BRIGHTON BEAUTY (11 page)

Chelsea recalled perfectly how to play cribbage, but decided to let him take the lead in explaining it to her. Afterward, they played silently for several minutes, then out of a clear blue, Lord Rathbone said, "I've been thinking about the
few
letters you wrote to me, Alayna . . . "

Fear clutched Chelsea's middle. What was he going to ask her now?

"Several of your letters last summer," he went on, "were chock fall of the goings-on during your London Season."

Anxiety churned within Chelsea. She knew next to nothing about Alayna's come-out.

As Lord Rathbone continued, his tone grew more serious. "The thing is, Alayna, I do not recall you mentioning the names of any of your suitors, that is, any of the more persistent ones. And with your stunning looks, my dear, there must have been several."

Chelsea ventured nothing on the subject, though his comment on her looks did not escape her notice.

"Well, Alayna? At the risk of sounding inordinately forward, were there any?"

Suddenly Chelsea experienced great difficulty drawing breath. Alayna, she knew, had had several suitors. One in particular. But, as it turned out, the gentleman chose to pursue and finally marry a wealthy heiress from Ramsgate. Nonetheless, Chelsea did not feel obliged to tell Lord Rathbone about it. Especially since Alayna had not.

Affecting one of Alayna's familiar put-upon poses, she said, "I hardly see where that is any concern of yours, Rutherford." Without looking at him, she settled her peg into the next hole in the board with an astonishingly steady hand.

When a reply from him seemed overlong in coming, however, she risked a sidelong gaze across the table at him and caught a frightening glimpse of his jaw clenching.

"To quarrel with you this evening is not my intent, Alayna, I am merely trying to ascertain why you . . ." He paused, then sat back in his chair, completely ignoring the fact that it was his turn to play.

Wondering what was the trouble now, Chelsea's heart leapt to her throat as she gazed full at him.

"I am trying to understand why you persist in refusing to comply with my wishes in regard to living in Honduras, Alayna. Your insubordination in the matter is quite troubling. If you must know, I am unaccustomed to disobedience."

Chelsea felt an unwelcome surge of heat color her cheeks. She did not even have to think before replying to the gentleman this time. "I am hardly one of your slaves, Rutherford," she said in a breathless rush. "And what exactly do my former suitors have to say to anything?"

"So," his eyes snapped, "you admit to other suitors?"

Chelsea's lips tightened. "I admit to nothing."

"Dammit, Alayna!" He slammed his cards onto the table. Apparently the volume of his tone, and the sudden action, awoke Lady Rathbone, for across the room, she sat up with a start.

"Beginning to thunder again?" she mumbled from her chair.

Chelsea rose to her feet and moved swiftly to the old lady's side. "No, Aunt Millie, Rutherford was just . . ." She cast an accusing look at him. "Overset," she concluded. "We are playing a game and I expect he drew a bad hand."

Lady Rathbone twisted about in her chair. "Mustn't take on so, Rutherford, it is only a game."

In spite of the gnawing guilt she felt for inciting Lord Rathbone's intense anger Chelsea silently voiced her agreement to that.

* * * *

D
ammit!
What was it going to take to uncover the truth behind her refusal to obey him, Lord Rathbone demanded of himself, as he stalked toward his chamber that night.
And worse, what did it really matter?
Despite her objections to living with him in Honduras, she would acquiesce in the end. She would become his wife and that's all there was to say for it.

Flinging his coat and waistcoat to a chair, he fumbled with the stiff linen he'd so carefully wrapped about his neck before dinner. He thought he had unearthed the reason for her obstinacy when he'd decided she was simply afraid to remove to an unknown clime. But, apparently he'd been wrong. Then, when she'd refused to kiss him the other evening, he thought perhaps her reticence was due to her youth and innocence; that perhaps she had never been kissed before. Now, he was beginning to think otherwise. That she had fallen in love with someone and was, therefore, reluctant to leave the gentleman behind in England made more sense. Anger roiled within him as he unbuttoned his trousers. Guilt had been as evident on her face tonight as puzzlement was on his!

