Chapter Fifteen

 

The Marine Parade stretched to a considerable extent along the sea. The buildings there boasted large windows that disclosed wide views of the Channel, and were considered by some to be preferable to the structures on the Steine.

On a fine day, the Marine Parade was an ever-changing panorama. Military music played. Under the colonnades, visitors congregated to read newspapers and watch other members of the fashionable world pass by. If no more immediate entertainment beckoned, the gentlemen might raise their telescopes and inspect the seashore and the bathing machines. In theory, a person desirous of taking the waters could hire a machine, therein to privately disrobe and don the requisite flannel smock. The machine was then pulled into the water by a horse, and the bather descended under cover of seclusion. In reality, because the bathing machines lacked awnings, little escaped the severe inspection of the gentlemen's telescopes.

Among the gentlemen lounging in front of the library was Magnus Eliot. Mr. Eliot was not peering through a telescope—did Magnus wish to observe a female bathing, there were any number who would oblige him, and without the distraction of a flannel smock—but reading a newspaper article about the Turkish practice of shampooing, which consisted of being wrapped in a wet blanket and stewed alive by steam strained through odiferous herbs, and dabbed all the while with pads of flannel, until one was dissolved into a mass of gelatinous cartilage, all of which Mr. Eliot considered so much humbug. He was distracted from his newspaper by the arrival of a slender blond lady in company with a large and ugly dog. She sat down in a chair beside him. "Mr. Eliot?" she said.

The lady appeared ill at ease, as well she should. Magnus was a man of libertine propensities, a gambler and a wastrel, an impenitent and utterly charming rogue who lived on his wits, which were considerable. He was also handsome, in a very wicked way, with auburn hair and laughing green eyes, intriguingly dissipated features, and the physique of a sportsman. Additionally, he possessed a pair of most enchanting dimples that appeared when he smiled. Magnus smiled often, for he had a large sense of the absurd.

The ladies ran mad for him, of course; how could they resist? Magnus was very grateful for their appreciation and prided himself that he seldom left a lady dissatisfied.

He did not think, however, that this particular lady had amour on her mind, which was rather a pity, because she was very lovely, and not at all in his style. "In the flesh," he responded. "You seem perturbed. Perhaps you would like to compose yourself by gazing out to sea through my telescope. You may watch the fishing boats come and go."

Georgie doubted very much that Mr. Eliot was interested in fishing vessels. How this conversation had passed beyond her control in the space of a single sentence she did not know. Beneath Mr. Eliot's green gaze, she felt like the gawkiest schoolgirl.

But she was not a schoolgirl, and Mr. Eliot was no gentleman to watch her with such overt amusement. "Fishing vessels, indeed!" Georgie retorted, and wrapped Lump's leash securely around the arm of her chair. "Mr. Eliot, I must speak with you."

She amused him, this so-serious lady. Magnus set his newspaper aside. "You may do with me as you wish, my pet." She flushed, and he smiled at her. "Intriguing as the notion is, I do not think you have come here to get up a flirtation—although should you wish to do so, you may come to me any time. How may I be of assistance to you, Miss Halliday?"

Magnus Eliot made a person wonder what it would be like to enjoy unrepentant wickedness so much. "You know my name," Georgie said.

Mr. Eliot quirked a brow. "I know many things, Lady Georgiana. For instance, I know that your brother is named Andrew. And that this beast—" His gaze fell on the dog, which was stretched out at his mistress's feet, smack in the path of passersby. "—is known as Lump. You look startled, my sweet. To a man in my position, knowledge is wealth."

Georgie imagined Mr. Eliot knew all manner of interesting things. He was probably almost as good at kissing as Garth. Perhaps even better. She scolded herself for her improper thoughts. Her companion looked ironic. Surely he could not know what she was thinking. 'Truly, Mr. Eliot, I do not wish to be one of your flirts."

Of course she did not wish to become one of his flirts. Magnus wondered if he might make her change her mind. "I do not have flirts, my poppet. I have petites-amies."

The man refused to be serious. Georgie frowned at him. "Plural, of course," she commented.

There was more to this so-proper lady than had first appeared. Magnus threw back his head and laughed. "Touché! Pleasant as this is, you should not be talking with me, Miss Halliday."

