Banished to Brighton by Sydney Jane Baily

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Glynnis was confoundedby the appearance of her fictitious fiancé and even more so by his willingness to play the part for real.

“I didn’t go to your father’s home simply for the roast beef, Miss Talbot. I intended to ask for your hand when the time was right. It was the neighborly thing to do. However, you made it clear you wanted to experience a London Season and then another. If you fell in love, I was perfectly happy to step aside. But each year, you didn’t.”

He was wrong. She had fallen in love, deeply and irrevocably.

“I am not a passionate man, Miss Talbot. I am like our great yet ill king, a mild farmer, happy to have a wife who will be my companion and bear my children. I’m also not much for Town, but I will give you an allowance to go to London at regular intervals, as long as you don’t embarrass me.”

She wouldn’t be so rude as to gainsay him, but from what she knew, King George passionately loved his queen. In Glynnis’s brief conversation with Her Majesty, the queen mentioned her husband many times with pride, love, and sadness. Besides, Glynnis didn’t think a farmer any less able to be deeply in love than a shopkeeper, a nobleman, or royalty, for that matter.

That was all beside the point. She had never imagined such a plain-speaking, agreeable marriage arrangement as what Lord Aberavon offered. She would have freedom and an allowance.

And then there was Lord Payton, who had offered something similar but would have wanted her heart fully engaged.

Everything she had ever wanted in security and comfort were being offered by not one, but two men. She shook her head at her own stupidity. Instead of taking one of their offers, and gratefully, too, she simply couldn’t do it — she could not bind herself to a man for the rest of her life without loving him.

Either passion and a full heart, or no man at all!

“I’m sorry, my lord. It was all a mistake. Lord Hargrove was under the impression you and I were engaged, but I cannot marry you. As it turns, I have fallen in love.”

Lord Aberavon’s face took on a hound-dog expression. Then he shrugged. “No matter. I wasn’t engaged a half hour ago, and it seems I am not now, either.” He looked around. “My father asked me to pay my respects to Queen Charlotte and to the Prince Regent on his birthday, as he knew King George in better times. That is why I came all this way.”

Glynnis startled. “My lord, the Prince Regent might also be under the impression we are engaged.” She felt her cheeks warm. “I would ask you not to say anything that might discredit me or injure my reputation.”

He looked her up and down. “Are you certain you are in love? Perhaps it’s just indigestion. We can have a nice life in Swansea.”

“I am certain, but I thank you profusely for your offer. You have been most kind and gracious. Exactly as King George would have been, I’m sure.”

That seemed to lift his spirits. Nodding, he bowed over her hand before taking his leave.

Glynnis sat on the bench once more. The light-headed feeling of shock had dissipated, but a general melancholy settled over her instead. She had told not one but two men no, thank you, and had even confessed aloud her feelings of love, albeit to the wrong man

Perhaps she ought to tell James and see if it would make a difference. Would he believe her? And if he did, she didn’t know whether it would make a difference. While in Lord Payton’s company, as circumspectly as possible, she’d asked questions about his good friend.

James was a happy bachelor with a mistress of six months. Not that Lord Payton had outwardly declared the woman to be such, but she’d understood his meaning. Moreover, James had never been engaged, nor given any hint of having given his heart to any woman whom Lord Payton knew about.

When Glynnis wished to learn more than he would say, she’d returned to the lending library. London’s news arrived quickly and hung around for months in the form of a plethora of morning and evening papers, including The Sun, The Times, and The Gazette, stacked on the shelves alongside French and English weekly journals, magazines, and popular periodicals.

In the society pages Glynnis perused, the gossip-mongers had spelled it out plainly — Lord Hargrove was a confirmed rake!

Besides his mistress, who was named in the papers since he occasionally took her out in public, he had been known to dally with young ladies of the nobility or even a young, joyful widow.

There had been the briefest mention of her own interaction with him. Nothing about an indiscretion, of course, as they hadn’t been caught, but he’d danced with her more than once, and so tongues had wagged. 

What was plain to her was that James had no mind for marriage. And while it was obvious to her by his kisses — and more! — that he desired her, she had no intention of becoming his next mistress.

Sighing, Glynnis rose to her feet. She would bid the Prince Regent and his mother good evening and then — Blast! She had lost her escort, and she knew better than to traipse around Brighton by herself when such revelry was occurring.

Hopefully, Lord Aberavon would do her a good turn and take her back to James’s home later, but she would have to stay at the party until then.

