IV
THE FOLLOWING MORNING DAWNED crisp and clear.
When the middle-aged chambermaid who brought Nell her morning chocolate opened the moss-colored velvet drapes in her bedchamber, bright rays of sunshine spilled across the mellow-toned Holbein carpet, almost touching the embroidered flounce of her bed.
The bedchamber, not being one of the principal rooms of the house, looked both to the south and to the east and, situated as it was on the second floor, presented a fine view—on sunny days, at least—of bright chalk cliffs and sparkling blue sea.
Sitting up, Nell stretched and pulled off her cap, pushing the resultant tumble of curls back over her shoulders as the maid plumped pillows behind her.
“Open a window, Mary. ’Tis a lovely day.”
“You’ll catch your death, Miss Nell.” But, moving obediently to do her mistress’s bidding, Mary did not speak as if she entertained any expectation of her words being heeded. Nell grinned at her stiff back.
“Hundreds of people come to Brighton every year for the sole purpose of breathing our wonderful air, Mary.”
“Be that as it may, Miss Nell, that air is damp, and you know quite as well as anyone that damp air carries ague and a plague of other nasty things. Windows was meant to be shut.”
Nell chuckled. “Is Lady Aurora awake yet?”
“Dunno, I’m sure, miss,” Mary replied, adjusting the sash to admit as little as possible of the gentle sea breeze.
“That maid of ’ers be a saucy piece o’ goods, ’n all.
Said ’er ladyship preferred ’er own people about ’er, ’n would I be so good as to leave the chocolate on the landing side table fer ’er to take in when ’er mistress be ready.
I never saw the like afore, Miss Nell, ’n that’s God’s own truth, that is. ”
“Oh dear.” Nell regarded the chambermaid with dismay.
Mary had been with the family quite as long as either Cook or Pavingham, which was to say since before Nell herself had joined the Lindale household.
When Nell was old enough to make her come-out, it had been suggested that Mary might well serve as her tirewoman.
But Mary herself had declined the honor, saying that she knew her place well enough, thank you, and Miss Nell deserved the best, which in Mary’s opinion meant a proper dresser.
She had therefore greeted Madge’s arrival in the household with her fullest approval.
But, whether she knew her place or not, she took full advantage—often—of the fact that she had known her mistress from the cradle, and Nell knew that if she was to have any peace at all, she must soothe Mary’s obviously ruffled feelings at once. “Was she rude to you, Mary?”
“Not to say rude exactly, Miss Nell.” The maidservant was already coming down from the boughs. “She’s just a bit full of ’erself, is all. I’ll warrant ’er young lady spoils ’er a mite.”
“Well, I shall speak to the Lady Aurora, if you like,” Nell said pacifically.
“I daresay young Sadie has taken a bit more upon herself than her mistress has any notion of.” Her eyes twinkled suddenly.
“’Twould doubtless serve her well and good if you were to allow her to do everything for her mistress. ”
Mary grinned, catching her meaning at once.
“It would at that, Miss Nell. I daresay we’d soon ’ave that wench begging fer mercy if she was to find ’erself ’auling water and wood up them narrow back stairs.
Laying fires, changing the bed … ah, ’tis a beautiful vision I’m enjoying just now, Miss Nell. ”
“I see that I can safely leave the problem in your capable hands, Mary. I rely upon you to see that she does not complain of ill treatment to her mistress, however. I’d as lief not have the business dropped back in my lap, if it is all the same to you.”
Mary laid the chocolate tray gently across her mistress’s lap. “Never you fret, Miss Nell. I can deal with that baggage if anyone can. Just you leave ’er to me. Shall I be sending Madge up when I go downstairs?”
“If you please,” Nell agreed. “Tell her I shall want her in twenty minutes. Until then, I mean to enjoy the peace and quiet. I daresay the time will come that I shall look back upon these unencumbered moments with great longing.”
Mary rolled her eyes heavenward. “Like that, is it, miss?”
“I’m afraid so, Mary. Indeed, I am very much afraid so.”
Shaking her head in sympathy, Mary departed, leaving her mistress to relax against her pillows, savoring the sweet hot chocolate.
What on earth, Nell wondered, watching steam rise from the cup in her hands, had she let herself in for?
