Daniel laughed. “You’re obviously feeling better.”
“Just the thought of Baltimore is enough to make anything that ails me vanish.”
Daniel raised a brow. “I thought you were enjoying London?”
“I was, I am, but now I’m ready to return home. More than ready.”
“I’ve never seen you quite so…” Daniel stared at his friend. “There’s a woman, isn’t there?”
“There’s always a woman.” Warren grinned. “Somewhere.”
“There’s a woman in Baltimore, isn’t there? One particular woman? That’s why you’re so eager to go home.”
“There are any number of women in Baltimore, but no, there isn’t one particular one. If there is a lady I miss, it’s the city herself. It will just be good to be home.”
Perhaps it would have been better if Daniel had told Warren of their destination before he’d said they were leaving. He studied his friend for a moment. “Tell me, what is it that you miss most?”
“The smell of the sea,” Warren said without hesitation. “I admit, it’s an odd thing to miss, but there you have it.”
“Well then, you’re in luck.” Daniel grinned. “We’re going to Brighton.”
“Brighton?” Warren stared in confusion. “Not Baltimore?”
“Brighton,” Daniel said firmly. “You’ll like it.”
“Why Brighton?”
“Because,” Daniel lowered his voice in a confidential manner, “I’m fairly certain it smells of the sea.”
“It’s not the same.” Indignation sounded in Warren’s voice.
“Nonsense.” Daniel moved to his desk and leaned back against the edge. “Close your eyes and you’d think you were home. It will smell exactly the same, it’s the very same ocean after all. Why, if you were to set out swimming from Brighton you’d eventually arrive in Baltimore.”
“No you wouldn’t.” Warren crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless I’m thinking of the wrong town, Brighton, England, is on the Channel. You’d end up in France.”
“You’d have to make a few turns.”
Warren narrowed his eyes. “Why are we going to Brighton?”
“It’s a famous resort and I hear it’s great fun. It would be a shame not to see it before we leave this part of the world.”
Warren shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, it would be a shame.”
“You’ve never been one for seeing sights.” Suspicion washed across Warren’s face. “Why do you want to go to Brighton?”
“I think the sea air will do you a world of good. You still aren’t quite yourself, you know.”
“Daniel.” Warren gritted his teeth. “Why do—”
“Because.” Daniel couldn’t suppress a satisfied grin. “That’s where Miss Palmer will be.”
“Miss Palmer?” Warren raised a surprised brow. “The Miss Palmer you’ve been meeting to learn more about the woman you might well marry? Lady Cordelia’s companion? That Miss Palmer?”
“The very one.” Daniel chuckled. “She thinks I’m a pirate.”
“You are a pirate,” Warren snapped. “What about Lady Cordelia?”
“I doubt that she thinks I’m a pirate.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Daniel shrugged. “Oh, she’s going to Brighton as well.”
“Again, you’ve evaded the question.” Warren studied his friend for a long moment. “Let me see if I understand this. You want to go to Brighton because Miss Palmer, the Miss Palmer who thinks you’re me—”
“Who thinks I’m a pirate.”
“—together with Lady Cordelia—”
“The entire family really. They go to Brighton every year.”
“So Lady Cordelia’s family, including Miss Palmer, will be in Brighton and the attraction of Brighton—”
“Aside from the sea air?”
Warren ignored him. “Is Miss Palmer.”
“I understand there are many attractions in Brighton,” Daniel said lightly.
Warren’s eyes widened. “You are pursuing Miss Palmer!”
“Pursue is such a specific word.” Daniel shook his head in a chastising manner. “And not entirely accurate.”
“Then what is accurate?”
“I am…curious about the woman, that’s all. I find her extremely interesting and I would like to further our acquaintance.”
“To what end?”
“To what end?” Daniel drew his brows together. “I don’t really know yet.”
“I suggest you determine that.” Warren rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “Whether you wish to call it pursuit, and most people, myself included, would indeed consider following a woman from London to Brighton to ‘further your acquaintance’ pursuit, you have to decide why. This isn’t just any woman, Daniel, this is Lady’s Cordelia’s companion as well as cousin—”
“Distant.” Daniel waved off the comment. “Very distant and by marriage. There’s no actual blood tie.”
