Elisabeth Fairchild (21 page)

“I have not, I am sorry to say, located my brother in person,” Beatrix admitted ruefully, “but I have managed to find out where he has booked rooms.”

“Rooms?”

Beau cringed. Did this mean he could no longer retreat to his rooms?

“Yes,” Beatrix laughed. “I am told by the landlady that he is never to be seen about the place, but the bags there are unmistakably my brother’s, so I have decided that I shall not intrude on your aunt’s hospitality, setting up residence in Brampton’s rooms instead. He must come back to them eventually, and then I shall hear an explanation of his whereabouts these past few weeks. See if I don’t.”

Nell had been staring at Beatrix Cowper throughout this exchange. The young woman did, in some manner she could not quite place, look familiar to her. She was stoutish, of medium height, dressed in the height of conservative fashion, and possessed of a look of intelligent determination. She had the confident air of someone who is accustomed to having her word trusted implicitly, and her commands promptly obeyed.

Aurora, introduced the two.

Again, Nell was struck by a feeling of familiarity, something about the tilt of Miss Cowper’s head as they were introduced and the slow smile that touched her lips as she said Hello. There was nothing at all familiar in her voice however, and the fleeting impression of having perhaps seen her before, dissipated like a fog as Beatrix cheerfully remarked that Aurora was fver mentioning her little sister, ’Nella, so she felt as if they were already acquainted.

Beatrix listened to Aurora’s plan to go and look at a horse that very afternoon with some dismay, however, and politely declined the invitation to accompany them.

“My love, I cannot even contemplate such an excursion so hard on the heels of our having been on the road down here! I have a hundred and one details to attend to in relation to my costume for tomorrow’s masquerade, and fully intend to have a lie down before this evening. Are you sure yet another journey will not fatigue you?”

Aurora laughed and took up Lady Cowper ’s plump hands. “I shall not be too fatigued to enjoy tomorrow’s masquerade.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “We are going to look at this horse in the company of Mr. Charley Tyrrwhit, and I may be able to find out something with regard to your brother’s direction.”

“Charley’s here? Well, if anyone might know where Brampton has gotten himself off to, ’twill be Charley. Tell him that I am to be found in my brother’s rooms.”

Nell stepped from the carriage. “I shall just nip in then, and tell Mr. Ferd our change in plans.”

Nell’s entrance stopped Beau from slipping out the back door.

“Mr. Ferd?” she called out to him. “We shall not require Lady Cowper’s bags after all. She means to arrange their transport to her brother ’s lodgings.”

Beauford licked his lips. “Miss Quinby?”

“Do hurry, Mr. Ferd,” she insisted, without having heard him. “I should not like to keep Mr. Tyrrwhit or my aunt waiting.” She walked back out of the door.

Beau hoisted Aurora’s trunk onto one shoulder, clutched a valise and two hatboxes in his free hand, and took a deep breath. Time to face the truth. He followed Nell out into the sunshine. There, he was met by an unexpected, but most fortuitous distraction. A bevy of uniformed young men surrounded Aurora and his sister. Nell readily joined in the animated conversation, which seemed to be focused rather specifically on the various costumes to be donned for the masquerade.

Using the trunk on his shoulder like a shield, Beau skirted his sister as she enquired of Captain Stiles, “Have any of you, by chance, seen my brother, the Duke of Heste, here in Brighton?”

Stiles laughed. “Can’t say as I have laid eyes on any Dukish looking characters myself, unless he is perhaps the mysterious Green Man who haunts the streets of late.”

Nell laughed. “You cannot seriously believe that the queer gentleman who wears only green from head to foot is anything but a likely candidate for Bedlam.”

“Who knows?” Captain Stiles shrugged. “What does a Duke look like but any other man? He could be standing right beside me and I would not know it. Why, only consider Beau.”

Beauford regarded the man with trepidation around the end of the trunk as he lowered it into the boot.

“Beau?” Beatrix looked interested.

