by Jane Goodger
Oh goodness, surely she was cursed to perdition for acting this way.
She was keenly aware of his hard muscled arm beneath her hand, of the long, hard length of him as he stood beside her while they gazed at the beautiful dahlia anemones with their delicate pink-orange tentacles that did, indeed, resemble the dahlias they had in their garden back home. It was thrilling to be on the arm of such a man, but strangely comfortable, as if she’d known him for years rather than just two days.
After their tour ended, they had tea in the dining hall, chatting all the while, drawing glances from those around them. They spoke of their sisters, she about Lucy and he about Juliana, his determinedly unmarried sister who lived in Northumberland, shockingly alone in a pretty little house with a view of the North Sea. The two of them were a beautiful pair, and no doubt strangers looking at them would assume they were a young couple, just married, and very much in love. After tea, they went aboveground to find the air had turned a bit moister and a thin fog had settled on Brighton.
Gray looked up at the sky and frowned. “If it’s raining, you don’t have to come tonight,” he said.
“I’m not a lump of sugar, you know,” she said. “I won’t melt.”
“I’m glad you said that, because if you hadn’t, I fear I might have barged into your hotel tonight and stolen you away.” She laughed, delighted with the image. “My God, you’re so beautiful when you smile,” he said, suddenly serious.
“Then I shall have to smile all the time,” she said with a jaunty tilt of her head. They walked around the outside of the aquarium until they reached a small souvenir stand.
“Shall we make a purchase?” he asked, eyeing the cheap knickknacks and jewelry with paste stones.
“Her,” Katherine said, pointing to a mermaid that appeared to be holding a rather large emerald. “Emeralds are my favorite stone.”
Gray made the purchase, eying the mermaid skeptically. “You know, I have a suspicion this emerald may not be real.”
“Truly? How much did you pay?”
“Threepence,” he said, trying not to smile.
“Well, then, it is most assuredly real, is it not, sir?” she asked, directing her question to the man selling the items at the stand. He was clearly amused by their banter.
“Sure, and I’m the king of England, didn’t ya know?” Katherine gave the man her best curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, your highness.”
Laughing, Gray drew her away, the necklace still in his hands. “Here, let me put it on you. I’m afraid the chain may turn your neck green.”
“I don’t care,” Katherine said dramatically. “I shall never take it off.”
“Then you will most certainly have a green neck.” He smiled down at her as he reached around her neck and fastened the clasp. “Is anyone looking?”
“Why?” she managed to ask. Something strange happened whenever he looked at her the way he was looking just now.
“Because if I don’t kiss you, I fear I shall perish.”
Katherine looked round, seeing that the souvenir seller was staring at them with interest. “I’m sorry to say you are going to perish, sir.”
“Don’t stop on account of me,” the man called over.
Katherine pressed her lips together, trying desperately not to laugh aloud. “And there are others. Those two women behind you are looking rather sternly at us.”
“Very well,” Gray said, stepping back with obvious reluctance. “I’ll save my kisses for tonight.”
Katherine surreptitiously looked at the large, ornate clock that chimed annoyingly on the quarter hour, as she tried to appear remotely interested in what Sir Rutherford Haverhash was saying. Her mother, who sat across from her and at an angle, kept jerking her head toward the man, as if directing her to pay better attention to his monologue on the importance of British sheep to the world economy. He was young, had tragically crooked teeth, and the sort of eyebrows that would one day need a good combing. Her mother could not be seriously considering this man as a possible son-in-law.
She forced herself to look at him and smile, and did acknowledge that he had the most striking pair of gray eyes she’d seen since . . . Gray’s striking gray eyes. It was half past ten and they were only on the third of seven courses. She touched the mermaid necklace that she’d tucked beneath her dress. No one at this table would ever mistake it for a fine piece, but she liked that it was there, a solid reminder of Gray. How would she ever be done in time to meet Gray? She could plead a headache. Certainly her mother would empathize with that complaint. Miraculously, her mother’s headache seemed to have dissolved, and she was having a markedly wonderful time sitting next to a gentleman who wore some sort of uniform. He was very dashing, with thick muttonchops and a mustache as grand as his rank of general. Her mother actually seemed to be flirting with the man, which Katherine found embarrassing and rather puzzling. She supposed a bit of harmless flirtation wasn’t forbidden, even for mothers. Still, she wished her mother wouldn’t laugh quite so loudly; she was drawing censorious looks from their British hosts.
A beet salad was placed in front of her and she took a delicate bite. Next to her, Sir Rutherford made short work of the salad, chewing noisily and making Katherine slightly ill. The clock chimed. She would have to leave in an hour if she were to have enough time to change out of her gown and into something simpler. At the thought of seeing Gray again, her heart picked up a beat. Silly heart.
“Woolgathering, are you?” Sir Rutherford boomed.
“All the talk of sheep,” Katherine said dryly.
“Oh. I do apologize,” he said, clearly not getting her joke.
“I was joking. Woolgathering. Talk of sheep.”
