bastard he had given her. So after his death, I was able to purchase the necklace back from her, accursed or not. Allow me to help you on with it.” He leaned over her and draped the necklace around her neck, fastening the ornate clasp.
The stones lay heavily on her chest. The pendent hung almost into her cleavage and emphasized how low her bodice was cut.
“It becomes you well,” he announced. “The fire of your hair and the warmth of your eye contrasts with the icy coldness of the stones.”
Eliza shivered. It felt as if the extravagant jewels were burning through her skin. Lord Lightning had paid for its purchase with his integrity.
Her face must have shown some of her distress. “I hope you are not about to give way to superstitious fear,” he said. “The curse on these jewelshas already been fully discharged—upon myself. I doubt they have any energy left to harm you.”
Forcing herself to give the appearance of composure, she replied, “That was not what troubled me, Your Lordship. It is only that no matter how hard I try, I always end up losing bits of jewelry. My Aunt Celestina was constantly chiding me for it.”
Lord Lightning’s dark eyes brightened momentarily with that look he got that was so close to laughter but still kept something back. “You need have no fear that you will lose these,” he assured her. “All eyes will be upon them. Besides, as soon as my mother has seen them on your neck, they will return to my custody. I will have made my point.”
They soon reached the outskirts of Brighton. The thoroughfare became more crowded, and the carriage slowed. As Eliza gazed through its window, she could not but feel excitement at the thought of finding herself at a fashionable watering place at the height of the summer. They drove past a wide open area, planted in grass, which was bordered by a wide paved path on which ladies and gentlemen promenaded. Beyond it, in the distance she saw a rambling building that presented the oddest jumble of architectural forms, both classical and fantastical, squatting among a crowd of more ordinary buildings. It was topped by a rounded dome and flanked on each side by what looked like tall minarets.
“The Regent’s pavilion,” Lord Hartwood explained,curtly in a tone that suggested no desire to play tour guide.
The air was moist and a stiff breeze blew briskly, challenging the elegantly dressed ladies for possession of their tiny parasols. Eventually the carriage entered a narrower street and after proceeding only a short distance, slowed and then stopped.
It was with some trepidation that Eliza let her new protector hand her out of the carriage and lead her up to the elegant doorway of the house in which she would spend the next two weeks. She walked carefully, still getting used to the dainty high-heeled slippers he had presented to her. She did her best not to trip on the diaphanous skirt that blew around her legs in the hot July breeze, whipping up to reveal the lacy stockings beneath.
Though not conversant with the latest rules of fashion, she knew the outfit she wore was not one that by any stretch of imagination would be worn by a lady. Her copper curls, which had been shorn in front
à la Grecque
at Lord Hartwood’s command, sprang forth from beneath the exaggerated bonnet he’d chosen for her, topped with vulgar artificial fruit. She wondered what his mother would make of it.
She would find out soon.
His mother’s house was narrow but elegant, its façade covered with an unusual pattern of black-and-white tile. There was a tang of salt in the air; the sea could not be far away. The door swungopen at their approach, revealing a small vestibule paneled in some dark wood where a footman, bowing deeply, motioned them toward the door that led to a small reception room, explaining that Lady Hartwood would attend them shortly.
The room they entered was dark. Its single tall window faced the rear of the house and was draped with a heavy brocade
The stones lay heavily on her chest. The pendent hung almost into her cleavage and emphasized how low her bodice was cut.
“It becomes you well,” he announced. “The fire of your hair and the warmth of your eye contrasts with the icy coldness of the stones.”
Eliza shivered. It felt as if the extravagant jewels were burning through her skin. Lord Lightning had paid for its purchase with his integrity.
Her face must have shown some of her distress. “I hope you are not about to give way to superstitious fear,” he said. “The curse on these jewelshas already been fully discharged—upon myself. I doubt they have any energy left to harm you.”
Forcing herself to give the appearance of composure, she replied, “That was not what troubled me, Your Lordship. It is only that no matter how hard I try, I always end up losing bits of jewelry. My Aunt Celestina was constantly chiding me for it.”
Lord Lightning’s dark eyes brightened momentarily with that look he got that was so close to laughter but still kept something back. “You need have no fear that you will lose these,” he assured her. “All eyes will be upon them. Besides, as soon as my mother has seen them on your neck, they will return to my custody. I will have made my point.”
They soon reached the outskirts of Brighton. The thoroughfare became more crowded, and the carriage slowed. As Eliza gazed through its window, she could not but feel excitement at the thought of finding herself at a fashionable watering place at the height of the summer. They drove past a wide open area, planted in grass, which was bordered by a wide paved path on which ladies and gentlemen promenaded. Beyond it, in the distance she saw a rambling building that presented the oddest jumble of architectural forms, both classical and fantastical, squatting among a crowd of more ordinary buildings. It was topped by a rounded dome and flanked on each side by what looked like tall minarets.
“The Regent’s pavilion,” Lord Hartwood explained,curtly in a tone that suggested no desire to play tour guide.
The air was moist and a stiff breeze blew briskly, challenging the elegantly dressed ladies for possession of their tiny parasols. Eventually the carriage entered a narrower street and after proceeding only a short distance, slowed and then stopped.
It was with some trepidation that Eliza let her new protector hand her out of the carriage and lead her up to the elegant doorway of the house in which she would spend the next two weeks. She walked carefully, still getting used to the dainty high-heeled slippers he had presented to her. She did her best not to trip on the diaphanous skirt that blew around her legs in the hot July breeze, whipping up to reveal the lacy stockings beneath.
Though not conversant with the latest rules of fashion, she knew the outfit she wore was not one that by any stretch of imagination would be worn by a lady. Her copper curls, which had been shorn in front
à la Grecque
at Lord Hartwood’s command, sprang forth from beneath the exaggerated bonnet he’d chosen for her, topped with vulgar artificial fruit. She wondered what his mother would make of it.
She would find out soon.
His mother’s house was narrow but elegant, its façade covered with an unusual pattern of black-and-white tile. There was a tang of salt in the air; the sea could not be far away. The door swungopen at their approach, revealing a small vestibule paneled in some dark wood where a footman, bowing deeply, motioned them toward the door that led to a small reception room, explaining that Lady Hartwood would attend them shortly.
The room they entered was dark. Its single tall window faced the rear of the house and was draped with a heavy brocade
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