Of course, that had not been her only worry. Caroline was so…spirited. And seeming to have a lack of understanding of rank and where she stood in it. Clara could still not quite get past the vision of Caroline at the inn, practically hanging out the window to call to a groom as if they were friends. Calling Mr. Johnson by his given name as if he were her family. Of finding her on the floor in the drawing room with that dog of her nephew’s.
She supposed those sorts of bad habits took root when a girl was too influenced by her father. Especially a horseracing sort of father. The lady of the house must lead a daughter forward, not the gentleman.
Lady Easton sighed very softly and noticed she had taken to sighing quite a lot recently. There was her own gentleman to think about. What had happened to him? He’d gone from easily managed to all decisiveness. She might not mind giving way on matters of no importance, at least she imagined so though she had not tried it very often. But Easton was making decisions that were both important and wrong.
She’d been forced to bring Caroline to Brighton and somehow arrange a launch but she did not know how to do it. Her circle of acquaintance was not large here, there were so many who were of a different set. Was she to simply wait for invitations? She supposed they would come now the Prince had advertised his approval.
And this dinner at Alvanley’s! That was no place for a girl on the marriage mart. What she sought for Caroline were eager young gentlemen seeking wives, not the self-satisfied so-called wits that haunted Alvanley’s table. Then, she doubted her husband’s ability to be a strict guardian, he was a little too jolly these days.
Clara sat up. She required reinforcements. Certainly, Lady Featherstone and Lady Redfield had arrived by now. She would send out a desperate call for assistance. She needed to keep Caroline going in the right direction and she needed to turn Easton from the new direction he’d taken. Her nephew was always a comfort to her and helpful when he could be, but these delicate matters required a female mind on the case.
*
Caroline had notminded that they stayed in the evening before. They had been very late to the Prince’s rout and she found herself tired by the end of the day. At least, they’d all stayed in aside from Lord Easton who announced he was off to a card party somewhere. Dinner had been quiet and had been chops on account of it being Friday. In the drawing room, she had played a little. It was very dull and Lord Bertridge seemed especially glum. She had been certain they would all be brighter in the morning.
She could not say whether Lord Bertridge had been brighter in the morning as he did not appear at breakfast and it was said he’d already gone out. Edgar had been left behind in his room but set up such a howling over it that the lord’s valet had to let him out. Edgar had trotted straight to the breakfast room and happily settled himself under the table.
After breakfast, Caroline was full of energy and wishing to get out of the house. She called for Bemmy and they went to see Lady Easton in the drawing room.
“My lady,” Caroline said, “I wondered if Bemmy could escort me on a walk. She is a native of the town and knows of a charming street with shops not so very far from here.”
Lady Easton had seemed on the fence over the idea until Bemmy had said, “Mind, only the most reputable shops with proprietors well known to my family and eminently respectable. I wouldn’t stand for anything less.”
This had seemed to soothe Lady Easton a great deal and, in any case, she appeared to be entirely taken up with writing letters. They had tied on their bonnets and were out of the house in a trice.
As they made their way down the street, Bemmy said confidentially, “I did tell a bit of a story just now.”
“Did you?” Caroline asked. “Do you say, then, that the shopkeepers arenotrespectable?”
“Oh, no, they’re all right,” Bemmy said, laughing. “Only, I don’t think that’s where you’ll want to go. You see, I heard some fascinatin’ things in the servants’ quarters last night and one of them is that the Prince has brought Gentleman Jackson to town and all interested gentlemen are to meet him on the green at Saint Nicholas church for a practice and Lord Bertridge was one of the interested fellows.”
“Goodness,” Caroline said, though her thoughts were fuller than that single word. She had been convinced, the very first time she’d met Lord Bertridge, that he must engage in some violent sport. She was right, after all. Was he not so buttoned up as he seemed, then?
“I heard it is customary,” Bemmy said, “that the fellows take their shirts off when they train. At least, that’s what my brother says.”
“That was my understanding too,” Caroline said. She was not at all shocked by the idea. She’d seen enough stable hands shirtless. However, it would be quite another thing to see Lord Bertridge shirtless. For all his stiffness, he could not entirely hide his well-made physique under starched shirts and sober coats. She had perhaps noticed it more than she ought.
“And it so happens,” Bemmy went on, “that I live hard by Saint Nicholas and I know how we can slip in and observe from the tower. I spent many a day runnin’ round that place in my youth and my younger brothers and sisters still tiptoe in sometimes.”
“That does sound more interesting than visiting shops,” Caroline said. Of course, she knew perfectly well that Lady Easton would not approve. But on the other hand, visiting a church could hardly be criticized and if one were to by chance see anything interesting out a window that could not be called a crime. Nobody could be faulted for what they saw out a window. For that matter, one was not required to tediously recount what one may have viewed through any amount of windows in a day.
“What do you say?” Bemmy said. “It is not a quarter hour from here by foot.”
Caroline smiled. “Very well. We will visit a church, which is very proper. If we happen to see anything surprising out of any windows, we can hardly be blamed for it.”
Bemmy winked and they set off at a fast pace down the road.
Chapter Seven
Bemmy had beenright, at the pace they walked they came into view of Saint Nicholas church closer to ten minutes than fifteen. It was clearly very old and Bemmy said her father reckoned it had been there since the fourteenth century. All manner of things had tried to destroy the church, first the French some time in the fifteen hundreds, and then the great storm of 1703 took part of the roof and another storm in 1705 took the rest of it. For all the enemies trying to destroy the place, it always got rebuilt and she supposed it would be there always.
The tower that Bemmy had spoken of as their viewing point could not be missed—the shadow of its dark stone loomed over the green.
They strolled by the line of carriages, including the Prince’s own, as if they had no interest at all over what might be occurring on the grounds. Just a lady and her maid, out for a walk.
“Now, we’ll just slip round the back so as not to be observed,” Bemmy said, taking her hand.
They skirted round the church and slipped into its quiet confines. Like all churches, it had its own particular atmosphere. It was far cooler than the out of doors and smelled of years of burned candles and generous amounts of linseed oil.
