“I have news.” Julia grasped her hands tightly and shook them up and down in her excitement. “My challenge to race one of the boys has finally been accepted and the date is set. Tuesday at noon.”
Dread filled Imogen as Julia paused, her breath rushed. A year ago, Julia had dared the gentlemen of the street to a swimming race in the ocean and been refused. At the time, no one had believed the challenge was worth the effort or the notoriety such a scandalous activity would bring down upon those involved. Imogen had hoped the matter had been forgotten. “Who accepted?”
“On that, I am sworn to secrecy until the very moment of our race though I am bursting to tell you every exciting detail. He threatened to change his mind if so much as a whisper of his name was heard. I’d be cross with him if the idea of beating him wasn’t so appealing.”
Imogen clutched Julia’s hands. “Please think of the consequences. You may ruin your reputation so badly that no decent man would marry you.”
Julia huffed softly. “Well, I wouldn’t want to marry a man who thought my reputation ruined by a bit of harmless sport. For years now our brothers and their friends have lorded their sporting prowess over us and it is time to challenge them to prove it. Will you come or not? It would mean so much to me if you were there to see my triumph.”
Imogen pulled her hand back into her lap. What she dreaded most was stumbling about in public. The constant worry that her escort would forget and desert her sent an uncontrollable panic through her every time she considered the chances. Walter wasn’t always the most attentive brother. “You know I will not
be able to see your victory.”
Her hand was caught up again. “I know but please. It would mean so much to have a friendly face in the crowd. Come on, Imogen. You hardly ever leave the house. I will miss hearing your thoughts about the race and what you discover is said from the shoreline.”
When Julia pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, Imogen’s resolve to remain apart from society cracked. If Julia was prepared to resort to sweet kindness to get her way, which she usually avoided, Imogen may as well admit defeat before the poor girl embarrassed herself. Nothing stood in Julia’s way when she had a goal in mind. “Very well. I’ll do my best to be there. Now tell me the particulars so I can convince my brother to deliver me to the beach to watch. Or listen as in my case.”
Julia quickly told Imogen the plan for the event without slipping out the tiniest detail of whom she was competing against. The girl knew how to keep a secret, but Imogen still worried. “Who knows,” Julia continued, “you may catch the eye of a chivalrous gentleman and be swept off your feet by his attentiveness.”
Although her fears for the event outweighed her own misgivings, Imogen had to laugh at her friend’s unwavering support. Until her sight had been lost, she had never known truer friends than Abigail Watson and Julia Radley. Imogen caught Julia’s hand as tears filled her eyes. “Dearest Julia. You are such an optimist. How many times must we have this discussion? That part of my life is over. No man would marry a blind woman if he had a better choice.”
“Maybe Sir Peter will come back and be moved by your situation.”
Imogen shook her head sadly. Julia had never lost her faith that her one-time-betrothed would return to Brighton and be so distressed by her condition that he would immediately propose and swear his undying devotion. But Peter had moved up in the world and moved on with his charmed life. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since she had ended their betrothal. Even Abigail did not write of him and she’d never dared ask. “I couldn’t bear to be married now and I am certain Sir Peter has many more pressing concerns. I’m sure he’s never given me a second thought.”
No, Peter was happier as he was living a life full of fun and adventure. Her chest tightened with sadness. At least she hoped so. One of them deserved to see the world.
CHAPTER THREE
Sunshine and the scent of the restless sea filled Peter’s nostrils the moment he stepped from his hired carriage and looked along Cavendish Place. Despite the improvement in his situation, his fortune and title of baronet, it was good to be home again among familiar sights and sounds of Brighton.
London for all its amusements wasn’t where his heart longed to be. He’d tried to carve a place in society and had never found contentment. The most enjoyment he’d found was discussing books with the proprietors in London’s bookshops.
He smiled at the memory. The booksellers were astounded he was acquainted with the author K.D. Brahms. He’d dodged any questions that might accidentally reveal the author was a woman—one whom he’d almost married—and discussed the lack of the next volume. There hadn’t been a new story published in a year and he, along with everyone else in society, was keen to find out when the next could be delivered. Surely Imogen would tell him if he asked nicely. There had to be some advantage to keeping her writing life a closely guarded secret.
He looked along the street, noticing more than one head pressing to the window glass. Friends waved and promptly disappeared again, giving Peter the hope he’d see them shortly. He wanted to see all his neighbors, too. Even the pretty, dark-haired petite one who had rejected the idea of marrying him the moment his financial future was assured. Surely there was no need for them to be strangers to each other.
The door to his abode wrenched open and his servants, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, stood gaping at him. “Why didn’t you say you were coming, sir?” Mrs. Simpson wailed the complaint, wiping her hands on her spotless apron. “I’m not ready.”
“Not ready to serve my favorite beef stew and dumplings with lemon pudding to sweeten my palate?” He grinned at his housekeeper. “Come now. I’m not falling for that.”
He shook their hands, very glad to see them looking well and happy, and stepped aside as the hired carriage grooms tramped inside with his possessions. He pressed coins into the grooms’ hands. “The Rose and Crown will serve you well if you’re to stay overnight. Try to stay out of trouble. The proprietor is a good man and a friend.”
“Thank you, sir.” They grinned and returned to the carriage, leaving Peter to his own devices. He stepped across the threshold and breathed a sigh of relief. Home. No invitations to stuffy balls, no simpering debutants to be agreeable with, and far less rules to follow. He couldn’t believe he’d stayed away so long.
Nothing had changed in the house and that was exactly how he liked it.
“Where the devil have you been?”
He spun about to find Valentine Merton, grinning face and all, hovering in the open doorway. “Everywhere and nowhere. Come in. Come in and have a drink with a weary traveler.”
“You don’t look too battered by your adventures.” Merton peered at him carefully as he stepped inside. “In fact, I wondered about your extended absence. For a while there I thought you might be too good for us now you’ve a title. Took you long enough to visit.”
Peter narrowed his gaze. “What a ridiculous thing to suggest that I am merely visiting. I had a few matters to attend to in London and Hereford. That’s taken care of now.”
“Good.” Merton grinned and looked around him. “It’s dinner at my house tonight and cards tomorrow evening, here in fact. Is that notice enough, Sir Peter?”
Peter threw a mock punch at Merton and gestured toward the dining room where he usually met with his friends. “More than sufficient and actually will make my housekeeper very happy. In my eagerness to return, I neglected to forward prior warning so she could prepare dinner for this evening. Tell me, who else will be there?”