BRIGHTON BEAUTY

by Clay, Marilyn

  During the half-hour ride to Pemberton Keep, Chelsea nearly forgot her growing unease as once again she lost herself listening to Rutherford talk about his upcoming plans for the plantation.

  "Did I mention that I mean to petition Parliament on behalf of myself and the other planters in regard to more equitable taxation on the exporting of mahogany and sugar?" he remarked to Chelsea as they jostled across the new bridge. "I had hoped to have time to attend a session when I was up to London last week, but I regret that all my days were filled with other matters, arranging for supplies to be sent on ahead of us and obtaining the necessary legal papers for the release of my inheritance."

  Chelsea's heart swelled with pride at the thought of Rutherford actually addressing parliament. "You did not mention that to me," she said, her tone full of the interest she felt. "Perhaps you will still have a chance to deliver your speech before we leave England for good," she added, ignoring the prick of guilt she felt for again bringing up the subject of returning to Honduras with him.

  "I have every intention of doing precisely that, my dear."

  Chelsea thought a moment longer on his idea for lowering exportation taxes, then she said, "If the products that the planters export to England benefit everyone here, I should think Parliament would want to comply with the planters’ requests."

  A sly look crossed Lord Rathbone's face. "My thoughts exactly. You do, indeed, have a keen eye for business, Alayna. To say truth, I grow more amazed each day at how like-minded we are." He seemed to edge a bit closer to her on the bench. "I have no doubt that we shall get on very well together as man and wife."

  Chelsea's heart felt near to bursting. For her part, there was no denying she fell more and more in love with Lord Rathbone as each day passed. But, as usual, her glorious feeling of elation was short lived.

  "I wonder what became of the Pemberton's youngest son, William?" Rathbone asked suddenly. "Surely Lady Pemberton has mentioned him in her letters to you, Alayna?"

  Chelsea squirmed uncomfortably. "No, I . . . I do not recall that she has."

  "Hmmm. That quite takes me by surprise. Considering."

  Chelsea turned a look of bewilderment on her companion. "Considering?" Perhaps she would be wise to forget her pleasure for a bit and use this time instead to learn more about the woman whom she, or rather Alayna, had so favorably impressed as a child.

  Rathbone glanced her way again, this time his brows pulled together in a decided frown. "You still manage to astonish me at times, Alayna. You seem to easily recall some of the most inconsequential things, and then, out of a clear blue, be completely ignorant of others."

  Chelsea exhaled a huge sigh of dismay as once again the weight of deception bore down upon her. But suddenly on impulse she tilted her chin upward and turned a saucy gaze on Lord Rathbone. "That is because I have decided to put the past completely behind me," she said gaily, scooting even closer to him, "and concentrate on nothing but the future. Our future. Together." Wearing a sweet smile, she curled both gloved hands around his strong forearm and thrilled with delight when the sudden action caused his upper arm to unexpectedly graze her breast.

  Apparently the intimate contact caught his attention as well, for his gaze turned rakish. "May I say I applaud your decision wholeheartedly, my dear. And if you continue to behave in such a brazen fashion toward me while we are at the Keep, I doubt that Lady Pemberton will have a single word to say in regard to the tendre young William developed for you last Season in London."

  The smile that curved Chelsea's lips froze in place. If Lord and Lady Pemberton had been in London last year, they would surely know that she was not Alayna. Chelsea bit back the terror that gripped her. Still, she reasoned, Alayna had not cautioned her against seeing the Pembertons while in the country. And, furthermore, Chelsea was fairly certain that Alayna had been in Brighton during the Season last year. Chelsea had been there, too. And she had never once heard Alayna mention a tendre with a gentleman named William. She fought to hold her fear at bay, but as usual her efforts met with little to no success.

  At length the small curricle wheeled into a wide drive lined on either side with tall poplar trees, the column of deep green leaves making a rustling sound as the carriage breezed past. If Chelsea had not been so preoccupied with her churning stomach, she would have noticed that Pemberton Keep, situated atop a green grassy knoll dotted with clumps of scrub oak and ash trees, was indeed grand. The cotswold-grey stone building, Lord Rathbone said as they drove up, had been erected several centuries back, and in size was the only estate in the county to compare with Castle Rathbone.

