Banished to Brighton by Sydney Jane Baily

Chapter Seventeen

When Hargrove’s butleropened the door, Glynnis faltered. Uninvited and standing on the doorstep about to ask whether the man’s employer was home, she felt like little more than a bedizened beggar in fancy dress.

Immediately, the man stepped back. “Miss Talbot, do come in. Lord Hargrove is at home.”

How kind of him to remember her and to give her entrance!

“Mr. Sparks, isn’t it?”

“Yes, miss. This way.” And as a proper butler would do for a proper young lady, even one without a chaperone, he led her up the stairs to the formal drawing room.

“I will tell his lordship you’re here.”

“He’s not expecting me,” she confessed.

Mr. Sparks barely faltered in his step. “I understand, miss.” And he disappeared.

Glancing at the sofa, recalling what she’d just seen, she opted for the gray winged-back chair. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes. Instantly, Isabelle’s face — and her breasts! — and Lord Dodd’s bucking hips came to mind, and Glynnis could almost hear the moans and groans.

“Miss Talbot?”

Her eyes flicked open. Hargrove, looking so very familiar and normal, stood just inside the open door.

“Did I forget we had a prior engagement?”

She wished they had an engagement of an entirely different kind.

“You know you didn’t,” she said. “I apologize for coming uninvited. I was ... I was...,” she trailed off and tossed up her hands.

What could she say?Glynnis might confess the absolute base and terrible truth, that she had no fiancé and no money.

He looked at her curiously. “Are you finding yourself with time on your hands before your dinner with Dodd?”

She startled, having completely forgotten he knew.

“You do look to be at sixes and sevens,” he added. “And beautiful, too, may I add.”

“I am not dining with Lord Dodd as it turns out.”

Should she tell him?She would be pouring a large cup of gossip-water if she did.

“Has something happened?” he asked, coming farther into the room but leaving the door open.

“Will you sit?” she asked. “You make me unsettled standing there like a footman.”

That made him grin. “It’s the hour for a glass of wine, don’t you think?” he offered.

Glynnis was grateful he was being so hospitable. “Yes, I do. And thank you.”

She waited while he tugged the bell pull and ordered wine from the swift housemaid before he sat on the sofa opposite her.

Oh, what could be done on a sofa!

“You’re blushing, Miss Talbot.”

Her gaze snapped to his.

“And now you’re blanching.” He rested his elbows on his knees leaning forward. “What on earth has got into you?”

She couldn’t tell him she’d hoped to make Lord Dodd her husband, but everything else was fair game, she supposed. As soon as she had a glass of claret in her hand, she told him every sordid detail.

“With his aunt,” Hargrove declared, not looking as shocked as she would have expected.

“By marriage,” she reminded him. For even if the man was a licentious gadabout, Lord Dodd wasn’t depraved. At least, she assumed not.

“Exactly the case,” Hargrove said. “I knew it.”

“You knew it?”

“There was something off about that pair, and no self-respecting aunt-by-marriage, meaning no relation at all in truth, would stay unchaperoned with a man about her age. And both of them single as sausages.”

“Indeed,” Glynnis agreed.

“You had quite an eyeful, I take it.”

“Yes,” she said softly and sipped her wine, beginning to feel soothed. “I wish I could eliminate that eyeful, too. It’s not pleasant to have someone else’s amorous congress floating about in one’s head.”

He was trying not to smile. It was obvious. He lost the battle with himself and laughed outright.

What could she do but shake her head?

Then her stomach grumbled loudly.

His eyes widened.

“You are dressed for dinner,” he pointed out.

She nodded, hopefully.

“I could have another place set at my table,” Hargrove offered.

She detected a little hesitancy.

“Were you eating alone?” she asked, settling back farther into the chair, with the promise of not having to leave for hours.

“Indeed, I was. I mentioned Lord Payton before. He was to dine with me, but he had a better offer at the last moment.”

“A female?” she surmised.

“Indubitably,” he agreed.

“Frankly, I am glad,” she confessed. “You are my only friend in town, and I couldn’t bear returning to my hotel after ... after what happened.”

Her stomach rumbled again.

“Moreover, as usual, you’re hungry.”

“Famished,” she declared. “Naturally, I had saved up my appetite for Lord Dodd’s dinner table. The food was good at his home last time, don’t you think?” And she drained her wine glass, becoming pleasantly relaxed.

“Yes, he did put out a good meal. I hope my own Cook can do as well.” He paused, then added, “You realize this is simply not done, a single man and woman dining together in private.”

She shrugged, deciding not to mention how she’d been going to do the very same with Lord Dodd without Miss Montrose as chaperone. The ridiculous notion of that woman as a chaperone made her smile.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Glynnis promised.

“Not even your fiancé?” Hargrove asked.

“Especially not him,” she said, recalling how she had to start over tomorrow with finding a new one.

“And you’re not going to leave here later screeching to the world how I debauched you and then force me into marriage?”