He looked at her blankly for a time, then burst out laughing. “Oh yes. Sheep. Woolgathering. Oh, I do say that is quite funny. All that sheep talk.” He calmed down after a time, and looked rather worried. “I wasn’t boring you, was I? I do have a passion for sheep farming. We’ve been quite successful, you know. Five thousand pounds just last year, which, I don’t mind saying, is an impressive income.”
“Yes, it is,” Katherine agreed.
“I’ve a nice estate. Nothing as grand as some. Not as grand as what you’re used to, I’m sure.”
Katherine felt panic growing that he was actually hinting he might want to court her. “I’m allergic to wool,” she blurted. “It makes me sneeze horribly. And break out into hives. Can you imagine?”
“No, actually, I cannot,” he said slowly, and rather coldly. Katherine realized, to her shame, that while Sir Rutherford might be a foolish man when it came to her and sheep, he was not a stupid one. He was angry with her and she couldn’t blame him, but she didn’t know how she could make amends without making him even angrier. Instead, she turned slightly to her left and pretended to be listening to a conversation her mother was having with another woman.
The clock chimed again, the salad was removed, and Katherine began her plan to have a bad headache come on very quickly.
It was drizzly outside and she was late. Thank goodness Clara had decided her adventure was more important than propriety. She would have to give Clara a spectacular Christmas present this year. If not for her maid’s help, she could never have gotten her gown off so quickly and Clara’s plain brown one on. Even Clara had winced at its plainness.
“I save that gown for when I’m helping the other maids clean right before one of your mother’s big balls. I’d never wear that dress in public,” she’d said, wrinkling her nose.
“I know, and I’m sorry I’m such a poor representative of your profession,” Katherine said with a cheeky grin as she yanked her hair out of the complicated style that Clara had worked so hard on.
“Here,” Clara said, grabbing a silk pink sash and securing it about her waist. She eyed Katherine critically. “There’s no helping it, but it will have to do.”
Katherine quickly put her hair into a simple bun, gave herself a cursory look in the mirror, and rushed to the door. �
�Goodness, it’s already past midnight.”
“He’ll wait. The cad.”
“He’s not a cad,” Katherine said. “He’s smitten.” With that, she closed the door, laughing at Clara’s expression of amused disgust.
Now here she was, rushing down Brighton Beach, getting drizzled upon and praying she wasn’t too late. Praying he was smitten, even though it was all meaningless. All for nothing. I’ll save my kisses for tonight. She pushed that thought away as she squinted her eyes to see if she could spy him standing by the pier. There he was, pacing, head down, no doubt thinking he was a fool for waiting for a girl in the rain. He stopped when he saw her, straightening, and took the four broad steps toward her, closing the distance between them before stopping up short.
“Good evening,” he said.
“Good evening,” Katherine said. “Or rather, not. Unless one likes rain.” From the look of him, he’d been out in the drizzle for quite some time. His coat was shiny from the rain and his hat dripped.
“I thought perhaps the rain would keep you away.” He smiled down at her, seeming as happy to see her as she was to see him. “I’m glad it did not.”
“This is not rain. This is mist. Heavy mist. And I rather like it. Not sugar, remember?”
“If you like this weather, you would fare well in London, where this is quite the daily event.”
They stood three feet apart, not close enough to touch, but Katherine felt the terrible urge to lessen that gap, to embrace him. To touch his rain-dampened face as if she were truly his girl, as if they could have a future. As if he was simply a man courting a woman. But they were not, and a sharp needle of guilt stabbed into her heart. This was so wrong of her. This man had stood in the rain, likely for several long minutes, waiting for her, a woman he thought was a lady’s maid. Waiting for a girl he perhaps thought might possibly be convinced to stay in England. A girl who liked the rain, and who liked him enough to sneak out at midnight to see him.
“I’ve a surprise,” he said, taking another step toward her, then stopping as if encountering a low fence.
Katherine pushed the guilt away. “Oh? I adore surprises.”
“We’re going dancing. Come on.”
With that, he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the main thoroughfare, his grip firm and warm. She had to run to keep up with his long strides, and she started laughing, becoming breathless. “Is the dancing almost over?” she said between laughs.
“No,” he said, stopping so abruptly she stumbled a bit. “But if we’re dancing, I’ll be able to hold you in my arms.”
She was a drug. She was a fine brandy that burned his gut but drove away his demons. He remembered his friend, John Atwell, how he had been so obviously in love with Melissa before he’d admitted to that fact. And now, here he was all these lonely years later, finally, finally feeling a hint of what had driven John quite mad with longing. He could not have Katy. And yet, by God, he did want her. After two days.
He couldn’t explain it any more than he could explain the universe. It simply was. He had only two more nights with her, and then she’d be gone. He would go back to his life, such as it was. He would marry Miss Von Haupt because she was rich and pretty and would give him rich, pretty children. He had to save Avonleigh, had to help his people. He would not be one of those peers who let their land rot and their people starve in run-down hovels while he went to balls and horse races. People depended upon him for their lives, and he would not put himself before their needs.
But tonight, this moment? He would live, he would dance with a lovely girl, and he might even allow himself to fall in love just a little, just to prove that he had that emotion in him—even if it was only a tiny bit and even if it was only for a brief time.
