Sheri Cobb South (12 page)

“But I thought you wanted to
adopt
me!” cried Polly, aghast.

“Adopt
you?” echoed the earl, his ardor considerably cooled by this revelation. “Surely my attentions have been too marked to be misread!”

“I believed your attentions to be those of a father to his daughter!”

“If that is so, I do apologize, but—
adopt
you, you say? Why would I want to do such a thing?”

“Because you have red hair, of course!” said Polly, as if that explained everything. “And what about those blue eyes? How do you explain
those
?”

Any disappointment Lord Camfield might have felt at the rejection of his suit very quickly turned to heartfelt relief. Clearly the girl was queer in her attic. A pity, too, for she was a pretty little thing, but he could not say he had not been warned. When he had told Mrs. Digby, his nearest neighbor, of his intention to remarry, she had warned him of the folly of courting a girl so much younger than himself, and now it seemed that she was quite right. A wise woman, Mrs. Digby, and though she had been widowed for nigh on twenty years, she was still handsome. He would pay a call on her on his way home. She would no doubt be pleased to know he had come to his senses, and not a moment too soon.

“Well!” said the earl with great dignity. “I would not press you to accept a suit which I can see is unwelcome. Please accept my best wishes for your future health—er, happiness.”

After making an excruciatingly formal bow to Polly, the spurned lover took his leave of the quartet in the drawing room (all of whom were clearly agog with curiosity), demanded his hat and cane of Evers, and took his leave without further ado.

Polly, meanwhile, remained in the study, alone with the wreckage of her hopes and dreams. Blindly, she stared into the fire, until a slight sound from the doorway made her look up. Sir Aubrey stood just inside the door, leaning negligently against the wall.

“Well, Miss Crump,” he drawled, “are we to wish you happy?”

It was the last straw. With a sob, Polly ran from the study and up the stairs to the privacy of her own room.

* * * *

Polly remained in her room for most of the day, and when she came down to dinner that night the other four members of the household, by mutual consent, restrained themselves from plying her with questions regarding her abortive engagement. When, three days later, her dismals showed no signs of lifting, Lady Helen grew concerned.

“I cannot say I am sorry that Polly spurned the earl’s offer,” she confided to her husband that night as she sat at the dressing table brushing out her hair. “Still, I hate to see her so blue-deviled. I wish there was something we could do for her.”

Mr. Brundy, already stretched out on the bed, looked up hopefully, “ ‘ow about we send ‘er on a long repairing lease?”

“Ethan, do be serious!” scolded Lady Helen.

“You think I’m not?”

Of course he was not, and they both knew it—Lady Helen because almost three months of marriage had taught her that her husband was by far too good-hearted to turn anyone out who was truly in need, and Mr. Brundy because he had his own suspicions regarding Miss Crump. He had voiced these to no one as yet, not even his beloved wife, but there were times when he suspected that if he intended to maintain his friendship with Sir Aubrey, he might as well make the best of Miss Crump. He only wished he might be on hand when Sir Aubrey broke the news to his mama.

“I know!” exclaimed Lady Helen. “We shall have a picnic on the seashore. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. That should help coax her out of the dismals, don’t you think?”

Receiving no answer, she laid aside her hairbrush and turned to her spouse, prepared to repeat the question. Mr. Brundy lay on his back with his hands clasped behind his head and his eyes closed. As if conscious of the disapproving look being leveled at him, he chose that moment to emit a loud, and patently false, snore. Choking down a most undignified giggle, Lady Helen snatched up a pillow and threw it at his unsuspecting head, whereupon Mr. Brundy, not to be bested, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down onto the bed beside him, smothering her laughing protests by the simple expedient of covering her mouth with his own.

Miss Crump was not mentioned again until morning.

Chapter 10

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes. GEORGE NOEL GORDON, LORD BYRON,
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

A party of four set out for the seashore the following day, Lady Tabor electing to remain indoors and finish
The Lost Heir.
Sir Aubrey, aware that Miss Crump’s unbetrothed state meant her continued presence under Mr. Brundy’s roof (and disturbed to find himself so pleased by a circumstance which ran so counter to his friend’s interests), was resolved to give the newly married pair as much privacy as possible during the outing, and to this purpose volunteered to drive Miss Crump in his own phaeton, leaving Mr. Brundy and his bride to bring up the rear. Unlike the baronet, who had been placed in the saddle almost as soon as he was breeched, Mr. Brundy’s knowledge of horses was strictly utilitarian, and consequently he drove at a much more sedate pace. Soon Sir Aubrey and Miss Crump had left them far behind.

