Brighton Road (10 page)

The next instant the coach veered sharply to
the left. Gwenda bumped her shoulder against the side and
straightened, rubbing her bruised arm. She was well accustomed to
the peculiarities of Fitch's driving.

Ravenel, however, appeared a little alarmed
as he eased back Jarvis, who had thumped against him. His lordship
peered out the window again, exclaiming, "What the deuce is your
coachman doing, Miss Vickers? Why has he taken this turning off the
main road?" Ravenel started to thump on the roof to get Fitch's
attention, but Gwenda caught his sleeve.

"No, It is quite all right, Lord Ravenel. We
always travel by the old route through East Grinstead, Uckfield,
and Lewes."

"That's the longer way," he protested.

"Aye, but the road is in excellent condition
and there is much less traffic."

And much less chance that Fitch would get
them lost if they stuck to the old route. But Gwenda, buried that
thought behind an ingenuous smile. "Don't worry so, Lord Ravenel. I
promise you we shall all be making merry in Brighton before the sun
sets. I am sure you can hire yourself a rig as easily in East
Grinstead as anywhere else."

"I suppose so." The baron settled back
uneasily. "But I would think that Lord and Lady Vickers—at least
most parents—would be concerned about their daughter after such an
unexpected delay. I cannot think what they are about, letting you
travel alone."

There it was again—that certain sharp edge,
that hint of criticism that came into Ravenel's voice whenever he
mentioned anything about her family.

"I am not alone." Gwenda bridled. "I have
Fitch and James and Bertie, and I did have Colette. It was only to
have been a simple day's journey from my aunt's home in
Richmond."

She winced at the memory. "I am fond of my
Aunt Lucinda, but a more dreary house party you could not have
imagined. There was a young man present who was about to write a
book. I always seem to be introduced to someone who is just about
to write a book. Mr. Pomfret spent hours regaling me with the
plot—" Gwenda halted as a horrible fear struck her.

"You do not, by any chance, write, do you,
Lord Ravenel? "

"No, Miss Vickers. Nothing but business
letters."

"Thank goodness," she breathed. "Now if
Jarvis does not, either, I shall feel quite safe."

The valet assured her most gravely that he
was not that clever. For the first time, she noticed that among his
lordship's belongings—his whip, riding gloves, and hat—that Jarvis
had taken personal charge of, the first volume of her novel was
included.

Gwenda glanced at Ravenel. "Oh! So you have
been reading the book I gave you?"

The was a long pause and then he said, "I
scarcely have had time to look at it. Quite frankly, Miss Vickers,
I am not much interested in fiction, but Jarvis has been finding it
most entertaining."

"Why, my lord," Jarvis interrupted. "Begging
your pardon, sir, but you had me read you some of it only this
morning."

Gwenda smiled at Ravenel in triumph. He shot
his valet a quelling frown, but unperturbed, Jarvis continued,
"Your lordship did not much care for the part where the hand was
running amok, but you appeared to enjoy the scene where the count
offered for Lady Emeraude."

"The marriage proposal?" Gwenda exclaimed. "I
knew your lordship would find that bit fascinating. Of course, it
is somewhat exaggerated for the purposes of fiction, but it does
give you some idea how you ought to go on the next time—"

"Miss Vickers!" If Ravenel had been relaxed
at all, he was immediately all stiffness again. "If you do not
mind, I have no desire to discuss my personal affairs."

Gwenda's gaze shifted from his lordship's
tense frame to the valet, who was also looking slightly
discomfited. "Oh, I see. I am sorry for having mentioned it. I
naturally assumed Jarvis knew. My brother Jack confides everything
in his valet, and Jarvis certainly looks the sympathetic sort to
whom I would tell all my darkest secrets if—"

"Miss Vickers!" The baron let out an
exasperated sigh. "Can you not get it through your head? It is you
I object to discussing my affairs with. You! Besides being
practically a stranger, I cannot see where you have had the
experience to be offering me advice."

Did the man think simply because she was
unwed that she had never had an offer? Gwenda drew herself up
primly. "Indeed, I have, my lord. It so happens I have been engaged
twice."

