Sheri Cobb South (5 page)

“Where are you going, love?”

“This is my bedchamber,” she pointed out.

He gave her a knowing grin. “You ‘aven’t slept in that room in a month!”

“Then perhaps it is time I did,” she replied, turning aside to open the door.

She would have entered, but he blocked her way by the simple expedient of placing his arm across the opening.

“Not a chance, love,” he said firmly. “For the first month of our marriage, you called me ‘Mr. Brundy’ and kept a chair wedged ‘neath your doorknob. I’ve not come this far only to back down now.”

Lady Helen colored rosily. “Ethan, we have a guest in the house!”

“And if she’s truly me sister,” he said, turning Lady Helen’s argument against her with Machiavellian efficiency, “she won’t understand the Quality’s custom of keeping separate bedchambers. Nor do I understand it meself, for that matter, given the importance you people place on producing heirs. ‘Tis a wonder to me that the lot of you didn’t die out years ago.”

“That is beside the point, Ethan,” chided his adoring wife. “Now that we are no longer alone in the house, we must behave with more decorum.”

“Must we?” whimpered her sorely tried spouse.

“Ethan—”

“All right, all right,” conceded Mr. Brundy, who knew a lost cause when he saw one. “If you want to move back into your own room while the girl is ‘ere, I’ll not say you nay—only promise me you’ll not put a chair under the doorknob.”

Lady Helen reached up to caress her husband’s cheek. “Thank you, Ethan.”

Long after she disappeared into her room, Mr. Brundy stood in the corridor, glaring at the paneled wooden barricade that separated him from his bride.

“Aubrey,” he said aloud, “I ‘ope you know what you’re doing!”

Chapter 4

“Throw yourself into a coach,” said he. “Come down and make my house your inn.”

EDMUND BURKE,
Burke’s Life

Mr. Brundy and his ladies accomplished the fifty-mile journey to Brighton in five and a half hours. Their baggage followed at a more modest pace in a second carriage bearing Mr. Brundy’s valet, Lady Helen’s abigail (who was also to serve Miss Crump in that capacity), the butler Evers, and Cook, lesser servants having been hired from amongst the locals by Mr. Brundy’s man of business.

To Polly, accustomed to the rigors of the common stage, traveling in a private post-chaise was an unparalleled luxury, diminished only slightly by the man glowering at her from the rear-facing seat. So well-sprung was the vehicle that, when it at last lurched to a stop in the Marine Parade, she felt none of the stiffness usually resulting from a journey of such length, but fairly bounded out of the carriage to find herself standing before a tall, narrow house with a fine view of the sea.

“What a charming little house!” exclaimed Lady Helen, leading the awe-struck Polly to wonder how a charming
large
house might have appeared.

The first evening was spent settling themselves comfortably into the abode which was to be their home until the end of September. When the coach carrying their baggage arrived, Lady Helen was distressed to discover that Polly’s entire wardrobe consisted of three drab-colored stuff gowns, two sets of undergarments, a single pair of gloves, a shawl, a bonnet, and a heavy cloak. That evening, she informed her husband that she intended to take Miss Crump to a modiste and provide her with a suitable wardrobe for a young lady making her
entree
into Society.

“What fun it will be, launching Polly, chaperoning her to assemblies at the Castle Inn or the Old Ship Hotel, perhaps even the Pavilion—”

“Aye, you look like a chaperone,” scoffed Mr. Brundy, regarding his wife with fond amusement. “You’re ‘ardly older than she is!”

“True, but I am a married woman,” pointed out Lady Helen.

“You’d ‘ave an ‘ard time proving it by me,” muttered her husband. “But if you’ve a fancy to play Society matron, love, I wouldn’t be averse to giving you daughters,” he added hopefully.

“Really, Ethan, I am quite serious!”

“You think I’m not?”

Lady Helen ignored this interruption.   “We’ve scarcely known her twenty-four hours, but already Polly is like the sister I never had.”

“Funny you should say that. She’s the sister
I
never ‘ad, either.”

A reproachful look was the only answer he received.

The next day Lady Helen and her protégée descended upon Brighton in force. During the long carriage ride Lady Helen had discovered Polly’s fondness for reading, and accordingly their first stop was Donaldson’s library. Here Polly was amazed when her noble mentor took out a subscription without even bothering to inquire as to the cost, surrendering one guinea each for membership without so much as batting an eye.

