Sheri Cobb South (8 page)

She joined the others in the drawing room, and checked in the doorway. Nothing in Michin’s Book Emporium had prepared her for the sight of so much elegance assembled under one roof. Lady Tabor, seated in solitary splendor on a low-backed Grecian sofa, was awe-inspiring in a black lace gown that emphasized her delicate bone structure and snow-white hair. The Brundys, both man and wife, stood near the window with their heads together, Lady Helen breathtakingly lovely in sapphire blue silk, her white bosom adorned with the most magnificent diamond necklace that Polly had ever seen—not, to be sure, that she had seen all that many with which to compare it. Even Mr. Brundy looked surprisingly elegant—or at least he did, until Polly’s gaze fell upon Sir Aubrey Tabor. The baronet, dressed in a dark blue long-tailed coat, form-fitting black pantaloons, and a waistcoat of white brocade, quite cast his host into the shade. Polly’s heart began to thump uncomfortably against her ribs, and Sir Aubrey, as if hearing the sound it made all the way across the room, chose that moment to glance her way.

“Ah, Miss Crump,” he said, his gray eyes gleaming with appreciation as he came forward to greet her. “May I say how much I am looking forward to tonight’s performance?”

Although Polly could not but be gratified by the admiration in his eyes, something in the tone of Sir Aubrey’s voice suggested that the performance he had in mind was not the professional actors’, but her own.

“I, too, am eager to see the play,” she replied with the slightest emphasis on the last word.

After the assembled company had finished admiring one another’s finery, the party split up, Sir Aubrey escorting his mother in one carriage while Mr. Brundy, his wife, and his “sister” followed in another. The little group reassembled in the box Mr. Brundy had hired over Sir Aubrey’s protests, the baronet being loth to let his host bear the entire cost of the Brighton sojourn. But Mr. Brundy had insisted, and as Sir Aubrey was well aware that the weaver could buy him several times over, he capitulated with a good grace. As they assumed their seats, however, Sir Aubrey repaid his friend’s generosity by ushering Polly and Lady Tabor to the chairs at the front of the box, leaving Mr. Brundy and his bride to enjoy the privacy afforded by its shadowy recesses.

“It may interest you to know, Miss Crump,” said Sir Aubrey, seating himself between his mother and Polly, “that I last attended the theater in the company of your brother. We were at Covent Garden in London, and it was on that occasion that he spotted Lady Helen Radney, as she was then, in a box across the way and vowed to marry her. Within four days, I saw them joined as man and wife.”

With an effort, Polly refrained from turning to look over her shoulder at the man under discussion. “I had no idea he was so ruthless,” she said, barely suppressing a shudder.

“Ethan, ruthless?    I should rather describe him as determined—the only shared characteristic, I might add, that supports your claims of kinship.”

“You find me determined, sir?” Polly asked, not quite sure whether to feel flattered or insulted.

“My dear girl, I find you positively obstinate.”

Polly was spared the necessity of a reply by the raising of the curtain—a fortuitous circumstance, as Sir Aubrey’s pronouncement had rendered her momentarily speechless. She had never been to the theater before, and so was soon able to forget her companion’s disturbing remarks in the magical world unfolding on the stage below. Alas, her reprieve was to be a short one, for the first act had not yet ended when Sir Aubrey leaned over to address her in an undervoice.

“I was not aware that you had other acquaintances among the
ton,”
he remarked.

“Nor have I, sir,” she replied, puzzled by the seeming
non sequitur.

“You may not know him, but old ‘Carrot’ Camfield certainly seems to know you,” he said, nodding in the direction of a box on the opposite side of the theater.

Gripped by a horrible premonition, Polly scanned the far side of the theater until she located the gentleman to whom Sir Aubrey referred. Her greatest fear since arriving in Brighton was that one of Mr. Minchin’s regular customers might recognize her—a fear she acknowledged as largely irrational, since she hardly recognized herself in her elegantly dressed and stylishly coiffed stranger she occasionally glimpsed in the mirror. Nevertheless, she was relieved to discover that the man eyeing her through his quizzing glass was a complete stranger. Her relief was short-lived, however, for the gentleman regarded her with an unwavering gaze which put her quite out of countenance. She could think of no reason for him to do so, for she was quite certain she had never seen him before, much less been formally introduced. He was fifty if he was a day, and his old-fashioned queue, which in his younger days had no doubt provided the inspiration for his sobriquet, had faded to a more muted, albeit undeniably orange, hue. She could not imagine why he should take such an interest in her.

