I sighed but nodded. “I know.”
Mama gave me a reassuring smile. “Not to worry. There is nothing that can ruin this trip for you. I know how long you have dreamed of it.”
I took a deep breath, allowing myself to smile again. I was here—I was in Brighton. Charlotte’s disappointment would pass, and we could still have a beautiful holiday. We had an entiremonth to enjoy all that Brighton had to offer. The views, the socializing, and of course, the gentlemen.
I had been so focused on the scenery that I had forgotten to observe the people on the beach. I began my discreet study of at a group of passing promenaders. One man among them, with chestnut brown hair, angular dark brows, and coffee-colored eyes stood out from the rest. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a perfectly tailored black jacket. His expression was stern, even as his gaze met mine. I tried not to stare but found that I couldn’t help it. He commanded attention, even if he didn’t appreciate it.
The instant our eyes met, he looked away, aloof and unaffected.
My lungs felt heavy as I drew a deep gulp of sea air. Well. A handsome face, but certainly not a friendly one. I, on the other hand, had been told that I had a very friendly face. I had inherited it from my mother.
I shook the image of the aloof man from my mind as I observed the other faces on the beach. Charlotte and Edmund were growing farther away in the distance.
“We ought to rescue him,” Mama muttered. Not only was she concerned for Edmund, but she was also responsible for being Charlotte’s chaperone—as well as mine. I understood Mama’s concern, being trusted by Charlotte’s parents to protect her reputation, but I also knew Lady Pembury, Charlotte’s mother, would be more than pleased to learn that her daughter had been alone with Edmund.
Clearly assuming I would follow her, Mama set off in their direction. I followed for several paces before slowing down, eyeing the children who played in the sand near the water’s edge. After Charlotte rejoined us, I knew she would judge me for collecting shells or dipping my hands in the water. She would call me childish or improper. But I knew in my heart that Icouldn’t call my first day in Brighton a success unless I felt those waters against my own skin. They were rumored to have healing powers, and though I wasn’t certain I believed it, I was still painfully curious.
I strayed off toward the shoreline, making sure to remain within Mama’s range of sight if she wished to find me. I watched the pebbles under my feet transition to wet, mushy sand. Strands of seaweed littered what had been the sea floor just hours earlier, before the tide had peeled the water away. Small tan and white shells were half-buried in the sand, peeking up and tempting me.
I cast my gaze around briefly before removing my gloves and stooping down to pick up a white shell. I ran my thumb along its ribbed edges. Perhaps while I was in Brighton, I could experiment with shell craft. I had always wanted to create a painting of the sea, and it would only be fitting to pair it with a frame decorated in tiny shells.
I opened one of my gloves, using it to hold the shells I collected. I worked quickly, snatching up all the whole pieces I could find and discarding the broken ones. I approached the water’s edge and rinsed the sand from my fingertips. The waves came in quickly, spilling over my boots. I laughed, a giddy sensation gripping my entire body. The water was cold, which made the idea of the bathing machines even more thrilling.
I scoured the sand as I walked along the shoreline, catching sight of a unique shell, at least an inch larger than the others I had collected, buried deep in the sand. I crouched down, prying it out by the edges. The moment I unearthed the shell, I caught sight of legs—several legs—dangling from beneath it.
And then they moved, curling toward my finger.
A sharp pinch made me gasp. I dropped my gloves, and all the shells I had collected scattered in the sand. Instinctively, I flung my hand outward as I tried to detach the small crab. I letout a screech, and the creature flew several feet through the air in a perfect arc.
I looked up just in time to see it collide with a gentleman’s face.
Chapter Two
ALICE
Iheard the thud as it struck solidly against his cheek, then the curse he muttered under his breath. My muscles tensed as I recognized the man as the handsome, dark-eyed one with the aloof expression.
Something told me he would not find the humor in the situation.
He rubbed his face where the crab had struck him, then examined the sand nearby. He spotted the assailant, who was now scuttling toward the water. The man’s confusion made his brow furrow…but then he suddenly looked in my direction.
A wave of heat passed over my face. Would it be best to take the blame? Or to pretend I hadn’t even witnessed the ordeal?
…Or caused it?
I looked away from his curious gaze as quickly as I could, but I was still nursing the pinched skin on the palm of my hand, which was red with a small welt. I hid it behind my shawl, picking up my gloves and slowly rising to my feet. My shells were still scattered in the sand.
I held my breath, hoping the man would simply walk away. Instead, I sensed him move closer to me. There was nowhere to hide, not unless I ran into the sea and dunked myself underwater. I wasn’t certain what I was more threatened by at the moment—the unrelenting waves, or this man’s scowl.
He stopped two paces away, a crease between his dark brows. There were a few grains of sand just below his sharp cheekbone where the crab had struck him. Seeing him closer, I was alarmed by how handsome he looked. Younger too, perhaps not any older than Edmund.
Just when I thought he didn’t plan to speak—but simply stare at me until I crumbled—he opened his mouth. “I wasn’t aware that Brighton was home to a species of flying crabs.” His deep voice suited him perfectly.
Was he trying to convince me to own up to the mishap? Or was he giving me a way to escape? I straightened my shoulders and tried to appear more elegant than I felt with my pile of shells at my feet and wind-swept hair. “You must be on your guard, sir. They are running rampant this time of year.”
The man continued staring at me, so I set to work putting my gloves back on, ignoring the throbbing pain on my palm. Was he angry? When I looked up, he hadn’t moved an inch. “Flyingrampant, you mean.”
I blinked. “Yes, of course.”
