An Affair of Honor by Amanda Scott Page B

good friend, telling us last autumn—I believe ’twas just before the action at Trafalgar, you know—that Prinny had suffered a curious slip of the tongue. He was telling Mrs. Creevey how he had spent the day quietly alone with Mrs. Fitzherbert at her house on the Steyne, which—and these were his very own words, mind you—was certainly very unfashionable. Now, does that not show that he, at least, believes himself to be her lawful husband? For how else could he possibly have thought his actions unfashionable?”
    Rory went into a peal of laughter, startling the maid who entered just then with the teatray. “Oh, Aunt Nell, ’tis unanswerable proof, to be sure.”
    “Well, we thought so,” Nell replied with a smile. “Put the tray on that table, Katy. We mean to help ourselves.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and left them to investigate the covered dishes. “Oh, good. Cinnamon muffins,” Nell said. “Cook makes excellent muffins. Do have one.”
    “What about the Princess Caroline of Brunswick, then?” Rory asked once she had buttered her muffin.
    “We do not see Prinny’s wife here or his daughter, either,”
    Nell replied simply, pouring them each a cup of hot tea. “Indeed, he seems a good deal less interested in poor Princess Charlotte than in Mrs. Fitzherbert’s little Minny. You will often see him with them as they stroll among the visitors on the Steyne or drive in his carriage along the esplanade.”
    Rory frowned suddenly. “You told Huntley we would drive with him on the esplanade tomorrow,” she said slowly. “Must we?”
    Nell sipped her tea, watching her companion over the rim of the fragile cup. She did not reply until she had replaced the cup in its saucer. “We must. He wants to get to know you better, my dear, and I must say that considering you will soon be his wife, I should think you would agree that his intentions are admirable and do all in your power to help him achieve his purpose.”
    “He did not even say what time he means to call for us.” Rory sounded sulky.
    “Never mind that, child,” Nell said comfortably. “I daresay that if we do not chance to meet him at Donaldson’s Library, he will contrive to send a message here to the house. He is a gentleman who is perfectly capable of dealing with such minor details.”
    Rory sighed and reached for another muffin.

IV
    T HE FOLLOWING MORNING DAWNED crisp and clear. When the middle-aged chambermaid who brought Nell her morning chocolate opened the moss-colored velvet drapes in her bedchamber, bright rays of sunshine spilled across the mellow-toned Holbein carpet, almost touching the embroidered flounce of her bed. The bedchamber, not being one of the principal rooms of the house, looked both to the south and to the east and, situated as it was on the second floor, presented a fine view—on sunny days, at least—of bright chalk cliffs and sparkling blue sea.
    Sitting up, Nell stretched and pulled off her cap, pushing the resultant tumble of curls back over her shoulders as the maid plumped pillows behind her.
    “Open a window, Mary. ’Tis a lovely day.”
    “You’ll catch your death, Miss Nell.” But, moving obediently to do her mistress’s bidding, Mary did not speak as if she entertained any expectation of her words being heeded. Nell grinned at her stiff back.
    “Hundreds of people come to Brighton every year for the sole purpose of breathing our wonderful air, Mary.”
    “Be that as it may, Miss Nell, that air is damp, and you know quite as well as anyone that damp air carries ague and a plague of other nasty things. Windows was meant to be shut.”
    Nell chuckled. “Is Lady Aurora awake yet?”
    “Dunno, I’m sure, miss,” Mary replied, adjusting the sash to admit as little as possible of the gentle sea breeze. “That maid of ’ers be a saucy piece o’ goods, ’n all. Said ’er ladyship preferred ’er own people about ’er, ’n would I be so good as to leave the chocolate on the landing side table fer