Polly, uncomfortable at finding herself alone with him, felt compelled to fill the silence. “How fortunate that it did not rain today! That would have been a shame, after Lady Helen went to so much trouble.”

“Rain? Interfering with the plans of Lady Helen Brundy
nee
Radney? My dear Miss Crump, no mere cloud would be so bold. Even the sun yields to Lady Helen’s wishes.”

“Indeed, it would seem so,” Polly agreed, although privately she thought it a great pity that Lady Helen’s father had not done likewise, and allowed his daughter to marry whom she pleased. On the other hand, if Lady Helen had not been forced into marriage with the wealthy Mr. Brundy, then she, Polly, would have had nowhere to go when she lost her position at Mr. Minchin’s shop.

This was an unfortunate observation, as it reminded her of how woefully she had fallen short of her goal. When she had been summoned to the study to see Lord Camfield, she had been sure he was going to tell her he was her father. But marriage! It was indecent. She shuddered at the thought.

“Are you cold, Miss Crump?” asked Sir Aubrey, observing this involuntary gesture.

“No, not at all, though the wind off the Channel is brisk,” she replied.

Spurning the more populated areas where would-be sea bathers were wheeled into the surf by horse-drawn bathing machines, he drove his fair companion to a secluded strip of beach some distance away and drew his horses up to await the Brundys. They had not long to wait and, once reunited, the foursome spread a cloth on the pebble-strewn beach and settled themselves comfortably. The ladies unfurled their sunshades to protect their complexions, while the gentlemen divested themselves of their tailcoats. Having tended to their external comforts, they were free to concentrate on the internal, and feasted on cold chicken, fruit, and cheese from a hamper prepared by the Brundys’ cook. When this was finished, Sir Aubrey offered his arm to Polly, and they strolled along the beach.

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” asked Polly, gazing out to sea.

“Indeed, it is,” agreed Sir Aubrey. “I am surprised you have not brought your sketch pad, Miss Crump. Most young ladies of my acquaintance would feel compelled to commit the scene to paper.”

“Perhaps I should have as well, had I ever learned to draw.”

“You shock me. Miss Crump. I thought drawing was one of the most basic of female accomplishments.”

“I regret to inform you, sir, that I have no accomplishments at all,” replied Polly, with a defiant lift to her chin.

“On the contrary. You brought Lord Camfield up to scratch, and that must be judged a considerable accomplishment. I wonder you went to the trouble, though, if you did not intend to have him.”

Polly could not allow this veiled accusation to go unchallenged. “I never gave Lord Camfield any reason to think I wished to marry him!” she retorted.

“Did you not, Miss Crump? I beg to differ. It seems to me that when a young lady reserves all the choice dances for a particular gentleman, even plans her wardrobe to coordinate with the flowers he sends, he is justified in believing her to feel a certain partiality for him.” Sir Aubrey was both amazed and appalled at the words pouring forth from his own lips. If he had been so pleased to discover that Miss Crump had spurned the earl’s offer, why was he now raking her over the coals for that very thing? Knowing instinctively that the question would not bear close scrutiny, he sought refuge in ascribing to her ever more sinister motives. “Unless, of course, you have your heart set on becoming a marchioness, and were merely using Camfield to make young Sutcliffe jealous. That thought, I confess, had not occurred to me until now.”

“Then I fear your awe-inspiring powers of deduction are quite wasted on me, Sir Aubrey,” she informed him coolly. “It can be none of your business which gentlemen I choose to encourage, or for what purpose.”

“As far as Lord Camfield is concerned, that is certainly true, but in the case of Sutcliffe, I am afraid I must disagree. Besides being underage, he is my cousin, and where the reputation and dignity of my family is threatened, I must always deem it my business to interfere, if necessary.”

