Brighton Road (21 page)

"Dear me," Lord Vickers said. "You and
Gwennie certainly have had a most unfortunate time of it."

Considering Lord Vickers's usual flair for
the dramatic, Ravenel found this a surprising bit of
understatement. He wondered if Gwenda's father had understood one
word of all that he had just related.

Seated behind a desk littered with rumpled
parchment, half-mended quill pens, and dripping inkwells, Lord
Vickers rocked back in his leather-covered chair, bridging his
fingertips beneath his chin. He shook his head and blessed his own
soul several times.

"So do I have your permission to go ahead
with the marriage banns?" Ravenel prodded.

"I don't quite know what to tell you, young
man." A frown creased Lord Vickers's long forehead. "Any practical
considerations of my daughter's future, I usually leave to her
mother. We had much better consult her."

Without waiting for Ravenel's agreement, Lord
Vickers snapped to his feet with surprising quickness. He strode to
the door, flung it open, and called for his wife.

Very shortly, Prudence Vickers poked her head
in the doorway, a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on her
nose. "What is it, my dear? Are you ready for your tea?"

"Not just yet, my love. It would seem Gwennie
has gotten herself into some sort of a coil. Last night she and
Lord Ravenel were stranded together at an inn, the Nonesuch. By the
by, it sounds rather quaint. Remind me to stop over there the next
time we are traveling through Kent."

"Certainly, my dear."

The baron bit back an impatient oath. "The
point is, my lady, that your daughter was unchaperoned and—"

"And so Lord Ravenel feels he ought to marry
our Gwen," Lord Vickers finished.

Lady Vickers studied Ravenel over the top of
her spectacles. "Oh? Is that your only reason for wishing to do
so?"

The baron squirmed uncomfortably. If he had
any other reasons, he was not quite ready to examine them. "It
seems to me reason enough."

"And Gwenda?" Lady Vickers asked. "Is she
enthusiastic about this notion?"

"No," Ravenel said reluctantly. "I admit that
she is not. But under the circumstances—"

"Then under the circumstances, she had better
not do it."

"That is your opinion, is it, my dearest
heart?" her husband asked.

"Indeed it is. Stanhope, only consider.
Gwenda has already betrothed herself twice and broken it off
because the affection was found wanting. A third time and it could
develop into a most disagreeable habit."

Lady Vickers gave Ravenel an amiable smile so
very much like Gwenda's. "Thank you all the same for your offer, my
lord, however misplaced it may have been. I am sure in all other
respects you are a most sensible man. Now do forget all this, and
hurry along for tea."

With that, her ladyship popped back out
again, leaving Ravenel gaping after her, Containing his
astonishment, he made one last attempt to reason with Lord
Vickers.

"Sir, with all due respect, what you and your
wife don't seem to understand is if this tale leaks out, your
daughter will be ruined. Society may begin to say a deal of other
things about Gwenda, things far less pleasant than whispers of
broken engagements."

"Shall they?" Lord Vickers asked. "Well, I
think it far more important not to force two delightful young
people into a marriage neither wants rather than take heed of idle
gossip."

Ravenel opened his mouth and closed it again.
What was he to say in the face of such impracticality?

Lord Vickers smiled and continued, "Lady
Vickers and I only want our daughter to be happy."

"But, my lord—"

"In truth, those who love Gwenda, who value
her as they ought, would know she could never have done anything
bad. The opinion of the rest of the world simply doesn't
matter."

Ravenel could only stare at the man. This was
utter folly. He knew it was and yet there was a soft glow in
Stanhope Vickers's eyes as he pronounced these words, and a quality
to his voice infusing it with a gentle, loving wisdom that made the
baron's own notions of duty and propriety ring quite hollow.

Perhaps it was not the Vickerses who were the
fools, but himself and the rest of the world. Ravenel ran one hand
across his brow in confusion.

"There, there, young man." Lord Vickers
patted him on the back. "You come along with me. Things always seem
much clearer after one's had a cup of tea."

The fiery ball that was the sun poised on the
verge of dipping below the sea, the ever-darkening waves frothed
against the shore, and the twilight sky streaked with rosy ribands
of sunset.

"Blast!" Gwenda hissed, letting fall the
delicate organza curtain. She had only laid down upon the bed for a
few minutes, never intending to fall asleep. What if Ravenel were
already gone?