Any young woman who could mention Philip Radford in the same breath as a groom who would fail to bring an acceptable aura to her mama’s drawing room would bear watching. A good deal of watching.
Not common soldiers, Aunt Nell, but there are officers as well, are there not?
Nell shuddered at the encroaching memory, devoutly praying that Rory had indeed been speaking in jest. What lurking devil had spurred her to mention the Downs at all? Was it not only natural that the one word should lead an impressionable young girl’s thoughts directly to the military?
After all, Brighton Camp was by far the most famous military encampment along the South Coast. For some ten years and more, parades, grand reviews, field days, and sham battles on the Downs had been part and parcel of each succeeding Season’s delights.
The resident townspeople had come to regard them as entertainments got up expressly for their benefit, rather than for the serious purpose of military training, and they turned out right along with their summer visitors on these occasions in every sort of conveyance.
Barouches, landaus, landaulets, sociables, curricles, tandems, and even fish carts—all were crammed with spectators and loaded with provisions for a merry day’s outing on the Downs.
It was not always possible, however, for these entertainments to be conducted with strictest military discipline and decorum.
As the result of any number of unfortunate incidents over the years, Brighton fathers consistently discouraged their daughters from associating with the military.
The Prince’s Own was indeed stationed on the Downs, just as Rory said, and that glorious Hussar regiment was easily the most popular in the Army among fashionable young men.
Almost every one of the officers was a personal friend of the Prince of Wales, and even the famous Beau Brummell once numbered among them.
They kept their own blood horses, their own swift curricles, and even—some said—their own dashing ladies.
Their military duties being by no means arduous, they had plenty of time to join in the social activities of the beau monde, so nearly every young woman who came to Brighton dreamed of being escorted by a smart young cavalry officer in a dazzling scarlet or blue uniform.
And since the assemblies at both the Castle Inn and the Old Ship were extremely popular with those young officers who were privileged to receive invitations, Nell had no doubt that her beautiful young niece expected to have her pick of the lot.
An image of Lord Huntley suddenly flitted across her mind, and Nell drew a long breath.
How on earth was she to guard his intended wife for him?
For she had no doubt from what she remembered of him that he would expect her to do exactly that.
It did not matter that Clarissa and Crossways undoubtedly expected the same thing.
They had shirked their own duty by casting the office onto her inadequate shoulders.
Let them reap what they had sown. But Huntley was a different case entirely.
He had had little choice in the matter and must therefore place his dependence upon Nell.
Of course, he would no doubt be willing to help her.
The thought let her relax again. Surely, he could be depended upon to protect Rory from herself.
It would be simply a question of keeping her well enough occupied so that she would have little time to get into mischief.
Nell smiled at the thought that she had previously worried about the difficulty of finding suitable young men to interest her niece.
Now she found herself hoping they would be in short supply.
She was not given much more time to ponder her difficulties, for Madge soon entered and began to lay out her clothes.
Less than an hour later Nell entered the breakfast parlor neatly attired in a walking dress of russet sarcenet with a striped tunic and kid boots.
Her mother and brother sat at the table, the latter rising to greet her entrance, then seating himself quickly in order to reapply his attention to his high-piled plate.
Nell regarded the cup of tea that occupied, in solitary splendor, the space before Lady Agnes.
“Not feeling quite the thing this morning, Mama?”
“Oh, I’m perfectly stout, dear.” Lady Agnes smiled wryly.
“Indeed, I am a trifle too stout. In no time at all I am persuaded I shall be quite as fat as Clarissa, for Millicent has had to let out three of my new gowns. I thought perhaps I might have a little dry toast if the tea does not satisfy my hunger sufficiently.”
“Nonsense, Mama, you will never be fat, and you must eat something more substantial than that. Fasting cannot be good for you. You will make yourself ill.”
“Well, you know I always have a glass of wine and a biscuit at midday, Nell. I daresay I shall do well enough. And only think of the money Cook can save if I don’t eat so much.”
“I think it would be wiser simply to ask Cook to return to plain fare for a time and to forget the rich sauces you enjoy so frequently. I am persuaded ’twould do you far more good than starving yourself, ma’am.”
“Oh, Nell, we could not do that. Why, whatever would that young French kitchenmaid find to do if Cook ceased to require her lovely sauces? You know we hired her particularly for the purpose.”