Sheri Cobb South (11 page)

This pronouncement not unnaturally caused Polly’s three other gallants to add their protests to Sutcliffe’s, lest they be made to look no-account by a stripling still wet behind the ears. Polly, however, was quite capable of defending herself.

“On the contrary, Sir Aubrey,” she retorted. “If my dancing is as objectionable as you imply, there might be a great many gentlemen eager to do away with my dancing master.”

“Touché,
Miss Crump,” he said, acknowledging the hit with the slightest twitch of his lips. “I believe the next assembly is to be held at the Castle Inn. If you will do me the honor of saving the first dance for me, I shall endeavor to watch my back.”

Whatever response Polly had expected, it certainly was not that.

“I—I should—the pleasure will be all mine, sir,” she stammered dazedly.

Mr. Mayhew glowered at the interloper and young Sutcliffe sulked, while one of Polly’s military contingent went so far as to reach for the hilt of his sword.   Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed.

“Oh, unfair!” cried Bonaparte’s would-be decapitator. “Is this how rudeness should be rewarded? Grant Sir Aubrey the first dance if you must, Miss Crump, but promise me the second!”

Even the slowest of Polly’s court lost no time in extracting a similar promise, and Sir Aubrey soon had the satisfaction of knowing that his penniless little nobody would not lack for partners. Still, he could not help noticing that, while she promised each of her suitors a dance, she refused to grant the coveted supper dance to any one of them. He cast a speaking glance at Mr. Brundy. If his host were a betting man, Sir Aubrey would give him odds that Miss Crump would go to supper on the earl of Camfield’s arm. Really, he thought, someone should warn the chit not to show her hand quite so plainly. She would be better advised to go in to supper with someone else—himself, perhaps. Keeping Lord Camfield guessing would surely guarantee the earl’s increased interest.

Polly’s retinue remained long past the prescribed quarter-hour deemed proper for morning calls, each gentleman being reluctant to leave his rivals a clear field. Consequently, it was not until Mr. Brundy suggested that her court might wish to assist in Polly’s dance lessons by partnering Lady Tabor (while Sir Aubrey, of course, instructed his pupil) that all four gentlemen simultaneously and by fortuitous circumstance recollected urgent business which until that moment had completely escaped their memory.

As Sir Aubrey bade the vanquished quartet adieu, he could not but wonder at Polly’s unwavering preference for an earl more than twice her age. To be sure, more than one handsome young man had been rejected in favor of an earl’s coronet, but while desire for a title might effectively remove the two captains and Mr. Mayhew from contention, there was still his cousin Sutcliffe to be considered. Already a viscount, Sutcliffe would one day inherit the title of marquess, making his rank higher than Camfield’s. And while Sir Aubrey would be the first to admit that the viscount was an idiot, he was objective enough to acknowledge that his cousin’s countenance was not ill-favored and might, with maturity, become handsome—a prospect which, one would have thought, would give him a decided advantage over a man with more than half a century in his dish. Or was Camfield’s age part of his attraction? If Miss Crump had hopes of soon becoming a wealthy widow, she was in for a long wait; the earl’s health was excellent, and there was no reason to suppose he would not live another twenty years or more.

No, there was no accounting for Miss Crump’s partiality for Lord Camfield—unless she had truly conceived a
tendre
for him. To be sure, such a possibility defied logic, but it had been his observation that the tender emotion rarely inspired its sufferers to behave logically. Why else would that most pragmatic of men, Ethan Brundy, glimpse Lady Helen Radney across the width of Covent Garden Theater and vow on the spot to wed her? Why, for that matter, would Lady Helen, who had rejected the
ton’s
most eligible bachelors, decide that an illegitimate workhouse brat was the only man with whom she could find happiness? No, crack-brained as the notion seemed, it was the only possible explanation. Miss Crump was in love with the earl of Camfield.

And for some reason, he found that thought more disturbing than the most venal of motives.

