Chapter Eighteen

Blythe

I must convince Miss Dixon to fall in love with Briggs Goswick, and it shouldn’t be this hard. That scruffy, chiseled jawline and the way his jacket fits so snugly across his broad shoulders should be enough to seal the deal, quite honestly. But he must have a wealth of other good qualities, and if I give it some effort, I can come up with a decent list, I’m sure. He isn’t boring. On the contrary, when he puts his mind to it, he can be rather droll.

And this evening, when he was so open with me, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for his situation. Surely, if I can drum up ways to feel attracted to him, then Sabrina shouldn’t have so difficult a time.

I’m afraid I’m missing out on ample opportunities to thrust them together, and there have been too many instances during this trip where Briggs Goswick has been just charming enough that he makes me forget all of the hostility I usually carry for him, and that is not in The Plan. The Plan clearly states that he will help me secure investors, and I will help him woo Miss Dixon. Passing flirtations between the two of us have no place in The Plan.

I tried that once. I trusted Briggs Goswick once. And once is enough for me.

I toss and turn all night trying to put together a plan, to the point that Charlotte wakes up, grabs one of her many pillows, and throws it in my general direction. “Go to sleep, Blythe! I know you have no interest in sea bathing tomorrow, but I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” She readjusts her sleeping position and huffs.

Sea bathing , I think. Sea bathing. An activity that only young ladies can participate in together. No chance of running into Briggs Goswick. No flirting. I’ll have time to gather my thoughts in a relaxing setting.

I flip over so that I’m facing my cousin. “Char?” I whisper.

She doesn’t move.

I poke her shoulder. “Charlotte, are you awake?”

She whimpers. “I’m beginning to resent our sleeping arrangement.”

“I think I will go sea bathing with you tomorrow. Do you think Miss Dixon would wish to join us?”

Charlotte’s eyes spring open, and she grips her pillow with white knuckles. “Why don’t—and here’s an idea—we ask her in the morning? Now go to sleep!”

…

I find Sabrina in the dining room the next morning, a piece of toast dangling from her mouth while she refreshes her cup of tea before her. At the opposite end of the table, Briggs reads his newssheet, his body unmoving when I enter the room, but his eyes following me as I take my seat beside Sabrina.

“Good morning,” I say to her. Then I lean forward to see Briggs. “Mr. Goswick, you’re looking well this morning.” The welts from his stings have practically disappeared.

“Hardly anything to complain about thanks to your expert care, Miss Rowley.”

I clear my throat while a footman offers me a platter of eggs and bacon. “And you, Miss Dixon? How did you sleep?”

“Quite well, thank you, Miss Rowley.”

“And you’re refreshed and ready for some sea bathing today?” I ask, scraping my butter knife along my slice of toast.

Briggs looks up from his newssheet, his teacup hovering just before his mouth.

“Sea bathing?” Sabrina repeats, her blue eyes even wider than usual.

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “You had mentioned to me how much you loved spending time at Brighton with your family. I thought it would only be natural that you’d join Charlotte and me and a few others sea bathing this morning.”

Sabrina lowers her head. “I can’t swim.”

“Oh, well,” I say, my eyes meeting Briggs’s and then quickly darting to anywhere in the room he doesn’t occupy. “Don’t let that hold you back. Charlotte and I aren’t the best of swimmers, either, but we’re still going to dip our toes in.”

“Will you swim in the nude?” Sabrina asks.

Briggs practically chokes on his tea, his newssheet now splattered in the brown liquid. He holds up his hand while still coughing to assure us he’s fine.

“Nude?” I repeat, side-eyeing Briggs as he continues to sputter. “I don’t think so. I’m rather certain they have bathing costumes for us.”

“I’d much rather swim in the nude,” Sabrina says sensibly. “Those sacks they’ll put us in will only weigh us down in the water. Besides, if the gentlemen aren’t around, what’s to keep us from swimming without our clothes?”

“I, um…” says Briggs. “I believe there is going to be a game of cricket on the beach. So perhaps those costumes are in everyone’s best interest.”

Sabrina takes another sip of her tea and shrugs. “I suppose I’ll join you.”

I sigh in relief and smile in Briggs’s direction.

The shoreline is only a short walk from Hemington Manor, and several ladies decide to join us. The bathing machines wait at the edge of the water, huge wagons hitched to horses for us to change in. Then they’re dragged into the surf so that we can step down and go swimming.

Loath as I am to admit it, Sabrina was right. These bathing costumes are cumbersome and ridiculous, and the overall dread of being pulled down and out to sea is a very real thing. Luckily, we’re in a group, and there are attendants waiting for us at the steps back up to the bathing machine.

“This is the most freeing experience of my life,” says Charlotte, paddling around me.

I giggle and splash her, which she returns with fervor. Behind us, Sabrina is latched on to one of the attendants, refusing to let go of her arm.