But even this demonstration of Lady Helen’s largesse was quickly eclipsed, for when they arrived at Madame Franchot’s fashionable establishment in the Lanes, she gave Madame a free hand. Polly’s head swam as the birdlike Frenchwoman darted from one gown to the next, extolling the virtues of a jaconet muslin walking dress in a delightful shade of peach that emphasized Miss’s creamy complexion, an ivory-colored ball gown whose deceptively simple cut would give
la petite mademoiselle
the illusion of height, and a blue satin evening dress with a beaded bodice which was sure to become all the rage. To all this bounty were added slippers, gloves, bonnets, and fans, until at last Polly felt compelled to protest.

“Surely I cannot need all these things for a three-month stay in Brighton!”

“To be sure, you will need much more,” concurred Lady Helen, “but these should suffice, at least for the nonce.”

Polly, recalling what tidbits Lady Farriday had let fall, was uneasy for Lady Helen’s sake, wondering how her husband might react to such lavish spending. But she did not wish to appear ungrateful, and indeed she would have been less than female were she not delighted at the prospect of wearing such lovely gowns.

Still, until that moment she had not considered that her scheme might hurt anyone, beyond relieving Mr. Brundy of a few shillings which would seem to him as little more than pocket change. Certainly she had never expected her invasion of Society to constitute a major expenditure on the part of her hostess; but then, she knew so little of Society that her ignorance was perhaps not to be wondered at.  She tried to cheer herself with the reflection that she was surely closer than ever before to finding her father, who would no doubt be so thankful to be reunited with his long-lost daughter that he would gladly repay Mr. Brundy every farthing spent on her behalf. Nevertheless, she listened to Lady Helen’s plans with a heaviness in her heart which had not been there before.

* * * *

While Mr. Brundy and his ladies wended their way southward to Brighton, Sir Aubrey paid a call on his mother at her residence in Belgrave Square. Dispensing with the formality of being announced, he mounted the stairs with the ease of long familiarity, and found Lady Tabor in the chamber which she referred to as the Wedgwood room. She could not have chosen a more felicitous setting, for Lady Tabor had inherited the fine bone structure and prematurely snow-white hair of her Inglewood forebears, and the pale blue and white color scheme of the room, taken from the china after which it was named, might have been designed to enhance these features.

“You’re looking well, Mama,” said her son, bowing over her beringed fingers. “I trust I find you in good health.”

Lady Tabor gave a languishing sigh. “I daresay I am as well as might be expected for one whose only son seems determined to drive her to an early grave. I have been suffering the most distressing palpitations of the heart.”

“For which I am responsible, I have no doubt,” put in Sir Aubrey, undisturbed. For as long as he could remember, his mother had enjoyed all the vagaries of ill health while suffering none of its more incapacitating drawbacks. Privately, he was convinced his mother would probably outlive not only himself, but all four of his older sisters. “Tell me. Mama, of what filial cruelty am I guilty this time?”

“Lady Jane Cunningham is to marry Dunstan. ‘Tis in the
Morning Post.
Here, you may see for yourself,” added Lady Tabor, thrusting the newspaper at her errant offspring. “You might have had Lady Jane any time these past two years, had you made the slightest push to fix her interest!”

“I know—which is precisely why I studiously avoided making any such push,” replied Sir Aubrey, unrepentant. “But do cheer up, Mama. I shall not be around to vex you much longer.”

“Whatever do you mean, Aubrey?”

“Only that I plan to remove to Brighton for the summer. I would not do so, however, without first calling to take my leave of you, ma’am.”

“Which can only mean you have wagered far too much on some horse to win the Brighton Cup,” observed Lady Tabor in tones markedly similar to the drawl her son sometimes affected.

“Truth to tell, Mama, I was not thinking of horses. In fact, the filly which lures me to Brighton is one of the two-legged variety.”

As Lady Tabor wanted nothing more than for her son to marry an eligible young lady and set up his nursery, Sir Aubrey could not have found a surer way to gain his mother’s attention. “A girl, Aubrey? Who is she?”

“Do you know, I don’t think I ever heard it,” exclaimed Sir Aubrey, much struck. “Indeed, I don’t think he ever mentioned a name.”