Glynnis sighed, saddened that he still feared she might trap him into marrying her. “Still gnawing at that bone, are you?”

“It was a shockingly sneaky thing to do.”

“I suppose.” Regardless, she would have to try it again soon with another man.

“Very well,” Hargrove said, relaxing a little. “Let’s hope I can satisfy your endless appetite.”

As soon as he spoke, she locked her gaze with his, and the meaning of his words changed to something altogether different, some suggestive innuendo she didn’t entirely understand but which made her skin feel prickly.

After seeing Isabelle on top of Lord Dodd and how they’d reached a satisfying ending, she could only imagine how it would be if it were she and Hargrove.

Glynnis swallowed.

He cleared his throat.

“More wine?” he offered, and poured it from the crystal decanter.

“Thank you,” she croaked.

But when she lifted the refilled glass to her mouth to wet her suddenly parched lips, her hand trembled and she spilled a little.

“Blast!” she exclaimed, seeing a few drops of red wine on her pale gray silk. It was stupidly clumsy, but Hargrove and his intense masculinity unnerved her. Hurriedly setting the glass down, she drew a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the small stain.

Small or not, it was conspicuous. She closed her eyes a moment and wished it away.

“Are you well?”

“Another gown to worry over,” she said quietly. “If it were a grease stain, I would use chalk or perhaps rectified spirits of wine—”

“Wine on a wine stain?”

“This isn’t funny. For red wine on silk, I need gin and honey, I think.”

“Are you drinking the dress or cleaning it?” he quipped.

“I don’t suppose you have any ox-gall?”

Hargrove looked startled. “No, I don’t. At least I don’t think I do.”

“That’s extraordinarily careless of you,” she admonished, “but I expect your laundress does or knows where the closest butcher’s is.”

“The butcher wouldn’t be open at this hour in any case. Won’t boiling hot water do the trick?”

She almost snapped at him but caught herself. After all, she didn’t want to miss a free meal.

“One doesn’t put silk in boiling water. No more than one ever submerges wool in water, not unless you want to have a version of your suit in miniature.”

She pulled on the edges of the skirt, holding it up to examine.

“Salt maybe,” she mused, “or urine.”

“Urine!” he repeated, sounding horrified. “Let’s go back to the ox-gall.”

The tone of his voice would have made her laugh if the matter of an unwearable gown didn’t make her wish to cry. Men were squeamish about the everyday things that women dealt with. Her last lady’s maid in London could handle all manner of stains and kept Glynnis’s clothing in perfect condition, but it was still somewhat of a mystery to her as she attempted to do the same.

Releasing the fabric back onto her lap, she accepted the fact she simply could not wear the gown again until she could get it to a professional. The Old Ship manager was too expensive, and she had no idea to whom he sent her clothing the previous time. All she knew was that he’d added an ungodly sum to her account.

Feeling subdued, she didn’t answer when Hargrove asked her about whether the hotel was noisy in the evenings or early mornings.

She wanted to close her eyes and contemplate how she’d reached this point where a couple drops of wine were her undoing. Her brother would probably dump an entire bottle over his own head and laugh it off.

“Miss Talbot?” he prompted.

“It is not noisy,” she said. “And it wouldn’t matter if it were since I won’t be there much longer.”

“No?” he asked. “Where will you be?”

Because she was tired of being brave, she said, “I haven’t the foggiest notion.”

Her treacherous insides grumbled again.

Hargrove rose to his feet and offered her his hand, “Come along, Miss Talbot. Let’s make some tooth music and take the wrinkles out of your stomach, as they say. Then you can tell me why you’re moving from the jolly Old Ship.”

She took his hand, glad for it since all the wine had gone to her head and left her wobbly and feeling a little loose-tongued and silly. In fact, she wanted to toss herself at his feet and beg for assistance. Instead, as they walked into his dining room, her tears finally spilled over.

***

JAMES WAS SHOCKED TOhis core as he realized Miss Talbot was silently crying when he drew out her chair.

Not sure whether to remark upon her distress or to wait out the awkward deluge, he did neither but handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. Then he took his seat.

Almost surreptitiously, she wiped her cheeks. However, ruining the graceful effect, next she blew her nose, sounding like a honking goose.

He could remain quiet no longer.

“Are you in financial distress?”

At first, she simply froze, the handkerchief still covering her face. However, after a moment, she lowered it and nodded.

“It seems I am.”

Carefully placing his napkin upon his lap and wondering how much he should pry, he decided to speak forthrightly.

“May I ask how you came to be in this state?”

She sighed, and the sound nearly broke his heart. Yet he would have to wait to hear for the footman brought in the first course of bouillon. Before starting upon it, she stripped off her gloves and reached for a piece of bread, which to his amazement, she devoured, looking more like a street urchin than a lady.