Alayna had had a Season, after all, and with her beauty, it was hard to imagine that she had attracted no notice whatever amongst London's eager young bucks. In fact, it was hard to believe that she had not been snapped up after first being introduced to society at her come-out ball.

He tossed his trousers aside and reached for his dressing gown. Wrapping it about himself, he crossed the room to pour himself a stiff draught of spirits. But downing the drink did not push thoughts of Alayna from his mind. Carrying the bottle with him to the comfortable wing chair positioned before the fire, he continued on in the same vein.

So far as he could see, apart from her extraordinary looks, Alayna had nothing of value to offer a man. The orphaned daughter of an impoverished peer who had had the good fortune to marry a Campbell, she had no funds of her own and no connections to speak of. Which is one of the reasons Rutherford had agreed so readily to the match. Being the only surviving male in the family, he felt a compelling duty to look out for his female counterparts. By marrying Alayna, he was solving two problems at once. She needed a means of support and he needed a wife. Of course, he had not counted on . . . Dammit, he was
not
falling in love with her!

Beyond the insignificant little tarradiddle he was attempting to unravel at odd moments of the day, it did not signify in the least that his future bride had once fancied herself in love with another. Did not signify in the least! Still, he would like to know if . . .
dammit!
He slung the half-full bottle of whiskey against the gray stone hearth before him and did not move when the glass shattered, and the amber liquid pooled at his feet. There was a reason behind her stubbornness and he would uncover the truth if it killed him!

* * * *

T
he following afternoon, as the three of them partook of an early tea in the drawing room, he looked for a way to broach the subject with her once again. A heavy mist had been falling all day out of doors, consequently he had been forced once again to spend the entire day inside. But, as usual, thoughts of Alayna did not permit full concentration upon the tasks he'd set before him. He feared his patience, which even on a good day was in short supply, was fast running out.

Throughout the small meal, he had been unusually silent, his dark gaze resting fitfully on the blonde beauty, who reposed on a silk sofa opposite him. Just being in her presence these days made thinking difficult. She had the creamiest ivory skin he'd ever seen on a woman, with exactly the right amount of natural flush to her cheeks and lips. That she used no paint to enhance her features was evident.

Today her bright golden hair hung loose down her back, the ends of it a riot of soft yellow curls. Thoughts of pressing those silken tresses to his cheek and tasting the sweet nectar of her lips had driven any appetite he may have had for cold watercress sandwiches and pickled nasturtiums from his mind.

Watching her take a delicate bite from the slice of cake in her hands now made him swallow convulsively. Feeling a sudden tightness in his chest, he rose to his feet and was about to exit the room when the sound of his mother's voice stopped him.

"I have been thinking, Rutherford," Lady Rathbone began, "that I should like to give you children a proper send-off."

Lord Rathbone paused in his tracks. "A send-off, Mother?"

The older woman nodded, her grey eyes twinkling merrily. "I have decided to host a ball. In honor of your wedding. It's been simply ages since we had a
soiree
here. What do you say, Alayna? Would be quite lovely, don't you agree?"

Lord Rathbone thought he distinctly heard Alayna gasp aloud, but could not say for certain.

"Are you quite sure you are up to such a fete, Mother?" he began. "After all, the wedding is less than ten days away. I should think that will be send-off enough."

"Oh, fiddlesticks! Surely you recall the grand affairs your father and I used to host when you were a boy. And the delightful fairs we held on the castle lawn." Suddenly, she leaned forward in her chair. "Why, we should have a fair, as well! There's been nothing like our fairs since your father passed away. We've plenty of time to put it all together!" Excitement shone on the old lady's face. "Mr. Stevens could help spread the word. And you, my boy, could post notices the next time you go up to Chester."

"Now, Mother, I hardly think . . . " Rathbone began, his dark head shaking in protest.

But suddenly Alayna spoke up. And as usual she was of a differing opinion from him. "I think it a lovely idea, Ford," she began. "Aunt Millicent is right, a fair would be great fun! If nothing else, the planning of it will give us something to do while the bad weather persists."

"And what if the bad weather refuses to let up? All our planning will have gone for naught. Unless the bridge is repaired, no one will be able to attend our grand affair."