“Nonetheless, I would suspect they’re as close as sisters. How do you think Lady Cordelia will react to discovering the man her parents wish her to marry—”
“Oh, Lady Cordelia isn’t going to marry me.”
“She isn’t?”
“She won’t marry me if she doesn’t like me.”
“Why wouldn’t she like you?” Warren said slowly. “She’s never met you.”
“That’s the beauty of it.” Daniel slid off the desk and paced the room. “It came to me when I was on my way back from the booksellers.”
Warren groaned. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What came to you?”
“How to avoid this marriage. I can’t simply withdraw from an agreement made by my father, regardless of the fact that I had no say in it. It wouldn’t be honorable.” He paused and met Warren’s gaze. “Even though a very good argument could be made that it’s my father’s word that’s at stake rather than mine, I do have a sense of family honor. A man’s word is his bond in one’s personal life as much as in business. You and I count on that as do others. My own word would be worthless if I didn’t uphold my father’s promises.”
“So how do you intend to avoid marrying Lady Cordelia?”
“It’s really all in her hands. Miss Palmer has assured me she won’t marry someone she doesn’t like.”
Warren stared in disbelief. “You plan to pursue Miss Palmer in an effort to make Lady Cordelia dislike you?”
“No, of course not,” Daniel said quickly. “That would be wrong.”
“You’d be lucky if Lady Cordelia, or more likely her father, doesn’t shoot you.”
“I said it would be wrong. Effective,” Daniel added under his breath, “but definitely wrong. Besides, I have no intention of letting Miss Palmer know who I really am. She thinks I’m you.”
“Excellent,” Warren snapped. “Then they’ll shoot me.”
“No one is going to shoot anyone.” Daniel scoffed. “I’m confident of that.”
“Imagine my relief.”
“Warren, you worry entirely too much. This is going to work extremely well.” Daniel walked around his desk, sat down, and picked up Lady Cordelia’s letter. He waved it at the other man. “Thanks to this.”
“The letter from Lady Cordelia? Dare I hope that you read this letter thoroughly?” Warren said dryly.
“Twice.” Daniel grinned. “And I’ve already responded, which is rather a shame really.”
“You’re going to use this correspondence to convince Lady Cordelia you are not the type of man she wants to marry?”
“I do intend to be subtle,” Daniel said quickly.
“Of course.”
“And I will avoid outright lies,” Daniel added.
“As well you should.” Warren nodded and considered his friend silently.
Daniel held his breath. No doubt Warren would disapprove of the idea. But damn it all, Warren wasn’t about to be shepherded into a marriage with a gentlemen-find-her-lovely-tweed-wear
ing Amazon. “Well?”
“I have to hand it to you, Daniel.” Warren smiled slowly. “It’s very nearly brilliant.”
“It is brilliant.” Daniel leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Especially as I intend as well to convince Miss Palmer, in my guise as you, that Mr. Sinclair will not suit Lady Cordelia at all.”
“I see. So it’s not the actual pursuit of Miss Palmer you’ll be using to deter Lady Cordelia from marriage.”
“No, I said that would be wrong.”
“But you do plan to persuade Miss Palmer that you are not right for Lady Cordelia. And that’s why you’re following her to Brighton.”
“Exactly.”
“It seems to me you’re walking a very fine line.”
“One that needs to be walked. I have no desire to marry at the moment.” Determination hardened Daniel’s voice. “And when I do, I much prefer to choose my own bride.”
“Someone like, oh, I don’t know.” Warren paused. “Miss Palmer?”
“Someone exactly like Miss Palmer. She’s clever and loyal. Too proud to accept charity but not too proud to earn her own living. And she’s lovely as well.” He drummed his fingers on top of Lady’s Cordelia’s letter. “All in all, she would be the perfect wife for a man in my position.”
“But you’re currently not interested in marriage?”
