He stared at her.
“I am of the firm belief it would be better coming directly from you.”
She made a face. “Very well.” Although she had no intention of doing so.
She realized they’d left the area of the Royal Crescent without stopping.
“What about visiting with Lord Payton?”
“I thought it best if we weren’t seen by the Bertrams entering one of their neighbor’s homes.”
Deflated, Glynnis wished she’d had the opportunity to see inside. It might have been her only chance.
“I am exceedingly thirsty,” she declared. “Will you buy me a barley or lemon water?”
After managing to also get Hargrove to open his plump purse for a large sticky bun studded with raisins from Perry’s Doughey, a nearby bakery, Glynnis let him escort her back to the Old Ship.
“No assembly tonight,” she reminded him, wondering how she would fill her time.
“Even Prinny needs a night off,” Hargrove said, “although I’m sure he’ll carry on as if he’s hosting a gathering.”
He hesitated before leaving, although since they were in the public foyer, there was little he could do or say of a private nature, nor could she imagine what might be on his mind. With a smile and nod of his head, he left.
Clutching the tart wrapped in waxy paper, she watched his broad-shouldered form turn left toward his own home, wishing she had a reason to call out to him and make him stay — a reason beyond her heart caring for him above any man she’d ever met.
Sighing, she climbed the stairs and entered her room, stepping upon two missives that had been slid under her door. With excitement, she set the tart on her bed, stripped off her hat and gloves and bent to retrieve the notes.
The first one had the stamp of the Old Ship upon it, and its contents made her blood chill. Her account was coming due in two days. She stared at the sum, knowing it was more than she had. Swallowing her panic, she tossed it onto the bed next to the tart and opened the second folded paper.
What met her eager gaze was an invitation from Lord Dodd to his home the following night. She closed her eyes and thanked her good fortune before running back downstairs to beg a single sheet of paper from the manager. Then, seated at the small writing desk in her room, she accepted his lordship’s invitation, noting that it was only for the two of them.
Improper but intriguing.
Obviously, he was going to propose marriage. With one of her last copper ha’pennies in hand, she brought her response downstairs to the porter, handing him the coin to ensure delivery to Lord Dodd’s home on the Steyne.
***
THE FOLLOWING DAY,Glynnis made her way unescorted to the Theatre Royal in the middle of the afternoon where the Regent had invited his “friends” to a puppet show. She was half expecting a booth to have been set up center stage with hand puppets to amuse them. Instead, a company offantoccini, or Italian marionettes, performed a comic opera.
She sat in the pit, along with everyone, including the Regent, who was in the middle of the first row. A scaffolding built across the top of the stage with a red velvet curtain tacked on front created a hidden platform for those who handled the marionettes, and no one sat in the boxes overlooking the stage as the view there would spoil the illusion.
Beside her was a single gentleman who enjoyed the opera immensely, laughing so heartily, he brayed and snorted. Glynnis didn’t mind in the least, for in the back of her mind was the thrilling notion she was going to be proposed to that night. And while she’d dreamed the night before of Hargrove, it would be Dodd who finally fulfilled her wish.
To her amazement, at the performance’s conclusion, Prince George made his way onto the stage and voiced a large wooden puppet fashioned to look like him — or, at least, an improved svelte version of him. His entire speech, performed standing to the side while a puppeteer handled the marionette, was one of naughty jests and lewd innuendo. Glynnis wished Hargrove was there to see the spectacle, but alas, there was no sign of him, nor of her dinner host, Lord Dodd.
Afterward, she wandered alone toward the shops on North Street, wishing she had a few spare coins to buy herself something fine and lacy to celebrate the upcoming event.
Suddenly, making her heart instantly race was the dash-fire viscount, wearing a frown as he strode in her direction. When his gaze landed upon her, however, he smiled, and her insides twinged with pleasure.
“Good day, Miss Talbot.”
“Good day, Lord Hargrove. Were you shopping?”
“Nothing so frivolous, I’m afraid. I just left a letter at the Pavilion with sketches of the art from the Louvre, hoping they will entice Prinny to let me show him the pieces.”
“You should have come to the theatre. It was enjoyable, and you could have shown him the drawings in person.”
He made a face. “I wasn’t in the mood for puppets. I thought it best to drop off something he can look at when alone, although that is so rarely the case, I may be in Brighton the rest of my life.”
