Chapter 2 #2
“Oh, don’t fly up into the boughs, love.
I only mean that it would be good for you to spend time with a man who didn’t gaze at you like a besotted mooncalf and write ill-advised poetry, and it would be good for Mr Bramwell to take a moment to stop and smell the roses.
To laugh and find something other than his work to make him happy,” she added with a laugh.
Despite her outrage at the suggestion, Hetty could not help but smile.
How tired she was of young men pretending she was perfection, a flawless diamond, when the truth was so very different.
How disappointed they would be if she accepted their proposals and discovered she was a very long way from perfect, certainly no diamond.
Though she had always wondered at the description, for diamonds were cold and hard and had edges that could cut. She sighed.
“He is rather dreadfully serious. And that waistcoat! Did you see it?”
“I did. He looked like he was on his way to a funeral,” Cilly observed sadly.
Hetty frowned, having spent far too much of her time considering Mr Bramwell. “I suspect it is his brother’s fault. He is so desperate to be the sober, respectable one that he’s become grim and overly conservative about everything.”
“The poor man,” Cilly said, for she had a tender heart for all those she considered hurt or in need of mending.
“Hmm,” Hetty replied, not entirely convinced that Mr Bramwell needed their pity.
A lesson in manners and a sense of humour, but not pity.
Yet, she had made him smile, she remembered with satisfaction.
Well, not precisely a smile, but his grey eyes had lit with appreciation when she had suggested he’d been praying for absolution.
The memory elicited an erratic flutter of pleasure in her belly, which Hetty ruthlessly squashed.
Thinking of Mr Bramwell would lead her to nothing but trouble, so she would stop it immediately.
He had apologised for his rude behaviour, and they were on amicable terms. She need not give him another thought.
So, she wouldn’t.
Probably.
The Mermaid Hotel, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 16th July 1816
Gideon glanced from Mr King to the man’s wife and shook his head.
“I beg you will forgive me if I am being slow, but I don’t quite understand.”
Mr King turned to his wife, an I told you so, expression on his face. Mrs King, unperturbed, handed Gideon the tea she had prepared him and smiled.
“The thing is, Mr Bramwell, that everything hinges on the hotel being fashionable.”
Gideon nodded his understanding. That much needed no explanation. “Yes, and that is why you wish to host a ball, to show the progress, so that people will begin booking for the following season, and far into the future.”
“Precisely so. The thing is, neither Mr King nor I have the social status to make that happen. It is all very well to build the finest hotel in England, but we must ensure the very best people patronise it.”
“But The Mermaid already attracts the upper classes, I believe it is fully booked for years to come.”
“Oh, it is,” Mrs King replied with obvious pride.
Gideon glanced at Mr King, who regarded him with sympathy. “I am afraid you do not yet comprehend the heights of my wife’s ambition, Mr Bramwell. If she doesn’t have royalty visiting in the first six months, she will not be satisfied.”
“I see.” Gideon swallowed as the weight of responsibility increased. “And to ensure that, you must have the approval of the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney?”
“There, you see, I knew you would understand.” Mrs King sent him a dazzling smile. She was an exquisite woman, her stunning red hair a glorious sight against the apple green gown she wore.
“Well, yes, but… no,” Gideon said, his smile rueful. “What has this to do with the Victorious Ladies?”
“The Venturesome Ladies,” she corrected, gently but firmly. “We are a charitable foundation, and the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney has kindly adopted us as her own.”
The wry way she said this led Gideon to suspect the lady had given no one much choice in the matter.
“She is still a formidable woman, and one to whom society looks. If she endorses the hotel and us, then we are bound to be successful.”
“Which, in plain English, means we need to keep her happy,” King said with his usual brand of blunt honesty. “She wishes to be appraised of progress, which means she expects us to present ourselves at regular intervals.”
“Us?” Gideon repeated, though the implication was hardly subtle.
“I’m afraid that includes you, Mr Bramwell.”
Gideon refrained from groaning aloud, but his expression must have illustrated his feelings plainly enough.
“Look on the bright side. If the old lady takes a liking to you, she could make your career,” Mr King suggested, smiling as he took several biscuits from the plate his wife held out to them.
Gideon snorted. “Or break it.”
Mrs King sent them both reproving looks as she set down the plate.
“The Dowager is a surprisingly open-minded and forward-thinking woman. She has taken a liking to you, Jasper,” she said, an edge to the words now that suggested he not forget it.
“And I see no reason she ought not to like you too, Mr Bramwell. She is not in the least stuffy, nor high in the instep. Indeed, I believe you will find her frank and…well, forthright manner of expressing things quite invigorating.”
This time Gideon did groan.