  "Certainly you recall coming here as a child, Alayna," he added, as they stepped into the elegantly appointed entrance hall on the ground floor.

  Chelsea gazed about with cursory interest, but before she had a chance to reply, both Lord and Lady Pemberton appeared in the hall to greet them.

  Chelsea forced a smile to her face as a tall, white haired woman with brilliant blue eyes rushed toward her.

  "Alayna, my dear!" she exclaimed. "How lovely you look!" Chelsea could not halt the enormous sigh of relief that escaped her as the woman reached to embrace her. Beside the ladies, Lord Pemberton was enthusiastically pumping Rutherford's outstretched hand.

  "Will you just look at her, Arthur! William was right, Alayna has become a veritable beauty!"

  "Indeed she has," the angular Lord Pemberton said, a smile of welcome softening his once handsome features. "I daresay if William could see you now, Miss Marchmont, he would be sorry he settled on another bride."

  Chelsea seized the moment, realizing before she could stop herself that her voice sounded a bit shrill. "I say, how long has it been since William married?"

  "Nearly a year now," Lady Pemberton said proudly. "Do come in and sit down, my dears. I was so happy to receive word that you were coming." She ushered her guests into a spacious room situated off the main hall and toward a matching pair of Egyptian sofas before the hearth.

  "Why, these are lovely!" Chelsea enthused, feeling almost giddy now as she ran a hand over the figured silk arm. "You have such exquisite taste, Lady Pemberton."

  "Thank you, Alayna. As I recall, you used to admire so many of my things. I believe I wrote to you when I acquired these pieces on our last trip abroad." A blue-veined hand lovingly stroked the green silk cushion on the sofa as she took a seat beside Chelsea. Lord Rathbone settled into a straight-backed chair near her, while Pemberton reclined opposite the threesome in a large wing chair.

  "The sofas came directly from Rome," Lady Pemberton continued, "Arthur and I were visiting there while William attended the congress in Vienna."

  "Ah yes, that was only last year, was it not?" Chelsea said, mentally calculating the months the gentleman would have been on the Continent.

  "Indeed. Which is why you saw so little of William last Season," Lady Pemberton concluded.

  "Fortunately we were still in Rome when the war broke out again at Waterloo," Lord Pemberton put in.

  "I do hope William was not . . . " Lord Rathbone began, his brows pulled together with concern.

  "Perfectly safe!" Lady Pemberton enthused. "I declare William is the luckiest young man in the world. Escaped every conflict he was involved in without a scratch. Not a scratch!"

  "I expect he and his wife are very happy now," Chelsea said, clinging tenaciously to the one subject she had uncovered that gave her a venue to speak upon.

  "Oh, indeed they are. But you and Felicia were . . . no . . . no, perhaps I am thinking of that lovely Miss Martinson. Dear me, I fear my memory has a tendency to fade in and out these days. At any rate, William and Felicia are . . . well, you know . . . " she gave Chelsea a speaking look.

  Across from them, Lord Pemberton laughed aloud. "Our new daughter-in-law is increasing," he said matter-of-factly. "William couldn't wait to start his nursery, and from the look of things, I expect they could be having twins!"

  "Arthur!" Lady Pemberton exclaimed with outrage. "There is a young
lady present!"

  "Rubbish! These two will be at it themselves before long!"

  Feeling her cheeks begin to burn with fire, Chelsea demurely lowered her lashes. And a moment later was pleased beyond measure when Lord Rathbone reached to cover her hand with his large warm one.

  "Do forgive my husband," Lady Pemberton said, "he is as plain spoken as he ever was."

  Chelsea glanced up in time to see the warm look still on Lord Rathbone's face. Basking beneath the glow of it, she realized she felt as close to him in that moment as she had the day he returned from London and kissed her.

  A brief pause ensued, then Lord Rathbone and his host took up the conversation again, and a moment later the gentlemen both stood and Lord Pemberton showed Rutherford into the library.

  Left alone with Lady Pemberton, that woman suggested the ladies take a turn about the room.

  "I've a score of new treasures to show you," she said to Chelsea.