She stumbled to the French gilt wardrobe and
found a simple white muslin gown, which she donned. Barely taking
the time to tame her mop of curls, she flung an Indian shawl about
her shoulders and raced out of her bedchamber. She rushed to the
gilt railing and was about to tear down the stairs when she noticed
the tall, broad-shouldered figure pacing the hall below.

Ravenel. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief.
So he had not already fled the Vickers household in horror. He
appeared to have survived the talk with her father, although
exactly what had passed between the two men Gwenda could not tell
from Ravenel's expression. He looked neither relieved nor
disgusted, merely thoughtful.

When Gwenda began to descend the stairs, he
glanced up at her, his mouth tightening. "You need not look so
apprehensive, Gwenda. It is all over."

Gwenda paused at the foot of the steps.
"And?" she asked anxiously.

"Your father has convinced me you were right
to refuse my offer. I have no intention of troubling you any
further." He drew himself up stiffly and Gwenda thought she
detected a flash of pain in his eyes. For the first time, it
occurred to her how she must have wounded Ravenel's pride.

She wished she could think of something
soothing to say, but ended by blurting out, "Then why are you
lingering here in the hall?"

"I was on the point of leaving." He gave an
exasperated laugh. "But it seems that Fitch has misplaced my hat.
Your family is tearing apart the servants' quarters looking for
it."

"Oh, Ravenel, I am so sorry—" she began, then
stopped. "No, I am not. I am glad of it, for otherwise I should
have missed you " She added accusingly, "You were going to leave
without saying goodbye."

"Of course I wasn't! But you were resting. I
did not want to disturb you. Now you look ..." He paused to study
her, a warmth coming into his eyes. Then he quickly averted his
gaze. "Much better," he concluded.

Gwenda blushed and fretted the ends of her
shawl. This was absurd, she thought, after all that she and Ravenel
had been through together, for both of them to be behaving so shy
and awkward now.

She cleared her throat, preparing to say what
she had attempted to earlier in the tilbury. "My lord, I want you
to know how grateful I am for everything—"

"Please! No speeches, my dear." A mischievous
smile tipped Ravenel's lips, as devastatingly charming as it was
unexpected. It was the way he had always been meant to smile,
Gwenda thought sadly, not in that constrained manner she knew he
would adopt as soon as he set foot out the door.

She tried to assume a cheerful manner. "Well,
I daresay you will find yourself quite busy. All those business
affairs you have had to neglect because of me and—and ..." She
faltered. "Miss Carruthers will likely be in Brighton soon."

"I suppose she will." Ravenel sobered at the
mention of Belinda's name, although he asked teasingly, "Any more
advice for me, Miss Vickers?"

Gwenda started to speak, then firmly shook
her head. At that moment Jack came bursting into the hall, carrying
Ravenel's hat.

"Fitch locked it down in the wine cellar!"
Her brother rolled his eyes. "I am not certain how well he is going
to serve as a butler, either."

Ravenel merely smiled as he took the
curly-brimmed beaver from Jack. He asked Gwenda to express his
thanks to her mother and father, then shook hands with Jack. Under
her brother's curious eyes, Gwenda thought Ravenel would do the
same with her. But when she offered him her hand, he carried it to
his lips and pressed a fervent kiss upon her wrist. He turned and
strode out the front door, without glancing back.

He had not taken five steps away from the
house when he heard someone call his name. "Ravenel?"

He turned quickly at the sound of Gwenda's
voice She stood silhouetted in the doorway, the simple white muslin
accenting her curves. The breeze ruffled her soft curls, her
ever-changeable eyes assuming the green luster of the sea.

"Yes?" he asked hopefully.

"I do have some advice." She drew in a deep
breath. "I hope that sometimes you will remember to be just a
little improper."

Ravenel playfully tipped his hat in
acknowledgment of her words. She withdrew into the house, the door
inching closed. As soon as she was gone, his smile faded. He
grasped his hat, heading toward where one of Lord Vickers's grooms
had brought around his tilbury.

Ravenel was somewhat amused to see Spotted
Bert waiting there in the gathering dusk. The dog barked at his
approach, charging forward and wagging his tail.

