Brighton Road (20 page)

At least one good thing had come out of it
all. The baron obviously had given over his foolish notion that he
had to marry her. He had not mentioned it once this morning. Last
night's affair must have brought him to his senses. Not even his
lordship's rigid code of honor would require such a sacrifice, that
he should tie himself to a female absurd enough to run abroad in
her nightgown and become entangled with smugglers, a woman so sadly
wanting in the sort of propriety and good sense Ravenel would
demand of his wife.

She was glad of this, Gwenda told herself
stoutly, for of course it was not as if she wanted to marry him.
Just because the man did at times appear in her dreams as Roderigo,
she certainly hadn't been so foolish as to fall in love with him.
No, how utterly absurd that would be.

The tilbury gave a sudden jolt, which forced
Gwenda to sit erect and clutch the side of the carriage. She
realized with a start that they were rattling over the cobbled
streets of the town itself and only his lordship's expert handling
of the reins had prevented their locking wheels with a phaeton
driven by some reckless young buck.

Even this did not serve to ruffle Ravenel's
temper. With some amusement, he pointed out to Gwenda the distant
outline of the Regent's whimsical pavilion. She eyed with little
interest the classical villa with its central rotunda encircled by
six Ionic columns. Beyond that a glass dome topped what was surely
the most lavish structure ever built to stable horses. But the
sight of the palace only served as a melancholy reminder to Gwenda
that she and Ravenel were approaching the end of their journey.

All too soon the tilbury jounced along the
Marine Parade toward that fashionable area of Brighton known as the
Royal Crescent. The town house her family had rented proved to be
one of the newer ones with charming wrought-iron balconies and
canopied bow windows. The walls were glazed with black tiles to
withstand the gales and salt spray of the sea.

As Ravenel reined in the shuffling gray mare,
Gwenda prepared to jump down before his lordship could come around
to assist her.

"I have given you enough trouble," she said
primly. "But before we say farewell, I must tell you how truly
grateful—"

"There's no need to go into that now. I am
coming in with you." His lordship leaped somewhat gingerly from the
carriage, wincing as he held a hand to his ribs. Bertie bolted
right after him.

When Ravenel came around to hand her down,
Gwenda shrank back. "Oh, no. I know how tired and eager you must be
to get to your own house. There is not the least necessity for you
to come in with me."

"Indeed there is. I have to speak to your
father."

"About what?"

"It is customary to consult a lady's father
in these delicate affairs. I need to assure him that I am going to
marry you."

So Ravenel's mind had not altered. He was
still insisting that she be his wife. A curious sensation of
gladness stirred inside Gwenda, but she quickly suppressed it,
recalling Ravenel's reason for wanting to marry her.

She answered rather sharply. "I told you you
are not obliged to do that. I am willing to risk my reputation
rather than enter into such an undesirable union."

For a moment, she fancied the saw a shading
of hurt in his dark eyes, a pain that had nothing to do with his
bruised flesh. "I had rather hoped you were starting to
reconsider—" He broke off. "Never mind. I know what is proper. If
you won't be sensible, I would as lief refer the matter to your
father's judgment."

His cheerful manner vanished as he squared
his jaw in a stubborn manner. He reached up, his hands spanning her
waist. He lifted her rather forcefully from the tilbury so that she
tumbled against him.

Gwenda quickly pulled herself back from the
all-too-welcome support of his strong arms. "It is you who won't be
sensible. You have made your chivalrous offer; I have refused it.
You ought to be satisfied."

"I won't be satisfied until I have talked to
Lord Vickers."

Gwenda started to argue, but she felt
exhausted by the futility of it.

"Very well," she said. "If there is no other
way to appease your conscience! But I know full well how Papa will
handle the matter."

Gwenda flounced away from him. While Ravenel
consigned the horse and tilbury to the care of a groom, she marched
up the town-house steps with Bert frisking alongside, swatting at
her skirts with his tail.

Ravenel joined her at the door, his
expression a mingling of obstinacy and unease. He might well have
been a visitor contemplating his first excursion inside Bedlam,
reluctant but manfully determined to face the ordeal ahead.