***

IT WAS ALMOST TWO O’CLOCKin the morning, and Glynnis had decided Lord Aberavon was not a farmer! At least, he didn’t keep farmer’s hours. He had wanted to eat and drink and dance as long as he could, and Glynnis stayed with him. She’d seen Lord Payton once more in the crowd but decided to leave the man alone. She could hardly demand he leave the birthday celebration to escort her home after having led him on.

And James had disappeared entirely.

After Lord Aberavon finally deposited her on James’s doorstep, Glynnis decided she would talk to the viscount that night while she was still armored in her finery, feeling attractive albeit weary. However, the house was silent except for Polly who’d insisted on sleeping on a cot in Glynnis’s room so she would be readily available to help her undress and take down her hair.

It was kind but unnecessary, as Glynnis was well able to take care of herself and would soon, once again, be forced to live without any assistance at all. Regardless, Polly had hoped to hear about the food and the dashing men and what Queen Charlotte was wearing.

Instead, after handing the maid her wrap, she told Polly their chat would have to wait. Then she changed into house slippers.

“Now what, miss?” the girl asked, stifling a yawn.

Glynnis shivered with anticipation. “I need to speak with the master of the house. I think Lord Hargrove came home before me as I didn’t see him toward the party’s end.”

Polly nodded. “Yes, miss.” But then she frowned. “I mean, he did come in, and quite early, too, as all the staff was still up. I was having a cuppa with Cook.”

She paused and yawned again. “But you can’t speak with him, miss.”

“Did he turn in?” Glynnis asked.

“No, miss. The master left hours ago.”

“I don’t understand.” Was Polly addle-pated with tiredness? She wasn’t making any sense. James hadn’t returned to the party. Then Glynnis realized the worst. He’d gone to that blowsabella on the Steyne!

“Lord Hargrove went to London, miss.”

Glynnis took a step backward.

“His valet packed his bags, rather hurriedly, too,” Polly added.

The atmosphere of the house changed entirely, knowing James wasn’t sleeping down the hall. Suddenly, it was a vast, empty place, and she wished with all her heart she was home in Wales.

However, unless she asked Lord Payton or Lord Aberavon, she couldn’t even afford the coach from the Old Ship. Then she had an idea.

“What about the art? Did his lordship manage to crate it all up?”

“No, miss. Lord Hargrove left in his traveling coach, but the crates are going in a wagon, just as they came. Pity about their quality,” Polly added. “I’ve looked at ’em myself a number of times. Some of it isn’t half bad, if you like that sort of thing.”

Glynnis laughed without mirth, thinking of the precious paintings that even the maid didn’t care for. Sitting on the end of the bed, she let Polly begin to pull the pins from her hair. She would miss her.

She would miss James, too, but unknowingly, he would do her a good service one more time.

***

THERE WAS NO COMFORTin a wagon ride, especially a long one. Glynnis’s backside was bruised and her back ached after merely a couple hours on the dodgy and rutted road. Luckily the trip to London could be accomplished in one day barring a broken wheel.

James’s valet had accompanied his master, so Glynnis sat beside one of his footmen and another rode behind on horseback. Trying to maintain her dignity while being jarred right and left, she clasped her parasol in one hand and held the edge of the seat with the other.

Her companion was from Scotland and a talkative fellow, who called London “Romeville,” and fervently wished he’d gone to sea to make his fortune.

“I never imagined I’d be driving a crude tumbler like a country Nevis,” he complained.

“I never thought I would be riding on the dickey of a crude tumbler,” she returned.

That made him laugh, as they commiserated over their low circumstances.

“At least with the fine weather, we won’t hit no hasty puddings,” he added, which she understood to mean muddy roads.

The footman kept up a string of prittle-prattle for hours, putting in his oar upon every subject imaginable, occasionally calling over his shoulder to get confirmation of some fact or story from the other man.

Glynnis thought she was paying attention until she awakened herself with a noise — something between a snort and a grunt — and only then realized her mouth had fallen open while she slept.

Glancing sideways at the footman, who was even then discussing buccaneers, she was relieved to see he hadn’t noticed. Her parasol had drooped along with her eyelids, and she raised it overhead once again.

“Hold up,” her Scottish companion suddenly said.

Glynnis thought he must be speaking to himself, for his command finally stopped his rattling tongue. Then she realized he was looking into the distance as he pulled on the reins, bringing the horses to a halt.

“What is it?” she asked, straightening her hat and peering forward.

“Could be a high toby,” the footman said.

“A what?”

“A land pirate, miss.”

Glynnis frowned.

“A rank rider, a rum padder,” he said. “In short, a knight of the road.”

He signaled to the footman behind. “A rider!” he called over his shoulder. “Get your barking irons.”

“His what?” she asked.

The footman sighed. “Am I speaking English, miss? His pistols. I have a brown Bess, so don’t you worry.” While he drew a musket from under his seat, he knocked her shoe with its long barrel, making her jump.

Oh dear! Lord Aberavon had told her of running into thieves on his journey. However, in his traveling coach, he’d been safely inside with a pistol pointed out the window, and his driver and footman had both been armed with rifles.

They waited as the speck of a horse and rider drew closer and closer. Her insides were quivering. In all her young life, Glynnis had managed never to be the victim of a robbery. And now, while traveling with priceless artwork from the Louvre, she might finally encounter that most exciting of creatures — a highwayman!

***

JAMES RECOGNIZED THEparasol before he could see the faces. And then Glynnis came into view next to his footman, Cuthbert.

What in blue blazes? On the other hand, how fortuitous!

He only hoped the talkative, high-spirited Scot didn’t shoot him before he could identify himself.

“Cuthbert, it’s Hargrove. Put away your weapon.”

When the man did as instructed, and even Glynnis had lowered her parasol, he cantered forward.

“What on earth are you doing with my artwork?” he asked her.

“I thought it belonged to the Duke of Wellington now?”

Confounded woman!Yet when she smiled, he noticed the sun for the first time in days, and a warmth spread through him. He grinned back and dismounted, hobbling the horse before walking around to Glynnis’s side of the wagon.

“Are you trying to sneak into Apsley House with the artwork and perhaps take up residence there? I believe you could pass yourself off as the loveliest statue in Wellington’s collection.”

“I was merely catching a ride to London,” she said.

Feeling relieved he didn’t have to duel for the lady, at least not immediately, he made a great show of looking around, searching.

“Where is your fiancé?” he asked.

“Which one?” she shot back.

“Either,” he returned, holding out his hand to her, which she took, letting him help her down from the bench seat.

She slid down the front of him, and he was hard before her feet touched the ground.

“I haven’t seen Lord Payton since I broke it off with him directly before Lord Aberavon arrived last night. And the latter left me at your door in the early hours of this morning. You had already left, and I’m exhausted, by the way.”

“I’m rather fatigued myself,” James admitted, having slept not a wink. “All this riding to London at a moment’s notice only to get there and have to turn around again.”

“Why?” she asked.

He gazed down at the woman he loved beyond words.

“I had to go back to Brighton at a desperate pace for I’d forgotten something dreadfully important.”

She shielded her eyes from the sun while looking up at him.

“What was that?” she asked.

“You, of course.”

Her lovely face split into a wide smile, and his heart clenched. If she didn’t agree to put him out of his misery, he would never be happy again.

“I was running home to the life I thought I loved,” he explained, wishing the footman wasn’t listening with obvious interest. “But I no longer wanted that life, not without you in it.”

She bit her lower lip and had tears in her eyes. He took that as a good sign.

“Then you’re not engaged to Aberavon?”

“I think you know I never was.”

“He was willing to jump into the farce though, wasn’t he?” James asked, circling his arms around her waist.

Nodding, she secured her hands behind his head. He heard and felt her sigh.

“Yes, he was, the dear soul, but I told him I couldn’t go through with it for the same reason I told Lord Payton.”

“Payton said you were in love. He thought it was with Aberavon.”

“I am desperately in love,” she confessed. “So much so that I jumped in your wagon for the most uncomfortable ride of my life just to get near you. And it worked, for here you are.”

He couldn’t wait another second.

“Cuthbert, hide your eyes.”

“Yes, my lord.”

James claimed her mouth, letting the sensations flow through him. Heat, rightness, love, desire, desperation, relief. Like a whirlwind, he couldn’t seem to fasten on any single emotion for too long.

“Since we’re both so tired, Miss Talbot, I believe we should take a rest. I passed a coaching inn barely a mile back.” He gestured toward London behind him.

“We have no coach between us,” she teased.

“They will allow a viscount to have a room even without one.” He eyed his footman who remained stock-still, one large hand over his eyes. “Cuthbert, ride my horse and I’ll sit with the lady in the wagon.”

“Yes, my lord.” The Scot dismounted.

James helped her back onto the dickey, and she groaned. He got on the seat beside her.

“We both need a hot bath to ease our aches, and then I think a good rub down.”

He flicked the reins, and they started forward.

“My lord, only think of my reputation. If I go to this inn alone with you, I will be well and truly compromised. You would have to marry me.”

“Yes, Miss Talbot, I am well aware of that.”