Secrets of a Proper Lady

by Victoria Alexander

  Her sisters and the children were accompanied by a small army of maids, governesses, and nannies, which meant the house was now filled with the sound of children and women but lacked, for the most part, a male presence over the age of eleven. Not that anyone minded. Father was here today but he would return to London periodically. Her sisters’ husbands would come for a few days now and then during their respective family’s stay in Brighton, but all Cordelia’s brothers-in-law pled pressing matters in London kept them from an extended stay.

  It was Edwina’s husband who had started begging off from the annual Brighton holiday upon noticing that Father was absent almost as often as he was in residence. Amelia’s husband had next adopted the idea almost immediately—one might have thought he had simply been waiting for the opportunity—and Cordelia was fairly certain Beatrice’s husband was informed by the other men of this method of avoiding too much togetherness with his new wife’s family even before he had said his vows.

  Would Mr. Sinclair get such instruction before they were wed?

  It would be rather pleasant to have her own husband join that unique fraternity comprised only of men who had married Bannister sisters. Not that he would, of course. The oddest sense of disappointment stabbed her. If she did indeed marry Mr. Sinclair it would be rare if ever that they would join the rest of the family in Brighton. No, they would be living in America. Which would, she thought with a mental stiffening of her spine, be an adventure with grand new experiences. The very thought was exciting. Why, there were any number of sights in America she’d long wanted to see.

  “I should make a list,” she said under her breath.

  “If you just remember kings and saints,” Sarah said absently. “You should have no problem.”

  “Kings and…” Cordelia frowned in confusion then understood. “Kings and saints; yes, of course.”

  Amelia had named her sons after kings: Henry, Edward, and Richard. Edwina had named hers after saints, specifically apostles, and had Thomas, Matthew, and James. Thus far, Beatrice had only one son—Philip—who could have served for king or saint but Beatrice said the boy was named for Father, which delighted him far more than it would have pleased either a king or God.

  In spite of their names, the boys, particularly when they were together, had neither the dignity of kings nor the nature of saints. They were small boys and prone to do those sorts of things small boys have always done. And as such a stroll with them was tantamount to taking one’s life in one’s hands. Still, Cordelia had always prided herself on her courage and sense of adventure.

  “Very well then.” She drew a deep breath. “And Sarah.”

  Sarah glanced up from her letter.

  “Should I never see you again.” Cordelia placed the back of her hand against her forehead and adopted the overly dramatic manner of her favorite actress. “Think of me fondly in the future.”

  “Good Lord, you’re not thinking of going without their governesses are you?” Sarah said dryly.

  “Even I am not that adventurous.” Cordelia grinned and left to gather the flock.

  A scant half an hour later, Cordelia strolled along the promenade beside Amelia’s and Edwina’s governesses. Beatrice’s governess had been left to care for the children, daughters really, still too young for such an outing although in truth, aunts, mothers, governesses and everyone involved had learned some time ago that it was best not to attempt even something as simple as a walk with all the children at once.

  They were scarcely more than a few steps from the house when the first break with authority occurred and the governesses were forced to adopt a more than brisk pace to keep up with their scattering charges. Within moments, they were so far ahead that Cordelia found herself quite alone, if one could be considered alone on a busy walkway surrounded by countless numbers of high-spirited tourists eager to enjoy the fine summer day. If quizzed, Cordelia would have had to admit that she’d known this would happen and that perhaps she’d had this in mind. It suited her, being able to stroll along accompanied by nothing more than her own thoughts. Which inevitably turned to Mr. Sinclair—try as she might she certainly couldn’t think of a man she’d never met by his given name—and oddly to Mr. Lewis as well. Warren. Rather a nice name, strong and masculine and solid. She should check on the meaning of his name. She’d always found the meaning of names, be they of people or places, to be both interesting and insightful. It was quite easy to think of Mr. Lewis by his given name.

  That was no doubt due to nothing more significant than having made his acquaintance. Which probably explained as well why, when she’d read Mr. Sinclair’s letter, it was Warren’s voice she’d heard. Still, there was no harm to it really. It was, after all, a nice voice and went well with a gentleman who was tall and broad-shouldered—with a slightly wicked look in his eye and a smile devilish but endearing. She couldn’t help but smile herself at the thought.

  “I know this time that smile is not for me.”

  She gasped and turned. “Mr. Lewis! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Well, you spoke so highly of Brighton I thought it was a place that I definitely needed to visit.” He grinned. “So I did.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t believe I said much of anything about Brighton.”

  He shrugged. “It was implied.”

  She craned her neck to see around him, not that she knew what she looked for, although surely a handsome American would be obvious in the crowd. “Is Mr. Sinclair with you?”

  “No, no.” He shook his head.

  “What a shame.” Although it really wasn’t a shame at all. The thought surprised her. But the moment she met Mr. Sinclair her charade, and any further involvement with Warren, would be at an end. And that would indeed be a shame. “Then I assume Lady Cordelia should continue to write to him in London?”

