Page 33 of Lady, Behave
“Grey would not dare to come on his own. Do you think?”
Addy heard her sister’s fear and took her sister’s hand. “He’s not welcome. He knows that. Any fool who had done what he did would stay far away.”
Laurel frowned.
Addy gave her a consoling smile. Calling Grey a fool was going too far. Laurel, for all her turmoil over the man’s desertion, could label him all sorts of names, but others best tread lightly.
“Come, let’s go down,” Addy encouraged her. “We’ll brighten Imogen’s smile. She’s accomplished her goal here in Brighton, and we must show her our support.”
“You’re right. This is the beginning of Imogen’s new life. I will miss her, but I am happy for her.”
Addy had rejoiced that Imogen had found such a good man to marry. The catastrophe of Imogen’s ruin had been averted by the quick response of the Earl of Martindale. He had done a favor to Addy and Laurel by his proposal. Saving the entire family’s reputation was reason alone for a woman to love a man.
Would that Laurel could live down the damage done to her by Lord Grey jilting her. And that she would remain unblemished, not only for her own self-respect but also for the man she chose as her own.
Addy’s hopes winged to Gyles, that he, above all others she had met, could value her enough to return and fulfill his promises of a proposal and marriage.
*
A few guestshad already arrived, and they set the salon atwitter with congratulations for the bride and her family. Addy loved the gaiety of the moment and how it washed away all the bitterness of the scenes that had precipitated it.
Lord Hewitt came and made a nuisance of himself by enjoying too much wine and gushing over each sister. Lord Penhurst and the Duke of Lonsdale arrived one after the other, which made Addy wonder if they timed their appearances closely. Colonel Lord Welles soon appeared and greeted Cass with a Continental kiss on the hand. He was certainly a striking figure, now in superbly cut street clothes and carving quite a swath through the feminine crowd. Cass could not take her eyes from him, even as the man carefully and pointedly made his preference well known as he stood with Cass and never left her side.
Among them, the latest to arrive was the curate, John Fellowes.
Nearest the entry to the salon, it fell to Addy to engage him. “We’re delighted to see you here today, sir. So many have come to wish Imogen well.”
He gave her a tight smile as if it pained him to lift the corners of his mouth. “I have come strictly to enjoy your company, Miss Adelaide.”
“That is most complimentary, sir. I’m glad you are enjoying yourself in Brighton.”
“My father,” he said with emphasis, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Earl of Davenport. He was most insistent that I come and meet you and your two sisters.”
“That’s very thoughtful of him.” She had no idea who his father was, but evidently, the man was attuned to gossip of the comings and goings of people in Brighton. She also heard in Fellowes’s tone his aspiration to be her suitor. With his position as curate, she knew enough of the status of English peerage to understand that as a younger son, he had to make his own way.
A spot in the Church’s hierarchy was the most glory a curate could claim, as the pay for such a lowly spot was nigh unto nothing. His father, the earl, must have some knowledge of her dowry of two thousand. But that would not buy enough food for even two seasons. So Mister Fellowes, poor man, was hoping for a miracle that she might favor him with her hand.
“You don’t know my father, do you?” He bent close, shrewd wickedness bright in his eyes.
“No.” Addy had a moment of discontent. Was the Curate Fellowes purposely impressing her or intimidating her? “I must confess, I do not keep up on everyone’s status as I should. But do tell me about yourself, sir. You have an assignment in a local parish, as I understand it?”
Smiling as if he had a mouthful of sugar, he puffed himself up with his pride of place. “I do. I have recently taken a position as curate in a small parish in West Sussex. Not far from here. It provides me a good living.”
Addy nodded. What was “good” for one was starvation for another.
“I have a cottage,” he was quick to add. “My own allotment.”
“A-allotment?”
“A plot where I grow my own vegetables.”
“I see.” Lost as to what she was to think of this, she grasped at an idea. “Are you a good gardener, then?”
“I learn.”
“Oh.” She had repeatedly tried to “learn” how to grow squash and lettuces and had managed to support the growth of beetles more than plants. “I’m better at gathering herbs and medicinals from the forest.”
“What?” He blinked, not only shocked but worried. “You mix potions?”