She’d arrived without a hat, her hair glistening from the rain, as if she wore a gossamer thin veil of diamonds. The small strands that framed her face curled becomingly, making her look even prettier. No one had ever looked up at him so guilelessly, so obviously happy to see him. It was heady. It was like taking that long drink of brandy.
As they got closer to the Brighton Arms, the music spilled out like the people, loud and raucous and not at all the kind of place a marquess would bring a lady—which was precisely why he pulled her inside. Pulled, because Katy did hesitate.
“It’s so loud,” she said, moving closer to his ear, pressing nearly the entire length of her body against his. Yes, he decided, this was the place they should be. It was loud and crowded with what Brighton could claim was a “better sort” of middle class—and not at all the sort of place Graham would normally be found. Brighton was not only famous for its bathing; it was also famous for its pubs and gin houses. Every street had several, and they were all filled to brimming nearly every night of the week. It was astounding, really. People here on holiday would go to a pub every night of the week and never dream of stepping through the threshold of a similar place back home.
A sea of people, men and women, sat and stood and laughed, while others danced raucously near the back. Though it was decorated as if for the aristocracy with its ornate carvings and gold-leaf paint, there wasn’t a stiff upper lip in this crowd. There were no lords or ladies, just people having a grand time. Graham wasn’t the sort who frequented even his own clubs in London, never mind a middle-class pub. He found himself smiling broadly as he realized no one was giving them a second look. Mr. Chase might not approve of his sneaking out at night to see Katy, but he’d been surprisingly accommodating when he requested his valet buy him clothing that would not stand out amongst the pub-goers.
He looked down at Katy, taking in her lively expression, one tinged with excitement and perhaps a bit of fear. Certainly she was not used to frequenting such a gin joint. It was smoky and loud, and the air was filled with the sour smell of spilt liquor and human bodies, and yet when he looked down at her, she smiled up at him as if he’d just brought her to Almacks in its heyday.
The music—a reel—was stridently played by a pianist, who banged out notes rapidly and expertly, and a fiddler, a toothless old man whose bow flew joyfully over his worn instrument. On the stage, a small raised section of the pub, four couples danced, swinging each other recklessly, yet somehow managing to avoid smashing into the other couples.
“Will you do me the honor of this dance?” he said, giving her his most proper bow. She laughed aloud, then curtsied like a true lady, giving her his hand. Then he pulled her rather roughly onto the stage and began whirling her around. Graham had always prided himself on his dancing skill, but it had been years since he’d danced with such abandon. And it was immediately obvious to him that Katy never had. It took her at least three turns around the stage before she gave up and just let him spin and turn until they were both dizzy and out of breath.
Katherine had never had such fun. She didn’t worry about what someone would think, that prying eyes were staring at her, that people were whispering frantically in one another’s ears. No one here knew her or cared to know her. It didn’t matter that her hair had come mostly undone from her loose bun or that her cheeks were flushed and dewy. She hardly cared that she liked the taste of the dark ale Gray bought for her, and she cared even less that the mug was water-stained and chipped near the handle. This is what is it like, she thought, to be ordinary. To not worry that your back isn’t straight or that your dress isn’t the latest style. Freedom. That’s what she was tasting—and it was far headier than the ale she drank.
But most heady of all was the way this man was looking at her—as if she were the most beautiful girl in the world. As if everything she said was delightful and interesting—with no pretense. Was this what women did all the time? Did they go for walks along the beach and dance in pubs and drink ale?
“Thank you,” she said close to his ear. “This is the most fun I’ve had in some time.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ve led a rather sedate life, Katy.”
“Oh, I have. Perfectly dreary. I’ve never been in a pub before. At least
not as lively as this one.”
Something passed over his face, and Katy was afraid it was regret, but it was gone before she could figure out what it was.
“Do you see the fiddler?” he asked.
Katherine leaned to watch the old man play. He was shorter than she, with a head as bald as a potato and a beard that made up for that empty pate. “He’s very good,” she said. And just then, he played a run that even the most accomplished virtuoso would have been impressed with—or threatened by. The room grew silent, as if they knew what was coming, and goose bumps formed on Katherine’s arms as he began.
Within a few moments, Katherine’s eyes filled with unshed tears as the music flowed over her and the rest of the silent crowd. “Brahms,” she said softly, staring at this crooked little man, his eyes screwed shut as he played. Katherine looked up at Gray to find him studying her with a strange intensity, and warmth spread through her that had little to do with the incredible violinist in their midst. When he’d finished, those who were sitting jumped to their feet, clapping, shouting, and stomping their feet. The man smiled and took a bow, and then played a jig that soon filled the dance floor.
“Let’s go,” Gray said, taking her hand.
When they got outside, she breathed in deeply. The fresh sea air was wonderful after the myriad smells of the pub. The mist was gone, and the moon was actually shining through a break in the heavily clouded sky. “Did you know he could play?”
“Not as well as he did. But he had a technique that most fiddlers don’t have. I knew he was classically trained.”