When she’d swallowed all of it, every last crumb, she took another and this time, took the time to butter it before setting it on her plate. Then she fixed him with her glorious coffee-brown gaze.

“I thought it best I soak up the spirits before I continue,” she explained.

“Naturally.” Then he waited.

“In Bath, did you know it cost two guineas for a ticket to a ball?” she asked.

He hadn’t expected that tact. “No, I wasn’t aware.”

“And five shillings for concert tickets!” she continued.

“I had no idea.” He had no idea because he never gave it a thought. With a large income of over ten thousand pounds a year, James didn’t concern himself with shillings.

“And the cost of food has remained very high despite the end of the war. You know we were promised costs would go down. The market is stuffed with goods and high production. Everyone can see that. I have a cousin on the Continent who says their economy has revived.” She took a moment to take a bite of the buttered bread, relish it, and then swallow. He was mesmerized.

“But we British have to suffer the Corn Law keeping our food prices high.”

James was as amazed by her discussion as by her lovely mouth chewing bread. She stated her complaint as if women spoke every day about Parliamentary acts designed to appease the farmers and the noblemen who owned the largest tracts of agricultural land at the expense of the everyday folks.

“A shilling for a week’s worth of candles,” she continued.

“A week’s worth?” he asked, wondering how many that was. “Doesn’t that depend on the size of your household?”

“Yes, of course A shilling for a two-pound package of candles, and not the best either. The smoky kind. Can you imagine?”

“No,” James said. “I honestly cannot.” His candles definitely didn’t smoke.

“Coal costs three shillings a week, and a maid of all work—”

He waited for the dreaded pronouncement.

“She can cost as much as sixteen pounds a year!”

That didn’t sound high, but by her expression, he knew he was supposed to react.

“Well!” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Do you know the cost of bread, sugar, or tea? What about fish?”

To each question, he shook his head. She enlightened him until his head spun with numbers.

“And you know all this because?” he asked.

“Because, Lord Hargrove, I have to count every penny I spend. I scrimped until the day I had to let my last maid go.”

“Your last maid? But you don’t keep a house in London by yourself?”

“I managed my family’s modest residence, north of Hyde Park, along with my brother, Rhys. Sometimes my parents came to Town for a few weeks and then I relinquished the task to my mother. Rhys is rambling around in it on his own now, and I don’t know if he has a staff of even one.”

She was fuming, and James understood her brother was at fault.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know a little of your brother. Quite a swell, yet with more the reputation of a pigeon than a shark, if I recall correctly.”

“Sadly, you do. He receives enough to pay for running the entire household, but he squanders it and lets someone give him a sound physicking at cards every week. And still my parents find no fault with him.”

“That sounds terribly unfair. And thus, when I mentioned your allowance as a viscount’s daughter—”

“Pittance,” she said. “I do my best with what I have. When the creditors were tenfold upon the doorstep on a Monday morning, I left London and went to Bath.”

“Bath is lovely,” James began.

“Bath is also expensive and...,” she trailed off momentarily, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “And the slip-slops and cats.”

“Gruel?” he echoed. “And cats?”

She shrugged. “I have an elderly great aunt in Bath. However, she could only introduce me to other elderly people, mostly women.”

Now, James was confused. “Then where did you meet your fiancé?”

She startled, paused, drank some wine. Was she embarrassed? Had she trapped the man into it the way she’d tried to trap him?

“Lord Aberavon is a friend of the family. His ancestral home is not too distant from ours.”

He supposed that was an answer, bespeaking of a long-standing promise between the families to wed the son to the daughter.

“Your parents will send you nothing more?”

“They think me still in London,” she confessed, shocking him.

Miss Talbot was not only without a chaperone or a protector, her family had no idea of her whereabouts. This simply wasn’t done in his circle. When a young lady went missing, the search usually began instantly due to the ever-present fear of an elopement to Scotland.

“Besides,” she said, “and I hate to speak out of turn, but I shall although my father would be mortified and my mother, too. Our Welsh viscountcy is not as I understand some of the English ones to be. Yours for instance probably has a good income associated with it, not to be vulgar,” she added. “And what there is to spare goes to the heir.”

“The Honorable Rhys Talbot,” James muttered, feeling outraged on her behalf.

She held up her glass as if toasting his astuteness.

“Then I say again, it is unacceptable for you to be in Brighton without a chaperone or even a maid, as I now discover. Moreover, it’s unconscionable that your parents haven’t discovered your departure yet. And what about your brother? Surely he has noticed you’re not at home handling the creditors.”

“Rhys believes me still to be in Bath.” She lowered her gaze, and he had to admit she was a clever lady for having managed to gain her freedom with no one the wiser. Clever but foolish.

“And what of Aberavon? Doesn’t he care that you are gallivanting around, close to drowning? Not to mention starving most days?”

“I’m sure he would care if he knew,” she said. “When my fiancé gets here, all will be well.”

And then she burst into tears again, but this time, they were loud, body-wracking sobs.