“If you find me so objectionable, sir, I wonder you have not denounced me as an imposter long before now.”

“I have wondered that too, Miss Crump,” he confessed, regarding her with a curiously unreadable expression in his gray eyes. “More than once, I might add. I daresay it is because I should find Brighton deadly dull without you.”

Although their pace was leisurely, Polly’s heart began to pound, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps, as if she had run all the way up the beach. “I think we had best turn back, Sir Aubrey,” she said with a fair imitation of calm. “You have obviously been in the sun too long. That last sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”

“Touché
, Miss Crump,” he acknowledged with a smile. “I fear I am giving you the poorest opinion of me. As I haven’t the traditional olive branch to offer, I hope you will accept this instead.”

Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he withdrew a slender brass cylinder.

“Oh, what is it?” asked Polly, intrigued.

“A spyglass,” he answered, extending it to its full length. “They are a very popular item in the local shops, mostly with young bucks hoping for a glimpse of the young ladies entering the water from the bathing machines. Here, have a look.”

“I will remember that if Lady Helen ever suggests we try the bathing machines,” Polly resolved, raising the glass to her eye and scanning the horizon. “Tell me. Sir Aubrey, has your glass been employed in such a cause?”

“As I offered it to you for the express purpose of raising your opinion of me, I had best not answer that question.”

Polly laughed in spite of herself. “Wicked man,” she chided, turning so that she might examine the beach along which they had come. “How much nearer everything looks! There is our picnic cloth, still lying on the ground, and there by the water—oh, my!”

At the edge of the water, standing ankle-deep in the surf, a barefoot Mr. Brundy clasped his wife in his arms and kissed her passionately. More shocking still was the curious behavior of Lady Helen, who had shed her shoes and stockings and with one hand held her skirts clear of the water, exposing her bare legs almost to the knees. The fingers of her other hand were buried in her husband’s curly black hair, and she returned his kiss with every appearance of enthusiasm.

Polly jerked the glass downward, her eyes wide with shock and horror.

“What is the matter?” asked Sir Aubrey, taking the spyglass from her nerveless fingers. Raising it to his own eye, he scanned the beach until he located the cause of her distress. “Grossly improper, to be sure, but I daresay such behavior is to be expected in newly married couples when they believe themselves to be unobserved.”

“But—but I thought—I was under the impression that theirs was a—a marriage of convenience!”

Now it was Sir Aubrey’s turn to be surprised. “Good God! Can you have remained under their roof for all of a month without realizing they are mad for one another?”

“How could I have known? They are so unalike and, except to argue, they seem to have very little to say to each other!”

“No doubt they are busy doing things other than talking,” drawled Sir Aubrey. “And if they argue—which, I confess, I had not noticed—it is probably due to the strain of behaving decorously when they are wishing the lot of us at Jericho. You really are
de trop, my
dear,” he added, albeit not unkindly.

“If I am, then so too must you be!” she retorted.

“I shan’t deny it. Still, there is one telling difference: I am here at Mr. Brundy’s invitation.”

“I don’t believe you! If he were truly in love with his wife, why should he invite you along on his honeymoon?”

“Can you not guess? He hoped that I might be able to rid him of you.”

Polly had the sudden and uncomfortable feeling that the ground was crumbling beneath her—a sensation heightened, no doubt, by the sand shifting beneath her feet. She gazed at the watery horizon with unseeing eyes, weighing her ever-dimming prospects against Sir Aubrey’s unwelcome revelations.

“I meant no harm, truly I did not,” she said at last. “ ‘Twas only that I had nowhere else to go. I thought, when Lady Farriday said—”

Sir Aubrey leaped on the familiar name. “Lady Farriday? I thought you said you had no other acquaintances among the
ton.”

Polly permitted herself a humorless laugh. “Her ladyship would hardly claim me as an acquaintance. I saw her once in Minchin’s Book Emporium. You were there on that occasion, as well.”

Sir Aubrey shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”

“Nor would I expect you to. I was a shopgirl.”

There was no trace of self-pity in her voice, and her chin, though it showed a tendency to quiver, was held at a proud angle which Sir Aubrey found oddly touching. He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm.