Elisabeth Fairchild (16 page)

Captain Stiles came from the establishment across the street, Raggett’s, which had been pointed out to her by her aunt as a place to avoid. It was a high stakes gaming house, and no place for a young woman of good repute.

“Halloo, Miss Quinby.” Stiles called out, recognizing her immediately.

With a smile and a nod, Nell waited by the carriage that Beau held waiting for her at the curb. Stiles crossed over to her side of the street, dazzling in the glittering wealth of sunlit silver lacings that adorned so much of his stunning uniform. Nell could not help thinking that in the distinctive canary boots and scarlet fez, that Jeremy Stiles resembled nothing so much as a rooster, as he strutted toward her. She was at a loss to see what it was that Aurora found so irresistibly attractive in him.

With a rueful swipe of one palm along his bristling jawline, Stiles tipped his scarlet hat and saluted her hand.

“Pardon my rough appearance, Miss Quinby. I have been, I am ashamed to admit, at cards all night. I am only now on my way back to the barracks. Having been informed at some point between yesterday and today by your coachman that you were come to Brighton, and glimpsing you just now from the window of the club, I made haste to quit the game to come and speak to you. Do forgive my evil looks. Are you enjoying your visit to the seaside? How is your sister liking London? I was disappointed, as you may well imagine, to hear that she had not accompanied you here.”

Nell knew all too well how disappointed he must be. She smiled on him with pity as she handed her books up to Mr. Ferd. “You know Aurora,” she said. “She was disappointed in not coming to Brighton, yet, we can be happy in the knowledge that she enjoys herself in such a lively place as London.”

Captain Stiles it seemed, could not be at all happy in such knowledge. He frowned. “I have heard that the Duke she was sent to dazzle is gone to the races rather than play host.” He relayed this information with such a keen look, that Nell had no doubt he was highly interested in hearing more on the subject.

Having only that morning received a letter from Aurora, containing the same information, Nell was a little surprised that Jeremy Stiles should know so much. Such information, were it to become common knowledge, could do much to ruin her sister’s chances at a successful Season. It would appear to some, she was sure, that the Duke of Heste; thoughtless, callous creature that he must be, had slighted Aurora in his avoidance of her company. Such a slight could do nothing to enhance poor Aurora’s penniless stature in the narrowed eyes of the Ton, who might go so far as to believe her a fortune hunter.

“It’s true that the Duke is not to be found in London,” she said with studied nonchalance, “but, that he might meet Aurora was, after all, no more than his sister’s intent. Most men do prefer the races, or cards, or the company to be found at their clubs, to playing host to a party of women, and fitting in with a sister’s plans. Do you not agree?”

“I might agree with you, had I never laid eyes on your sister, Miss Quinby.”

Nell laughed. “Well then, we shall have to assume that either the Duke is not so readily impressed with Aurora’s charms, or he has, as you say, never laid eyes on her.”

A faraway look took possession of the Captain’s eyes, and Nell, assuming correctly that he was thinking of her sister, felt that there could be no better time or opportunity to ask him for the money she required to buy Boots. Surely a gentleman so enchanted would see clear to loaning her the negligible sum she required.

“Captain Stiles, I will come right out and tell you that there was a most particular reason why I am so very pleased to meet up with you today. I have reason to hope, that you, of all my acquaintances in Brighton, might loan me a small amount of money.”

Stiles’s faraway look disappeared, to be replaced by a stiff awkwardness that wilted the hope that Nell had allowed to blossom.

“I am sorry to impose so on our friendship,” she began, but he would allow her to go no further.

“No, no, Miss Quinby. It is I who must apologize in being in no way able to grant a plea I can see it pains you to make. It is not that I would not be happy to advance you some monies, had I any, but the sad truth of it is, that I have rather unwillingly parted with all of this month’s pay just this past evening, in a rather unlucky turn of luck.”

