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Authors: Brighton Honeymoon
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delighted, Miss Crump, if you will first do me the honor of going for a drive with me in my phaeton.”
For some reason she could not name, Polly found Sir Aubrey’s gallantries even more disturbing than his veiled insinuations. Nevertheless, with no less than four people awaiting her answer, she could make only one response.
“Thank you, Sir Aubrey, I should be pleased to go driving with you,” she said, then rose to refill her coffee cup at the sideboard.
Sir Aubrey, in the meantime, had turned back to his hostess. “Tell me. Lady Helen, what other plans have you made for Miss Crump’s amusement?”
“Well, besides the theater, there are the assemblies, of course—dances, Miss Crump, which I am persuaded you will enjoy above all things!—and perhaps we might have a picnic on the beach one day, weather permitting.”
“And have you heard of any masquerades being planned?”
Since masked balls were known to promote licentiousness and a familiarity of manner which was not at all the thing, Lady Helen was more than a little taken aback by Sir Aubrey’s query. “Masquerades, Sir Aubrey? None that I am aware of. Why do you ask?”
His shrug was a study in well-bred indolence. “No particular reason. Only that I find masquerades fascinating, do not you, Miss Crump? No one is what they appear to be.”
From her position at the sideboard, Polly bent a sharp look upon Sir Aubrey, but met only a blank gray gaze. “Why, you are in need of more coffee, sir,” she exclaimed, seizing upon the excuse offered by his empty cup. “Pray allow me to let you have it.”
And so saying, she emptied the contents of the pot onto Sir Aubrey’s lap.
* * * *
By the time Sir Aubrey’s groom had fetched the high-perch phaeton, Polly had donned a dark blue spencer and tied the ribbons of a leghorn bonnet over her coppery curls. She had also had ample time to reflect upon her unconscionably rude behavior at the breakfast table. In retrospect, she feared she had perhaps overreacted to an unfortunate but wholly innocent remark. A guilty conscience, indeed!
Sir Aubrey, she noticed, had changed his coffee-soaked buckskin breeches for a pristine pair in a pale buff hue. Still, he made no reference to the circumstances which had made the change necessary, but handed her solicitously up into the phaeton and draped a lap robe across her knees before climbing up onto the seat beside her.
“The wind coming off the sea can be quite chilly, particularly on so cloudy a day as this,” he explained, setting the horses at a trot.
Indeed, the day was overcast, turning to gray the choppy waters of the Channel, and Polly, snug and warm beneath the blanket, felt doubly ashamed of having treated Sir Aubrey so shabbily.
“I must apologize again for this morning’s mishap, Sir Aubrey,” she said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his leader’s ears. “I cannot imagine how I came to be so clumsy.”
“Can you not, Miss Crump?” he asked, turning upon his fair passenger eyes the same color as the waters pounding the cliffs below. “I am sure you fail to do sufficient justice to your powers of invention.”
Having been afforded the dubious satisfaction of knowing that her initial reading of his conversation had been the accurate one, Polly had no more regrets for seeking recourse to the coffee pot. “Let us not beat about the bush, Sir Aubrey,” she said candidly. “Are you accusing me of telling untruths?”
“Having neglected to provide myself with a change of raiment, Miss Crump, I would not be so bold. Suffice it to say that I am moved beyond words by your touching reunion with your long-lost brother. One might suppose it to be something out of a fairy story, or a Minerva Press novel—except, of course, that the brother in question balks at welcoming the prodigal.”
“For one moved beyond words, you certainly seem to find a great many of them to hurl at me,” observed Polly with some asperity. “But one can hardly blame
For some reason she could not name, Polly found Sir Aubrey’s gallantries even more disturbing than his veiled insinuations. Nevertheless, with no less than four people awaiting her answer, she could make only one response.
“Thank you, Sir Aubrey, I should be pleased to go driving with you,” she said, then rose to refill her coffee cup at the sideboard.
Sir Aubrey, in the meantime, had turned back to his hostess. “Tell me. Lady Helen, what other plans have you made for Miss Crump’s amusement?”
“Well, besides the theater, there are the assemblies, of course—dances, Miss Crump, which I am persuaded you will enjoy above all things!—and perhaps we might have a picnic on the beach one day, weather permitting.”
“And have you heard of any masquerades being planned?”
Since masked balls were known to promote licentiousness and a familiarity of manner which was not at all the thing, Lady Helen was more than a little taken aback by Sir Aubrey’s query. “Masquerades, Sir Aubrey? None that I am aware of. Why do you ask?”
His shrug was a study in well-bred indolence. “No particular reason. Only that I find masquerades fascinating, do not you, Miss Crump? No one is what they appear to be.”
From her position at the sideboard, Polly bent a sharp look upon Sir Aubrey, but met only a blank gray gaze. “Why, you are in need of more coffee, sir,” she exclaimed, seizing upon the excuse offered by his empty cup. “Pray allow me to let you have it.”
And so saying, she emptied the contents of the pot onto Sir Aubrey’s lap.
* * * *
By the time Sir Aubrey’s groom had fetched the high-perch phaeton, Polly had donned a dark blue spencer and tied the ribbons of a leghorn bonnet over her coppery curls. She had also had ample time to reflect upon her unconscionably rude behavior at the breakfast table. In retrospect, she feared she had perhaps overreacted to an unfortunate but wholly innocent remark. A guilty conscience, indeed!
Sir Aubrey, she noticed, had changed his coffee-soaked buckskin breeches for a pristine pair in a pale buff hue. Still, he made no reference to the circumstances which had made the change necessary, but handed her solicitously up into the phaeton and draped a lap robe across her knees before climbing up onto the seat beside her.
“The wind coming off the sea can be quite chilly, particularly on so cloudy a day as this,” he explained, setting the horses at a trot.
Indeed, the day was overcast, turning to gray the choppy waters of the Channel, and Polly, snug and warm beneath the blanket, felt doubly ashamed of having treated Sir Aubrey so shabbily.
“I must apologize again for this morning’s mishap, Sir Aubrey,” she said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his leader’s ears. “I cannot imagine how I came to be so clumsy.”
“Can you not, Miss Crump?” he asked, turning upon his fair passenger eyes the same color as the waters pounding the cliffs below. “I am sure you fail to do sufficient justice to your powers of invention.”
Having been afforded the dubious satisfaction of knowing that her initial reading of his conversation had been the accurate one, Polly had no more regrets for seeking recourse to the coffee pot. “Let us not beat about the bush, Sir Aubrey,” she said candidly. “Are you accusing me of telling untruths?”
“Having neglected to provide myself with a change of raiment, Miss Crump, I would not be so bold. Suffice it to say that I am moved beyond words by your touching reunion with your long-lost brother. One might suppose it to be something out of a fairy story, or a Minerva Press novel—except, of course, that the brother in question balks at welcoming the prodigal.”
“For one moved beyond words, you certainly seem to find a great many of them to hurl at me,” observed Polly with some asperity. “But one can hardly blame
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