Miss Braithwaite's Secret by G.G. Vandagriff

Author:G.G. Vandagriff
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-11-09T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

Once in London, Ned reopened his townhouse and began once more to frequent White’s. Now that the Season was over, entertainment was thin. He had but few invitations. Most of the ton had removed itself to Brighton.

He tried to ignore his emotions, which screamed at the unfairness of it all. The only way to do that was to be scientific. The biggest gossip he knew was the Marquis of Somerset. Inquiring at his townhouse when he had not run him to earth at White’s, he learned that the man had followed the crowd and was staying at the Brighton Guest House across from the main pier. Ned packed a few things in a bag, his valet having gone off to Cornwall, and took his curricle to the seaside resort.

The weather was cold in Brighton. It was next to impossible to find lodging. By the time he located a small, humble room in a shabby inn, he was in the blackest of moods.

Thoughts of Caro kept intruding. Even nights were no comfort, as he inevitably dreamed of holding her in his arms, entangling his hands in her hair, seeing her golden face in the moonlight. He awoke aroused, frustrated, and deeply saddened. Pounding his pillow while gritting his teeth, he found no way to go back to sleep, but lay on his back feeling like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

What she must think of him! He considered and rejected the idea of writing to her at least half a dozen times a day. Whatever he said would wound her. But was leaving her in a state of ignorance any better? Finally, he decided that even in this, Sarah’s unborn child must come first. He could not properly unburden himself without telling her of the child Sarah was breeding.

The day after he arrived at the resort, he called upon Somerset at a relatively early hour.

The well-rounded marquis was taking breakfast in the hostelry’s snug dining room. As Ned entered, he was glad to feel warm for the first time since his arrival in Brighton. His walk from his own inn had been accompanied by blustery winds that promised a storm off the sea.

“By all that’s wonderful! Somerset! Well met!”

“Beverley! What brings you here?”

“Looking for Feversham. Trying to scare up a game of faro tonight. Was told he was putting up here.”

“Feversham? No. Fellow’s staying with Prinny.”

“Poor bloke. All his evenings are spoken for, then. How about you? Care for a game?”

Somerset nodded abruptly, regarded Ned with a head tilted to one side like a bird. He tucked into his ham and eggs. “Sit, sit. Didn’t know you planned to be in Brighton.”

“A whim. The weather has made me regret it, however. You seem cozy enough, though.”

“Take the same rooms every year. Know me here. Had breakfast?”

“No, dash it. Eggs were watery at my place.”

“Help yourself. My guest.”

Ned gladly piled a plate with a sirloin, baked eggs, kippers, and toast. Somerset was always his most congenial when eating. But how to get him around to the particular piece of gossip he wanted?

“Well, Somerset, entertain me.

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