“Come this way, Miss Dixon,” I call to her. The other girls are swimming farther out to a sandbar, but I feel responsible for Sabrina as I’m the one who invited her to join us.

“No,” Sabrina calls out. “It’s too deep, and I cannot swim!”

On the shoreline, the gentlemen all gather and begin their game of cricket. I think I spot Lord Colchester, who will be the one side’s bowler, and his opposition, naturally, is Briggs. Briggs takes up his bat and stands before the wickets he must protect. Part of me wants to watch despite my lack of a good view, but then I remember the struggling Sabrina.

“But if you just get across this deep part,” I say, “there’s a little shallow area over here. Do you see where Charlotte is?”

Sabrina continues to stand in place, her arms floating at her sides. She watches the rest of us swim farther out, and finally, throwing caution to the wind, she lifts her feet and paddles forward.

“Come this way!” I call to her when I see her veering southward.

“Miss Rowley, I can’t,” she says, using only one arm now to steer her where she needs to go.

“You can!” I leave the other girls on the sandbar and begin to swim back out to her.

“The current here is too strong!” She’s flailing now, starting to scream.

“Sabrina!” I cry. “Don’t panic, Sabrina! Don’t fight the current!”

“Help me!”

Behind me, I can hear the other girls swimming to my side, and on the shore, two of the gentlemen have noticed the commotion in the water. One of them is Briggs.

“Goswick!” I scream in a true panic. “Help her! Help Sabrina!”

Immediately, he unbuttons his waistcoat and tosses it onto the beach, and after several strides, he dives under the waves. When he resurfaces, his face writhes in pain, and I completely forgot about his ribs. I don’t think any of them were broken—maybe bruised—but swimming out to rescue a girl who can’t swim and is actively being weighed down by a bathing costume can’t be the best idea.

Still, his swimming skills are rather impressive. He reaches Sabrina, and she latches onto him immediately, and as he guides her into shallower water, the group of us following, she has her arms around his neck, refusing to let go.

And so I suppose this tightness in my chest, my inability to tear my eyes away from how tenderly he cradles her, how she nestles her cheek into that soft place between his shoulder and his neck—I imagine this must be jealousy. Rather inconvenient for it to be surfacing now.

On the sand, all of the gentlemen have gathered around, and Lord Colchester and Lord Drummond meet Briggs in the knee-deep water. They ease Sabrina off him, guiding her to the shore and helping her to sit far from where the waves will reach her.

“Miss Dixon, are you all right?” I ask, kneeling beside her and grabbing her hand. I can’t believe I pushed her like this. She tried to tell me that she couldn’t swim, but I was so determined to uphold my end of The Plan that I risked her physical safety. I am a terrible person.

She nods, trying to catch her breath. “I’m fine,” she assures me. “I’m fine.” At last, she looks up at Briggs, who stands over us, both hands on his hips, drenched from head to toe. “Thank you, Mr. Goswick. That was very brave of you to jump in like that, especially considering your injury.”

Briggs shakes his head, swiping saltwater from his eyes. “It was nothing, Miss Dixon. I’m relieved you’re all right.”

Briggs and I lag behind as the group escorts Sabrina back up the beach and to Hemington Manor. I notice him limping a bit, but I don’t want to bring it up. I’ll just take this slower approach despite how cold I am when the wind blows over my soaked body.

Finally, Briggs speaks. “Please tell me that part of your plan to thrust Miss Dixon in my direction wasn’t purposefully drowning her.”

I snort, crossing my arms over my chest in an attempt to suppress a shiver. “Of course not. But you have to admit, it couldn’t have worked out better if I had planned it.”

He runs his hand down his face. “Dear Lord, Miss Rowley.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” I say, “I’m needed inside, where I shall continue to sing your praises. You’ll be hailed as the hero of the garden party.” I saunter ahead of him up the beach and toward Hemington Manor.

“No, Miss Rowley, wait.”

I pause, digging my right foot into the sandy path, and look back at Briggs. He stands a few feet behind me, his hands on his hips again and his brows pinched together in consternation.

“Are you well?” I ask.

“No, I’m not,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not well.”

I take a step toward him. “Is it your injury? You hurt yourself.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” His chest heaves, and his gaze is heavy upon me. “Maybe—” He runs a hand through his soaking-wet hair.

“Maybe what?” Thundering beneath my rib cage, my heart tries desperately to communicate with my head what it wants Briggs to say. Hearts are like that, uncompromising and illogical.

He takes three deep breaths, and finally, his shoulders slump. He shakes his head again, offering me a weak smile. “Maybe you should get changed first,” he tells me softly. “Find some dry clothes before you speak with Miss Dixon. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.”

I blink confusedly and turn back toward Hemington Manor. “Yes,” I agree. “Thank you.”

Leaving Briggs behind in the sand, I glance once over my shoulder, just in time to catch him mutter a curse under his breath and kick the sand.