Chapter One
Brighton, England
May 1818
If a proper lady intended to engage in a shocking impropriety, a fashionable seaside resort wasn’t the place to do it. Lady Lucinda Sutcliffe had only arrived a few days ago, but she’d already discovered there were more gouty old men and phlegmatic old ladies in Brighton than there were grains of sand on the beach.
Dozens of aged invalids meant dozens of pairs of rheumy eyes, all in search of scandal.
Not in this part of town, though, and not at this time of day. It would be an hour or two before fashionable Brighton roused themselves from their beds, and when they did venture out, they wouldn’t come here. Lucy had been watching the tidy patch of sand behind their rented villa for days now. It was as close to a deserted beach as one could find in Brighton.
Location, timing, and privacy—these were the first three of the four necessary elements of any successful impropriety.
The final element? Don’t hesitate.
A lady had to seize her opportunities when she could. This might be Lucy’s first opportunity, her first adventure, and the first time she’d seized anything more exciting than an extra lump of sugar for her tea, but that didn’t make the rule any less sound.
She peered down the long stretch of beach to her right, then her left. She scanned the low outcropping of rocks to her east, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Ah, splendid! A smile spread across her face, and she rubbed her hands together in anticipation. This was the most brilliant idea she’d ever had—
“This is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard of, Lucy.”
Lucy raised her gaze to the sky and prayed for patience before turning to face her accuser. She recognized the look on Eloisa’s face. It was a special look her cousin seemed to reserve for Lucy alone.
Two parts fascination, three parts horror. Even Eloisa’s eyebrows looked scandalized.
“You’ll get caught,” Eloisa fretted. “Then what do you suppose will happen? My father will keep us locked in our rooms for the rest of the month, and all our pleasure will be spoilt.”
Lucy didn’t bother to argue that point. Pleasure did seem to shrivel and die in her Uncle Jarvis’s presence. But surely that was reason enough to pursue it with single-minded determination behind his back?
Anyway, she wouldn’t get caught. “Who’s going to see?” Lucy waved a hand at the empty beach. “No one ever comes to this side of town.” If her uncle had understood just how unfashionable a neighborhood this was, he never would have taken the villa, but it was too late to change now.
Eloisa dropped the towels she’d been carrying onto a rock. “What if Father saw us leave the villa?”
“He didn’t. You said yourself he never rises before noon. You don’t suppose your mother saw us, do you?” Lucy’s aunt suffered from sleeplessness and was often awake at odd hours, but she usually kept to her room.
“No. She dosed herself with laudanum last night. She’ll sleep for hours yet.” Eloisa sighed. “Her nerves are overset.”
Yes, well, they would be, wouldn’t they? Lucy’s own nerves had been forged in fire, but after days of being trapped in a coach with her Uncle Jarvis, she felt as brittle as glass and as liable to shatter. Traveling with her uncle felt very like how Lucy imagined being buried in her grave would feel—that is, cramped and airless, with mounds of damp earth pressing in on every side.
Except instead of earth, Lucy was pressed on every side by mounds of damp flesh.
She’d spent the past five days flattened against the carriage door, but as much as she squeezed, she couldn’t escape Uncle Jarvis’s creeping girth. No sooner did she inch away from him than a pudgy knee or fleshy arm would fling itself into the sliver of open space. He’d been chasing her across the seat since they’d left Devon. By the time they’d reached Brighton, Lucy was ready to hang by her fingernails from the window to escape him.
But she didn’t want to think of her uncle right now. The beach stretched before them, the waves flirting with the sand at the water’s edge. “Come, Eloisa. We’re here now.” She gave her cousin a hopeful smile. “The water looks lovely. Don’t say you’re not tempted.”
Eloisa gazed at the water for a moment, her mouth turned down in a frown. “I don’t see why we can’t simply go out this afternoon in a bathing machine. That’s how it’s done, Lucy. Ladies don’t simply hurl themselves into the ocean.”
Well, for pity’s sake, why not? Growing up in Devon, Lucy had spent many happy hours of her childhood splashing about in the waves. Oh, it had been years since she’d been swimming, but she had vague memories of how glorious it felt to float along, her body cradled by the cool water around her.
She couldn’t experience that joyous freedom if she was tethered to a bathing machine. “There’s no pleasure in being dragged from a bathing machine by a large woman who plunges you into the water and knocks you about like a pile of soiled linens while your skirts billow like hot air balloons.”
Eloisa folded her arms over her chest. “Well, I don’t know how to swim, so I’d just as soon have a dipper, thank you.”
“We’ll go in the bathing machines later, with your mother.” For her aunt’s sake, Lucy had dutifully submitted to an hour’s tedious dipping every afternoon since they’d arrived. “But floating about like an overdressed corpse isn’t swimming, Eloisa.”
“Lucy! What a ghastly thing to say!”
“For now, I’ll be your dipper.” Lucy ignored Eloisa’s outrage, and gave her cousin a wheedling smile. Poor Eloisa. A lifetime spent pinned under her father’s thumb had bled her of every last drop of spirit. It wouldn’t do. One way or another, something would have to be done about Eloisa’s listlessness.
