Page 53 of Rogue’s Holiday

Chapter 11

The king wasted no time in bringing the social whirl back to Brighton. It was as if all of London realized the place to be was the seaside town and, wishing to be seen among fashionable company, flocked there in great numbers. This made Robbie’s job of discovering the hiding place of the conspirators’ friends more difficult. Several attempts had produced no results.

Meanwhile, horse racing had begun in earnest. Robbie and Jack attended each afternoon, wagering with Alvanley, Sir Bellingham and Sir John. On occasion, the king joined in, adding to the atmosphere of celebration. Sir Bellingham’s guest, Henry Cairo, made several appearances. That is, when he wasn’t pursuing Lady Sanborn’s great-niece and her friend. His calling on the two young women had become a frequent event.

One afternoon, Robbie had glimpsed the clockmaker strolling down the Steyne with Miss Reynolds and her friend. A wave of jealousy had swept over him. It was an entirely new experience, one he did not enjoy.

Each Monday, the Castle and Old Ship Inns hosted balls. He and Jack attended a few and, each time, encountered a bevy of young women looking for husbands; however, Miss Reynolds had not been in attendance. Robbie thought the evenings greatly diminished by her absence. The brilliant spark she added to any gathering was missing.

“Perhaps it is time we paid Snow White and Rose Red a visit,” he said to Jack at breakfast as he pushed his eggs about his plate with his fork, thinking of some excuse to look in on his “Ward for the Brighton Season”, as Lady Claremont had called her.

Jack paused, holding his coffee between his hands. “I am not opposed to the idea. What did you have in mind?”

“I am certain Lady Sanborn would insist the two young women attend church on Sunday. Though I’m not sure which one is her preference, the closest to Lady Sanborn’s residence is the Chapel Royal. We might offer to escort them to the service.”

Jack grinned mischievously. “You devil.”

Undaunted, Robbie sent an invitation to Lady Sanborn offering to accompany the three ladies to the Chapel Royal that Sunday. Robbie’s mother, Claire Donet, had been raised a Catholic in France but, after her marriage to Simon Powell, she had become a devout Methodist. Thus, she had insisted her sons attend church. Even on their ships, a service of sorts was held on Sundays, officiated by the captain, which, in some instances, had been Robbie. He smiled to himself, trying to imagine what Miss Reynolds would think of that.

As he returned to his chamber to dress for dinner, Tiller approached with a sealed message. “This just arrived, Cap’n.”

Robbie thanked him and broke the familiar seal. With more anticipation than he might have expected, he unfolded the single sheet. Lady Sanborn’s script elegantly conveyed her short reply. “We’d be delighted. You may call for us a quarter hour before ten o’clock.”

“A rogue in church?” Chastity asked her great-aunt, intrigued. “Whatever for? Penance?” She poured Aunt Agatha and Rose more tea, then subsided onto the sofa, lifting her cup to her lips.

“Perhaps that is the best place for a rogue,” said Aunt Agatha, leaning forward to take a biscuit from the silver tray. “If indeed Sir Robert is a rogue.” With a pensive expression, she added, “As I recall, the king used to attend the Chapel Royal until several years ago when the curate preached a sermon titled, ‘Thou art the man’. You can well imagine Prinny’s reaction.”

“I know that story from the Bible,” said Rose, a small bite of pastry lifted on her fork. “Wasn’t that the one where the prophet confronted King David for taking another man’s wife?”

“Indeed, it was,” said Aunt Agatha. “Though David did worse than that. He ordered the husband into the front line of battle to be killed. Of course, he eventually repented of the deed and God forgave him. But there were consequences.”

“I don’t think King George has repented,” said Chastity. “He’s still taking other men’s wives to his bed. But there is the consequence that he is left without a legitimate heir.”

Her great-aunt’s eyes took on a sad look. “The death of his only child, Princess Charlotte, was a tragedy, for her husband, who loved her, and for England. Had she lived, one day she would have been queen.”

“So one rogue has forsaken Sunday services while another takes his place. How fitting it should be Sir Robert.” Chastity tried to imagine sitting with The Rogue in church and failed.

“I think you are too harsh on Sir Robert,” her great-aunt gently chided. “He has been nothing but a gentleman as far as I have seen.”

Chastity didn’t want to stoop to gossip, even if it was based on her own observations, nor would she tell Aunt Agatha about their first encounter, so she did what any proper lady would do. She took a sip of her tea and conceded politely her great-aunt might have a point.

Robbie gazed up at the tall, highly decorated pulpit as the singing ended and the reading from the Old Testament began. The five of them took up an entire pew in the spacious and lofty Chapel Royal at the corner of North Street and Prince’s Place. The church near the Pavilion had been designed to encourage royal attendees. It had thus far failed in that mission if the current king was any example.

Robbie sat on the aisle with Miss Reynolds next to him. Lady Sanborn had placed herself between her charges and Jack was on the other side of Miss Crockett. Altogether, given the limited space, it was a cozy arrangement, one that Robbie favored. Chastity Reynolds’ faint scent of flowers drifted to his nostrils and her warmth burned into his sleeve and breeches where their bodies touched ever so slightly.

“Our reading from the Old Testament today is from Proverbs 31,” intoned Reverend Wagner. As he began to read, Robbie turned to glance at the profile of The Girl Who Needed Watching. Indeed, she did. Inclined to adventure, even mischief. He imagined her bathing naked in the waters off Brighton, her golden hair wet and flowing behind her. He was certain, like Letty, Chastity Reynolds would have foregone any kind of bathing attire. Rather than the frigid waters off Brighton, he preferred to think of her swimming in a warm lagoon on some distant shore, far from the stuffy atmosphere of the ton. There, he would show her the ways of love.

An elbow jabbed into his ribs and her whispered “Woolgathering?” jarred Robbie out of his reverie.

“Who can find a virtuous woman?” the good reverend went on. “For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.”

Robbie pondered the advice of King Solomon. Such a woman was just the kind he wanted to begin the legacy he had in mind. He shifted his gaze to Miss Reynolds and allowed a subtle smile to cross his face. Ah, yes, a virtuous woman. Fair of face with an intelligent mind and an unusual creative talent. And she was kind, putting others before herself. In his experience, there was no other woman like her. Chastity Reynolds might not know it now, but, one day, she would be his. And once he had set upon a course of action, he saw it to the end.

Augie left the chapel well ahead of the swell and returned to report to the others. “Ings returns tomorrow,” he said as he studied the alley from the window in their upper story lodgings. “He’ll want to hear about what I saw today.”

“I wouldn’t have thought ye’d be steppin’ into a church,” said Pete, “not after the nights ye’ve been keepin’ with the tavern wenches. Didn’t ye fear bein’ struck dead?”

Augie gave him a reproachful glance. “Are ye daft? No one questions a sinner’s right to attend services. ’Tis expected. My head might have been hurtin’ after last night’s ale, but I wanted to watch him with her in that place.”