Page 24 of Rogue’s Holiday

The room set for breakfast was smaller than others in the Pavilion, but the walls were painted a vivid azure blue and overlaid with strips of paper made to look like bamboo. A footman led them to a small table where Robbie pulled out a chair whose legs and back were also made to look like bamboo.

“Would you like coffee and a newspaper, sir?” the footman asked them.

“Most assuredly,” said Robbie.

The coffee arrived shortly along with The London Times. Jack lifted the paper and began to read.

Robbie contented himself with his coffee as he’d had only the one cup Tiller had brought to his chamber. “Is it possible to get eggs and ham?” he asked the footman when he again approached.

“Oh, yes, sir. The Pavilion’s kitchens can prepare most anything.”

Jack looked over the edge of the paper. “I’ll have the same, merci.” When the waiter walked away, Jack said, “You’ll be pleased to hear they have captured all of those criminals who thought to attack your Cabinet.”

“Oh?” Robbie said with feigned indifference as he experienced a flood of relief. “When will the trial be?”

“It says here that the trial begins this week in Session House of the Old Bailey.” Jack set down the paper and lifted his coffee to his lips. “Twill soon be over.”

Robbie would only completely relax when the conspirators had met their inevitable ends. Only then would he know a measure of satisfaction that his last assignment was truly over.

Chastity followed Aunt Agatha and Rose to their next-door neighbor’s house, her great-aunt explaining that the house in which Mrs. Fitzherbert lived had been a gift to her from her husband when he was the Prince of Wales. It boasted a long veranda overlooking a well-tended front garden. Beyond the garden lay the Steyne and the park in its midst.

The butler opened the door and immediately recognized Aunt Agatha, smiling widely at her. “Lady Sanborn, do come in. Mrs. Fitzherbert is awaiting you and your guests in the parlor.”

“I know the way,” said Chastity’s great-aunt, raising her hand. With Chastity and Rose in tow, she glided toward a sunny room with tall paned windows facing the Steyne.

The smell of freshly-baked pastry greeted them as they entered. “Oh, you are serving my favorite!” exclaimed Aunt Agatha.

Mrs. Fitzherbert rose from a green upholstered chair near the windows. A shaft of sunlight made her silvered golden-blonde hair glisten. Chastity thought her dark brown eyes were quite lovely. “I have not forgotten you are partial to apricot tarts, Agatha. You and Lord Alvanley,” she added with a warm smile.

As she approached them, her gaze shifted from Chastity to Rose. “Introduce me to your young friends.”

“May I present my great-niece, Miss Chastity Reynolds,” said Aunt Agatha.

Chastity briefly curtseyed.

“And her friend, Miss Rose Crockett.”

Rose, too, made her curtsey.

Mrs. Fitzherbert gave them a warm smile. “Brighton has not seen two lovelier young women since we were girls, Agatha.”

“I don’t doubt you were lovely, Maria, but I cannot say the same for myself.”

“Modest as always.” Maria Fitzherbert gestured toward the gold sofa facing two chairs upholstered in the same green brocade as the chair in which she’d been sitting. “Come, sit. I shall pour.”

Once each had a cup of tea and a slice of tart on the table between them, Mrs. Fitzherbert said, “Has your great-aunt told you that we have become good friends?”

“Oh, yes,” said Chastity. “Rose and I were eager to meet you, Mrs. Fitzherbert.”

“You may call me ‘Mrs. Fitz’. My closest friends do, well, except for my particular friends who call me by my given name.”

Mrs. Fitz asked them about what they’d seen of Brighton and, hearing they had done little yet, proceeded to describe the summer activities they could expect in the seaside town, promising to show them her favorite shops in Castle Square. “It’s the Bond Street of Brighton. A part of it extends onto North Street, which has dozens of shops.”

Chastity would have described Mrs. Fitz as a handsome woman with a calm assurance of one who is content within herself. Stately, if a bit plump, her skin was still smooth and fair. And there was a regal air about her, even in the simple gown of blue cambric she wore. Chastity could well imagine her as a queen, more so than the woman who, in the eyes of the populace, claimed that title. Perhaps in Brighton, however, Mrs. Fitz was treated like a queen. Aunt Agatha had hinted as much.

“Would you like another cup of tea?” she asked Chastity and Rose.

“Yes, please,” said Rose.