He shrugged, and she almost sighed at the breadth of his shoulders.
“If you enjoy the aroma of drying seaweed and the pungent fishing boats that seem to be always dragged onto the sand,” he said testily. Then he smiled crookedly, and she caught her breath at how fiercely attractive she found him.
“I apologize for being in a tweague,” he said. “In truth, if my visit to Brighton were merely for a week’s holiday, I would probably enjoy it immensely. Yet being forced to an indeterminate stay at the beck and call of a somewhat capricious prince makes this little seaside resort seem like Newgate jail.”
Placing another small triangle on her plate, Glynnis considered a moment.
“This isn’t the Middle Ages. Surely, you don’t have to sing a tune for him whenever he asks. He’s not going to behead you.”
He frowned. “It’s more complicated than that, but I don’t think you would understand.”
She stopped mid-chew, despite thinking the cheese and cucumber sandwich superior to the first two, and glared at him.
“Why don’t you put to the test my minimal understanding of the important manly things of this world?”
“Very well,” he said, ignoring her tone. “Influence and favor are the issues. Or worse, the lack thereof. Fall out of favor with Prinny and I may suddenly find myself adrift without important connections. For fear of my disfavor rubbing off, certain men will cease speaking to me, either in Parliament or at my club.”
“Mr. Brummell survived the cut direct from the Prince Regent.” She reminded him, recalling the scorching accounts in the newspapers after Beau Brummell pretended not to know the prince and called him “fat” within His Highness’s hearing. “Everyone thought Mr. Brummell would plummet from the pinnacle of popularity. Instead, he remains firmly at the top, at least by those who wish to be banged up to the knocker.”
“True enough,” Hargrove conceded. “However, Brummell runs in different circles than I do. I neither seek nor need approval from those who care about fashion. Whereas he flourishes without the patronage of the prince, it’s only because foolish fops still want to see how Brummell turns out, day or evening. Can his cravat be any whiter? And all that sort of figgery!”
She thought Hargrove always looked very well turned out, and couldn’t imagine Mr. Brummell doing any better. She almost said so, but the viscount would take it as another play for him.
“Moreover,” her companion continued, “Brummell is sorely in debt with no foreseeable way out, and I don’t think he would be in such a sorry state if Prinny weren’t set firmly against him.”
That made her a little sad. Poor Beau, falling from such heights like Icarus. But her own sorry state was nothing to sneeze at. Mayhap she should try to getintothe good graces of the Prince Regent before worrying about those who’d already lost it. Perhaps into his breeches and his bed, too. Despite what Hargrove said, she could do worse than become a mistress to the Regent who would someday be king. She wouldn’t hurt for coin, then!
Shaking her head at her own outrageous thoughts, she surmised, “Regardless of your feelings about Brighton, it will be nearly like London for a short while.”
“Hardly that,” he said. “Although this year, the queen will attend her boy’s birthday, so the polish is on the pig for sure, and had best be on every person as well.”
“The shopkeepers have already raised their prices,” she couldn’t help grumbling.
The year-long inhabitants knew enough to steer clear of anything but their regular purchases of food and wine for the duration of the royal visit. For every milliner and modiste, every cobbler and tailor, and especially every store selling knick-knacks andà bric et à brac, as well as furnishings had already raised their prices, raking in what they could off the backs of the visiting nobility and their staff.
She’d seen stores she thought permanently closed when she’d first arrived, suddenly open their doors. London tradesmen kept them shuttered until they could come down and sell to the prince and his entourage.
“Prices are exceedingly dear at the moment,” the viscount agreed. “But they are the only thing that makes Brighton like London in my opinion. Which brings me back to my question, why are you here? Although I suspect I know the answer.”
If he hadn’t added that last bit, she might have told him the honest truth, that she was looking for a life’s mate and a father to her future children. But he’d said that smug and knowing line, and she desperately wanted to surprise him.
“I’m here to meet my fiancé,” she blurted. That was the truth. She desperately hoped tomeeta man who would ask for her hand.
And then as she hoped he would, Hargrove misinterpreted her words.
“I say!” he exclaimed. “You managed to bag yourself a wild boar.” He feigned astonishment, even waggling his perfectly devilish eyebrows while making an insinuation she didn’t particularly care for.
What a brute!After all, she had her looks and her personality.
Tell him he has misunderstood, Glynnis pleaded with her better self.Tell him the truth!
