An Affair of Honor (8 page)

“I frequently walk,” she explained, “but Mama would prefer that we take the carriage,” She paused in the entry, waiting for Rory to finish pulling her pink kid gloves on. It would never do for a lady to be seen departing the house while still in the act of donning her gloves. Soon they were both ready, however, and Pavingham escorted them to the waiting carriage with a properly stately air.

The carriage took them by way of Edward Street to the Steyne, past the Duke of Marlborough’s house and past Mrs. Fitzherbert’s house with its three arched bays and distinctive first-floor balcony. The balcony was deserted when they passed, but Nell explained that Mrs. Fitzherbert and the prince often sat there together or with friends and nodded graciously to such passers-by as might merit their notice.

They were set down at the door of Donaldson’s Library, and Nell instructed her coachman to collect them again in an hour.

“That will allow plenty of time for you to become acquainted with the best of the little shops hereabouts. Is there anything in particular you desire to purchase?”

“Only some green ribbons, if I can discover the correct shade,” Rory replied. “I have a bit of the material I want to match in my reticule.”

It was a matter of but a few moments for Rory to inscribe her name and direction in the visitors’ book. Looking about the library afterward, she professed herself charmed by the decor, but Nell noted that her glances fell a good deal more readily upon the various young men visiting the place than upon the books, art supplies, or card tables. She hid a smile.

“Shall we look for your ribbons now?”

Rory, gazing in rapt admiration at a tall, dark-haired young gentleman in the dashing blue and gold uniform of the prince’s regiment, did not seem to hear her, so Nell patiently repeated her suggestion.

The younger girl turned quite pink and glanced sharply at her. “Oh, yes, of course,” she replied quickly. But she could not resist a look back over her shoulder as they passed out of the library.

“That is not the only uniform you will see, my dear. The town is quite heavily littered with them.”

“Uniform?” Rory shot her a saucy grin. “’Tis not the uniform but the young man in it, Aunt Nell. Was he not the most shockingly handsome gentleman you have ever clapped eyes upon?”

“You only think it is not the uniform,” Nell replied gently, stifling an impulse to remind her niece that she was betrothed. “In my experience, nearly every young man looks extraordinarily handsome in a uniform. And those Hussar kits are particularly becoming. Just you wait till you see one of them in full dress with his pelisse and silver lace.”

Rory looked dubious, but she did not argue, and they moved on to visit the shops. They soon found her green ribbons, made a good many other trifling purchases, and then Nell suggested they simply stroll for a while and enjoy the sights.

Rory had already exclaimed her astonishment over the changes wrought in the prince’s Marine Pavilion since her previous visit. The onion-domed roof of the stables seemed to her to be something straight out of a fairy tale. She glanced at it again when they emerged from the last shop.

“What a truly magnificent imagination his highness must possess,” she said solemnly.

“What a very expensive imagination would be more to the point,” remarked a dry but familiar voice from the flagway close behind them.

Rory muttered something under her breath, but Nell was grateful to observe that her charge was all smiles as they turned to bid good day to Lord Huntley.

“Good morrow, ladies,” he said with a polite bow. “I chanced to observe you from across the way but decided to await your emergence from that tiny shop before accosting you.” He glanced at their many parcels and lifted an eyebrow. “Have you emptied the shops?”

He was looking very well this morning, Nell thought with a small glow of pleasure as she replied in kind. He wore a well-cut coat of dark blue superfine over cream-colored pantaloons and tasseled Hessians. Once again his neckcloth was neat but not extravagant, and his waistcoat of plain light blue moiré silk was typically conservative. The only glitter about his person was supplied by the four gold buttons on his coat and his heavy gold signet ring.

Rory seemed to notice none of this sartorial elegance. She eyed him with mock—at least, Nell hoped it was mock—disfavor.

“It is quite like you, my lord, to think of the expense of that magnificent structure instead of its beauty. He is quite abominable, Aunt Nell. Do you know,” she added, pouting prettily, “that he does not even approve of fairy-tale knights in shining armor?”

“My dear sir!”

“I never said I disapproved of them,” Huntley corrected evenly. “I merely gave it as my opinion that you would not really enjoy being courted by one.”