Now a rakehell told her what she should and shouldn't do. "I don't think that even you will make an attack on my virtue in broad daylight!" Georgie snapped, then flushed. "Oh, dear. I ought not have said that."

Magnus was deriving considerable amusement from inspiring Lady Georgiana to say things that she shouldn't. "You underestimate me," he protested. "Not that I would attack you, my poppet. I might persuade you, perhaps. And I promise you that, if I did so, you would like it very well."

Georgie didn't doubt that for a moment. Mr. Eliot had a most unsettling effect. Somehow she must steer this conversation into safer waters. "Mr. Eliot, I am not afraid of you," she said, feeling as though she were the captain of a vessel headed toward shipwreck.

Of course she was afraid of him, a little bit. Which was not only enchanting in her, but showed a great good sense. "You should be afraid of me, Miss Halliday," murmured Magnus. "You should be very afraid, indeed."

His green eyes rested on her. Georgie was surprised by their warmth. A person might almost drown in those deep green depths. Georgie understood how many a lady before her had tumbled violently into love with this practiced rogue. Georgie, however, unlike those other ladies, would be enticed into no improper tryst.

Not that this tryst was entirely proper. Georgie was not alone, precisely, but she had slipped away from Andrew and Agatha while they were engaged in a discussion of the relative merits of haddock and carp. Hopefully, she would rejoin them before they even noticed that she was gone—providing that the wicked Mr. Eliot did not lure her astray. The very absurdity of the notion that a libertine like Mr. Eliot should regard an ape leader like herself with amorous inclination set her strangely at her ease.

"Palaverer!" said Georgie. "You are coming it rather too strong. I am hardly the sort of female you might fancy, Mr. Eliot, and I know it as well as you. As you have said, that is not why I am here."

Magnus didn't think that there was a particular sort of female that he fancied above another. Lady Georgiana was, in his not-inconsiderable experience, unusual. Magnus appreciated unusual females. In point of fact, Magnus appreciated all sorts of females, from the grandest duchess to old Phoebe Hessell, who sold bull's-eyes and pincushions and other articles from a basket on the corner of Marine Parade and the Steine, and who when young had disguised herself as a boy and served in the army for several years without being discovered, even getting wounded in the arm at the battle of Fontenoy.

It was rather refreshing to meet a member of the gentle sex who didn't hold him in fascination. Not that Magnus hoped to encounter many such discerning lovelies. "Alas, you spurn me," he mourned. "I think my heart must be broke. Yes, it is ungentlemanly of me to tease you, but I could not resist. Now you see that I am serious. Pray do continue, chérie."

Nor was it gentlemanly for Mr. Eliot to address Georgie in such terms. However, if Georgie became embroiled with Mr. Eliot in a conversation about what was and wasn't proper, they would be here all day. He was correct in saying that it was shocking for Georgie to be talking with him at all.

Georgie was rapidly concluding that the things that were most shocking were also the most pleasurable. "I have come in behalf of a friend," she ventured. "It is a very delicate affair."

"It generally is," Magnus said ironically, and leaned back in his chair. "One's friends are the very devil, I have found. Pray proceed, Miss Halliday. I am all ears. But I must warn you that an appeal to my better nature is futile, because I have none." She looked as though she might protest, and he raised a hand. "Truly! You may ask anyone. The whole world will tell you that I am the greatest blackguard alive."

Georgie didn't doubt it. However, she was finding that she liked the blackguard surprisingly well. Not that she considered him at all trustworthy. "The matter involves a lady. And a certain loss."

Why was it that females, bless them, must forever make mountains out of molehills? "Ah," said Magnus. "A loss. I see."

Was the wretched man laughing at her again? Georgie ignored his twinkling eyes and persevered. "The matter poses the lady a dilemma. The item that she lost was not hers, unfortunately."

Magnus saw that Lady Georgiana's reputation would be in tatters by the time she concluded this long, drawn-out tale. He did not wish Lady Georgiana's reputation to be in tatters on his account. At least not without good reason, such as might involve a mutual jaunt along the primrose path. "I do not recall that a lady has lost anything to me recently," he mused. "At least not anything that can be redeemed."