Knowing the contempt in which Ravenel held
her family, Gwenda anticipated the forthcoming introductions with
dread. Lord knows, she was not ashamed of her family, but at times
they could be overly enthusiastic and Ravenel was so
stiff-necked.

She thought again of trying to turn him aside
from his purpose, but the oak portal was already being swung open
by a servant whose familiar tanned features seemed out of place in
butler's garb.

"Fitch!" Gwenda gasped in utter
astonishment.

"Miss Gwenda," the coachman exclaimed.
"Praise the Lord!"

She could only stare at him, recalling that
the last time she had seen the man Ravenel had been stuffing his
unconscious form inside the coach.

"Fitch, what are you doing here?"

"The master gave over trying to make a
coachman of me. He said I should try butlering—"

"No," Ravenel interrupted, looking equally
astounded. "She means, how the deuce did you get here ahead of
us?"

"Ah, Master Jack found me and James and
fetched us here late last night." Fitch stepped back to allow
Gwenda and Ravenel to enter the foyer. Before Gwenda could demand
any further details from her erstwhile coachman, another male voice
called out, "Fitch. Who is it?"

Gwenda tipped back her head, her gaze
traveling up the marble staircase to the regions above. A youth
attired in scarlet regimentals leaned over the gilt railing So
dashing, so manly did he appear in uniform that it took Gwenda a
second to recognize her scapegrace brother until Jack's face lit up
at the sight of her.

"Gwenda, you madcap!" He tore down the steps
at such a rate he appeared certain to fall and break his neck.

"Oh, Jack! Jack!" With a glad outcry, Gwenda
flung herself into his arms, momentarily forgetting everything but
her joy in being reunited with her favorite brother.

They hugged while Bert leaped up at them
barking, then both began to talk breathlessly, not giving the other
a chance to reply.

"Damn, Gwen. Father's had me searching all
over Kent for you."

"Oh, I'm so sorry if I've worried
everyone."

"... and even after I found the wrecked
carriage and that great looby Fitch, he had no notion where you'd
got to—"

"I've been quite safe. But, Jack! Your new
uniform. You look so smart!"

" It is nothing to cry about, for mercy
sakes. You already appear enough of a fright. Where'd you get that
hideous dress?"

While in the midst of these greetings, a door
off to Gwenda's right opened and other familiar, well-loved voices
were heard.

"Jack? Did I hear Bertie's bark?"

"Is that our Gwennie come back?"

The next instant a short, plump woman rustled
forward. Dear Mama, her military-style spencer and skirt as ever
neat and precise. And just behind her, Papa, his dreamy eyes
already filling with tears of gladness. Gwenda had not a chance to
utter a word before her parents swept down upon her, embracing
her.

Lingering upon the threshold, his presence
gone unnoticed, Ravenel shifted his feet awkwardly. With some
hesitation, he removed his hat and handed it to Fitch. Studying the
trio surrounding Gwenda, he had no difficulty recognizing Lord
Vickers. The man's leonine mane of silver hair was a familiar sight
at the House of Lords. The woman with the lace cap and unruly
curls, of course, had to be Gwenda's mother, Lady Vickers. And as
incredible as it seemed, the jovial, harmless-looking lad must be
the infamous Mad Jack.

Yet even without observing the Vickerses all
together, Ravenel felt he would have instantly known the members of
Gwenda's family. It was not so much a strong facial resemblance
they shared as it was that exuberance of manner that was so much a
part of Gwenda's charm; an unaffected display of warmth and
affection that marked them all as belonging together.

The baron took a step backward, feeling like
an intruder here. He was on the point of taking back his hat and
slipping quietly away when a lull finally occurred in all the
hugging and exclamations.

"My dear child," Lord Vickers said to Gwenda,
blowing his nose into his linen handkerchief. "I thought you were
dead."

"Stuff, my dear!" Lady Vickers exclaimed.
"Why must you always be thinking people are dead? One cannot be
five minutes late coming back from the dressmaker's without you
working yourself into a fret."