“Absolutely not.”
“And you are not pursing Miss Palmer beyond furthering an acquaintance? A friendship as it were.”
“Nothing more.”
“How do you think Miss Palmer will react when she finds out you’ve been deceiving her?”
Daniel shook his head. “She’s not going to find out. With any luck this matter will be resolved before I am forced to have a meeting with Lady Cordelia. And if I don’t have to meet Lady Cordelia, I don’t have to tell Miss Palmer.”
“She’ll probably hate you for deceiving her if she finds out.”
“Yet another reason to make sure she doesn’t.”
Warren stared at him for a long moment then shrugged, returned to his desk, and took his seat.
Daniel narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing of significance,” Warren said in an offhand way and paged through a notebook on his desk, his gaze firmly on the pages in front of him.
“What?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Damn it all, Warren, tell me what has put that superior look on your face.”
“Very well,” Warren said mildly, his attention still on the notebook. “There’s an enormous flaw in your brilliant plan.”
“I don’t see a flaw,” Daniel said staunchly.
“No, I suspect you don’t.” Warren chuckled. “There’s often only a matter of degree between brilliance and stupidity you know.”
“What is this alleged flaw?”
“Oh no, I want nothing to do with this. This is your plan from start to finish. I will tell you one thing, though.” Warren looked up and met Daniel’s gaze. A wide grin stretched across his face. “I can’t wait to get to Brighton.”
Bracing, that’s what it was. Cordelia stood on the half balcony off the small parlor she shared with Sarah in the grand house her family had leased every summer for as long as she could remember and drew in a deep breath. There was nothing like the smell of sea air and the sound of the waves. The Brighton house sat, along with other tightly packed houses, on King’s Road and had an unobstructed view of the water. If, of course, one could discount the hordes of visitors sitting on benches on the beach or strolling along the promenade. Brought, for the most part, by the railway.
When Cordelia was a child, the trip to Brighton took nearly five hours by coach. Now trains had cut the travel time from London to a mere two hours, making a visit of a single day not merely possible but effortless. But even before that, Cordelia could not remember a time when Brighton had not seemed like an endless celebration, a continuous festival filled with high spirits and fun. No doubt it had much to do with the bracing aspect of the air itself.
The fact that June was not part of the official social season in Brighton made no difference to the crowds that swelled the walkways. When Cordelia’s parents were first wed, the season for anyone who was anyone comprised the summer months. But that was in the day of the Prince Regent who had transformed an ordinary villa into the Royal Pavilion, modeled after fanciful Indian palaces—when grand feasts and parties hosted by the prince were the order of the day. Her mother often reminisced about those affairs; long past now that Victoria was queen and had abandoned the crowds of Brighton and the Pavilion itself for more peaceful retreats. It was the royal prerogative of course, but Cordelia never could understand why anyone wouldn’t love Brighton and the Pavilion. She’d always thought the Pavilion was a magical sort of place and her mother’s stories only reinforced that impression.
Even though the official social season had shifted to autumn and winter, thanks to Brighton’s mild year-round climate, Mother was something of a traditionalist. Summer was when she and her family had always come to Brighton and, she had declared on any number of occasions when Cordelia’s sisters had protested, always would. Although she was dismayed by the large number of common folk who now descended on Brighton, Father thought it was good for the town’s merchants and good for those tourists as well to escape the confines of London for a day. Besides, he said, it made the atmosphere in the seaside resort more of an ongoing celebration, which he found most appealing. If one was going to spend a holiday anywhere, Father staunchly declared he would much rather spend it somewhere where the atmosphere was gay and light and full of fun.
It was one of the few areas in which he and Mother were not in complete agreement. Even though Mother was active in any number of charitable pursuits, Cordelia had always considered her father somewhat more egalitarian in his views regarding the social classes. When one considered it, it was extremely unusual given that Father was the product of a centuries-old British noble family and one would have thought he would have been something more of a snob than Mother whose family, while titled, was not quite as distinguished as Father’s. Perhaps it was because he had always been involved in some manner in the pursuit of business that he had a more democratic view of the world around him. Perhaps as well, it was that very aspect of his nature that meant he was not averse to marrying his youngest daughter off to an American. As long as said American was acceptable in terms of both wealth and character.
