BRIGHTON BEAUTY (14 page)

"Alayna my girl, you mustn't take on so. Rutherford will most certainly have returned to the castle by tomorrow. What do you say we take our tea out-of-doors this afternoon?" she suggested brightly. "Perhaps the fresh air will serve to stimulate your appetite. You must eat, my dear, how else will you be fit to dance the night away at our lovely ball?"

Chelsea smiled feebly as she rose from the sofa in the drawing room to wheel Lady Rathbone's chair into the corridor. In the hallway they met Jared. Lady Rathbone gave him instructions regarding their afternoon repast, then she and Chelsea continued toward the garden.

Once outdoors, they skirted 'round the side yard and headed toward a neat grassy lawn. There, a small army of servants were busy trimming the overgrown hedges and pruning back several rows of wild roses. Chelsea pushed Lady Rathbone's chair up to a stone table standing beneath an ancient old oak, then settled herself on a small bench nearby. At their feet, a sea of blood-red poppies nodded their approval of the company. Though the air smelled crisp and fresh outdoors, the peaceful setting did nothing to lessen the sharp turmoil roiling inside Chelsea.

In moments Jared appeared with the tea things and after laying out the meal, Chelsea made a valiant attempt to nibble on a cucumber sandwich, more to appease Lady Rathbone than to fill her own empty stomach. But it was no use. After only a cursory bite, she laid the sandwich aside.

"Alayna dear," Lady Rathbone began, her alert gray eyes still fixed on Chelsea, "it saddens me to see you wasting away so. You simply must eat, my girl." She paused, then said, "Though it quite pleases me to know that you have come to care so deeply for my son."

Chelsea lifted an alarmed gaze. "E-excuse, me?"

"Oh, do not play the innocent with me," the older woman chided affectionately. "Your actions these past few days have been quite tell-tale. You are as in love with Rutherford as any young lady could be."

Chelsea blanched, but that did not deter Lady Rathbone from her course. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, Alayna. On the contrary, it is to be commended. Despite the fact that you and Rutherford's match was not engineered for love, I am quite pleased to see that it is happening anyway. A harmonious union is quite difficult to maintain without affection. And, now," she reached to pat Chelsea’s hand warmly, "the two of you have such a great deal of joy ahead of you. I am quite pleased, my dear."

Chelsea managed a somewhat uneven smile, then dropped her gaze to her lap. Perhaps Lady Rathbone was the tiniest bit correct in her assessment. Chelsea had indeed come to care for Lord Rathbone. In fact, she had quite possibly fallen in love with him the moment she laid eyes on him. He had, after all, just saved her life. But, of course,
her
feelings for the gentleman did not signify, and even so, they were certainly a long way from . . .
real
love. Weren't they?

"There, there, dear," Lady Rathbone said, still gazing intently at Chelsea. "If it is any comfort to you, my dear, I am quite certain Ford shares your sentiments. I have seen the way he looks at you."

Chelsea's eyes widened with fresh alarm. "Looks at me?"

Lady Rathbone laughed. "Indeed. And just look at the way he prolonged making this trip to London. He would not have gone at all if it were not absolutely necessary. He did not want to be away from you, Alayna. Surely, in light of the way you feel about him now, you intend to return to Honduras with him once the pair of you are married." She paused, then added quietly, "One wonders how you would survive a really long absence, my dear."

Having grown more uncomfortable by the minute, Chelsea wanted only to bolt from the garden and lock herself in her bedchamber. She was
not
Alayna Marchmont and she was
not
to marry Rutherford Campbell!

"Can you say nothing for yourself, Alayna?," Lady Rathbone’s tone was a bit sad. "You have become so very dear to me. I should not want to see you unhappy for the rest of your days. Happiness is not so very easy to come by in this world. One would be foolhardy indeed to walk away from it."

Chelsea fought the impulse to run from it. "I am certain you are right, Aunt Millicent," she murmured. "But, I-I . . . but, you see, there is something I . . . I . . . "

"What is it, my dear? What is troubling you?"

Chelsea bit her lower lip to keep from blurting out the horrible truth in a rush. If only she could be certain what to do. She gazed at Lady Rathbone imploringly.