"It was more than five minutes." Her husband
raised his hand with a dramatic flourish. "To have one's only
daughter vanish from the face of the earth! To find nothing but the
wrecked remains of her coach—"

At this juncture, Fitch startled them all by
bursting into a loud lament. "Oh, 'twas all my fault, sir. That
accursed drink. You should turn me off without a character, so you
should."

In his fit of remorse, Fitch twisted and
crushed the brim of the Ravenel's hat But before Ravenel could
rescue his much-abused headgear, the butler turned and stumbled off
toward the servant's stairwell, taking the hat with him.

"Fitch!" Lord Vickers called. "Oh, the poor
fellow. Fitch!"

"Let him go, my dear," Lady Vickers said. "It
is best he retires below until he composes himself. One cannot have
a hysterical butler answering one's door, can one?"

It took the startled Ravenel a moment to
realize her ladyship had directed this last comment to him.

"Oh! Er ... no, it would not do at all."

Lady Vickers nodded in approval. "Such a
sensible man. So good of you to call. It is always so delightful to
receive unexpected visitors. Who are you?"

Her ladyship's acknowledgment of Ravenel's
presence had the effect of also turning her son's and husband's
attention upon him. To Ravenel, it seemed he was facing a veritable
sea of curious green-gold eyes. He had never before experienced any
difficulty in pronouncing his own name, but he found himself
stumbling over it.

Gwenda came to his rescue. She pushed her way
to his side, looking a little nervous and breathless herself. "This
is Lord Ravenel, Mama. He is the gentleman who has been looking
after me and has rescued me several times and risked his life
fighting with smugglers and all manner of brave things."

Ravenel felt his cheeks wash a dull red. He
wished Gwenda would have given him a more ordinary sort of
introduction. He started to disclaim, but the Vickerses were
already upon him, pumping his hand with enthusiasm: Lady Vickers
reiterating her conviction that he was a sensible man, Jack terming
him a "brick," and Stanhope Vickers declaring what a pleasure it
was to meet the preserver of his most beloved daughter.

"I am your only daughter, Papa," Gwenda
reminded him.

"So you are, my pet. So you are." Stanhope
Vickers clapped his hands together. "Well, Lord Ravenel. We must
adjourn to the parlor at once, and you and Gwennie can regale us
all with an accounting of your adventures. Prudence, my own,
perhaps a spot of tea—"

"No, sir. Please," the baron said quickly
before he found himself entirely carried away from the purpose of
his visit. "If it would be at all convenient, I would like the
favor of a few words with you alone."

Lord Vickers's surprise seemed to spread to
the rest of his family, with the exception of Gwenda, who leveled a
deep frown at Ravenel, which he steadfastly ignored.

"Why, certainly, sir," Lord Vickers said. "If
that is what you wish."

"Oho! What mischief has Gwenda been about
this time?" Jack Vickers called out gleefully.

"Be quiet, Jack," Lady Vickers said. She
disconcerted the baron by offering him a glance of unexpected
shrewdness as her eyes traveled from him to her blushing daughter.
She briskly shooed her son toward the door. "I am very sure you
have some business that requires your attention elsewhere. And as
for Gwenda, she is all done in. She should go upstairs for a hot
bath and lie-down. I will send Colette—"

Her ladyship paused a moment to frown. "Oh,
no, that is right. Fitch told us Colette has run off. So sadly
unreliable, but she did speak French so prettily."

"Mama, please," Gwenda said as soon as she
could get a word in. "I am not in the least tired. I should like to
wait—"

But her mother swept her protests aside. "As
your grandpapa the general always said, a soldier is of no use in
battle unless she has had the proper rest."

Ravenel had no chance to so much as speak to
Gwenda before her mother was marching her up the stairs, gently
straightening her daughter's shoulders as they went. Gwenda shot
one anxious glance back at him, her look half pleading, half
indignant.

Damn it, Gwenda, Ravenel wanted to shout. I
am insisting upon this marriage for your own good.

Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the
cheval glass mounted on the wall and saw that he looked every bit
as tense as she did. He followed Lord Vickers into the study for
what he feared was going to prove the most uncomfortable interview
of his life.

"And that is the whole of the matter. So you
see why I must marry your daughter," Ravenel finally concluded his
awkward and lengthly explanation.