Dan went back to the breakfast room to gulp fresh coffee and, since some of his guests had wandered in to eat, he told them he wouldn’t be coming to Lewes and why. After that, since therewas still no sign of the doctor, he sent another messenger and watched from Oliver’s bedroom window as his friends climbed aboard the carriages awaiting them in the courtyard.
The men were clearly suffering from last night’s excesses, but the women who’d stayed overnight looked dressed up and ready for fun. Bea, Dan noted, had attached herself to Gascoyne. Probably she’d spent the night with him, and he found he didn’t give a damn.
‘Are they off?’ called Oliver from his bed. ‘I hope Lewes Castle is ready for them. It was built by William the Conqueror to subdue rebellious Saxons, and I dread to think what William would make of the visitors rolling up to see his castle now.’
‘He’d probably get his archers up on the roof and order them to repel the whole lot of them.’
Oliver laughed, but Dan was worried because his brother’s discomfort was clearly worse. When the doctor arrived at last, Dan waited out in the corridor for him to emerge from the bedroom.
‘I’m afraid your brother’s shoulder wound is infected again,’ the doctor said. ‘I shall leave medication and I’ll call again tomorrow morning, but send for me before then if he’s growing worse. Light food and plenty of liquids are what I recommend.’
Dan returned to Oliver. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘It’s soup and barley water for you. As for me, I had better head to Clematis Villa and face my new neighbour’s wrath.’
‘You never know. She might have relented overnight.’
Dan had to laugh. ‘I fear not. She was very, very angry with me. She’s questioning my right to this land, so I’m going there with enough proof, I hope, to silence her for good. In the meantime, make sure you rest and take your medicine. That’s an order, do you understand?’
‘Dear God,’ Oliver murmured, ‘it’s as bad as being back in Wellington’s army.’
By the time Dan had grabbed a swift lunch then collected the documents he needed, it was almost three o’clock. He ordered his black horse, Domino, to be saddled and pondered what to wear—something to provoke Miss Summerby, preferably. He summoned his faithful valet Hamley, who was astonished to learn that Dan intended to wear his red satin coat.
‘Fordaytime,my lord?’
‘Indeed. For various reasons, it’s perfectly appropriate.’
So, clad in a red coat, with the addition of a loosely knotted green neckerchief as a final flourish, he set off along the track that linked the two properties. But his mood was not good.Brighton,he thought. Why the hell had he let Cecily delude him into thinking that Brighton would be their happy-ever-after? His guests were enjoying themselves, that was for sure, but Oliver—as usual—was right when he’d said last night that Dan appeared to be drowning his sorrows.
Missing Cecily, in other words.
He wasn’t, but she’d played him for a fool all right. The subject of Brighton had arisen last June after a long session of lovemaking in her pretty house in Brook Street shortly after they’d become engaged. Cecily had been running her fingers through his hair when she said suddenly, ‘Dan. Have you ever visited Brighton? I’ve heard it’s divine, and the Prince Regent adores it, doesn’t he? If we had a house there, just think—when I’m your Countess, we could spend every summer by the sea!’
Dan had hesitated, not because of the money, for he could have afforded to buy up half of Brighton if he’d wished. But then she’d given him one of her slow, languorous kisses, and damn it, he had agreed. He had travelled there the following week to begin searching for somewhere suitable, but he’d almost given up until one sunny summer afternoon, he had ridden out of thetown to where the fields and woodlands bordered the gentle hills of the South Downs.
He had expected to find nothing but the occasional farmhouse. Instead, the track led him to a pretty half-timbered dwelling, where a middle-aged lady in a flowery smock and oversized sun hat was trimming a clematis that scrambled up a south-facing wall. He had reined in his horse. ‘Good day to you, ma’am,’ he said, raising his hat. ‘You have a beautiful home.’
‘This is the best place on earth,’ she had answered cheerfully. ‘Would you care for some lemonade, sir?’
The invitation was unexpected but welcome. They had sat in her garden, and she told him her name was Jemima Honeywood, explaining also that she had bought the house many years ago before Brighton became fashionable and that she also owned the land that surrounded it. ‘Six acres in all,’ she concluded. ‘Which is really far more than I can manage, much as I love it all.’
Dan had asked her then and there if she might be willing to sell some of it to him. ‘I was hoping to buy a house in the area,’ he’d told her. ‘But now I’m wondering if building one might be a better option.’
It had taken her some moments to reply, during which he’d noted that she was maybe not in the best of health. But at last, she replied, ‘You have come at an opportune time.’
‘I have?’
‘Indeed. I find that I’m not in quite as good a financial situation as I had hoped. Some repairs to the house cost more than I expected, and now I fear my only way of paying the debt is to sell some of my land.’ She had frowned. ‘I’ve had one offer already—but it’s my opinion that the man who made it is a downright crook.’
‘I’m not a crook,’ he told her. ‘I’m actually the Earl of Rivington, and I would make sure that you were consulted in every stage of the building process.’
Dan could tell she hadn’t been overly impressed by his grand title, and he liked her the more for it. They negotiated a price, the land purchase was swiftly completed, the plans were drawn up and the foundations were dug for his new house.
Dan had delegated most of the work to his trusty steward, who stayed in Brighton to ensure that the construction was going to plan. Only in the spring of this year did he spend time himself there, renting a house on the Old Steine so he could oversee the final stages. That was when he realised that Jemima was dying.
He began to see her more regularly. Two or three times a week, her man Joseph would drive her into town, and Dan often took her for lunch at the Castle Inn before they strolled along Marine Parade, but the distances she could manage grew shorter and shorter.
‘I wish,’ she had said to him one afternoon when she had walked only a little way, ‘that I could have met the lady you are to marry. She is fortunate. Tell her that from me, will you?’
‘You might prefer to tell her that yourself when you meet her,’ Dan had said. But it was not to be, for Jemima had died within weeks and Dan’s marriage plans had come to an abrupt end.
