Chapter Fourteen
Gwendolyn expected that tracking down Andrew would be an impossible task, but she had to give it a final try for the sake of her heart. Oddly, that organ was no longer responding with any of the excitement she had once felt for her betrothed.
Well, too many years had gone by. Too many tears had been wasted on him.
She and Milbury arrived early in Brighton, trying to keep the day as normal as possible because they did have errands to run.
Their clandestine activities would occur later, when Marchand’s popular café opened for business.
But for now, their first stop was at a ladies’ shop to purchase two cotton bathing costumes for herself.
The shopkeeper brought out an array of wool ones first, but Milbury would not hear of her purchasing those.
“They are completely impractical for swimming. You’ll sink like a stone to the bottom in wool.
That fabric is going to weigh you down like an anchor,” he said, and then ordered the salesgirl to take those away, which she did immediately because Milbury’s frowning countenance frightened the wits out of the poor girl.
“James,” Gwendolyn whispered as they waited for the cotton suits to be brought out, “you really must try to be nicer.”
He shrugged. “I’ll leave that to you. I am not feeling particularly magnanimous right now.”
Yes, she understood why he was out of sorts this morning. They were going in search of Andrew today, and this had him so much on edge that he looked ready to pound his fist through a door.
Well, what had she expected? James did not merely view her beau as competition for her affections. What obviously rankled him most was the way Andrew had treated her, especially in the years since the end of the war when there were no more excuses for his failure to resume contact with her.
He was not wrong about this. Was she not feeling this same ire?
Upon completing her purchases, they placed the parcels in their carriage and walked to the café that was about to open its doors for the day. Pierre Marchand and his children were buzzing about like bees to a hive, hurrying to set up for the patrons about to descend on them.
“We need a moment of your time,” Milbury said with a daunting air of authority.
Marchand glanced around nervously. “Of course, my lord. What may I do for you?”
“Andrew Clement. Where is he?”
“My lord,” Marchand started with visible impatience, “I…I… Let me assure you that I will give this Mr. Clement any message you wish to leave for him should he ever come in here to dine. I can do no more beyond this. Perhaps if you were to give me a description of—”
“Do not pretend he is a stranger. Lady Gwendolyn knows what she saw. The nods you and Clement exchanged just before he disappeared into some secret back room gave you away.”
Gwendolyn tried to maintain an unreadable expression while Milbury did all the talking.
Truly, she would have been terrible at interrogation because she did not know how to be fierce or frighten anyone.
Nor had she said anything about Andrew and Marchand exchanging nods, but she thought it was a good embellishment to give credence to their demands.
“Lady Gwendolyn is merely asking to get in contact with him. We are not interested in whatever else is going on here, I promise you.” Milbury held up a hand when Marchand attempted to sputter denials.
“Do not take me for a fool. We will leave once you give us the information we are seeking. Tell Andrew Clement that he needs to get in touch with Lady Gwendolyn. Again, it is no use denying his existence. She saw him.”
“Surely a mistake. I—”
“Must I bring in the local magistrate to investigate? This is not anything you can keep quiet,” he assured the proprietor.
“Lady Gwendolyn’s friends know she’s seen him and know we are coming here today.
More important, they believe Lady Gwendolyn when she says he was here.
So, is he going to be sensible and talk to her?
Or must the authorities be summoned to tear your place apart? ”
The man’s expression turned grim and then he released a heavy breath. “I warned him it was not safe to turn up here while the café was open and serving our patrons.”
Dear heaven.
Gwendolyn’s entire body began to shake.
Andrew had been here and she had seen him. Not a mistake.
Milbury discreetly placed a hand to the small of her back, caressing along her spine with his thumb as warning for her not to fall apart. She tried her hardest to remain calm while all she wanted to do was burst into sobs. Sobs of rage, anger, and frustration rather than sorrow.
Truly, if Andrew stood before her right now, she would crack something heavy over his head.
James now had his full palm flat against her spine, no doubt worried she was going to erupt and mess up his interrogation.
Marchand would have noticed her struggles had he not been distressed, too. “My lady, he isn’t here just now. And I truly do not know where he resides. It is not something he ever deigned to tell me. Nor do I dare ask too many questions of him.”
