Page 15 of Rogue’s Holiday

“Refreshments will be served in the Red Drawing Room and from there you will be shown to your chambers.”

As they passed through the Long Gallery, Jack gazed up at the painted glass ceiling from which hung huge bright Chinese lanterns.

“Do the lanterns with their red tassels speak to you of China?” Robbie asked.

“Indeed, they do. And the walls, painted with bamboo trees against that pink background make it appear like a grove of bamboo. If I had not seen Versailles, I would be overly impressed.”

“You still might be. You have yet to see the dragon hanging above the Banqueting Room.”

In the Red Drawing Room, Robbie and Jack quenched their thirsts and then followed the footman to their bedchambers, which they were pleased to learn were located across from the king’s chamber. “We’ll not lack for comfort here,” observed Robbie.

He left Jack at the door to his chamber and proceeded on to his own room. The first thing he noticed was the canopied four-poster bed adorned in bright blue silk, the same color as the eyes of the maid he had kissed in London.

His valet, standing in the corner, had been busy. Robbie’s chest was placed against the wall and his clothing for dinner laid out on the bed. “Good man, Tiller,” said Robbie to the wizened old seaman, who had once sailed with Robbie’s father. When Tiller was no longer able to climb the rigging and Robbie began taking on assignments for the Crown, he offered Tiller the position as valet.

“Aye, Cap’n,” Tiller said, stepping forward. “’Twas my pleasure.” The valet’s gaze traveled around the well-appointed room. “Seems ye and yer uncle have found favor with the king. I’ve been all agog since I arrived.”

“His Majesty has been generous,” said Robbie.

Jack entered Robbie’s chamber and thanked the valet. “My clothes for the evening were set out in perfect order, Tiller.”

In response, the old sailor beamed a toothy smile. He had told Robbie on numerous occasions that he enjoyed his new role. And why not? He received full pay even when Robbie was on assignments for the Crown and didn’t take him along. And he found amusing Robbie’s many disguises. But of all his attributes, Robbie valued most Tiller’s loyalty to him and the Powell family.

Jack rubbed his hands together, a sign Robbie recognized as impatience. “Say, as long as we have a bit of time, I’d like to take a stroll around the grounds and see the stables you were telling me about.”

“While you are doing that,” said Robbie, “I have an errand to accomplish. I must call on Lady Claremont’s friend.” Robbie wasn’t looking forward to his visit to The Girl Who Needed Watching but since he had promised The Grand Countess, he’d best meet her.

Jack took his leave and, with a sigh, Robbie faced his valet. “I must change into a gentleman’s attire for my next stop.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

As Tiller pulled the needed items from Robbie’s chest, he thought to ask, “Have you been provided accommodations?”

“Aye, Cap’n. They gave me a snug cozy chamber just next door. If ye be needing me, ye have only to call.”

Once Robbie had changed into appropriate clothing for a meeting with Lady Sanborn, he advised Tiller his time was his own until evening.

The valet dipped his head. “Thank ye.”

Robbie glanced in the mirror, assured he was respectable enough for a countess.

Chastity pulled back the sheer curtain from the tall arched window to glimpse the wide swath of green lying in the center of the dirt road that was the Old Steyne. An immense fountain formed an oasis in the middle of the park in front of her aunt’s house. They had arrived only minutes before and Rose, wanting to see her chamber, had gone upstairs with the maid. Chastity had lingered behind, wanting to hear more about Brighton from her great-aunt before she was forced to undertake so mundane a task as changing for dinner.

Aunt Agatha lived at number 54 in what, at one time, had been the Duke of Marlborough’s house. When her husband, the Earl of Sanborn, died, she leased the large, two-story mansion to be close to all that Brighton offered. A well-furnished house to begin with, according to her great-aunt, in the last year she had redecorated it in brilliant colors. The parlor in which Chastity stood featured two red velvet sofas, a red and blue Axminster carpet and a gilded fireplace over which hung a painting of the late earl as a young man. His powdered wig, white satin waistcoat and blue velvet frock coat trimmed in gold braid spoke of an earlier era.

On the other side of the room, a vase of red tulips graced a round pedestal table. Oddly, Chastity was more at home here than at her own house in Northampton. There, she experienced the constant comparison with her beautiful mother and sisters; here she was free to be herself.

From behind her, Aunt Agatha said, “You have grown into a lovely young lady, Chastity. I must face the fact you are no longer a child but a woman full grown.”

Chastity turned to smile at her great-aunt, convinced the compliment was overstated. “Lovely” was not a word she would have used to describe herself, but she adored Aunt Agatha, so it was with a smile she said, “Thank you.”

The older woman had changed since they were last together. The glimmer of mirth in her brown eyes had not been there shortly after the earl’s passing when her eyes had been full of sadness. Then she had worn a widow’s somber clothing. Now she wore a deep marine blue silk gown, a bronze shawl and a turban of bronze and blue silk adorned with an aquamarine jewel and a yellow feather. Even her graying brown hair did not affect the impression Chastity had of an actress in a whimsical play. Her slippers, which Chastity had noticed as soon as she’d entered the house, were a unique design of marine blue silk with appliqués of yellow and bronze flowers.

“You’re not sad to be a widow, are you, Aunt?”

“Oh, no, child. My mourning days are behind me. I lead a full life in Brighton. I think of the earl as having gone ahead of me to Heaven. I will see him again one day. Meanwhile, as Lady Sanborn, I am having great fun. I’m invited to all the soirées. I have my rose garden to tend and a wonderful collection of books to read, which you are welcome to enjoy, and I sometimes invite neighborhood children into my parlor in the afternoons to hear a story. As well, I have many friends with whom I take tea. My next-door neighbor is one of them. Maria Fitzherbert and I have become particular friends.”

“Mrs. Fitzherbert, the king’s Catholic wife?”