  “No, my apologies. I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t here at all,” Warren said quickly. “He is indeed in Brighton just not with me at the moment. He preferred to stay in his rooms. He’s been…under the weather.”

  “Oh dear. I do hope it isn’t serious.”

  “Not at all. Merely a common cold. We thought the sea air might do him a world of good.” He drew an exaggerated breath. “It’s so…so…”

  She bit back a smile. “Bracing?”

  “That’s it exactly.”

  “It will scarcely do him any good if he doesn’t leave his rooms.”

  “We shall leave the windows open and hope for the best. I would be happy to give you the address so that you might pass it on to Lady Cordelia.” Warren’s smile held the oddest touch of relief, as if he wanted to talk about anything but his employer. “Now then, as it appears you are alone…You are alone aren’t you?”

  Cordelia glanced down the promenade. Neither governesses nor boys were anywhere in sight. “I believe I am.”

  He offered his arm. “Then might I have the honor of accompanying you?”

  It struck her that if she accepted his arm and walked with him it would put her masquerade out of the realm of an innocuous little falsehood fabricated to learn more about Mr. Sinclair and into a different category altogether. Still, she’d done nothing to encourage his appearance here. His presence was no more than mere coincidence. Wasn’t it?

  She studied him suspiciously. “Is this a coincidence?”

  “A happy coincidence,” he said firmly.

  She raised a brow.

  He laughed. “Other than the fact that I have been sitting on that bench over there hoping you might make an appearance, why yes, I would say it is a coincidence.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a coincidence. How did you know where I was staying?”

  “Lady Cordelia’s letter to Mr. Sinclair included her address in Brighton.” He grinned. “Shall we?”

  She considered him for a moment. She’d never had a man lie in wait simply to walk with her before. It was most flattering and roguishly charming of him. Why shouldn’t she walk with him? She was no longer a c
hild, she’d traveled a great part of the world, she was not yet engaged, and if she wished to indulge in an innocent stroll along the promenade with an interesting man, what was wrong with that? This was Brighton after all, where rules of behavior and everything else were considerably more relaxed than London. Besides, in spite of the crowds, this wasn’t the official social season and the possibility that she would be seen by anyone she knew was remote. Moreover, what might be considered improper for Lady Cordelia wasn’t nearly as unseemly for Miss Palmer. And, for the moment, she was Miss Palmer.

  “Very well, Mr. Lewis.” She returned his grin, shifted her parasol, and took his arm. “I should like that.”

  He chuckled. “Not nearly as much as I will.”

  They started off and she realized this direction might well bring her face-to-face with the boys and their governesses. The opposite way would bring them past the house. but it was on the other side of the road and she very much doubted anyone would be out and about. Besides, spotting her in this crowd would be difficult at best. She paused and nodded back in the direction she had come. “Would you mind if we walked that way?”

  “Not at all.” They turned and again started off. “I am completely at your disposal.”

  “Are you indeed?” They walked in silence for a few minutes, although silence wasn’t entirely accurate. The crash of the waves and noise of the crowd provided a constant backdrop of noise. “Why are you really in Brighton, Mr. Lewis?”

  “Because you are here, Miss Palmer.”

  She laughed. “That’s most flattering, but I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “Nonetheless, it’s true.”

  “You have no other reason to be in Brighton then?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “And you’re simply here because I am?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Then again, I must ask why.”

  “Because I find you extremely interesting, Miss Palmer.” He stopped and met her gaze directly. “And I should like to know you better.”

  “Oh.” She stared into his dark eyes and for once she was at a loss for words. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “I’ve left you speechless then?” He chuckled. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

  “Nor did I,” she murmured.

  “I like that about you, that you are rarely at a loss for words, that is.”

  “Do you?” She studied him curiously. “I’ve always considered that a flaw in my character. Proper ladies should be less forthcoming than I am.”

  “Rubbish,” he said staunchly. “You have an opinion and it’s apparent you don’t hesitate to share it.”

  “And you find that admirable?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  She considered him for a long moment. “It’s because you’re American, isn’t it?”

  He stared at her with surprise then laughed. “Possibly.”

  She nodded in a sage manner. “Americans have different attitudes about such things than the English. It’s that independent nature of yours.”

  “Independent nature aside”—he leaned toward her, laughter twinkled in his eyes—“I suspect there are more than a few Americans who would think me completely mad and any number of English gentlemen who appreciate a forthright nature.”

  She scoffed. “I doubt that.” They turned and resumed their walk. “I daresay, I have yet to meet one.”

  “Is that why you’re not married?”

  “I would wager it’s one reason,” she said wryly. “It’s not at all easy to find a man who likes a woman who speaks her mind. It’s not at all easy to find a man who likes a woman who has a mind of her own.”