“Our coachman?” Nell asked.

Stiles was pleased to be the center of attention. “It is Beau Lascalle I refer to, the Great Pretender.”

“And why, pray tell, is this Lascalle called Pretender?” Beatrix enquired.

“Have you not heard of him then? He is one of Brighton’s more interesting fixtures. The Prince himself labeled him pretender, for those two are as like as peas in a pod. So closely does Lascalle resemble the Prince, that the two are quite often mistaken for one another.”

“If the likeness is so very pronounced I should very much like to see this Lascalle.” Nell admitted.

“One can only hope one does not make the mistake of bowing to this Lascalle, as if he were indeed royalty,” Beatrix said.

Stiles chuckled. “Far better to bow to Lascalles, than to slap a Prince on the back and address him as Beau. There are one or two who have embarrassed both themselves and the Prince by going so far.”

Aurora laughed outright. “How very singular to go through life doubling as someone else. Almost as if one were split into two separate beings. It must be quite diverting to escape oneself, now and again.”

“We shall all of us have opportunity to do just that, tomorrow at the Masquerade Ball,” Nell pointed out.

“Oh my, yes.” Beatrix waved a dismissive hand. “Do not let me keep you, ladies. Captain Stiles, will you be a dear and help me with my trunks?”

Chapter Fifteen

Nell was not at all amazed to see Charley Tyrrwhit fall slave to her sister Aurora’s charms on the drive to Poynings, where they meant to look at the bay. She would have been surprised had he not done so.

“So, you wish to know about the duke of Heste?” He seemed amused when Aurora pressed him for information.

Nell thought he had the look about him of a sleepy cat. Amused, condescending, his lips caught between a smile and a sneer-- as though he knew not whether to play with the beauty before him, or eat her.

Nell’s aunt, who sat beside him, was not privy to the look on Charley’s face. “We know all we need to know,” she interrupted with a bombastic righteousness that would seem to indicate that her mind was already made up with regard to the duke. “He has evidenced nothing but a rude thoughtlessness, I might go so far as to say downright snobbery, in refusing to so much as meet Aurora, when it was clearly his sister’s intention that he should do so. Such a cut, indirect though it may be, has irreparably injured her chances at making an instant hit with the Ton. Tell me all you will of your friend. I am a fair woman, and would not like it said I hold him in complete disgust if there are some redeemable qualities to save him from such an opinion.”

Nell’s attention strayed, as it all too frequently was wont to do, in Mr. Ferd’s direction. Their coachman appeared to listen keenly to what was said, head half-turned. The rigidity of his posture gave Nell the impression he did not approve of their discussion. Nell wondered what he might have had to say were he to join the conversation. But conversation from a coachman was as out of place as her interest in him.

Charley chuckled. “The Duke of Heste is neither devil nor angel, ladies. He is not at all proud or overbearing or rude, rather he is a man understated in his demeanor, quiet and collected and calm. I am sure he had no intention of slighting you, Miss Quinby, for he is a mannerly sort of bloke, and of slightly more than ordinary intelligence.”

“You must tell us more, Mr. Tyrrwhit. What of his appearance and habits,” Aurora insisted.

“His appearance? Well. . .”

Mr. Ferd turned, but not to look at her, as Nell might have hoped. He shot a look instead, at Charley Tyrrwhit.

Mr. Tyrrwhit did not appear to notice the interest with which he was rearded. He squinted at the heavens, as if he recalled the duke’s appearance somewhere in the clouds. “He is of average height and weight,” he said thoughtfully. “His coloring is nothing out of the ordinary, and his features might best be described as. . .”

Mr. Ferd shot another squint over his shoulder. Mr. Tyrrwhit smiled. “Even. His background and schooling are typical. He conducts his financial affairs in the usual way, does not gamble, smoke or drink to excess, and dislikes hunting.”

