Chapter Thirteen
Now fashion’s fairest daughters pace the lawn,
And Mars’ gay sons the lively scene adorn.
–Brighton. A Poemby Mary Lloyd, 1809
HARGROVE BOWED TO HIMbefore speaking. “I haven’t taken up with anyone, Your Highness. I am merely enjoying the company of your guests while in Brighton.”
“You are a rake, to be sure,” the prince insisted, glancing between Glynnis and Isabelle. “But when surrounded by such lovely females, who can blame you going from flower to flower, enjoying their honey.”
The Prince Regent was known for his ribald jokes and innuendo, but after what had passed between her and Hargrove the night before, Glynnis wasn’t in the mood to be the butt of that type of humor.
“If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, many others wish to greet you,” she said. “Thank you for throwing this wonderful party.” After dropping into a curtsy, she stepped aside and hurried away.
“You are a delight,” the prince called after her.
Glynnis kept moving toward the round refreshment tables covered in white linens and laden with all manner of finger foods, and then past them into the deep orange and yellow ballroom where the musicians were already warming up. Currently empty, revelers would dance long into the night, her included. And Hargrove, too, she supposed.
She sniffed. She didn’t need Hargrove, and swiftly ordered herself to cease thinking about him. Instead, she would find a place to let Lord Dodd kiss her if he wanted to. If he didn’t, so be it. More gentlemen had arrived from London, as evidenced by this party being much busier than the last assembly. Given the air of festivity, she was certain she would leave Brighton with a husband of good quality.
“Miss Talbot,” Lord Dodd had caught up to her. “Did something upset you?”
She slowed her steps. Something had yet it should not have done so.
“I am well,” she said, looking up at him. He had a kind expression.
“Are you going outside?” he asked.
She hadn’t been, but perhaps that was his first move on the chessboard of mating.
“Itisgrowing stuffy in here,” she said. “Shall we stroll around the building before the dancing begins?”
“We can promenade around the lawn on the east side of the prince’s Pavilion,” he suggested.
“Very well.” And just like that, she disappeared into the gathering dusk with a veritable stranger.
At first, they both remained silent, listening to the gentle, low calls of the wood pigeons in the trees and the high-pitched sounds of the swifts still flittering about, searching for the evening insects. At least, she hoped they were swifts and not bats.
Then Lord Dodd cleared his throat. “Are you desperately in love with Lord Aberavon?”
“Gracious,” she exclaimed. “That hardly seems an appropriate question. Why do you ask?” She hoped he asked because he was already falling in love with her himself.
“Ever since I first saw you emerge from the bathing machine,” Lord Dodd said, “I confess to being smitten.”
“Oh.” She had always thought she needed to trick a man into marrying her, yet this one was speaking plainly. Probably if he knew her penniless state, it wouldn’t be the case.
“We — my fiancé and I — we did engage ourselves in a marital contract upon little knowledge of one another, to be honest.” She congratulated herself. That sounded as if there were room for another man in her life, if one swept her off her feet.
“I understand perfectly.” He sounded pleased.
There were other couples strolling in the warm evening air, some even pausing by a tree or against the Prince Regent’s front portico. By the way they were wrapped around each other, she doubted any of them would interfere should Lord Dodd kiss her. There were no chaperones to be seen, nor matrons, nor stern hostesses.Brighton was a different world, indeed!
Suddenly, as they passed a large elm, Lord Dodd pulled her sideways, and they were hidden behind it from anyone looking out the many windows of the Castle. And the Pavilion was empty of observers since everyone was with the prince.
Without hesitation, he drew her into his arms and kissed her.