"Twice!" his lordship and Jarvis both gasped
in the same breath. Ravenel's lips parted as though he meant to ask
something. Then he appeared to change his mind and feigned a deep
interest in the distant farmhouses snuggled into folds of green
pastureland.

"Then what—" Jarvis began, then stopped,
looking appalled at himself. "I beg your pardon, miss. I never
intended to be so forward as to pry. I'm sure there must have been
some great tragic circumstances---"

"Nothing so dramatic," Gwenda said calmly. "I
jilted them."

From the degree of shock that registered on
the faces of both men, Gwenda felt she'd best hasten to explain. "I
was very young the first time I fancied myself in love, barely
sixteen. Jasper was such a delightful friend, but the minute we
were engaged, he developed the most distressing habit of sighing
and acting like a great cake over me."

"I thought you approved of men who behave
so," Ravenel said, rather acidly.

"I like a man to be romantic, not silly. When
Jasper took to writing dreadful poetry, I simply couldn't bear
anymore."

His lordship appeared intrigued in spite of
himself. "And the second one? What was his folly?"

"Marlon? His error was even worse." Gwenda
offered him a smile brimming with mischief. "The minute the
betrothal ring was slipped upon my finger, he started trying to
change me."

Ravenel regarded her sternly, struggling to
keep a straight face. But his mouth quivered, finally breaking into
a grin that softened his harsh features. He chuckled. "Miss
Vickers! You truly are the most abominable young lady. What
shocking bad manners. Ending engagements, leaving a trail of broken
hearts."

"But you are laughing," she pointed out.

"So I am," he said, shaking his head at
himself. "Much more time in your company and I fear you will have
corrupted every notion I have as to what is sane and proper."

"Perhaps you set too high a value upon
sanity, my lord."

"Perhaps, I do," Ravenel conceded with
another smile.

"And as to broken hearts, both Marlon and
Jasper are now quite happily wed. I did them the greatest
kindnesses by releasing them." Gwenda became serious suddenly.
"There is no greater tragedy than a loveless marriage. I hope that
you—" She stopped, for once catching her wayward tongue in time. If
she expressed her hope that Ravenel would make sure he was most
sincerely in love with Belinda Carruthers before proposing once
more, Gwenda would only set his back up again, which would be a
great pity. His lordship looked so devastatingly handsome when he
smiled.

Curbing her urge to interfere, Gwenda steered
the conversation into safer channels. She soon had both Lord
Ravenel and Jarvis chuckling over her trials and tribulations as an
authoress. They seemed to find particularly amusing how she had
given herself the jitters when writing The Dark Hand. It hadn't
helped matters the least bit when her brother Jack had suspended a
stuffed glove on the end of a broom handle and tapped her on the
shoulder with it. He had laid a wager on how far she would
jump.

Thus occupied, the time seemed to fly past,
and before Gwenda realized it, the carriage had lurched to a halt
and James was letting down the steps to help her alight into the
stable-yard of the Dorset Arms in East Grinstead.

Ravenel sprung down after her with his
elderly valet following at a more sedate pace. Although Jarvis had
greatly enjoyed all of Miss Vickers's lively chatter, he had spent
the last mile puzzling over the lady's exact relationship to his
young master. That his lordship appeared to find Miss Vickers a
great nuisance was undoubtedly true, but it had been a long time
since Jarvis had seen his master unbend enough to laugh so freely
or even to indulge in a fit of temper.

Jarvis judged that Miss Vickers had a way of
exploding into a man's life like a burst of fireworks, but he
didn't think it would do Master Des any harm to have an occasional
skyrocket erupting in his path. For all of Miss Vickers's little
oddities, Jarvis quite liked the young lady.

It was with great regret that he watched his
master hustle Miss Vickers into the Dorset Arms and settle her into
a private parlor before excusing himself to see about the hire of a
carriage.

As Ravenel bowed his way across the
threshold, Jarvis managed to catch his lordship's eye.

"It does seem such a shame, sir," he
whispered, "to be leaving the young lady alone."

"Don't you start that again," Ravenel said.
"Miss Vickers will be just fine.It is only another three or four
hours to Brighton from here—well, perhaps six the way her coachman
drives. But she will arrive by dusk, and I have no intention of
dawdling away the rest of my afternoon in this fashion."