“I said”—Rory turned pointedly toward her aunt—“that I thought it would have been wonderful to live in those days and to have a handsome knight in shining armor sue for my favors. And he”—glowering now at Huntley—“said they must have smelled quite dreadfully after being cooped up for an hour or two in their armor.”

Nell looked at Huntley, her eyes dancing. “You didn’t!”

He smiled. “I did. And before this young lady manages to prejudice you further, let me hasten to confess that I also pointed out the probability that being confined in all that tin was bound to make a man itch.”

A gurgle of laughter escaped Nell, but Rory merely scowled.

“I told you he is not in the least romantic, Aunt Nell.”

“So you did, my dear. Well, my lord?”

“Correct again, I fear.” He smiled again. Really, Nell thought, it was quite odd how that little smile could gentle his harsh features. At times it made his lordship look almost like the young boy she remembered. The absurdity of the thought brought a touch of extra color to her cheeks, and she looked away quickly.

“We must not stand like stocks,” she said a moment later, glancing at the little watch pinned to her bodice. “My carriage collects us at Donaldson’s in ten minutes, sir. Will you walk along the Steyne with us?”

“Gladly, Miss Lindale. I have been noticing a good many changes since I was last here. Doubtless, it has been interesting for you to watch the continuous progress of things.”

“Indeed, sir.” She was at ease again, and they were able to discuss the changes that had occurred over the years as they strolled along the broad brick path on the inside of the railings that separated the spacious lawns from the encircling carriage road. It was Brighton’s most fashionable promenade, providing the same opportunity that Rotten Row provided in London for the members of the
beau monde
to see and be seen. Almost every day the prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert and their friends, as well as many of the nobility, joined the general throng of visitors on the Steyne. Although it was the fashionable promenade, it had not always been the most delightful place for walking, Nell remembered, especially in the wintertime. In earlier years when the ground had been rough and often muddy or encumbered by the fishing nets spread around to dry, the grass had been patchy and uneven, and a stagnant pool of dirty water had stood almost perpetually in front of the Pavilion. In wet weather, the water of the Wellsbourne flowed into it and ran down the Steyne into the sea at Pool Valley.

She reminded Huntley of that nuisance, and he nodded. “I remember the year the prince and the Duke of Marlborough provided for the arched brick sewer to be built,” he said.

“So they did,” Nell said with a smile. “And in return the Lords of the Manor gave them permission to enclose a portion of the Steyne in front of their houses. I confess, I am astonished that this lovely expanse of grass has been allowed to remain. One would expect a main road to have been cut through here by now. Do you know that even the footpath connecting St. James’s Street with Castle Square has been left as it was? But the little winding stream is gone. Do you remember the black pigs that used to graze along its banks, sir?”

“I do. And,” he added with a wry grimace, “I remember as well that one had to watch carefully where one trod.”

Nell chuckled. “Rory is quite right to say you lack a sense of romance, my lord. I thought the little pigs quite picturesque myself.”

“I daresay. I prefer to think myself a realist, however.”

Rory made a small sound closely resembling a snort, and Nell grinned at her. “We are leaving you out of our conversation, my dear. It is vastly unfair of us to discourse upon a subject of which you can know nothing. Pray forgive us.”

“I don’t mind,” Rory said, smiling back at her. “I was trying to picture the place as it must have been in the olden days.” Nell stifled a choke of laughter and looked quickly at Huntley, who was looking very much taken aback. But before she could comment, Rory went on, “Those houses look new, Aunt Nell. What could you see there before they were built?”

“Only the Downs, my dear, and a distant view at that. This whole central area was open, too, for the railings were not here then. And the grass itself was not so carefully mowed and evenly thick as it is now. Most of the changes, I must confess, have been for the better.”

There were a great many people strolling about now on the smooth green lawn and the brick path, the ladies lovely in their clinging gowns, and the gentlemen more severe in their dark cloth coats and pale pantaloons. Rory saw her first real fops mincing along arm in arm, their pomaded locks confined in intricate topknots or braided and curled to compete with any of the women. Unlike the other gentlemen, they reveled in brilliant colors and startling effects.