  “Well, I like it.” He nodded. “I like as well that when you have a good idea, you don’t hesitate to act on it.”

  “For better or worse,” she said under her breath. What was wrong with this man? He liked everything about her that everyone else had long considered a problem.

  “You’re hardworking, independent, and honest.” He shrugged. “I find all of that appealing about you.”

  Honest? “Yes, well.” Unease washed through her. “One is not always as one appears, you know.”

  “And as I have not mentioned appearance,” he said lightly. “You should know, I find you lovely, Miss Palmer.”

  “You shall quite turn my head, Mr. Lewis.”

  “I very much wish to turn your head.” He paused. “In my direction.”

  Her breath caught and her heart thudded in her chest. “What are your intentions, Mr. Lewis?”

  “I have no particular intentions at the present, Miss Palmer, beyond the furtherance of an acquaintance and the pleasure of a company I find I am reluctant to abandon.” His manner was firm and no nonsense, almost as if he had expected the question and had practiced his answer.

  “I see.” She was at once pleased and a touch disappointed although she had no idea why she should be in the least disappointed. After all, she had no particular intentions when it came to him. Indeed, she wanted no more from him than he did from her and nothing more significant than an innocent flirtation. Still…“I suspect you are a dangerous man.”

  “Dangerous?” He laughed. “I doubt it. Why, I’m as harmless as a puppy.”

  “An extremely flirtatious puppy.”

  He grinned.

  “Is Mr. Sinclair as flirtatious as you?” she said, more to turn the conversation away from its current hazardous direction than to learn anything about Daniel Sinclair.

  “Oh, more so. The man is incorrigible.” He hesitated as if choosing his words. “I might have misled you the other day about Mr. Sinclair’s pursuit of women.”

  “Oh?”

  “He is quite active in that area. Indeed, in that regard, he’s a leader among men.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “He has something of a reputation.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have thought he’d been in London long enough to acquire any reputation whatsoever.”

  “London, Baltimore, it makes no difference.” Warren shrugged in an offhand manner. “Why, not a night goes by without a different lady on his arm regardless of where he is. Actresses, widows, ladies of experience I would say. He likes them and they adore him.”

  She thought for a moment. “Are you now saying that you think he’ll be unfaithful after he’s wed?”

  “I…” He grimaced. “I can’t say that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Warren shrugged.

  “I see.”

  “I am sorry.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I suppose Lady Cordelia won’t wish to marry a man with a reputation like Mr. Sinclair’s.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She glanced at him with surprise. “I daresay, Lady Cordelia wouldn’t consider him at all if he didn’t. He is past thirty years of age, wealthy, and handsome. One would be somewhat suspicious of a man who didn’t have a bit of a reputation.”

  “It’s more than a bit,” he warned. It was obvious that the poor man was torn between honesty and loyalty to his friend.

  She shrugged. “Many women believe reformed scoundrels make the best husbands. And you did say he would be faithful.”

  “Yes, I did say that,” he muttered. “But one never knows.”

  “And what of you, Mr. Lewis?” A teasing note sounded in her voice. “Do you have a bit of a reputation?”

  He grinned. “Possibly.”

  “Are you following in Mr. Sinclair’s footsteps or is he following in yours?”

  “Some of both I think.” He paused. “We are very similar, he and I, in many things. We both share a certain ambition and I have no doubt of our ultimate success.”

  “Ah yes, he will one day be one of the wealthiest men in America.”

  “As will I.” Confidence rang in his voice.

  She glanced up at him. “Are you trying to impress me, Mr. Lewis?”

  “Am I?”

  “Wealth does not impress me. However.” She cast him a slow smile. “I do find am
bition admirable. As does Lady Cordelia.”

  “Of course, she would,” he said under his breath.

  “Ambition is an interesting thing.” She adjusted her parasol and considered the topic. “In this country, success has always been limited by one’s original position in life. It’s a rare man who can rise above the circumstances of his birth, and I admit, as a people, we tend to view such ambition and success as suspect and somewhat distasteful.”

  “In my country, we believe anyone can succeed with hard work and ingenuity.”

  “In many ways here we are mired in the past. The way things have always been done has worked well, at least for the upper classes, and no need is seen to change them.” She wrinkled her nose. “It does make life awkward for a woman like Lady Cordelia whose ultimate future is out of her hands, to be determined only by what kind of match she makes.”

  “What does Lady Cordelia want in a husband?”

  “What any woman wants I suppose.” Cordelia thought for a moment. “A man who will respect her and accept her for who she is, I think, is probably to be desired above everything else. A man who will appreciate the independence of her nature. A kind and generous heart, honesty of course, those sorts of things.”

  He chuckled. “And so we are back to love, which you did not mention.”

  “There is that romantic nature of yours again.” She smiled. “You forget this is not a love match.”

  “Still, if one finds love, it should not be ignored.”