Queen of Hearts

Chapter 1

February wasn’t the fashionable season in Brighton. North Laines wasn’t the fashionable part of town, and their rooms at the boarding house where they’d taken lodgings for the next two weeks were cramped, the furnishings shabby, and the few windows coated with a thick film of grime.

Another lady might have found it all rather distressing, but Charlotte Bathurst—Lottie, to her friends and family—was so grateful for those grimy windows her eyes teared up at the mere thought of them.

They might not be fashionable, but they were here, and that was as close to a miracle as she was ever likely to come.

“Will you come to the Old Steine with us this morning, Miss Lottie?” Jenny emerged from her bedchamber with a blanket draped over her arm. “It’s a lovely day, and the fresh air will do wonders for you.”

It was a lovely day. As lovely a day as she’d ever seen, with a sky free of London’s filthy haze and adorned with fluffy white clouds billowing across a canvas of bright winter blue. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed such a day could exist.

“You have been looking a bit peaked these past few weeks, Lottie.” Percy rolled into the rooms, the wheels of his rickety old Bath chair creaking. “Yes, Lottie, you must come. Perhaps we’ll run into Prinny himself.” Percy waggled his eyebrows. “Or better yet, Mrs. Fitzherbert.”

“I thought I’d read my book this morning.” But even as the words left her lips, Lottie’s gaze strayed once again to the window. She couldn’t see the beach from here, but she fancied she could hear the rush of waves rolling onto the shore, the gentle roar of it beckoning her like waggling fingers.

“Your book!” Percy gave her an incredulous look. “No, indeed. You can read any old time. I do hope you didn’t come to Brighton to laze about the room all day.”

“Mr. Percy is right, Miss Lottie.” Jenny draped the blanket over Percy’s knees. “Come along now. The sea air will put some color into your cheeks and blow some of the cobwebs out of your head.”

Well, she couldn’t say no to that, could she? “Very well, then.” She fetched her coat from the peg and hooked her parasol over her arm. “I’ll walk with you to the Old Steine and have a stroll while Percy bathes and takes the waters.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss Lottie!” Jenny took charge of Percy’s chair, rolling him to the door and beaming at Lottie over her shoulder. “There’s meant to be a lovely promenade, and it’s surrounded by all the grandest houses. You can even see the Brighton Pavilion from there.”

“Can you, indeed? How wonderful.” She’d seen sketches of Brighton Pavilion, of course, and to her it looked like a confusing hodgepodge of columns, domes and towers, but it was certainly a curiosity, and anyway, she wouldn’t ruin Jenny’s fun.

The three of them sallied forth and made their way onto the North Road, and from there to Church Street. It was cold, of course. It was February, after all, but the chill wind billowing off the Channel was fresh and bracing.

“It’s a pity it’s too cold to bathe,” she said as they wound their way along the promenade toward the pump room.

“Nonsense,” Percy said stoutly. “I intend to bathe. Dr. Leonard says bathing will do wonders for my chest complaints.”

Lottie and Jenny exchanged a glance. There was just the tiniest chance Dr. Leonard was a bit of a charlatan, but they couldn’t afford another doctor, and she’d read enough to know bathing was recommended for those with weak lungs.

“It’s all right, Jenny,” she murmured as Percy wheeled himself toward the pump room. “A brief bathe will do him good, and it’s not as if we can stop Percy from doing as he pleases, in any case.”

“No, indeed.” Jenny tutted. “That one’s as stubborn as a mule, he is.”

“Just keep an eye on him, won’t you? He isn’t always as careful as I’d like, and he can’t afford to catch a chill just now.”

“Now don’t you worry your pretty head about your brother, Miss Lottie.” Jenny gave her an affectionate pat on the arm. “You go on and enjoy your stroll, and don’t give us a second thought. I’ll see that Mr. Percy stays out of trouble, right enough.”

Thank goodness for Jenny. Lottie had engaged her to nurse their mother through her final illness, and Jenny had stayed on after their mother’s death, even though Lottie could only afford to pay her a pittance.

She and Percy would have been utterly adrift without her.

“I know you will, Jenny. I’ll return for you in a bit. ”

“Take your time, Miss Lottie. I daresay Mr. Percy isn’t the only one who’d benefit from a bit of sea air.” Jenny didn’t wait for an answer but hurried off after Percy, who was beckoning to her from the door of the pump room.

It was early yet, and there weren’t many people about, but despite the hour and the season, the beach wasn’t quite deserted.

There were a few families wandering about, and in the distance she could just make out one or two isolated figures splashing about in the waves near a seawall, the water sparkling in the bright morning sunshine.

Goodness, it was pretty, like something out of a painting, and the air!

It was as fresh and sweet as a spring meadow.

She’d never been to the seaside before—had never ventured outside of London at all.

She rarely left their home in Bethnal Green unless it was to go to Spitalfields or Shoreditch, and had been forced to content herself with the Thames.

This was most decidedly not the Thames. It was something else entirely, something…well, glorious wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Why, the blue sky alone was enough to steal her breath.

But it was a bit chilly on the beach, much chillier than it had been on the promenade. She secured her bonnet over her chilled ears and opened her parasol to protect her face from the wind, but as she struggled to set the runner, a particularly violent gust snatched it right out of her hand.

“My parasol!” She made a desperate grab for it, but the worn pink silk canopy swelled with the breeze, and in the next breath the parasol was pinwheeling down the beach as swiftly as any kite.

“Come back!” The parasol had belonged to her mother, and she treasured it despite the worn silk and scratched wooden handle. It was a ragged old thing to be sure, but she couldn’t bear to lose it.

She charged after it, but it was no use. It skidded over the sand as merry as you please, buoyed by the wind, and she was hampered by the damp sand under her half boots and the wind whipping her skirts around her legs.

“Oh!” She stumbled and fell to her knees as the parasol flitted away like some great pink bird, the silk fringe dancing wildly as it skipped down the beach, heading toward the seawall in the distance.

If she ran, she might yet be able to catch it before the sea took it.

She fought with her damp, sandy skirts until at last she managed to lurch to her feet and chase after it, but it was far ahead of her now, skipping and leaping like a frolicking child, but she kept after it until she’d gone so far the lone figures she’d noticed in the distance transformed from faceless blobs into actual people.

“Oh, do take care!” Dash it, the dratted thing was headed directly for a tall gentleman standing on top of the seawall, his dark hair whipping in the wind.

“Sir, sir! Runaway parasol!”

But the wind snatched her voice and sent it whirling into the air, and as for her parasol, it was almost as if it had a vendetta against the man. It sailed towards him like a moth to a very tall, sturdy flame, but he was facing the water and didn’t realize his danger.

Dear God, this was a disaster! He was seconds away from a most brutal sartorial assault. If it should hit him in the head and he should fall into the water he’d almost certainly drown, and then she’d be taken up for murdering a man with her parasol.

“Sir! Wayward parasol! Sir, please do take— Oh!”

She broke off with a choked gasp, the words dying on her tongue. He was… No, surely not. It was impossible! The wind must have addled her brains, because from this distance it looked as if he was…in a state of dishabille?

No, that wasn’t it. He wasn’t partially clothed at all.

He was unclothed. Entirely, utterly and shamelessly unclothed. There wasn’t a single stitch of cloth anywhere to be seen on the man, and he was standing atop the seawall for all the world to see, like a king overlooking his subjects.

Why, the man was as naked as the day he was born!

She forgot her parasol entirely, and quite forgot herself as well, because despite the shocking impropriety of the thing, she couldn’t quite tear her gaze away from him.

Naked, on a public beach in Brighton! Dear God, what a scandal! What did the man mean, romping about outdoors without a stitch of clothing on, where anyone might stumble upon him? More to the point, how was a lady meant to behave when she encountered a naked gentleman? Where was she meant to look?

Not at him, that much was certain.

She jerked her gaze away from him as any lady of proper virtuous restraint would do. Never mind if she was peeking at him from under her lashes. Who could blame her? Surely a lady could be forgiven for peeking under such shocking circumstances.

Prolonged, sustained viewing, however… Well, that was quite another matter, but if she was ogling him as if he were a Greek statue at the British Museum, no one had to know, did they?

To be fair, he did resemble a Greek statue. Apollo, perhaps, or Poseidon.

If he did get concussed and drown, it would be his own fault for striking her speechless. If he’d been a trifle less naked and been a trifle less like Poseidon she might have held onto her wits and shouted another warning in time to save him.

But in the next instant, it was too late.

“Bloody hell!”