Mrs. Elliott smiled. “What a charming offer, Mr. Townsend. But you’ve always been a charming gentleman.” She glanced to the pony before she sent Walter a wink. “That’s quite the gift Miss Tilden presented to your children. I’ve been dying to learn if it may have put Suzette in the running to become the second Mrs. Townsend. Granted, she did not show to advantage last night, what with the punch incident, but she’s obviously trying to make amends for her serious lack of judgment. I imagine that pony has left you feeling in a more charitable state toward her.”
Thankfully, Walter was spared a response—because anything he might say could very well lead to Mrs. Elliott getting the wrong impression—when the pony lunged for Mrs. Elliott’s hat again. It was sheer luck he was able to rein the little monster in, and after bidding Mrs. Elliott a hasty good-bye, he began dragging the pony away, earning more than a few amused glances from his gentlemen friends, who seemed to find his situation highly entertaining.
None of them seemed inclined to assist him, undoubtedly due to the fact he was now, through no fault of his own, attracting far too much feminine attention, which was obviously taking attention away from the other gentlemen assembled at Bailey’s Beach.
When the pony suddenly came to an abrupt halt and refused to budge, Walter swiped a hand over a forehead beaded with sweat and glanced around as he debated his options, which weren’t many since he couldn’t very well pick up a pony and cart it away.
As he debated, his gaze traveled over the bathing houses placed sporadically up and down Bailey’s Beach, situated far enough from the shoreline that they weren’t affected by high tide.
The bathing houses, owned by the prominent members of the Spouting Rock Beach Association, commonly referred to as Bailey’s Beach Club, were surprisingly derelict in appearance. Constructed from bleached wooden shingles and weathered wood, they didn’t afford Bailey’s Beach the exclusive atmosphere one would expect in a beach community frequented by the very wealthy—although given that great store was placed on appearances in Newport, plans were probably already underway to erect new huts. Members of society would hardly care for the common folk to take note of the shoddy huts and question the extent of the wealth the members of Bailey’s Beach possessed.
Not that it was an easy feat for non-members to gain access to the beach. They were kept from enjoying the exclusive attitude of this section of Newport by the long drive leading up to Bailey’s Beach. The drive ended at a wrought-iron gate complete with watchmen who knew every carriage of every member of Bailey’s Beach, and they didn’t hesitate to stop carriages they didn’t recognize, only allowing non-members into the hallowed midst of Bailey’s if they were accompanied by a member.
Sweat dribbling down Walter’s face recalled him to the situation at hand, and after giving the reins another fruitless tug, his gaze returned to the bathing huts. His attention was suddenly captured by the sight of a lady strolling out of one of them, the gusty wind blowing in from the sea snatching off the lady’s wide-brimmed hat, revealing brilliant red hair that obscured the lady’s face.
Even without seeing the lady’s face, Walter knew she was none other than Miss Gwendolyn Brinley, the reason behind his current troubling situation, and a woman he was quite convinced had turned into the bane of his existence.
Seven
“See that lady over there?” Walter muttered to the pony, who merely turned its head and began eyeing another hat. “She’s a menace and is exactly why you’re now apparently a part of my family—not that you should be excited about that, because the Townsends are currently a train wreck in the making.”
The pony released a whinny, which Walter hoped was a nicker of sympathy instead of a warning the beast was about to make a move. Taking a second to wrap the reins around his hand, Walter returned his attention to Gwendolyn, allowing himself a moment to consider her.
She was dressed for swimming in a black frock that reached her knees, trousers covering her legs, and black stockings covering her feet, but she wasn’t wearing the shoes most ladies wore into the water. The lack of shoes didn’t impede her progress as she ran down her hat, the sound of her laughter reaching him on the breeze as Daniel Mizner, an acquaintance of Walter’s who always had some new financial venture in mind, snatched the hat out of the air and presented it to Gwendolyn with a flourish. He then sent Gwendolyn what was certainly an appreciative look—perfectly understandable because Gwendolyn, while being the bane of Walter’s existence, was, without a doubt, an incredibly striking lady.
Walter continued watching as, after exchanging a brief word with Daniel, Gwendolyn pivoted on stockinged feet and headed across the sand, edging around a society matron sitting at a small table covered in linen and set formally with bone china and sterling-silver cutlery. Ignoring the scrutiny the matron was giving her, Gwendolyn stopped and looked over the guests assembled on the sand, her gaze suddenly locking with his.
After reminding himself that, while she may be beautiful, she was the reason behind his current situation, he narrowed his eyes on her before returning his attention to the pony, which was now contemplating Mrs. Van Rensselaer’s hat. “We have to go, and you need to cooperate or I’m handing you back to Miss Tilden.”
To his surprise, the pony tossed its head before it took a few steps forward. Not willing to miss the opportunity of having the little beast cooperate for a change, Walter strode into motion, his pace slowing when he realized the pony couldn’t keep up. It took him far longer than he would have thought possible to reach Gwendolyn’s side, but when he did, he found her watching him, her lips curved into a smile.
The smile only served to remind him that she was a trial of a woman if there ever was one. “A word, if you please, Miss Brinley?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Given the expression on your face, I have to believe you want more than a word, Mr. Townsend.”
“Too right I do.”
“I thought so,” she returned, the amusement in her eyes increasing. “May I assume those words are the sort that may require some privacy, and if so, may I suggest we remove ourselves from the beach?” She nodded to something behind him. “We seem to be attracting attention from that crowd of young ladies over there, quite as if they’re dithering about whether they should join you.”
Walter glanced over his shoulder, resisted a sigh when all the young ladies waved back at him, sent them a wave in return, and then took a step closer to Gwendolyn. “Those ladies are undoubtedly dithering because I’m sure they’re scared to death of you. It’s not often one witnesses the dressing down of a society lady.”
“Is that what you want to discuss with me—the inadvisability of taking a lady to task for her unacceptable behavior toward the delightful and seriously misunderstood Miss Adelaide Duveen?”
“Of course not. It’s hardly my place to lecture you on what many saw as a serious departure from the rules of etiquette society has embraced for decades—not only a departure on your part, but also on Suzette’s.” He nodded to the pony, who was, unsurprisingly, eyeing another hat. “But speaking of Suzette, I want to talk to you about this ridiculous pony, and how it’s your fault I’m now in possession of it.”