Chapter 9

If youth but knew, if old age but could. HENRI ESTIENNE,
Les Prémices

Sir Aubrey’s suspicions that Miss Crump harbored an unlikely
tendre
for her middle-aged admirer were bolstered further on the day of the assembly, when two nosegays were delivered to Polly. As the whole company was present at the time, Sir Aubrey was made privy to Lady Helen’s comment that the pink roses from Sutcliffe would add just the right touch to Polly’s new gown, which had been delivered from Madame Franchot’s shop only that morning. No mention was made of the other suitor, whose offering of violets would have clashed with the turquoise hue of the gown. When Polly descended the stairs that evening wearing not only the much-maligned violets, but a lilac frock which Sir Aubrey would swear she had worn once before already, he formed a very fair estimation of their donor’s identity. He made up his mind to put this theory to the test during the promised dance.

“Not to say you don’t look fetching. Miss Crump,” he said when the movements of the dance brought them together briefly, “but I fancy myself to be somewhat knowledgeable about these things, and I am quite certain I have seen that gown before.”

“That you have,” she confessed. “I had a new gown for the occasion, but these lovely violets did not match, and I did so want to wear them.”

“You behold me burning with curiosity. Miss Crump. May I be so bold as to ask the name of the gentleman who can inspire any lady to wear the same gown twice?”

“It pleases you to tease me, sir,” chided Polly, although her telltale blush betrayed her. “But since you ask, the violets came from Lord Camfield.”

“Ah! Taking pity on the aged and infirm, are we?”

Polly’s chin came up, all traces of embarrassment flown. “That is no way to speak of one who is your social superior!”

“Superior in age, rank, and all the virtues,” agreed Sir Aubrey in a bored drawl, already regretting his rather malicious dig at the earl.

He could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that he had botched it rather badly. He should have known that denigrating Camfield could only cause a girl of Miss Crump’s spirit to defend him. Indeed, if the earl offered for her now, she would very likely accept simply for the satisfaction of putting him, a mere baronet, in his place.

But of course, that was what he wanted. He had come to Brighton for the sole purpose of ridding Mr. Brundy of his unwelcome houseguest, and as far as he could tell, the best way to do that was by marrying her off. If he could expedite the process by driving Miss Crump into the arms of her most likely prospect, why, friendship demanded that he do no less. By the time he surrendered his fair partner to one of her two captains—he could never keep them straight—Sir Aubrey had succeeded in convincing himself that he had accomplished exactly what he intended.

That being the case, he should have been immensely pleased with his efforts when, on the very next day, Lord Camfield called in Marine Parade not to see Miss Crump, but to request a private interview with Mr. Brundy. However, while his host received the earl in his study, Sir Aubrey paced the floor of the drawing room, conscious all the while of a vague feeling of discontent.

It was only natural, he supposed. Brighton was bound to seem a little flat once Miss Crump had attached her earl, but having fulfilled his obligation to Mr. Brundy, he need not remain there any longer. After depositing his mama in Belgrave Square, he would be free to go wherever he wished and do whatever he pleased.  To be sure, London would be dreadfully thin of company, but there were other places he might go for amusement. For instance, he might return to Tabor Hall in preparation for the approaching dove season. This idea, however, was summarily rejected, for Sir Aubrey had a feeling he would very quickly grow bored with his own company. Nor could he visit his Inglewood relations in the North, for the marquess and his son would no doubt remain in Brighton at least until the first week of August and the annual running of the Brighton Cup. He could always see if Lord David Markham and his new wife had returned from their honeymoon in Paris. He doubted they would welcome him any more than had Mr. Brundy and his bride, but at least Lady David, having been married and widowed before, might be rendered less uncomfortable by his presence than was Lady Helen; mice had not troubled his slumber again, just as Mr. Brundy had predicted. Sir Aubrey grinned. Small wonder Ethan was eager to see the back of them!

Mr. Brundy emerged a short time later to inform Miss Crump that Lord Camfield was desirous of having a word with her.

“Of course,” said Polly, and rose to join his lordship with what seemed to Sir Aubrey as unseemly haste.

“Well?” asked Lady Helen breathlessly.  “What did he want?”

“What else? ‘e wanted permission to ask Miss Crump to marry ‘im,” Mr. Brundy answered.

“And you gave it to him?”   Lady Helen’s outraged expression cautioned her husband to answer in the affirmative at his own peril.

“What else could I do?” he asked reasonably. “I’ve no authority over Miss Crump. She’s only a guest in me ‘ouse.” As Lady Helen opened her mouth to speak, he quickly forestalled the argument he knew was forthcoming. “And don’t give me a lot of twaddle about ‘er being me sister, because I know it isn’t so!”