Nell protested with a musical laugh, “You surprise me, sir! What draws you to fellowship with someone whom you would describe more in terms of what he is not, than what he is? Such a description gives us very little clue as to whether we should love or hate the man.”

“Oh, but you must love him, Miss Quinby!” Charley said, a benign smile molding his lips.

“Does any woman love an ordinary man, other than his mother?” Nell insisted.

Mr. Ferd stiffened on his bench.

Charley protested. “Never think the Duke an ordinary man. He is kind and thoughtful, involved in any number of worthy charities, dotes on his family, cattle and pets, indulges his servants to a fault, has an excellent sense of priority, an even better sense of humor, and I cannot name the chap I would rather have befriend me. He will most certainly run the family estate better than his father, may be counted upon to assist family or friend without question when ill befalls, and conducts his business without condescension or power plays. He performs his social obligations with a minimum of fuss, has a large circle of friends and both of his sisters love him dearly, as do his nieces and nephews. There may be one other female. . .” He squinted thoughtfully at Nell. “The duke has been dangling after this one particular young woman of late. I think she may see something in him that she likes.”

Aurora leaned forward. “What? Is the Duke secretly attached to someone? Is that his reason for quitting London with such haste? I know for a fact that Beatrix has no knowledge of this mysterious young woman you speak of. Who is she?”

Mr. Ferd noisily cleared his throat.

“That would be telling,” Charley’s catlike look had returned.

Ursula nodded. “Mr. Tyrrwhit is quite correct to refuse to tell you, girls. For while he may be certain as to his friend’s feelings. . .”

He nodded. “The man is besotted. I am sure of it.”

Ursula’s head bobbed. “He cannot be certain as to the sensibilities of the young lady. If he were to connect the names, and she had none of him after all, it would be most unfair to both parties, for the gentleman might be seen as a cad, and the young woman a heartless flirt.”

“Or worse,” Charley agreed.

Aurora was disappointed, but Nell not at all dismayed. “You say your friend is besotted?”

Charley turned his catlike attention in her direction. Nell got the uncomfortable impression that she amused him most of all.

“How does one know when a man is in such a state?”

Beau closed his eyes in anticipation of his friend’s response. Charley was enjoying himself immensely at his expense. And well he might. Seldom was a fellow given the opportunity to tweak another man’s nose while he sat within earshot and endured whatever slander might be brought forth, without the slightest demur.

“Poor old boy is making a complete cake of himself.” Laughter hung in Charley’s response. Beau might have laughed himself, under different circumstances.

“Cake? Can you be more specific?”

Dear Nell. She sounded so very serious.

Charley could no longer contain his mirth. “Oh, you know. . .” he laughed outright, in an explosive little burst. “He is trying to be something or someone he is not.”

Nell shook him far more than he would have cared to admit when she went on earnestly, “Do you know, Mr. Tyrrwhit, I do not think I care very much for the Duke, no matter that he is a friend of yours. I have no patience with men who feel the need to recreate themselves in the image of what they think a woman wants, in order to impress. In my opinion, any serious relationship must be based on honesty, openness, and the strength of trust.”

“Oh dear, Miss Quinby, would but the duke himself might hear your words. He would be a better man for them. Do you not agree, Mr. Ferd?”

Beau did not turn from the managing of his team. “I am sure you have the right of it, Mr. Tyrrwhit,” he acknowledged stiffly, realizing how wrong he was to continue to deceive these people. He knew it with a clarity of thinking that made his conscience hurt. He had built a relationship that mattered dearly to him on lies, and in so doing, he knew no more about whether this woman loved him for himself, who he really was, than had he never misrepresented himself to her. Lies were no foundation for trust, or love, certainly not commitment. Lies propagated more lies, until one began to question where truth left off and the lie began. Lies had one constantly looking over one’s shoulder, made one wonder at one’s own consistency in lying, and caused one to dodge truth, for it might undo the knotty business of the lie. Life had begun to stutter as awkwardly as his tongue. He tired of such a double existence. He had to tell Nell the truth.