And then the Prince Regent wondered aloud if he should play another or perhaps move to the pianoforte. She thought she heard a collective sigh. After all, even though he was good, the evening had already been a long one. Luckily, Mrs. Fitzherbert took control where no one else would dare to gainsay the eldest royal son.
“Let your friends go to their beds,” she advised. “Tomorrow, you shall see them all again in the daylight for a picnic and a delightful bath in the sea.”
“True enough,” he agreed. “The party is over.”
And just like that, they were released to grab their wraps and coats, top hats and canes, and disappear into the night.
As Glynnis passed under the arch of the south gate, a man was suddenly at her side. Smiling to herself, she turned to see ... Lord Cumberry.
Why had she expected and even hopped for Hargrove?
“May I escort you back to your house?” he asked.
Pausing her steps as others flowed around them, she supposed walking with him wouldn’t cause any harm, seeing as how there were so many people out on the street. But she no longer had any interest in kissing him, knowing he needed money as much as she did.
“Yes, thank you.” She would let him accompany her to the Old Ship and then leave him in the lobby. It was probably safer and more acceptable than strolling along by herself, perhaps even being mistaken for a lightskirt.
They walked down the Steyne toward the water, passing by Mrs. Fitzherbert’s grand house.
“The Prince Regent used his own architect to design his wife’s house,” Cumberry offered.
Glynnis startled. No one called Maria Fitzherbert hiswifeout loud since their marriage in her drawing room in London had never been considered legitimate by the king nor the church. Moreover, Prince George was now mostunhappilyyet officially married to his cousin, Princess Caroline.
She wondered if Lord Cumberry was trying to be inflammatory by styling Mrs. Fitzherbert thusly.
“Come, don’t look surprised,” he said. “Prinny only agreed to give up his precious Mrs. Fitzherbert and marry our Prussian queen-in-waiting so Parliament would pay his debts. Some say they were as great as £650,000.”
“Gracious!” Glynnis couldn’t even conceive of so much money.
“Who would not happily let a woman go for that type of coin?” Cumberry asked, chuckling to himself, and Glynnis knew Hargrove had spoken the truth about him being a petticoat pensioner. He would undoubtedly give up a woman or take up with one for a great deal less than the prince’s debt.
Regardless, this odious man might be correct. She would have to scour her own feelings deeply to come up with the answer.
Would she give up the person she loved for such an enormous sum, especially if it were a debt taken off her shoulders?
Would she take up with a man for the same reason?
It made her sad to think money was worth more than love. And then Lord Cumberry asked, “Where is your oceanside residence, dear lady?”
She squared her shoulders and chose honesty for she couldn’t brook his company a moment longer.
“I have a room at the Old Ship, and it doesn’t even face the sea.”
He stopped so quickly the soles of his leather shoes made a screeching noise upon the modern pavement the prince had ordered Brighton officials to install to keep “his favorite place” up to snuff.
Glynnis turned.
“Is something wrong?”As if she didn’t know.
“I just remembered a prior engagement,” he said.
“At this hour?” She nearly smiled, wondering if Lord Cumberry would have the graciousness to at least look apologetic or ashamed of being such a base mercenary.
He appeared to be neither. He offered her a smile and a wink.
“Good evening, Miss Talbot.” He headed in the other direction without even the courteousness to finish escorting her to the hotel door.
With a shrug, Glynnis clutched her lightweight shawl around her and resumed her stroll. She was only minutes from the Old Ship anyway, although the streets had become noticeably emptier as most of those from the party were in lodgings there on the Steyne and had reached their doors or had taken carriages along the Marine Parade to the eastern most part of Brighton, the Royal Crescent.