Nell knew that her face clearly displayed her disappointment, but she could not under the circumstances remain completely calm.

He seemed anxious to make amends. “Is there any way, other than pecuniary, that I might be of assistance?”

Nell was about to refuse him-- the very words had formed themselves upon her tongue, but, realizing it served her better to make light of her financial predicament, she said lightly, “Yes, you can, Mr. Stiles. Tell me what it is you mean to wear to the coming masquerade, I am having a dreadful time of it, deciding whether I prefer the guise of Iris or Psyche.”

Beau listened from his bench as Nell tried to recover lost pride in a trivial conversation about masquerade costumes. He could not understand why Stiles, his pockets full of winnings, did not readily grant the girl the paltry amount she required to buy an old nag.

Even as he puzzled over such stinginess, Lord Beauford was lowered by guilt, for he, far more than Stiles, cheated Miss Quinby of her happiness. He had but to tell her the truth, had but to tell her who he was, and what he had done to see to Boots’s comfort, and her mind would be relieved of this compulsion to borrow money she had no way of repaying.

The whole point in his buying the horse had been misguided gallantry if he did not ease the pain from which her tender heart so clearly suffered. His act of compassion was become cruel torture so long as he held silent.

He must tell her then, his identity. He must undo this strange charade-- cease to function as confidant and coachman, and assume the heavy mantle of responsibility so blithely shed. It was time he became Duke again. Perhaps it was not too late to undo the damage he had clearly done Miss Quinby’s sister, the beautiful Aurora. He wondered if Nell could forgive him this. The truth he held, would seem a double-edged sword. What he would say to bring Miss Quinby comfort, was also sure to make her hold him in aversion.

With all honorable intention of revealing himself and that cutting edge of truth, Brampton Beauford stepped down from the curricle as soon as Captain Stiles took his leave, in order to help Fanella stow her books and assist her stepping into the carriage. Where to begin? How did one go about telling a decent young lady that she is victim of a hoax?

“Thank you, Mr. Ferd.” Nell seemed subdued as she accepted his hand. “Have you been waiting long for me?”

All of my life
, were the words that sprang immediately to mind when he turned to her, doffing his hat. Something of what he was thinking must have revealed itself in his eyes, for she looked at him quite keenly, lips parted in surprise.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he said earnestly. “Any luck parting Mr. Stiles from some of his soft?”

Her forehead knitted with concern. “Jeremy has none to be parted from.” Despair ached in her voice.

Beau winced. He must tell her now, tell her about the horse, and who he was. It was the only decent, honorable course he could take. “E-E-Even had he loaned you the blunt, there would have been no horse there for you to spend it on,” he blurted. The horse was as good a way as any to begin.

“What mean you?” Her earnest brown eyes lifted to meet his.

“The piebald is no longer e-e-engaged in pulling the bathing box.” There, that was a start.

She blinked at him. “Is he not?”

“No.”
And your coachman is a duke,
he thought, but could not make the words emerge.

“I would see this for myself. Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes, I. . .” He would have told her then, but in her impatience to know more, she interrupted.

“Whatever has become of him, then? Do you think Boots has been injured, perhaps died?”

“No!”

“Then, perhaps he has been sold.”

“Yes, I am. . .”

“Well then, there is nothing for it, I must go and make enquiries with the boxman tomorrow morning, when you carry us down to take the cure.”

“Miss Quinby.”

“Hmm?” Her thoughts seemed far away.

“There is something I must tell you.”

She looked up, and then past him. “Now is not the time.

Here is my aunt.” She bent her head over the bookplates she had been showing Captain Stiles, and said in a carrying voice. “Which of these do you think would make the better costume, Mr. Ferd?”

“I believe Psyche to be the better choice,” he picked up her cue without a hitch. “A shawl might serve a-a-as wings.”

“Oh, never ask a man such a question, Fanella,” her aunt admonished, accepting Beau’s hand in the scaling of the carriage steps. “A woman is far better judge of such deceits.”