What an exasperation the man was. Georgie tried to frown. "You are determined to be wicked, are you not? In point of fact, the lady did not directly encounter you. The person to whom she lost the, um, item then lost it to you at play."

Many people lost items to Magnus at play. Magnus's facility with the cards almost equaled his luck with the fairer sex. These two abilities were followed closely by a nose for mischief. Something about this tale smelled deuced fishy. "I am curious," he said. "Why is it you apply to me instead of this lady, Miss Halliday?"

Why, indeed? "Because she is a goose-cap!" Georgie retorted. "You will also, pray, forget that I said that."

Magnus didn't think he would forget a single word of this remarkable conversation. "Your friend sounds like a ninnyhammer," he said. "Not that I dislike ninnyhammers, so long as they are beautiful. Is she beautiful, this ninnyhammer of yours?"

"Beautiful ninnyhammer" precisely described Marigold. Georgie was visited by an appalling vision of her old friend begging a boon of the wicked Mr. Eliot. A boon that he would no doubt grant under certain conditions. Conditions that Marigold would be hard-pressed to resist.

Georgie thought she might be hard-pressed to resist those conditions herself. Given Marigold's propensity for disastrous relationships, she must never be permitted to meet this rogue. "Um!" said Georgie, and looked cautiously around. "The item in question is a certain green-colored, ah, whatchy. Do you still have it, sir?"

A green-colored whatchy? Magnus was intrigued. "Plant? Animal? Or mineral?" he asked.

Just what was an emerald? "Mineral," Georgie guessed. "Shiny. Hard. Faceted. Surely smaller than a teacup."

Aha! Magnus realized what Lady Georgiana sought. Wise of her not to name the thingamabob with so many people about. Magnus had been reluctant to part with the emerald, because such extraordinary items seldom came his way. And he had been right to keep the thing, for had he not kept it, he would not be having this equally extraordinary encounter with Lady Georgiana. "I do see that your friend is in a dilemma. I suppose you want the doodad back."

"I don't want anything to do with it!" responded Georgie. "But she must return the item where it properly belongs or suffer a dire consequence. In short, she may go to gaol."

Mr. Eliot studied her. The lovely Lady Georgiana wore a flounced gown of spotted lawn and a chip straw bonnet that were several seasons out of date. "I hope you haven't taken such a hubble-bubble notion as to think I'll give the doodad back, because if you have, you might as well give it up. Sympathetic as I am to the plight of your friend, I am not in the habit of dispensing charity."

Georgie sighed. She had feared his answer might be something of the sort. "I don't know if you can imagine what it is like, sir, to feel as if you're standing on the edge of a precipice. If you do not help us, I truly do not know what we are to do."

Magnus felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice at that very moment. The sensation was very queer. Lady Georgiana wasn't going to have hysterics, was she? Magnus disliked hysterics of all things.

The lady didn't look hysterical, however, merely defeated. Magnus was touched. It was a most unique sensation. Magnus didn't think he cared for it.

"I will make you a bargain," he offered, because he could not help but take advantage of a lady in distress. "You may buy the thingamadoodle back from me for twenty-five thousand pounds. Yes, I know that I'm a scurvy rascal who should be condemned for the heartlessness of his conduct, but I have expenses, too, my darling, and I am extravagant and undisciplined to boot, and twenty-five thousand pounds is the best that I can do."

His darling? Poppet and pet, perhaps, even chérie, but Georgie could not let "darling" pass. "I am not your darling," she said, and stood up from her chair.

Impossible to chasten Mr. Eliot. "Not yet," he said. "Do not poker up at me, Miss Halliday! It is a word only." His green eyes twinkled wickedly. "One that saves me the trouble of remembering names."

The man was beyond outrageous. Georgie parted her lips to tell him so. At that very moment Lump espied a familiar figure in the crowd passing in front of the library. The figure wore a somber expression, and walked with a limp. Accompanying him was a carroty-haired woman wearing a gown of white pina-cloth embellished with a veritable garden of roses. She was carrying a package of fish.

Lump jumped up and ran to meet his master. In so doing, he overturned the chair to which Georgie had tied him, and tipped her right into Mr. Eliot's lap.

Andrew and Agatha stared in astonishment. 'The devil!" muttered Georgie, against what could only be considered a most comfortable masculine chest.