Cordelia stared at the sea, her thoughts far from the sparkling blue waters. She had received her first letter from Mr. Sinclair—although she could probably think of him as Daniel now, given the circumstances—on the day they left London two days ago, and it was both informative and pleasant enough. Polite more than anything really. But then, given Mr. Lewis’s assessment of his employer and friend, she had expected as much. She wasn’t at all sure what she would write in her next note that would be at once personal and noncommittal. She thought perhaps she would write to him in the same style in which she wrote her articles about travel, keeping in mind she was not writing for ladies. Perhaps she’d tell him of Brighton’s charms and the healthy appeal of the sea air.
“Yes, that will do,” she murmured.
“Did you say something?” Sarah asked from across the room.
“Not really.” She glanced over her shoulder at Sarah, who sat at the ladies’ desk with pen in hand and a thoughtful expression on her face. “Are you writing to your mystery suitor again?”
“He’s not…” Sarah cast her a pleasant smile. “Yes, I am.”
“You’re not going to deny it then?”
“Why? I am indeed writing a letter.”
“No, I meant deny that he is your mystery suitor.”
“It would do me no good. I have denied it over and over and you have completely ignored me. Therefore,” Sarah’s gaze returned to the letter before her, “I see no need to continue to do so.”
“It would be a moot point if you simply reveale
d his identity to me.”
“That is my business and I intend for it to remain so. Besides, it does you good not to know everything about everything. It strengthens your character.”
“Most people would say my character is strong enough,” Cordelia said under her breath. “Honestly, Sarah, sometimes you do take all the fun out of things.”
“It’s my job,” Sarah said without looking up. “We have acknowledged that in most ways I am a dreadful companion but in this, at least, I do what I can.”
Cordelia laughed. “Well then, be a good companion and accompany me on a walk. The sky is a brilliant blue, the air is fresh, and I hear the strains of music coming from the pier. It’s far too nice a day to stay inside.”
“Perhaps later,” Sarah said absently.
“Couldn’t you finish that later?” On any other day, regardless of how appealing the out-of-doors, Cordelia would happily occupy her time working on her book or writing her articles or planning her next trip. But today she was far too restless to sit still and too on edge to stay confined indoors. “I can’t go by myself, you know.”
“I do know but I’m astonished that you know it.”
“I know it, I simply ignore it on occasion.” In the years since Sarah had become Cordelia’s official companion, there had been any number of times Cordelia had completely disregarded the requirement that properly bred young ladies be chaperoned in public at all times. Certainly when they were traveling in foreign lands, it was a question of safety never to be unaccompanied. But this was Brighton. She’d spent part of nearly every summer of her life here and knew the promenades and beaches as well as she did the streets and parks around her home in London and had always felt considerably safer in Brighton. The very atmosphere was conducive to a certain laxity of behavior. Why, even Mother was considerably more relaxed here about rules and deportment than she ever was at home.
Sarah looked at her with an overly innocent expression. “Why don’t you take the boys? I’m sure they would love a walk.”
“What a lovely idea,” Cordelia said brightly. “Do you have a leash?”
The boys, as everyone referred to them, were the combined male offspring of Cordelia’s three older sisters. Her sisters had quite efficiently provided their husbands with male heirs before they had begun producing daughters. Thus far Cordelia had six nephews, descending in age from nearly twelve to eight, and five nieces with another niece or nephew scheduled to arrive in the world any day. Mother loved having her grandchildren around her and Brighton provided the perfect opportunity to gather the entire family under one roof. Cordelia suspected it made her mother feel very much like the queen herself to be surrounded by her offspring. Cordelia’s oldest sisters, Amelia and Edwina, together with their brood, as well as Beatrice’s two children, had arrived this morning. Beatrice was about to give birth to her third child and had elected to remain in London this year.
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