasol!”