“Who on earth is ‘he’?” demanded Lady Tabor impatiently. “We were discussing a young lady!”

“No, I think not. A female, unquestionably, but I very much doubt she is a lady.”

“Aubrey—” growled his mother.

“She is, or says she is, Ethan Brundy’s sister.”

“Another weaver? Good heavens! How many of them are going to be foisted upon good society?”

“Only one, I trust. Ethan seems quite convinced the girl is a fraud. I’ve a fancy to help him get to the bottom of things.”

“You would do better to look about you for an eligible female!”

“As I recall, the last time I went to Brighton, I did precisely that—only to have you ring a peal over my head,” recalled Sir Aubrey reminiscently.

“I did not mean you were to ogle sea-bathers through a spyglass!” retorted his fond parent. “Do you know, Aubrey, I’m thinking it has been a long time since I have been to Brighton.”

Sir Aubrey’s handsome face froze in an expression of horror. “Mama, you don’t mean—”

“Precisely. I am persuaded the sea air would do wonders for my poor heart.”

None of the many arguments put forth by her son had the least effect in dislodging this conviction from Lady Tabor’s mind, and in the end Sir Aubrey was obliged not only to delay his departure in order to give his mama time to prepare for the journey, but also to give up the bachelor lodgings he had hired for his stay, and to post a letter to a Brighton solicitor instructing him to hire on Sir Aubrey’s behalf a house suitable for himself and his mother.

Although the delay was no longer than three days, so severely did it try Sir Aubrey’s patience that it might have been as many weeks. He was bored with London society, and although he would never have admitted it, even to himself, more than a little lonely. The marriages of both his chief cronies within two months of each other had left the sole remaining bachelor of the trio very much to his own devices, as Lord David had not yet returned from his wedding trip and Mr. Brundy demonstrated a marked preference for the company of his wife over that of the gentleman who had first made her known to him. Mr. Brundy might well wish his fraudulent sister at Jericho, but for Sir Aubrey, her unexpected appearance held the promise of a greater diversion than any he had enjoyed since the day he had prevailed upon Lord David Markham to introduce the parvenu weaver to the Duke of Reddington’s haughty daughter. His interest had been piqued the evening Mr. Brundy had first told him of the mystery lady’s arrival, and so powerfully did the three-day postponement work upon his curiosity that by the time he and his mama set out for Brighton, the unmasking of the fair intruder was well on the way to becoming an obsession.

* * * *

Polly’s initial visit to the modiste was of necessity followed by several additional visits, during which she was fitted for the gowns which were by this time in various stages of production. On each of these occasions she was accompanied by Lady Helen, a circumstance which meant that Mr. Brundy was, more often than not, left to his own devices. For a man on his honeymoon, he reflected, he seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of his time alone. On the fourth day after their arrival, he whiled away the afternoon by strolling along the shore. This was not the peaceful pastime it might have been, for each time he scanned the watery horizon in the distance, he was reminded of his friend Lord David Markham on the other side of the Channel, enjoying the pleasures of Paris with his bride in blissful solitude. Mr. Brundy stooped to pick up a handful of pebbles from the sand, and hurled them one by one into the surf in a gesture replete with helpless frustration.

He returned to the house a short time later to discover that visitors had called in his absence. They had elected to await his return, Evers informed him, and were even now ensconced in the drawing room. Mr. Brundy went straightway to this chamber and discovered Sir Aubrey pacing the floor in some agitation of spirits, while his mama perched rigidly on the edge of a low-backed sofa.

“Aubrey!   And Lady Tabor.  An unexpected pleasure, ma’am,” said Mr. Brundy, making his bow to her ladyship.

Alas, Lady Farriday had spoken truly when she intimated Lady Tabor’s disapproval of her son’s friend. “I must tell you, sir, that I take no pleasure in the company of weavers,” replied Sir Aubrey’s mama with alarming candor.

Nor had her son any time to waste on pleasantries. “I say, Ethan, ‘tis the damnedest thing—begging your pardon, Mama,” he added, anticipating his mother’s recommendation that he modify his language in the presence of ladies. “There isn’t a house to be hired in all of Brighton!”

“If you waited until now to inquire, I don’t doubt it,” said Mr. Brundy, albeit not without sympathy.