"What! Did you think I was going to leave
without saying good-bye to you, either?"

He bent down to scratch Bert beneath the
chin, but he found his gaze traveling past the dog to the sea,
which was wide and mysterious, lapping against the shingled beach,
so empty, so wretchedly lonely.

Ravenel jerked to his feet, saying sharply to
the dog, "Damn it, Bert. What a fool I am! I didn't have to marry
her. I wanted to. That's why I've been going on and on about duty,
making such a pompous ass of myself. I'm in love with the
woman."

He started purposefully back toward the
house, only to halt again. He glanced down at Bert padding by his
side. "But it is of no avail, is it? She doesn't want to marry me.
There is no reason that she should."

He thought of his title, his twenty thousand
pounds per annum, the vast cold manor in Leicestershire. He stared
at the Vickers town house where the lamps were already being lit,
the light glowing warmly beyond the panes of glass. Through the
open window he could hear the sounds of singing and laughter.

"I don't really have anything to offer her,
do I?" Ravenel murmured, his shoulders sagging.

He replaced his hat on his head and turned to
go, pausing to pat the dog one last time. "You will look after her,
though, won't you, Bert?"

The dog cocked his head to one side. Bert's
only reply was a low, mournful whine.

Gwenda dipped her quill pen in the ink and
scratched it laboriously across the page. For nearly a week she had
been closeted in her room, seated at the small desk by her window
overlooking the sea. If she ventured out at all, it was only for
her brief visits to Donaldson's Lending Library. But
The
Sepulchre of Castle Sorrow
had not advanced much beyond the
first chapter.

The wind whistled past the velvet curtains.
The candle flickered and went out in a hiss of smoke. Roderigo felt
the chill of the grave pervade the castle walls, the stench of
decaying flesh, crumbling bones, and the dark deed long
forgotten—

The last word trailed away in a smear of ink
as Spotted Bert nudged his cold nose against Gwenda's elbow. He
thrust his head in her lap, whining, rolling up his eyes in
mournful fashion.

"Bertie, please!" Gwenda forced the dog back.
"How am I ever to accomplish anything with you moping all over me?
"

Her exuberant Bertie did not seem to be
himself ever since their arrival in Brighton, the day that Ravenel
had left. Feeling a twinge in her own heart, she suppressed the
thought. No, likely it was only that the sea air did not agree with
Bert. She blotted the ink and reached for her pen once more.

The shade of an ancient warrior rose up
before him, its bloodstained visage awful to behold. "Roderigo! "
quoth the ghost in dire accents, which would have caused a man of
less fortitude than the young count to swoon. "Roderigo! Arise. The
time hath come to address the wrongs done me by your family.
Roderigo staggered back, slapping one hand across his noble brow.
"What! Before I have even had my tea?"

Gwenda flung down her pen in disgust and tore
the parchment in two. The pieces joined the others that littered
the soft carpet at her feet. She started to lean her aching head
against her hands when Bert startled her by springing up. Thrusting
his head through the open window, he gave a series of short, joyous
barks.

She leaped up herself to peer out. But she
saw nothing in the stream of fashionable coaches, gigs, and
phaetons making their way along the Marine Parade to have aroused
such excitement in Bertie.

She was about to haul the dog back from the
sill when she spied the tall man walking along the grassy
enclosure, his features obscured as he bent forward to keep his
curly-brimmed beaver from being snatched by the stiff breeze.
Gwenda's heart quickened only to plummet with disappointment when
the man doffed his hat to a passing carriage. Not glossy strands of
ebony but only an unfamiliar dull brown.

Spotted Bert's barking faded to a chagrined
whine.

"Oh, Bertie," Gwenda scolded, but her
vexation had little to do with the dog. "Go on. Get out of here.
Find a cat to chase."

Although Bertie hung back, she managed to
thrust him out her bedchamber door, then slammed it behind him. But
she immediately felt ashamed for being so short-tempered with Bert.
Truthfully, these past days, she had been as bad as the dog, ever
hopeful of catching a glimpse of a cravat with a little too much
starch, a swarthy-looking man constraining his hard-muscled form
beneath the stiff garb of a most proper gentleman. Yet if Ravenel
ever was abroad, enjoying the Brighton sunshine, he never passed by
her window.