That was interesting. Those fish brought good prices at market. Caroline thought back to seeing the marquis at Vanessa Caldwell’s soiree. He had made an impressive figure, his clothing so well tailored it was impossible to miss a very muscular frame with broad shoulders beneath the layers. With his inky hair and nearly black eyes, he had a commanding look about him. She wondered if Lord Kendrick would be attending the house party since a regatta had been planned. Brice had told her how much the marquis liked racing his sailboats, and she could easily see him as the captain of any ship. For a fleeting second she entertained the wild idea of hiring him to sail her far away from England and the damn earl. She shook her head to clear it. While she was at it, she might as well wish that the Midnight Marauder would whisk her away on his horse.
“And which hats?”
Caroline refocused. Elle was speaking. “What?”
“Which hats will you want to take?” the maid repeated patiently. “You will need several to match your day dresses and, of course, a straw bonnet with a wide brim to keep off the sun when you watch the sailboat races.”
A straw bonnet to keep off the sun while shewatchedthe races from theland. Sailing off over the far horizon to escape her landlocked prison was a nice fantasy. Nothing more. She was going to have to solve this problem herself.
Somehow.
…
The drive south to Brighton from London was slowed down by the wagon loaded with too many trunks following the carriage, so Caroline’s father had made the decision the evening before to stop near Crawley rather than arrive at Brighton at an inappropriately early hour. Caroline had rather hoped to travel well into the night in the hopes that the Midnight Marauder might strike again, although she knew she was grasping for some kind of lifeline like a drowning man would. She could hardly expect to actually run off with him. Besides, the marauder had gone for months without being seen, and she’d not heard of any incidents since the one she’d had with the man several weeks ago. Inappropriate as the entire episode had been, it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.
Now, in the light of the day, as the carriage rolled into Brighton the next morning, Caroline only had a long, drawn-out house party to attend. These events always tested her patience, but this one would be made be made worse with Lord Tisdale hovering around her.
Elle’s eyes rounded as the carriage turned right off Steine Road through the imposing, pillared, covered entrance to Pavilion Palace, and followed the circular driveway to the front of the rotunda.
“Goodness gracious! It’s as grand as St. James Palace or Buckingham House!”
“Probably,” Caroline replied noncommittally. The palace wasn’t quite there yet, but it would be once the latest expansion, which had begun a year ago, was complete. Although the pavilion was a playground for the prince regent and his cronies, Caroline knew many people saw it as an extravagance.If old King George still had control of his mental faculties, I’m sure all these ongoing renovations would not be taking place, she thought as she peered out the side window of the barouche.
Liveried footmen wearing the royal colors of scarlet and black with gold braid waited on the graveled driveway at precisely the spot the carriage should stop. Solemn as the guards at St. James, their faces were expressionless as one opened the carriage door and another put down the steps and stood back, so a third could offer his gloved hand for Caroline’s descent while he looked at a spot somewhere over her shoulder. She couldn’t help comparing this exit to the one the night when she’d practically fallen out of another carriage and been caught in the Midnight Marauder’s powerful grasp. She could still feel the strength of his bare hands on her waist as he held her up. And his eyes, masked as they were and the color indiscernible in the near darkness, had bored into hers with such intensity she could still feel the heat of his gaze.
Caroline considered poking the stiff footman in the side to see if his expression would change at all. Somehow, she doubted it. He would probably regard such a gesture as he would a pesky fly and pretend it did not happen. On the other hand, she knew that doing something so unexpected—and certainly not proper—would make the gossip rounds to every servant before she even had one trunk unpacked, and she would gain the reputation of a potential Bedlamite. It was tempting.
Her father may have read her thoughts since she heard him clear his throat behind her and then felt his grip on her elbow propelling her forward. She sighed as the moment passed and the footmen moved toward the wagon to begin removing the trunks.
Sir Reginald frowned. “I certainly hope you are not planning to do anything untoward during this house party.”
Caroline kept her gaze averted. Her father knew her too well. “Perhaps I should stay inside my bedchamber for the entire time, just so I do not.”
Her father’s frown deepened. “Sarcasm is not needed. You know full well that I—and Lord Tisdale—expect you to behave in a manner befitting a future countess.”
She arched a brow. “I have not agreed to marry the earl.”
“We have already discussed this,” her father said, keeping his voice low. “I do not care for that look on your face, daughter.”
She gazed at him with feigned innocence. “I can hardly help how I look.”
His brows drew together. “You know very well that is not what I mean. You are up to something.”
Not yet, but she had been thinking. Caroline hoped Brice would be attending. He might be a rake, but at least he understood her and was always ready to do something a bit scandalous or risqué, since it discouraged the husband-hunting mamas from putting the parson’s noose on him. Perhaps between the two of them they could twitch the earl’s nose enough that he would beg off the betrothal. She blinked at her father. “How can I be up to something? We have not even gotten inside the house yet.”
Sir Reginald grunted, not fooled by her comment. “Is it asking too much that you behave with decorum while we are here?”
“Of course it is not asking too much,” Caroline replied, keeping her tone serious so her father wouldn’t get suspicious. Actually, itwouldn’tbe asking too much if she had any inclination to settle for a husband she didn’t want and be the mother of his children.
That was not going to happen.
Caroline stood in the doorway of the pavilion’s large sitting room an hour later and looked for a convenient spot to tuck herself away. Unlike ballrooms, where chairs lined the walls and one could find an unobtrusive spot near a potted palm, all of the furniture here was arranged in clusters meant for easy conversing. The room was already more than half full. To one side a bevy of debutante-age girls stood with their mothers, the whole lot looking hopefully at the group of men standing near the hearth on the other side of the room. No doubt the mamas were sizing up potential suitors.
Caroline followed their gaze, praying that Lord Tisdale had not yet arrived. To her relief, he was not present. But then neither was Brice, and she had hoped to talk to him about the plan she had just hatched.
“Caroline!” She heard her name just as she saw the movement of an arm waving a fan. Its owner was Jeannette Compton, a baroness, and beside her sat Melanie Linford, a viscountess. Although Caroline didn’t consider them friends—she wasn’t sure true friendship existed among theton—the pair was relatively easy to abide. Since they loved to gossip, all she had to do was sit and listen.
“When did you get here?” she asked as she joined them.