"Yes?" Lady Rathbone's expression was expectant.

Lowering her lashes, Chelsea considered how to begin. She suddenly felt so very confused and alone, as if she could not fully trust herself to know what was right anymore. It was true, she
had
missed Ford. She had missed him fiercely. Without him, the castle had seemed empty and forlorn. And in spite of her resolve to confess the whole truth to him, the thought of being jerked from his side and never to see him again was almost more than she could bear. Perhaps . . . was it possible, she did not need to tell him the truth? Perhaps, if . . . oh, it was all so confusing.

"What is it, Alayna dear? I can see that you are quite distressed. I am sure you will feel much better if you tell me what the trouble is."

Chelsea felt a rush of confused tears begin to swim in her eyes. "Oh, Aunt Millicent, I . . . "She feared she would burst if she did not tell someone! "I-I . . . you see, I have a friend, Aunt Millicent, who finds herself in a . . . a rather difficult situation. It seems this friend gave her word to another friend to do a certain thing, and my friend has quite tried her best to do it, but the doing . . . that is, you see, when the doing of the deed is uncovered . . . it may cause others, whom my friend has also come to care a great deal for, a . . . a certain amount of grief. My friend's problem, Aunt Millicent, is . . ." she turned round brown eyes upon Lady Rathbone, ". . . to whom does my friend owe her allegiance? To the friend to whom she gave her word, or to those for whom she has come to care?"

Lady Rathbone drew in a long breath. "Well," she pursed her lips. "Your friend indeed has a problem."

Her hands clenched tightly in her lap, Chelsea waited breathlessly for the answer.

"I should think," Lady Rathbone began, "that to remain entirely honorable, your friend should endeavor to keep her word."

Chelsea could hardly believe her ears.

"That is," Lady Rathbone continued, "if the doing of the deed does not go against the law, or is in any way dishonorable."

Chelsea’s eyes squeezed shut. It was just as she feared. She
had
to tell Lord Rathbone the truth. But could she? Now. Now, that . . . oh, how had her sense of right and wrong become so hopelessly entangled with her feelings for Lord Rathbone?

U
pon entering the dining room the next morning, Chelsea was thrilled beyond measure to find Lord Rathbone himself seated at the head of the table. The smile that lifted the corners of her mouth was both spontaneous and brilliant.

"Rutherford!" she cried, "you have returned!" Then upon hearing the sound of Lady Rathbone's indulgent laughter, she felt more than a trifle embarrassed by her uncharacteristic show of exuberance.

"Did I not tell you he would?" the older woman said, amusement still evident in her voice. "Alayna and I have both missed you, Ford."

"And I you, Mother," Lord Rathbone said, his tone oddly terse. He flicked a gaze at Chelsea as she slid into her place at the table.

But the gentleman's cool demeanor was lost on her, so overjoyed was she to see him again. Drinking in the glorious sight of his handsome face, it was as if in the past three days she had lost all recollection of it. The vivid impressions she had so carefully tucked into her heart had somehow vanished and now she was breathless to fill up the void again with new and precious images of him.

Her eyes traveled over his face as if she were beholding it for the first time. The breadth of his tanned brow, his straight nose, and the gentle flare of his nostrils seemed to fascinate her. The resolute set of his jaw and the slight, but delicious curve of his full lower lip intrigued her.

He looked especially attractive this morning in a forest green brocade waistcoat and buff-coloured jacket. His snowy white cravat contrasted sharply with the deeply tanned skin of his neck and face.

As Chelsea's eyes traveled upward once more, she noted that while in London, he had had his hair trimmed, for the dark, thick locks were now styled in a manner that she recognized as being very much in vogue with the Corinthian set.

Suddenly the gentleman turned a quizzical gaze on Chelsea and her stomach did a funny flip-flop.

"As soon as you have eaten your breakfast, Alayna, there is a matter I should like to take up with you . . . in private," he said quietly.

The smile on Chelsea's lips widened. "Of course, Rutherford."

Her gaze cut to Lady Rathbone, whose lips were still twitching as she watched Chelsea. "You'd best eat, my dear," she said.

Chelsea smiled nervously. "As it happens, I feel quite famished, Aunt Millicent." She turned to the servant hovering at her elbow. "If you'd fill a plate from the sideboard for me, please."

The servant hastened to do her bidding. "The eggs, too, miss?"

Chelsea nodded eagerly. "And some of the custard and a wedge of the meat pie. Why, I declare," she said to no one in particular, "I am absolutely ravenous!"

Only Lady Rathbone seemed to find the comment amusing.

Minutes later Lord Rathbone laid aside his napkin and gazed directly at his cousin, who, at the moment, was giving full attention to the food on her plate. It had rather surprised him to realize that he had truly missed her. He had thought that being away from her, and from the castle, would feel much the same as it always did, that having left those concerns behind, he would be able to carry on in his normal detached fashion, his mind firmly fixed on the business at hand.

But that had not been the case this time. Thoughts of Alayna had constantly surfaced, making concentration when he was away from her as difficult as it had been when she was near. Which, he realized, made the troublesome rumors he had heard circulating about her in London that much more difficult to bear.

His mouth firmed into a thin line as images of her and . . .
no!
He would not think on that again until he had heard her confirm, or deny, the truth of the matter to him with her own lips.

The story was a sordid one and he had not enjoyed hearing it bandied about in the clubs and drawing rooms he had frequented. But being a fair man, he would not judge a person on the basis of hearsay alone. He would give Alayna the opportunity to confess the whole truth to him, or to assure him that the vile rumors were nothing more than gossipmonger's tongues run amuck. In Alayna's defense, he did not believe she would fabricate a falsehood in order to protect herself. He was quite certain she would tell him the truth.

Leaning back in his chair now, he continued to watch her devour the food on her plate. Watching her, he could not suppress a small smile. She was gobbling her food in much the same way as the hungry children of newly purchased slaves eat, scooping the food into their mouths as if they had not eaten in a week.

In many ways, Alayna was as guileless as a child. It was one of the many things that endeared her to him. Despite her continued obstinacy about returning to Honduras with him, he was certain she found his talk of the plantation fascinating. A sort of child-like hunger for adventure shone from her eyes as he talked and as she hung tenaciously on to his every word. And, just a moment ago, he smiled with inward satisfaction, she had been every bit as happy to see him as he was to see her.

But, his jaw firmed again, he would not let his true feelings for her show just yet. Not until he heard what he wanted to hear, nay,
needed
to hear from her lips. He had to know if she cared for him, and . . . equally as important, that there had been no other man before him.

He pushed away from the table. "I shall await you in the library, Alayna."

She lifted her gaze. "I shall only be a moment."

"Take your time." Moving away from the table, he felt her eyes following him as he exited the room.

* * * *

W
hen Lord Rathbone heard her gentle rap at the library door, he rose from his position before the rent table.

"Come in, Alayna."

Stepping into the room, he noted that she had taken the time to change her gown. At the breakfast table, she had looked charming. Now, dressed in a primrose sprigged muslin with a wide blue sash tied beneath her breasts, she looked . . . breathtaking. Her butter gold hair seemed to sparkle and her dark brown eyes were as bright as dew-drops glistening in the meadow. His pulse quickened as he watched her glide toward him, the soft folds of her gown outlining the gentle curves of her lithe body.

Dragging his eyes to her face, he was suddenly struck by the enormous difference there also. In place of her unmasked joy at seeing him, she now wore a fixed look of . . . resolute determination. His eyes narrowed with disgust. Unless he completely missed the mark, Alayna knew exactly what this interview was about.

With a cool nod, he indicated a chair where she might sit. But she surprised him by saying, "Thank you, I prefer to stand."

"Very well." He positioned himself before the large desk in the center of the room and folded both arms across his chest. After a pause, he said, "Is there something you wish to confess to me?"

He was not prepared for the look of shock that transformed her face again, as if the very life were being sucked from her body.

So, he had
not
missed the mark.

"I am waiting," he said, realizing that in a perverse way he was actually enjoying her discomfort.

The sharp rise and fall of her breasts momentarily distracted him, but he managed to push the delightful image from his mind. She had grasped the back of a nearby chair, apparently for additional support.