Unless...

She allowed her gaze to drift back in his direction, unconsciously twisting one red-gold ringlet around her finger. Yes, he was certainly old enough to be her father, and one might detect a certain resemblance, even from this distance. She wished she might have a closer look at his face, the better to discover what color were his eyes, but although Lady Tabor’s opera glasses lay unused on her ladyship’s lap, Polly dared not ask to borrow them for the purpose of ogling an unknown gentleman across the theater.

“Who did you say he was?” she asked Sir Aubrey.

“He is styled Lord Camfield, but the earl’s intimates call him Carrot—an appellation which, I believe, was even more apt in his younger days than it is now.”

An earl, Polly thought. Certainly he would fit her mother’s description of a gentleman of Quality. Unfortunately, there was bound to be a certain amount of awkwardness in accosting a stranger and claiming to be his illegitimate child, as well as a number of obstacles to be overcome—his wife, for instance, might be less than pleased to be presented with living proof of her husband’s infidelity.

“Is Lord Camfield married?”

The directness of the question momentarily startled Sir Aubrey out of his air of elegant ennui. He subjected Polly to a close scrutiny of which she was blissfully unaware, her attention being fully engaged by the gentleman in the distant box.

“I believe the earl is a widower.”

Polly nodded, a gesture indicative of approval which was not lost on the baronet. It appeared the mysterious Miss Crump had not come to find a brother at all, but a husband. Apparently a man more than twice her age would do nicely, so long as he was an earl. Far from being repulsed by such raw ambition, Sir Aubrey marvelled at her effrontery. After all, what was she doing that was not done by every milk-and-water miss ever to darken the threshold of Almack’s? The only difference, so far as he could tell, was that she was resorting to trickery and subterfuge to beat the milk-and-water misses at their own game.

But the question remained: why, of all people, had she chosen Mr. Brundy as her “brother”? If a brilliant marriage was what she wanted, surely she should have looked higher than a weaver, even a fabulously wealthy one, to sponsor her in Society. Although now that he thought of it, perhaps she had been less interested in Mr. Brundy’s wealth than she was in Lady Helen’s social position. In fact, when seen through an adventuress’s eyes, the Brundys must appear a perfect combination. Mr. Brundy could fund her little adventure, and Lady Helen could provide the needed social entree. And if the charade required that she claim to be a near relation, how was Mr. Brundy to deny it? No one, least of all Mr. Brundy himself, knew who his father was, and his mother was too dead to refute the charge. Yes, Miss Crump was a cunning little minx; Sir Aubrey would give long odds to any man for whom she set her cap.

The curtain fell on the first act shortly afterwards, and Sir Aubrey was not in the least surprised when Lord Camfield, with whom he was only casually acquainted, stopped by their box for a visit. As Mr. Brundy and Lady Helen had taken advantage of the brief intermission to take a turn about the lobby (or that was their story, at any rate), Lord Camfield sat down in Mr. Brundy’s vacated chair with every appearance of a man preparing to settle in for the night.

“Lady Tabor, your humble servant,” said the earl, with a nod for her ladyship. “And Sir Aubrey, always a pleasure. Pray make me known to your charming companion.”

“Of course,” replied Sir Aubrey, giving Polly a quizzical look. “Miss Crump, may I present Lord Camfield?”

At last face to face with the man who might be her father, Polly searched the earl’s countenance for some likeness to her own, and found it in his twinkling blue eyes.

“How do you do?” she asked somewhat breathlessly.

“The better, I am sure, for having met you. Miss Crump,” he returned gallantly, raising her gloved hand to his lips. “Tell me, is this your first visit to Brighton?”

“Indeed, it is, my lord.”

“And what, pray, do you think of the Royal Pavilion?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say, as I have not had the pleasure of a visit,” confessed Polly.

“That will change soon enough,” predicted Lord Camfield confidently. “Once Prinny gets a good look at you—but that’s neither here nor there. Will I see you at the assembly tomorrow night? It is to be held at the Old Ship Hotel.”

Polly nodded. “I believe Lady Helen plans to attend. If so, I will accompany her.”

“Good, good!  Then I shall hope to have the honor of standing up with you.”