  Chelsea was surprised at how very soon she managed to relax completely as she listened to the older woman go on and on about each of her prized possessions. In great detail she told Chelsea where and how she had acquired most of them.

  Chelsea grew enthralled with a lovely collection of miniature marble statues and a unique silver inkstand that dated all the way back to Cromwell's day.

  As the tour of the large room drew to an end, Lady Pemberton said, "I have decided to give you and Rutherford something."

  "Oh, no," Chelsea demurred. "That is not necessary."

  "Nonsense. If you had married William, much of it would have fallen to you anyhow. You must choose something you like. Perhaps the Sèvers vase, or the crystal goblets. They're from Austria, you know. Oh!" Suddenly, the woman's eyes lit up. "I know the very thing! You admired it greatly as a child. Come."

  She led the way up a winding staircase to a landing that overlooked the foyer and picture gallery below. Heading down a wide corridor, her blue eyes began to twinkle. "I expect you know exactly where I am going, do you not, Alayna?"

  "Ummm, I . . . think so."

  "Well, you are absolutely right! And, I insist that you indulge me on this."

  Chelsea fixed what she hoped was a knowing look to her face as she walked alongside Lady Pemberton. Presently they entered a lovely sitting room, done entirely in blue and white. The furniture gracing this room was unlike any Chelsea had ever seen before. Every piece was of rich dark wood and ornately carved. All of the high-backed chairs and bench seats were covered with a beautiful shade of delft blue velvet. Even the tiles surrounding the fireplace were blue and white, each one intricately painted with detailed pastoral scenes.

  "My Flemish collection," Lady Pemberton said proudly. She quickly crossed the room. "I want you to have this pretty worktable you always admired, Alayna."

  "Oh-h." Chelsea's eyes widened as she took in the lovely piece. She had often wished for just such a sewing table. The deep well and pouch would be perfect for all her sewing implements, with plenty of room for additional thread and ribbons. "Oh, but I couldn't . . . "

  "Nonsense! I shall have it refurbished with a new silk pouch in whatever colour you choose." She turned an indulgent smile on Chelsea. "It will bring you hours of pleasure as you sit at your needlework in ... oh, dear, I fear I have quite forgot where it is Rutherford is taking you."

  "Honduras," Chelsea murmured quietly, still looking with longing at the delicate table.

  Lady Pemberton's smile widened. "And you have decided to accompany him, after all. I am very proud of you, Alayna. I must say, I was not happy when you wrote to me that you did not mean to travel abroad with your husband. What changed your mind, if I may be so bold?"

  Again, Chelsea felt a rush of guilt grip her middle. But before she could formulate a reply, Lady Pemberton spoke up.

  "Why, I can see the reason in your eyes, Alayna. You have fallen in love with Rutherford!" She clapped her hands together with glee. "That explains the heartfelt looks he bestowed upon you downstairs." She moved to embrace Chelsea again. "I am so happy for you. I admit I had wanted nothing more than for you and my William . . . but, that no longer signifies, does it? The important thing is that you and Rutherford are to be very happy. I am sure Millicent is beside herself with joy."

  Suddenly Chelsea felt sick to her stomach. Lady Pemberton was a dear person, and it was quite clear that she sincerely cared for Alayna, or at any rate, had cared for her at one time. And the fact that Alayna had actually written to the woman must mean that Alayna felt warmly toward her. Fighting the remorse that engulfed her, Chelsea wished only to hide her face in shame.

  "I . . . suddenly, I-I am not feeling at all well. Lady Pemberton. Perhaps we might . . .?"

  "Oh, dear. You do look quite pale, Alayna. Come, we shall send for Rutherford at once. You mustn't get sick only days away from your wedding! And the ball! Oh, my!"

  * * * *

  On the return trip to Castle Rathbone, Chelsea remained unusually silent. Try as she might, she could not put down the feeling that she shouldn't have accompanied Rutherford to Pemberton Keep. The more innocent people she drew into this circle of deception, the worse she felt. If only Alayna had told her exactly when she would be returning to the castle. With the ball only two days away, and the fair and the wedding to follow, Chelsea should be making plans to leave the castle, not courting disaster by traipsing about the countryside on Lord Rathbone's arm.

  Chelsea's feeling of dread increased the minute she and Rutherford stepped into the drawing room at the castle.