"Oh, Rutherford, don't be such a downpin," his mother said fussily. "If Alayna wishes to have a ball,
and
a fair, then we shall have both!"

His lips pressed into a thin line, Lord Rathbone angrily exited the drawing room. That both his mother and Alayna's heads were already bent together excitedly discussing the upcoming events, seemed like one more slap in the face to him. And, Lord Rathbone was not accustomed to being slapped in the face.

––––––––

C
helsea and Lady Rathbone spent the next several days working diligently on their plans for the fair, and for the ball, which would be held in the castle's grand hall the night before the wedding. In all her life, Chelsea had never attended a fancy dress ball and watching the elaborate plans for this one unfold, she could not help but wish that she might be on hand to attend. But of course that was not likely, for surely Alayna would have returned to the castle by then and Chelsea would be on her way back to London.

The fair, she felt certain, would also be great fun. As a girl at school, Chelsea clearly remembered Alayna excitedly telling her friends at Miss Farringdon's Academy all about the lovely summer fairs held at Castle Rathbone. Aside from various games of chance, there would be jugglers, and knife-throwers, pie-men, a puppet show, plenty of food and drink, and country dancing.

With Lady Rathbone providing suggestions for the wording of it, Chelsea drew up a notice for the fair which she intended to take to an engraver in Chester and have copies printed up which would be posted all around the countryside.

By Sunday of that week Lord Rathbone had overseen the rebuilding of the bridge that spanned the castle moat, though the water beneath was still greatly swollen from the heavy rains that had fallen, filling the cobbled enclosure to the brim.

At breakfast on Sunday morning, Chelsea was inordinately surprised when Lord Rathbone announced that he meant to accompany Chelsea to church services later that day.

"We've a small church in the village near my home in Honduras," he said matter-of-factly. "I often attend services there."

"Umm," Chelsea murmured, not sure if she liked the idea of him accompanying her or not. Carrying the lie she was living into the very portals of God's house was difficult enough without having the added burden of Lord Rathbone beside her.

"You will mention our fair to Mr. Stevens?" asked Lady Rathbone. "Perhaps he will announce the news from the pulpit."

"I'm sure he will, Mother," Rathbone said flatly.

"Well, you might show a bit more enthusiasm," she scolded. "As a boy, you used to greatly enjoy our fairs. You and Alayna both did. Surely you recall the time Alayna tossed the ball and landed you in a barrel of suds." Lady Rathbone laughed, referring to a game played often at country fairs where the victim perches on a platform and is subjected to a ducking when the rope holding him up is released after a perfect toss of a ball.

Glancing across the table at Chelsea, Lord Rathbone's lips pressed into a thin line. "I can't say as I recall the incident," he muttered.

Feeling a bit mischievous, Chelsea said, "Well, I do. And giving you a much-needed dunking was simply delicious!"

"Humph."

A moment of silence ensued, then Lady Rathbone said, "You must pay close attention to the vicar's sermon today, Rutherford. Your attitude is quite remiss these days."

Chelsea squirmed. Lord Rathbone's attitude may be remiss, but there was no denying that
she
was the one at fault. Her deceptive behaviour and continued resistance to him was clearly the cause of his ill-temper. To say truth, she was beginning to feel increasingly guilty about deceiving him. Lord Rathbone may have a short temper and be arrogant to a fault, but he was still the most intelligent and honourable man Chelsea had ever met. All on his own, he had accomplished a great deal in his adopted country.

Glancing across the table at him now, she felt her breath grow short. The gentleman would make a . . . a wonderful husband for Alayna. Chelsea could only hope Alayna would realize how lucky she was to be marrying such a man.

* * * *

A
fter Dulcie had helped Chelsea dress for services that morning, she topped off Alayna's lovely suit of blue serge with a close-fitting
casquet
bonnet that sported a half veil. The bonnet was not one of Chelsea's own designs, but nonetheless, it was quite charming. Nestling it onto her upswept coiffure, she realized with a fresh surge of guilt that she had yet to make good on her word to Mr. Merribone. In the entire fortnight she had been at the castle she had not yet posted a single new bonnet design to him as she'd promised she would.