Lady Helen knew better than to reopen a subject on which her husband’s mind was irrevocably made up, but she was by no means satisfied. “Still, you might have hinted him away, pointed out the obvious differences in situation and experience which must doom such a match from the start—”

“I’ve not seen as ‘ow differences in situation and experience ‘ave ‘urt
us
any,” he pointed out.

“But Ethan, he is old enough to be her father!”

“If Miss Crump doesn’t want to marry Lord Camfield, she can tell ‘im so ‘erself,” replied her lord and master in a voice which brooked no argument. “I couldn’t find it in me ‘eart to serve ‘is lordship such an ill turn. It ‘asn’t been that long since I asked the Dook for permission to address you, love, and it’s not an experience I’d care to repeat. ‘ad me fair shaking in me boots, ‘e did.”

“Hmph!” muttered Lady Tabor. “Apparently his Grace was not nearly terrifying enough.”

“I’ve no doubt you could teach ‘im a thing or two, me lady,” conceded Mr. Brundy.

Sir Aubrey said nothing, but concentrated all his efforts on trying not to imagine what might be taking place behind the study door. In truth, his imagination would have been far off the mark. Polly entered the study to find Lord Camfield standing before the fireplace, his hands lightly clasped behind his back. As soon as the door was shut behind her, he came forward to kiss her hand.

“I believe you know why I am here, Miss Crump,” he said.

She nodded shyly. “I—I think so.”

“My dear Miss Crump—may I call you Apollonia?”

Resentment flared in Polly’s breast at Sir Aubrey’s intrusion into a touching reunion between father and daughter. Aloud, she said only “My friends call me Polly.”

“Polly,” he echoed. “First, I suppose I should tell you a bit of my history, if that would not bore you.”

“Oh, no!” Polly cried eagerly. “Not at all!”

“Dearest girl! Very well, then. Being a second son, I never expected to inherit my father’s title. After I finished school, I departed for the West Indies, where I managed my father’s holdings in Jamaica. I might have remained there indefinitely, had it not been for my elder brother’s death in a riding accident. As he died without issue, I became my father’s heir, and was summoned accordingly.”

As she listened attentively to the earl’s narrative, Polly was struck by the realization that she might have had an uncle.

“Since there were no younger sons, I had a responsibility to marry and produce an heir,” Lord Camfield continued. “Not wishing to shirk my duty, I married one of my cousins and fathered both sons and daughters. My wife died seven years ago, and though I was fond of her and mourned her sincerely, there was never that depth of feeling which can exist between a man and a woman.”

Polly understood that the earl was trying to explain to her his relationship with her mother—and no doubt to justify it, since he had been married at the time. But although his actions had certainly been very wrong, she was glad to know that he had loved her mother, even if circumstances had prevented him from marrying her.

“Perhaps that feeling was reserved for another lady,” she suggested gently.

He smiled, much encouraged by her quick understanding. “Indeed, such has proven to be the case. And now, having done my duty in guaranteeing the succession, I am free to marry to please myself.”

Polly’s blue eyes opened wide at this unexpected turn in the conversation. She had known that the earl was a widower, but she had not considered that he might wish to marry again. The new countess might be less than pleased to take in the earl’s natural daughter, especially if the lady he had chosen was a widow with children of her own to settle. Had she found her father at last, only to lose him again? Her heart plummeted at the thought.

“This—this is news, indeed!” said Polly, trying valiantly for his sake to sound pleased. “I—I wish you very happy, my lord.”

“It is my wish that you will
make
me very happy,” stated the earl ardently, possessing himself of her hands. “My dear Miss Crump—Polly—will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Polly, tugging to free herself, stared in horror as her father was transformed into a suitor before her very eyes. “You wish to
marry
me?”

“More than anything!” declared Lord Camfield, struggling to reclaim her hands so that he might press moist kisses into her palms.

“Why, it’s
indecent!”
Polly exclaimed, snatching her hands away.

“Never say so! You are young, perhaps, but I will teach you to love me,” the earl insisted as he caught her about the waist, having abandoned the attempt to recapture her hands.