  Except for Jared, who was busy near the hearth with the tea things, the room was empty.

  "Do you feel well enough to take tea, Alayna?" Lord Rathbone asked, his voice full of concern as he dropped his hat and gloves onto a chair, then strode toward the tea table where Jared stood.

  "Miss Marchmont and I shall require tea this afternoon, after all," he told Jared. "That is, if Miss Marchmont feels up to it."

  The butler glanced up from his work. "Very good, sir. Her ladyship has already taken her tea. I expect you and Miss Marchmont will require a fresh pot."

  Lord Rathbone directed another questioning gaze at Chelsea, who was hovering just inside the door. She answered with a nervous shake of her head.

  "A fresh pot will not be necessary, Jared. And on second thought, I should like only a bit of brandy, if you please," Lord Rathbone said crisply.

  "Very good, sir." The butler moved to the sideboard, on the way directing a glance at Chelsea. "Something arrived for you today, Miss Marchmont."

  Chelsea took a few small steps into the room. "For me?"

  Jared picked up a silver salver from the sideboard and carried it forward.

  On it lay a single letter. Chelsea winced when she recognized Alayna's elaborate script on the front side.

  "What is it?" Lord Rathbone asked curiously.

  Chelsea could barely speak. "It appears to be a . . . letter from a friend. If you will excuse me, Rutherford."

  Watching her, Lord Rathbone's brows pulled together. "Are you quite certain you are feeling all right, Alayna? Perhaps I should send for the doctor."

  "No, no. I should simply like to rest a bit."

  Lord Rathbone continued to gaze at Chelsea with concern as she exited the room and hastened to her own chamber.

  Flinging her bonnet onto the bed, she tore into the letter. It did not escape her that Alayna had deviously written Chelsea's name on the backside, which to prying eyes would indicate that the letter had been written by a 'Miss Chelsea Grant.'

  Chelsea's eyes anxiously scanned the note inside, which was short, almost terse. It merely confirmed that Alayna would, indeed, be returning to the castle as planned, in plenty of time for the wedding ceremony. Fortunately, the actual day designated for the event had not been altered. The ceremony was to be held in the castle chapel at noon, on Saturday. Only three days away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Seen Skulking from Her Ladyship’s Chamber”

  Chelsea elected to re
main in her bedchamber the remainder of the day. Dulcie brought up a tray for their dinner that evening, and as they ate she expressed her concern for Chelsea's distress.

  "Shouldn't be overlong before Miss Marchmont returns to the castle now, miss."

  "I hope so," Chelsea murmured.

  "Wot do you think . . . he'll do, miss?" Dulcie asked, a bit fearfully.

  Chelsea smiled sadly. "I haven't a clue, Dulcie. I try not to think about it."

  "Wot did Miss Marchmont say, I mean, in her letter?"

  Chelsea glanced up from the crust of bread she was nibbling on. "You know about the letter?"

  Dulcie nodded. "Don't nothin' escape the household staff, miss. Her ladyship got a letter and a package today."

  "Hmm."

  They continued to eat the small meal in silence. At length, Chelsea pushed away from the table.

  "You done, miss?"

  Chelsea nodded. "You may have my pudding and the biscuit, if you like."

  Dulcie's eyes lit up. "Thank you, miss."

  After Dulcie had quitted the room, carrying the supper tray with her, Chelsea walked absently to the narrow slit of window in her suite and peered out. It was already dark outdoors. Save for the few stars twinkling in the night sky, nothing was visible. She wondered what Lord and Lady Rathbone were doing?

  Over the weeks she had come to greatly enjoy their evenings spent together in the sitting room. Sharing the cozy setting with them at the end of a long day made Chelsea feel like she was part of a real family. She missed having a family of her own. Evenings spent all alone at her room in London were often quite dreary, as were holidays and other special times of the year when families enjoyed being together. An infinite pang of sadness gripped her. How very much she would miss Lord and Lady Rathbone, once Alayna returned and she was back in London.

  Unable to shake the acute sense of loss that had settled about her, she moved as if compelled toward the door of her chamber. Perhaps if she hurried, she might find her host and hostess lingering still in the sitting room.