Beau could not suppress a wry smile. Ursula Dunn would seem to underestimate the truth as much as he would appear to have trouble delivering it.

Chapter  Twelve

Lord Brampton Beauford, Miss Fanella Quinby and her aunt Ursula set out the next morning, as usual, for the salt water cure.
A fool’s errand,
Beau thought-- an errand that might expose him as fool. With each hour that passed, his lie grew and fed upon itself. The line between reality and fiction blurred. There were unexpected risks involved in living out a falsehood. He had begun to feel a fraud in his assumed identity.

As the ladies descended at the beach, Nell shot him a rather speaking glance and then directed her gaze meaningfully toward the bathing boxes. He understood that was where she meant to go, but, by the time he got the curricle situated, she had already accosted the dipper of the box that had once employed her old horse, Boots.

The dipper was not in a mood to be helpful. She was shouting, arms planted firmly on her damp, swaddled hips. “No, I’ll not tell you what’s become of the nag. It’s you and your interfering ways that has seen to it we have been forced to find another animal.”

Beau stepped between Nell and the woman.

“Madame,” he addressed the dipper, as she eyed him with unleavened animosity, “Calm yourself!”

The words did not have the desired effect.

“Calm myself, he says.” She hooted derisively. “I’ll show you calm.”

Before she could go on, the voice of the boxman interrupted her, as he climbed down off his seat to intervene.

“Leave off, Peg. I’ll handle this.”

Beau watched with admiration as Nell coolly drew herself up, her spine pikestaff stiff, her demeanor completely unrattled by the rude welcome she had received.

The dipper drew herself up too, loathe to quit the confrontation, but with no more than a severe look, the boxman underlined his former directive, and Peg, with a sniff, and a defiant twitch of her hips, left off.

“You’ll be askin’ after the pie, I’m thinkin’, the boxman said politely.

Nell nodded regally.

“’E ’s gone.”

“Gone?” Nell repeated patiently. “Yes, I can see that he is gone. But why?”

“Sold. Same day you was last here about him.” The boxman turned away, as if all that needed to be said, had been.

“Miss Quinby,” Beau attempted to interrupt.

Nell would have none of it. “Wait!” she insisted, “Can you tell me who bought the horse?”

The boxman paused.

Beau opened his mouth. The truth he had abused had caught up with him, and now meant to slap him in the face.

The boxman spoke. “Sure, and he was a small fellow, dapper dressed. Said his name was Bates--nah, that were not it. Yates, mayhap. No, no, I have it now. . .”

Beau winced in anticipation of Mr. Gates identity being revealed. It would seem he should never have an opportunity to redeem himself.

“His name were Cates.” The boxman asserted. “Yes, that were it. I am sure of it.”

Beau blinked. This was an unexpected reprieve.

“Do you know what this Mr. Cates meant to do with the horse?” The boxman gave Nell a queer look. “Whyever should I ask him that? I am not a prying man, and he offered me good gold coin.”

“And can you give me Mr. Cates’s direction?”

“Nay!” He said, to Beau’s further relief, and then quite spoiled everything by suggesting gruffly. “Carriers will like as not have it.”

With this tantalizing lead to follow, Beau was not in the least surprised when Nell insisted she meant to go to the carrier’s with all possible haste.

But, it was not to be.

Once again, Aunt Ursula interrupted, scotching Nell’s plan in the simplest and most unobjectionable of ways. “Fanella!” she cried, approaching on the arm of a young man. “Only look who I have bumped into.”

“Mr. Bledsoe,” Nell acknowledged the newcomer.

“Miss Quinby.” The young man tipped his hat. “I did enjoy our dance last night.”

Ursula smiled. “I have only just been telling Mr. Bledsoe how much we should like to go sightseeing, and he has been kind enough to offer us his company in viewing the Long Man that I mentioned to you only yesterday.”