“When do you expect him here next?” Gwendolyn asked.
He glanced around nervously. “Possibly tonight. You might find him here this evening just before closing time. But I cannot say for certain. Now, you must excuse me because there is a lot of work still to do and we are about to open.”
He scurried back into the kitchen to resume his preparation for the day’s influx of patrons.
Milbury led her out into the morning light. “Blessed saints,” he muttered, and released a long breath. “It was him all along.”
Gwendolyn withdrew a handkerchief from her reticule to dab at the tears on her cheeks.
“I knew it was, but it is still shocking to have it confirmed. James…he’s alive.
It delights me and infuriates me. I mean, really infuriates me.
What sort of toad does this to the woman he is supposed to love? Look at me, I am shaking like a leaf.”
He took hold of her hands and gave them a light squeeze to comfort her. “This is a lot for you to take in.”
“I must see him. Will you bring me back here at closing time? How late do you think Marchand’s establishment stays open?”
He placed an arm around her to lead her away from the café. “It won’t close before ten o’clock this evening. That’ll make it too late for us to ride back to Milbury Hill tonight. The roads will be littered with highwaymen once it turns dark.”
“Then what are we to do? I won’t turn back now.
But where can I stay once I’ve seen Andrew?
Will any of the better hotels accept a single woman on her own?
I do not even have an overnight bag with me.
And what if Andrew wishes to return with me?
To talk, of course. Only talk. That’s all we would do.
But we would need a quiet place to converse, where no one will care or ask questions if he walks in with me. ”
He released another long breath. “You’re not doing this alone. I’ll make arrangements for us at an out-of-the-way inn where no one will gossip if we are recognized.”
“Is there any such place in Brighton?”
“Oh yes,” he said with a wry arch of his eyebrow. “Several. These inns are known as love nests, and you’ll find them everywhere throughout England. Gentlemen, especially those in arranged marriages, need someplace safe and private when seeking liaisons outside the bonds of marriage.”
“Even here in Brighton?”
He laughed. “There is no town more infamous. One can hardly ignore the existence of the Royal Pavilion, probably the most indiscreet love nest in all of England.”
“Oh, true. Did you ever…um, indulge?”
“Me? Not after I met Jessica,” he said with finality. “No matter how polite a polish one puts on these liaisons, they are still a violation of one’s wedding vows.”
“And yours was a love marriage,” Gwendolyn said with a nod.
“It was a good marriage and I did not stray, although I was not above getting entangled in such arrangements when I was a young and foolish bachelor. It is shocking how many ladies were willing. There’s no temptation in it for me now. These liaisons are just sad compromises.”
“I see.” But Gwendolyn’s heart beat a little faster because she and Milbury would be on their own tonight.
She had never spent an evening alone with a man before. It was for a good cause, but she still felt…a bit naughty. And excited, if she were to be honest with herself.
Would he obtain separate quarters for himself? Or were they to share? She was afraid to ask.
“These out-of-the-way inns are not respectable,” he warned.
“I understand.”
“The more elegant hotels are out of the question.”
“We are agreed on that,” she assured him, wondering why he felt the need to emphasize these points. Perhaps the possibility of spending the night with her was also unsettling him. “You cannot risk being recognized.”
“Same risk for you, Gwen. You travel in elite, ton circles, and this is a popular holiday spot for Londoners.”
“You needn’t worry about me. I am ready to accept the consequences of this plan. No doubts or second thoughts on my part.”
How could there be when she was so close to seeing Andrew again? True, Marchand’s revelation had thrown her into turmoil. Right now, her thoughts were in a jumble and her heart had yet to stop racing.
But she began to calm down the more distance she and James put between them and the café. They were formulating a plan.
Well, he was doing most of the planning, since she could not be logical or clearheaded about her upcoming confrontation with Andrew.
And it would be a confrontation. She was not feeling particularly sympathetic to her betrothed, nor was she ready to accept the excuses he would provide in support of his absence and complete lack of contact for all these years.
James would remain beside her. Gwendolyn was soothed by his assuring manner. This was James, confident and fiercely protective.