There were others, too.

“Who on earth is that?” Rory demanded suddenly.

Nell, following the direction of her gaze, saw the object of her amazement immediately. He was a spruce little man driving a green gig. But it was not the color of his vehicle that was so startling. Rather it was the fact that everything else about him was tinted to match. He wore green pantaloons, a green striped waistcoat, a green coat, a green cravat, even a green watch string and green seals. His gloves, the livery of his servant, and his whip were all green as well. But the most astonishing fact was that his hair, sidewhiskers, eyebrows—even his ears and chin—had been tinted with green powder.

“That,” said Nell with a laugh, “is Mr. Cope, one of Brighton’s best-known citizens. He is, for obvious reasons, known as the Green Man. They say that even his rooms are painted and furnished in green and that he eats nothing but greens, fruits, and vegetables. Altogether a rather eccentric gentleman, I believe.”

“Goodness,” Rory said, staring at the Green Man as he passed by. Huntley pointed out the fact rather astringently, and she looked at him in amazement. “But he must want people to stare if he dresses so,” she protested.

Nell thought it politic to intervene at that point. “I see my carriage waiting,” she said, holding her hand out to Huntley. “We shall expect you this afternoon, sir.”

He agreed, promising to call for them at two o’clock. On an impulse Nell invited him to dine with them that evening as well.

“I should enjoy that very much,” he replied. “Unfortunately, I am engaged to dine at the Pavilion tonight. Plans are in progress for celebrating his highness’s birthday, which falls on Tuesday, as you know. You and Aurora will be attending the ball?”

“Indeed, we will, sir,” Nell said, firmly stifling an absurd sense of disappointment at his refusal to dine with them. It was merely, she told herself firmly, that she had hoped to help further his acquaintance with his bride-to-be. However, there would be time enough for that, and Rory did not seem in the least dismayed by the prospect of dining without the pleasure of his company.

L
ORD HUNTLEY’S CARRIAGE ROLLED
up before Number Twenty-seven Upper Rock Gardens promptly at two o’clock. Nell noted his arrival from her chair by the drawing room window. Setting aside her book and glancing at her watch, she observed aloud that his lordship was certainly the punctual sort.

In the straight-backed damask chair opposite her, Rory shrugged. “I daresay he is. I have not myself acquired the habit of punctuality, however, so I hope he won’t expect it of me. Do we go down or wait for him to come up here?” She showed little enthusiasm for either course as she continued to turn over the pages of the ladies’ magazine she had been perusing.

“Pavingham will not show him upstairs because he knows we mean to go out directly,” Nell said equably, “so I think we should collect our hats and gloves. And I expect you will be glad of a pelisse if he means to walk along the esplanade.”

Rory sighed but put her magazine aside obediently. A few moments later they joined Huntley in the small green saloon on the ground floor.

“You are very prompt, sir,” Nell said, greeting him with a wide smile. “I hope you do not mind that we have kept you waiting a moment or two.”

“Not at all, Miss Lindale,” he replied in his quiet way. “I took the precaution of directing my coachman to walk the horses.”

“I don’t think Aunt Nell was particularly concerned about your horses, Huntley,” Rory said, her words tinged very slightly with sarcasm. “I daresay she feared you might suffer from boredom.” She moved to the looking glass to straighten her hat and so missed the quick flash of annoyance in his lordship’s eye.

Nell saw it, but when he turned to look at her, the annoyance had dissipated. Nonetheless, his gaze was oddly penetrating. “It was most kind of Miss Lindale to be concerned—if, indeed, she was—for my well-being. However, I should not be a very practical man if I were to neglect the welfare of my horses.”

“Very true, sir,” Nell said lightly. “My papa always put the welfare of his horses ahead of his own. Shall we go?”

Huntley’s carriage could be seen approaching from Edward Street when they emerged from the house, and once they were all inside, the coachman directed his horses toward the Marine Parade. His lordship had graciously taken the forward seat, so Nell was comfortably able to point out the sights to her niece.

Just as she was showing Rory the baths at the corner where the Steyne met the Marine Parade, Huntley signaled his coachman to halt.