“As I never learned to dance, I fear I must decline, my lord. But I’m sure I shall enjoy watching you dance with the other ladies.”

Sir Aubrey, catching the wistful note she could not quite suppress, decided to take a hand in the matter. Watching Miss Crump casting her lures for the middle-aged earl promised to be the most interesting amusement Brighton had offered in years, and she could hardly work her charms languishing against the wall. Even adventuresses, he reasoned, needed a helping hand at times.

“We cannot allow you to be dismissed as a wallflower. Miss Crump,” he objected. “If you will allow me, I shall endeavor to teach you to dance. Perhaps we can persuade Lady Helen to play the pianoforte for the lessons.”

“What an excellent notion!” exclaimed Lady Helen, entering the box at that moment on the arm of her husband. “Depend upon it, you shall be the belle of the ball, waltzing the night away with all the handsomest young men. I assure you, Miss Crump, there is nothing to equal it.”

Upon hearing this declaration, Mr. Brundy regarded his wife with a look of unconcealed surprise.
“Nothing,
‘elen?”

“Nothing,
Mr. Brundy,” she replied, glowering at him.

“I am pleased to see that you have such accommodating friends, Miss Crump,” said Lord Camfield, with a grateful nod in Lady Helen’s direction, “but I must protest this bit about handsome young men. Since Sir Aubrey is to have the pleasure of teaching you to dance, I think it only fair that I should have the privilege of being the first to lead you onto the floor.”

Polly agreed to this arrangement quite willingly, and as the curtain rose on the second act Lord Camfield, having achieved his object, took his leave of the party, pressing Polly’s fingers in farewell before returning to his own box.

* * * *

‘“aven’t you forgotten something, Aubrey?” asked Mr. Brundy some time later. The theater party had returned to the house on the Marine Parade, and the ladies had sought their beds. Sir Aubrey and his host, however, had retired to the library for brandy.

Sir Aubrey, sprawled comfortably in a leather-upholstered wing chair, idly swirled the amber-colored liquid in his glass. “Forgotten something? No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re supposed to be getting rid of the girl, not playing caper-merchant!”

The look Sir Aubrey bestowed upon him was one of wounded innocence. “I say, Ethan, that’s dashed unfeeling of you! Was it not only a month ago that Lady David Markham was teaching
you
to dance?”

“That’s different! I was trying to woo me wife away from that bounder Waverly.”

“And if Miss Crump expects to snare Camfield, she will need to learn how to go about in Society.”

“Oh no, she will not, because she’s not going to be around that long! As soon as you can arrange it, she’s going back to Covent Garden or wherever it is she came from!”

“Covent Garden?” echoed Sir Aubrey, much struck. “Do you think she’s an actress, then? I confess, that thought had not occurred to me.”

“I wasn’t referring to the theater,” Mr. Brundy said darkly.

“No, I am sure you are wrong, Ethan. Your Miss Crump was never anyone’s doxy, although the theater might be a possibility, now that I think on it. To be sure, her behavior would seem to indicate that seeing a play was a new experience for her, but I daresay that would be a simple enough matter for any actress worthy of the name.”

“I don’t care ‘oo she is! I just want ‘er out of me ‘ouse!”

“All in good time, Ethan, all in good time,” Sir Aubrey said placidly. “I think your best bet is to marry her off.”

“And ‘ow am I to do that, I’d like to know? She’s got no fortune, and as for family, we don’t even know ‘oo she is.”

“The same might have been said for you, but that didn’t stop the Duke from approving your suit,” Sir Aubrey reminded him.

“No, and don’t think I didn’t pay dearly for the privilege!”

“Exactly so. In like manner, a sizeable dowry might inspire suitors to overlook any, er, irregularities concerning Miss Crump’s parentage.”

“It might,” agreed Mr. Brundy, “except for one thing. She ‘asn’t got one.”

“She will if you give it to her.”

Mr. Brundy was rendered momentarily speechless, but his thunderous expression spoke volumes.

“Come now, Ethan, if I’m willing to have my toes trod upon, surely you can part with enough for a respectable dowry!” chided Sir Aubrey. “I’ll wager Lady Helen spent a tidy enough sum on those togs Miss Crump was wearing tonight. What’s a few thousand pounds more to a Croesus like you?”

“I’ll not dignify that question with an answer, save to say that me wife’s powers of persuasion cast yours into the shade,” replied Mr. Brundy.