Naturally, Prince George had come by way of the north road through Cuckfield, directly from London, with no need to travel along the waterfront. Thus, she had yet to see his royal carriage. But that very night, there would be a welcoming ball. And God-willing, a party, a dinner, or a ball every night after, as well as bathing parties on the beach, picnics, riding parties, horse-races, and whatnot. Glynnis was determined to attend every event, whether invited or not.
And from the very first night, she would do her best to secure a husband. One never knew how long the prince would grace his favorite seaside town with his corpulent presence. Sometimes for a month around his birthday. Sometimes longer. All she knew was Brighton was suddenly exploding with wealthy Londoners, but when the Regent left, those either in power or seeking power would leave as well. She had scant time to act.
Hello!Glynnis leaned forward. From where she was seated in the bowed front window of the tea-room attached to the hotel, she watched a man, obviously a nobleman by the manner of his dress, amble along the pavement. To her delight, he entered the door to the Old Ship.
Touching her bright yellow hat to make sure it was still pinned straight, she gave each cheek a pinch and then looked expectantly at the doorway connecting the hotel’s lobby to the quaint dining area. Every chance was an opportunity, or every opportunity was a chance. She couldn’t recall quite how the saying went, but every rum neddy and well-breeched fellow was potential husband material.
Heropportunitystrolled into the dining room, glanced around for an empty table, noticed her and grimaced.
Blast it all!It was that wretch of a man, Hargrove. He’d made London a nightmare, and now he was in Brighton.
Glynnis turned away, feeling defeated, not caring if her shoulders slumped as she went back to gazing at passers-by. She had hoped to marry for love when she was a foolish girl being presented to the queen at seventeen. At age twenty, after experiencing much disappointment, she’d met the quick-witted, handsome Lord Hargrove. He had sparked some warm feelings of tenderness she’d imagined might have turned into long-lasting love.
Unfortunately, he’d become skittish and said all sorts of nasty, accusatory things. At that moment, she could only hope to marry without hatred and resentment.
Thinking of which, the vicious viscount presented himself beside her table, looking down at her from his great height, past his perfect nose.
“Why are you here?” he asked without preamble.
Lord Hargrove was as handsome as ever, thick brown hair, a strong jaw, and those shoulders! Her insides did a familiar flip at seeing him. His kiss had been everything she’d ever wished for, giving her all sorts of pleasant, fluttery feelings.
She sighed. If only she had let nature take its natural course instead of pushing her advantage with him. All she’d done was push him away.
“Greetings to you, too. Why is everyone who is anyone here?” she countered, flashing him a smile because she’d become so used to doing so with every male of a certain age.
But Hargrove didn’t melt. He wore an irritated expression.
“I have no doubt I am the only one in all of Brighton here for the particular reason of paying penance to the Regent,” Hargrove said.
“I believe youdopenance, notpayit.”
“Believe me, Miss Talbot, I find my penance to be costly, indeed.”
Suddenly, she didn’t care about his previous harsh words of condemnation at a ball in Mayfair, nor his accusation of her as a lying jade setting her cap at anyone in velvet breeches. After all, it was true.
Right then, however, she was tired of being alone and desperate. At the least, he could provide a few minutes of companionable diversion.
“Won’t you take tea or coffee with me?” she invited.
He hesitated, which made her sad. Before she’d tried to trick him into compromising her, they had been on a good footing. He was amusing and clever, not to mention extraordinarily easy on the eyes. And after some easy banter and light flirtation, he’d kissed her behind a potted plant at Apsley House. She’d never experienced anything like it — the rush of pure pleasure, how her heart had raced, and how her body had warmed from top to toe.
Then, she’d started plotting for their next encounter. It had gone very wrong.
He most certainly hadn’t liked being manipulated.
“Come now,” Glynnis urged, “don’t tell me you’re afraid to sit at the same table. It’s not like I’ll let you kiss me again, at least not here, in public.” She teased him because she could. She had nothing to lose in this case. She’d already forfeited any chance with him by her actions at a ball in Grosvenor Square. If he walked away, so be it.
Instead, surprisingly he smiled, drew out the spare chair, and sat.
“True enough. Your claws are long and sharp, but I don’t think you can sink them into me in a café. At least, I hope not.”
Long and sharp!He thought her a real vixen. Nothing could be further from the truth. She only wanted a home of her own, a husband and some children, a nice house in London, the latest fashions of course, perhaps a trip to the Continent now that the war was over, a country estate that wasn’t in Wales as her family’s was, perhaps a dog and a cat, a traveling carriage, a...
“Miss Talbot,” she heard him, realizing her mind had wandered. “Did I lose your attention so quickly?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, my lord. Something about Brighton causes me the most acute wool-gathering. It must be the sun and the heat.”
She waited while he ordered coffee and, to her delight, a plate of assorted sandwiches. Glynnis hoped he would pay for her tea, too, and that she could snatch a few of the sandwiches when they came. She was starting to lose weight on her dwindling budget that included lessening her intake of food along with every other pleasure.
