Page 16 of Rogue’s Holiday

“Well, yes,” Aunt Agatha said, rather sheepishly, “although no one in Brighton pays any mind to her faith. She and the king parted nearly ten years ago, which I collect he must deeply regret, particularly after he was forced to wed that German princess he so dislikes. Maria Fitzherbert is still greatly respected here.” Her great-aunt sighed. “I can’t think his many mistresses make up for the loss of the devoted and loving wife of his youth. Maria is a very special woman. I consider it fortunate to call her my friend.”

A beautiful young widow, virtuous by all accounts, who had charmed and then dared to marry the Anglican prince, had to be interesting. To defy the opinions of a whole nation for love and then to be forced by Parliament and royal decree to part. It was as romantic and tragic as a play by Shakespeare. It thrilled Chastity to think of the fearless young woman, who chose love against all odds. “Will Rose and I get to meet her?”

“Undoubtedly. We dine together often.”

Chastity turned back to the window. The wide thoroughfare in front of her great-aunt’s house that constituted the Steyne kept up a steady parade of men trotting by on their horses and fashionable women walking together while children played around them. Flowers bloomed in every front yard rendering the sunny spring day delightful. After all the rain, it was a welcome change.

A short distance away was the Royal Pavilion and, in the other direction, the shore they had passed on their carriage ride into Brighton. The cool breeze wafting in through the open window smelled of the sea. Chastity breathed in the salty air, so different than the country air in Northampton that spoke of farms, animals and tanneries.

She turned at Aunt Agatha’s words. “The earl and I spent our honeymoon here in Brighton. When Sanborn died two years ago, I thought it appropriate I should return to where we had been so happy.”

“I think it’s a fine place to live,” said Chastity.

The sound of steps caused her to look toward the open door. Featherstone, her great-aunt’s butler, appeared on the threshold, his wide girth filling the doorway. Red hair and side-whiskers prominently framed his ruddy-cheeked face.

Aunt Agatha raised her head, casting her gaze in his direction. “Yes?”

“A gentleman caller, my lady.” The butler approached and handed his mistress a card. “Sir Robert Powell from London.”

For a moment, Aunt Agatha’s face took on a puzzled look, but then her thin lips curved upward in a smile. “Oh, yes. The gentleman Muriel Claremont said was on holiday in Brighton.” She looked at the card and then fixed her eyes on Chastity. “You must meet him, my dear.” To the butler, she said, “Do show him in.”

Featherstone bowed and left, returning shortly with a tall man. To Chastity’s utter shock, he was the man who had nearly knocked her over in the lobby of Grillon’s Hotel and stolen a most improper kiss. Today, he looked positively civilized being attired as a gentleman in dark blue tail coat, gray pantaloons, mustard-colored waistcoat and neatly tied white cravat. His black shoes were nothing out of the ordinary but at least they were well polished.

The cad.She could feel a frown forming on her face. What is he doing here?

His face sported a wry smile as his eyes met hers. Striding into the room, he bowed before her great-aunt. “Sir Robert Powell, my lady. At your service.”

Sir Robert Powell. Egad, the cad is a knight.

Aunt Agatha offered her hand. “You are the very thing we need to add to our company, Sir Robert. My dear friend, Lady Claremont, speaks well of you and your family.”

He shifted his gaze to Chastity. She glared back, dismissing his manners as feigned for the benefit of her great-aunt. Perhaps he could call them forth as need dictated, like the paper flowers pulled from the sleeve of a stage conjurer.

Aunt Agatha glanced at him and then at Chastity. “Do you two know each other?”

“We have never met,” Chastity said shortly. “He ran into me in London.” Which, all things considered, was true.

“It was a very brief encounter,” he said with amusement dancing in his eyes. “Alas, I regret we were not introduced on that occasion.”

“Well, then, Chastity, may I present Sir Robert Powell?” At the mention of her name, a flicker of surprise appeared in his hazel eyes. People often reacted that way as her name was of Puritan origin; old-fashioned and not much used among the gentry. But for the legacy attached to it, she would have begged her parents to change it.

She forced a smile. “Sir Robert.”

He bowed slightly only to wrinkle his brow. “You’re Chastity? But I thought—”

“Miss Reynolds is my great-niece, Sir Robert. Did you have some other impression?”

“I did. Lady Claremont mentioned that your great-niece was visiting you and asked me to call upon her, but she led me to expect a much younger woman, a girl really.”

“Upon my word!” exclaimed Aunt Agatha. “How ever did Muriel get that idea? No, no, Sir Robert. Chastity is nearly one and twenty. The perfect age.” For what, Chastity’s great-aunt did not say, leaving her to wonder. “Of course, I still think of her as a girl.” Aunt Agatha flicked her aged and bejeweled hand in the air. “As one gets older, everyone seems very young.” Gesturing to one of the sofas, she said, “Won’t you join us for a drink?”

“Thank you, I’d be delighted.”

As soon as Chastity settled onto the sofa next to her great-aunt, Sir Robert took a seat opposite them, crossing his long legs in front of him. Here was a man at ease, like a panther lounging in the sun.

A footman entered, likely dispatched by the efficient Featherstone, to pour sherry for Chastity and Aunt Agatha and a brandy for Sir Robert.

At that moment, Rose swept into the room, coming to a halt when she saw they were entertaining company.