Banished to Brighton by Sydney Jane Baily

Chapter Two

Glynnis couldn’t seemto stop herself from digging her hole a little deeper.

“My fiancé will soon be joining me.”

Say you were only teasing,she ordered herself, but she said nothing of the sort.

Besides, if she were believed to be engaged, not only by Hargrove but by all the eligible bucks, she wouldn’t appear so desperate. The well-heeled gentlemen around her would relax, safely misinformed that she was soon to be yoked and then someone else’s baggage.

Glynnis was forming a plan. Being engaged would give her almost as much freedom and desirability as being a tempting widow. Any number of men might try to compromise her merely for sport, knowing her fiancé would be the one to deal with the repercussions after the marital knot was tied.

And she intended to let herself be thoroughly compromised if there was any chance of being discovered while doing so — a shocking, humiliating, ruinous discovery and then a demand for honor to be satisfied.

She could see no other way to obtain the coveted marriage proposal. And as she used to hope for love and then lowered her expectations to someone she didn’t despise, now she wished only for any wealthy man to marry her even if she had to cut a desperate sham.

Elsewise the future showed only bleakness, a return to Llandeilo in Wales with nothing to look forward to but the St. Teilo's Fair and a life of spinsterhood, slipping irrevocably into poverty because of her brother’s carelessness and her parents doting leniency toward him.

Thus, she looked Hargrove directly in his dark eyes and lied again.

“My fiancé and I knew it would be easier to meet here than in London. With the Prince Regent will come an atmosphere of laissez-faire, or so I’ve heard.”

“With the prince comes also the bon vivants, to be sure, and with them a goodly number of unsavory people.”

She hoped Hargrove didn’t count her in such a group. When the Prince Regent traveled, the demi-reputables went along, hanging on the outskirts, ready when needed.

“What’s his name, this lucky fiancé?” came his lordship’s quick question.

Glynnis froze, then coughed, then sipped her now-cold tea, and then it came to her.

“Lord Aberavon. I doubt you’ve heard of him. The baron favors his Welsh home on the Swansea Bay. For me, however, he said he would travel all the way down here to Brighton.” That was perfect. Aberavon was merely a man her father had invited to dinner once or thrice. She would recognize him if she saw the man, but they had barely spoken two words. And by the time the baron ought to arrive, she would have put the parson’s noose around some other suitable nob.

Or she would have run out of money and departed on the coach that brought her there.

“I confess, I had heard nothing of this,” Hargrove said.

“Our engagement was very recent,” she said. “I’m sure the banns have been read in Swansea and Llandeilo. But why would you, in London, know anything about it?”

“I suppose you’re right.” He fixed her with a lengthy stare. “I look forward to meeting the lucky man.”

“Me, too,” she murmured, staring at her now-empty plate. Then she coughed. “I mean, I look forward to introducing you should we run into each other again.”

Lord Hargrove stood. “I must be off. It was a pleasure. I thank you for inviting me to join you.”

With a polite nod, he departed, leaving her with her mouth open. He hadn’t paid. The blasted bolter had left her with the bill. But also with the last small sandwich. Wrapping this in her napkin, she put the nuncheon on her hotel account and left. At this rate, she would need a husband even sooner.

***

JAMES LAMBERT, VISCOUNTHargrove, knew he should have paid for the food, but Miss Talbot deserved to be taken for a small amount of blunt. After all, she’d been outrageously devious in London and nearly cost him his freedom. However, since the fiery female had also kissed like an experienced Athena before she’d wickedly tried to trap him and since she couldn’t play any tricks in the café, he’d seen no reason not to sit with her.

The news of a fiancé came as a shock. Poor bastard! Someone with more money than sense had encountered the treacherous female. As long as Lord Aberavon didn’t mind being a purse with a cock, that was his business.

Besides she was a pleasure simply to look at. All curvy in the right places, with a full mouth and sparkling eyes. The first time he’d seen her, she’d been standing alone by the tall windows in Apsley House during a party after Wellington’s triumph at Waterloo. The duke hadn’t yet returned from France, but had authorized the celebration in his splendid home overlooking Hyde Park.

Although it was months ago, James could still recall her summer blue gown, the swell of her bosom, and her thick, glossy brown hair. Quick as a whip, he’d had her in his arms for an intimate waltz, and her enticing floral scent had enveloped him. His entire body had recognized her as woman to be reckoned with. And she’d displayed humor and wit to boot!

He might have been happy eventually offering for her if she hadn’t spoiled it. Finding out he was no more important to her plan than any jackanape, it had put him off her entirely. When the time was right, he would ask a woman who desperately yearned for him and him alone. And that was plainly not Miss Talbot.

Thus, despite a visceral rush of pleasure upon seeing her in Brighton, James forcefully pushed her from his thoughts.

He had enough on his mind. Tonight, he would see Prinny for the first time since the man had shouted like a child thwarted from getting his favorite toy. Then the Prince Regent had ordered him from his private chamber at Carlton House with the command to meet in Brighton.

Brighton! All wet and sandy!

Brighton, which was definitely not London.

The only cheerful spot so far was how James could see the beach from the upper level of his rented house, not too many yards away from the Old Ship. He could stand in his bedchamber and watch the ladies strip off a few layers and take the salt waters for their health or even to cool off. He’d arrived the night before and hadn’t seen Miss Talbot yet on the beach, but now he knew she was in town, he hoped she would treat him to a display of her fine figure.

It was a small benefit. That and knowing Prinny had brought with him the delightful demimonde, a little bit of voluptuous and blowsy London ripe for enjoyment at the seaside.

Meanwhile, knowing the Regent’s fondness for late, long parties, James had hours to kill and found his university friend, Lord Rufus Payton at home.

After they slapped each other on the shoulder a few times, James said, “I’ll allow you the honor of buying me a drink or two.”

Payton enjoyed a complimentary house on the Royal Crescent in return for service to Prinny nearly year-round in the seaside town.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Payton said once they had drinks in hand and had asked after each other’s families.

“It all started with a dog,” James grumbled, having told Miss Talbot only half the story of why he was in Brighton.

Payton laughed, causing James to set down his bumper, already only half full of bitter beer.

“No, truly. A little mutt, the size of a rat.”

“Are you sure you weren’t foiled by a rat?” Payton asked.

James sent him a withering look. “If the lady in question hadn’t had a blasted cur beside the bed, everything would have been smooth as silk. Instead, despite sleeping soundly, the beast started to break wind, wholly ruining the amorous atmosphere I’d spent all evening creating.”

James tapped the table irritably and glanced around the dim interior of the St. James’s corner tavern. He had a feeling he would spend an inordinate amount of time in his namesake while enduring his banishment. A smattering of coals was glowing in the hearth, but since it was a warm night, he and Payton sat across the room from it, next to a window looking out at German Place.

“I’d already been forced to ignore the strangely loud snores.”

“Your paramour’s?” Payton interrupted.

“The dog’s!” James retorted. “I swear the first time it started up, I jumped. I thought another man was in the room.”

“I imagine you ought to put a little blame for your downfall on the fact you were cuckolding one of the Crown’s favored captains,” Payton reminded him. “And a friend of the Prince Regent’s younger brother, to boot.”

Shrugging, James gestured to the serving wench for another beer.

“Honestly?” he asked with a grimace.

“Yes, we’re friends,” Payton replied before taking a healthy swallow from his glass tankard.

“I didn’t realize she was married.”

Payton winced. “Hard to credit that, old chum, given your reputation.”

James drew himself up, then slumped again as he couldn’t summon any righteous indignity.

“Raffish, yes,” he agreed. “But prone to adultery? No! Why would I get into the suds with other men’s wives when there are lonely widows aplenty, especially since the war?”

“And then there’s your mistress.”

“Exactly. Usually I don’t even bother looking elsewhere, but this captain’s wife was all over me like a vixen on a mouse.”

“You’re the mouse, I take it.”

“She lied and she enticed,” James fumed. “As a rule, I leave married women alone. I wouldn’t want to be cuckolded so I don’t do it to others. What’s wrong with these knavish females?”

“More than one?” his friend prompted.

“If you combine her wretched actions with that of another conniving wench I met two months ago.”

He thought about the dark-haired and deceitful Miss Talbot. His pride had been pricked, thinking she truly fancied him. Moreover, he had really enjoyed her company and her kisses until she’d shown her true colors. He wouldn’t name her. That would be most ungentlemanly.

“A young lady tried to trick me into compromising her. She was intent on setting the perfect parson’s mousetrap. It nearly worked, too.”

“Poor Hargrove, always the victim in the affairs of the bedchamber.” Payton’s grin filled his whole face.

“I tell you this time it was the dog,” James grumbled. “He had it in for me. After the room filled with his noxious vapors, the captain’s lady jumped up, drew back the curtains, and raised the sash, intent on providing us both a little air. She was bare as Eve!” He ran a hand through his hair. “She didn’t know her husband had put a watch on the house to keep her safe.”

“Safe?” Payton echoed, then chuckled.

“You know what I mean. To keep her from sharing her apple dumplings and woman’s wares, which are quite fabulous, I tell you.” He tried to think back to the married beauty, but instead Miss Talbot’s luscious figure came to mind. She was a fine bit of muslin and no mistaking that. He had hoped to do more than merely kiss her and fill his hand with her soft, full breast.

At least with the captain’s wife, he’d got around to stripping her bare and stroking her smooth skin. He ought to be relieved he hadn’t tupped her since he could’ve found himself in even worse trouble. On the other hand, he’d been royally taken to task by a hypocritical prince who was enjoying a well-known affair with the lovely and very married Marchioness of Hertford. Thus, all things considered, seeing how he’d ended up exiled from London, James might as well have enjoyed the lady thoroughly.

Payton nodded with understanding. “I suppose any good husband would hire a watchman while across the Channel fighting Boney.”

“You would take his side, wouldn’t you? Damn dog!” James had wasted the better part of an evening cozying up to the woman who’d caught his eye at Vauxhall.

“And so, upon the evidence of her showing her pretty cat’s heads to the street, the watchman told her husband you were there having a slice,” Payton summed it up succinctly.

James shook his head. “The dog was my downfall. Suddenly, it jumped up and went to the open window, paws on the sill—”

“The tiny dog reached the sill?” Payton wasn’t even trying to hide his laughter any more.

James shrugged. “Maybe it was a wee bit bigger than a rat. It started baying at the moon or scenting a bitch for all I know. Raised a holy ruckus. The lady asked me to get up and drag him back, which I stupidly did. There we were, my bare chest and hers, the bright moonlight on us both.”

“If only it had been a regular cloudy, sooty London eve.” His friend shook his head in mock sympathy.

“True,” James griped. “What are the odds? Anyway, I heard a man yell and knew the jig was up. I got out of there in a hurry, tripped over the damn dog, nearly shattering my skull, but he confronted me at the door. By mid-morning, I was summoned to Carlton House, given a reprimand on account of the captain’s closeness with Prinny’s brother, and banished to this godforsaken place.”

Payton grimaced, and James spread his hands.

“My apologies. I know for you Brighton is home most of the year. But I’m a Londoner through and through. I’ve been sent into exile as surely as Bonaparte to St. Helena, and with as little hope of returning to the mainland, or in my case to the civilization that is Mayfair.”

“Don’t worry,” Payton promised. “London’s worst toadies have arrived to keep you company. This place will be packed for two weeks before Prinny’s birthday, a week at least of birthday celebrations, and probably a week after.”

“Then what?” James tipped his glass and drained the strong beer.

“Then it goes back to being a godforsaken place.” Payton declared. “But it’s an easier task, overseeing the Prince Regent’s holdings, when he’s away.”

“I’m not a caretaker!” James pointed out.

“Nor am I,” Payton shot back, his tone sharp for the first time. “I’m not a bloody clerk of the kitchen. May I remind you I am a valued member of the prince’s council, dealing with a budget of over £200,000 for all of his residences and holdings.”

“Sorry, old chum,” James said immediately. His friend was smart and sensible. Every man-Jack who knew him and knew Prinny appreciated Payton hovering somewhere nearby to whisper words of wisdom into the prince’s tin ear. For all the good it would do!

Payton shrugged and James knew he was forgiven.

“Anyway,” his friend said, “if you’d brought back the art from the Louvre as you’d been asked, you would have been so high in Prinny’s good graces you could have swived with the queen herself without recrimination.”

“Again, not my fault.” James thought back to his wasted trip to Paris.

“Not a dog’s fault either. Not that time,” Payton reminded him.

James fixed his university chum with a hard stare. “No, it was the damned Prussians that time, swarming into Paris and taking everything that wasn’t nailed down before the British could get their share of the art.”

“You mean before Prinny could. After all, Wellington was there, wasn’t he, helping every nation?”

James rolled his eyes. “Everyone except me. While his troops made sure the Flemish and the Dutch got their paintings, Wellie gave me the cold shoulder regarding what Prinny wanted.”

“Did you get anything?” Payton asked.

“I managed a few small sculptures, a vase, and some old Spanish masters that even Ferdinand VII didn’t want back. Ha! They are rather dark, mind you. The opposite of our Prinny’s taste. He wanted some of those Prussian paintings from the Kassel Museum, but so did old Friedrich Wilhelm III.”

“Not that old. The Prussian king is only in his thirties, I believe.”

“You have a way of missing the point.” James was prepared to drink heavily over his recent bout of bad luck. “Most of all, our regent wanted the Apollo Belvedere, as he fancies there’s a likeness, but of course, that got sent back to the Vatican.”

“A likeness! Between Apollo and Prinny!” Payton had to take a few moments to laugh until he nearly cried. Finally, he said, “So your banishment is the Pope’s fault.”

“No,” James disagreed, and this time he couldn’t help cracking a smile. “Again, the Prussians! They accompanied crates of art all over the Continent, not only the Apollo I was after, but also the Medici Venus.”

Payton nodded, “For Prinny’s bedchamber, no doubt.”

His mock-serious tone was all it took to finally restore James’s humor. “I can just imagine our prince ogling that perfect representation of womanhood every evening before he retires to bed. His mistresses would be jealous of Greek marble, would they not?”

For an instant, his mind went to Miss Talbot, another perfect representation of womanhood, except for trying to trick him into marriage.

“Never mind, old chap,” Payton said. “We shall do our duty here, two men under the thumb of His Royal Highness, and then we’ll move on. Or at least you will. I shall stay put at least until next spring.”

Thinking of his comfortable life in London, his home on Hanover Square, his experienced and welcoming mistress, James sighed.

“It was the dog’s fault,” he muttered again before signaling the serving wench for another pint.