Page 43 of Rogue’s Holiday

“A fly?” asked Miss Crockett.

“Those are the small covered carriages you see around Brighton drawn by a man and an assistant. Very convenient and with room for two. The ones that Prinny and his noble friends use for midnight excursions are dubbed ‘fly-by-nights’.”

“I am not even surprised,” said Chastity. Turning to her friend, she added, “You go with M’sieur Donet, Rose. I am happy to share a…a fly with Sir Robert.”

Robbie handed their packages to Jack and offered his arm to Miss Reynolds, guiding her from the shingles to the road. He suddenly realized he’d been so absorbed in their time together, he’d paid little heed to the men gathered on the beach.

Any one of them might have been watching him.

Chastity and Sir Robert arrived as the rain began to descend. Once he had seen her to the door where the vicomte waited, the two men raced for the curricle as the clouds burst forth their well of water. Undaunted by the foul weather Sir Robert shouted, “I’ve endured worse at sea!” His beaver hat caught the rain as he grabbed the reins and urged his grays into a run. Even the thunder and lightning did not dissuade him from his course. “We’ll return for dinner!”

He and the vicomte sped away, but they were already drenched.

She did not doubt he would hold to his word and return. Rogue he might be but Chastity recognized in him a strength of character that was even more attractive than his face. And that morning as he’d guided her over the shingles, her resistance to the man’s charms had begun to fade as she leaned on his arm, drawing from his strength. The ride back to her great-aunt’s home in the fly had been another experience where his intense gaze had dwelt on her.

“A chance to be alone with you,” he said. “But I assure you I will take no advantage. Though I’d rather be sitting next to you, in deference to the two carrying us, I thought to balance the fly.”

Chastity stood at the parlor window, watching the rain turn the Steyne into mud. Rubbing against her skirts, Crispin sounded a loud “Meow.” Even he had softened to the man. Or, did the cat merely mirror her mood toward him? “To my great surprise, he did act the gentleman, Crispin.”

True to his word, later that day, as the rain subsided to drizzle, Sir Robert returned with his uncle. After sharing drinks in the parlor and a reacquaintance with Mrs. Fitz, the six of them ventured into the dining room.

Above the mahogany table a gilded chandelier cast glowing candlelight on Aunt Agatha’s elegant Wedgwood china, a pattern that featured feathers circling the rim.

As the first course of asparagus soup was served, her great-aunt proudly announced, “The asparagus for the soup came from my kitchen garden.”

“Agatha is very industrious,” said Mrs. Fitz. Dressed in a pale green silk gown, the older woman was the essence of aging royalty. Aunt Agatha, in contrast, was dressed in vivid mustard yellow trimmed in cinnamon colored ribbon.

“’Tis very tasty,” offered the vicomte.

Chastity forced her gaze from Sir Robert, who had been regarding her above his soup spoon to consider his uncle. “Do you not have kitchen gardens on Guernsey?”

“Mais oui, we do, and I greatly admire them. Guernsey grows many vegetables.” His manners were elegant and his features aristocratic, whereas his nephew was the kind of man men seemed to favor.

When the soup was taken away, a footman served sole prepared in lemon butter. The flavor was delicate, the fish fresh from that morning.

“This is delicious,” remarked Mrs. Fitz, sitting at one end of the table. “Your excursion to the beach this morning has proven a grand success.”

“We did acquire a bounty of fish,” said Chastity. She had chosen a gown of Calamine blue that reminded her of a robin’s egg. She hoped the color didn’t drain her face of color.

“Cook was pleased with the many purchases,” said her great-aunt. “She promises more fish to come. Tomorrow’s dinner will feature dory fish.”

As she savored the sole, Chastity’s mind returned to her morning on the beach and how well she and Sir Robert had done together. She remembered laughing as he explained the strange-looking dory fish, his patience in selecting the sole to get just the fish he wanted and his bold grasp of her waist to keep her from falling as she tripped on the shingles. It had been so natural to be with him.

While her great-aunt and the others were eating their soup, he had been staring at her over his spoon, his gaze so intense it was as if she weren’t wearing anything at all. The knave! Perhaps his manners of the morning proved too great a strain. He might appear the gentleman but beneath the veneer, he was still a rogue who dallied with married women and tavern wenches. She feared if she didn’t guard her heart, she would fall for him like so many other women had. She vowed she would not be seduced.

“I collect you young people enjoyed yourselves this morning,” said Aunt Agatha from the end of the table opposite Mrs. Fitz.

“We did,” Rose said. “M’sieur Donet was ever so helpful in selecting just the right prawns.”

“I’m certain Cook will bring some of them to the table in due course,” said Aunt Agatha. “When I left her, she was studying a recipe involving prawns and truffles.”

A chuckle issued from Mrs. Fitz. “Agatha told me she was tempted to ask Cook to compose the entire menu from what you brought back as there was so much fresh fare.”

Chastity’s great-aunt shook her head. “I could not persuade her. She insisted on having the chicken fricassee and a haunch of lamb added to our menu.”

“Dining with you, Lady Sanborn is like dining at the Pavilion,” said the vicomte, one auburn curl falling to his forehead as he focused on his sole. “I must pace myself if I’m to arrive at the puddings with any appetite at all.”

“You remind me,” put in Aunt Agatha, “you know the king has been in London for that dreadful hanging of the men who meant to murder the Cabinet. I am told he will soon return to Brighton, coming in his yacht, the long way from London. No doubt the whole town will turn out to see him standing on the deck.”