Ignoring Jarvis's reproachful look, the baron
closed the parlor door and went in quest of the landlord. For the
first time since he arose that morning, luck seemed to be with him.
The Dorset Arms could indeed provide his lordship with both a
curricle and a spanking pair of grays.

Ravenel made arrangements to hire them
immediately, steadfastly suppressing all notice of Jarvis's
disapproval. By God, that Vickers woman seemed to have done a
thorough job of bewitching his valet. Normally a stickler for the
proprieties, why couldn't Jarvis see that it simply wouldn't do for
the baron to keep trailing about with an unchaperoned lady? It was
not as though he were her brother or even a distant cousin.

Besides that, he had all manner of pressing
business awaiting him in Brighton, to say nothing of the need to
engage some competent person to track down that rascal Dalton
before the trail became completely cold. No matter how entertaining
Miss Vickers might be—and Ravenel was prepared to concede that at
times she was—he simply had no more time to waste.

With such thoughts churning in his head, the
baron strode back briskly to the inn parlor to convey his thanks to
Miss Vickers for having brought him as far as East Grinstead and to
take his final farewell of the lady. He was even feeling gracious
enough to express a polite wish that they might meet again one
day.

His graciousness vanished when he swung the
door open and found the private parlor empty. The luncheon he had
ordered for Miss Vickers yet stood upon the oak table
untouched.

"Blast the woman!" Ravenel muttered. "Can she
never once be doing what is expected of her?"

He swiftly collared one of the waiters only
to obtain the vague information that he believed the young lady was
wandering about out in the back somewhere behind the taproom."

Ravenel's mouth pursed into a grim line. It
seemed instead of a cordial farewell, he would be obliged to treat
Miss Vickers to a lecture on the impropriety of unescorted females
roaming too freely at public places.

Exiting through the front door, he quickly
directed his footsteps toward the side of the inn opposite the
stableyard. Fortunately he had no difficulty finding the
troublesome female. She was walking through the vegetable garden
just outside the kitchen door. Shading her eyes with one hand, she
peered at a distant line of birches as though she were looking for
something.

The baron squared his jaw and strode
purposefully in her direction. But before he had taken many steps,
he saw a slim dandy emerge from the taproom. Garbed in a riding
cloak with a ridiculous multiplicity of capes, the ginger-haired
fop swaggered toward Gwenda, casting her a leering glance through
his quizzing glass.

Damnation, Ravenel thought, clenching his
teeth as he recognized the Honorable Frederic Skeffington. What
perverse mischance of fate had planted that empty-headed swell here
in East Grinstead at this most unfortunate moment?

" 'Pon my soul," Freddy drawled, sweeping
into Gwenda's path, "I heard that Kent is called the garden of
England, but I never expected to find a rose amongst the
cabbages."

Instead of retreating or even offering the
man a chilling stare, Gwenda merely politely requested Skeffington
to move out of her way. "You see, I am looking for—"

The dandy smirked. "And you have found him,
my dear "

"How could I possibly be wanting to find you?
We are not even acquainted, sir."

"That situation is easily remedied."

Ravenel came up between them just in time to
prevent Freddy from slipping his arm about Gwenda's waist. "You're
going to be in need of a far different sort of remedy, Skeffington,
if you don't take yourself off at once."

Startled, the dandy drew back, eyeing his
lordship from toe to crown through his quizzing glass. "Sobersi—I
mean, Lord Ravenel! I thought you were still in London. Well, dash
me!"

The baron's hands clenched into fists as he
felt himself more than ready to comply with this request. Freddy's
gaze settled on his lordship's knuckles, and the young man flushed
with dismay, the glass slipping from between his fingers to dangle
by its ribbon. "Steady on, Ravenel, old man. If I had had any
notion the wench was already bespoken—"

"I am here to escort the lady back to her
aunt," Ravenel ground out.

"Her aunt? Oh, quite so." The dandy looked
abashed. "I completely misunderstood. I trust you will forgive me,
Miss—Miss?"

But before Gwenda could supply her name,
Ravenel took a menacing step closer to Skeffington.