Free An Affair of Honor by Amanda Scott Page B

since I was last here. Doubtless, it has been interesting for you to watch the continuous progress of things.”
    “Indeed, sir.” She was at ease again, and they were able to discuss the changes that had occurred over the years as they strolled along the broad brick path on the inside of the railings that separated the spacious lawns from the encircling carriage road. It was Brighton’s most fashionable promenade, providing the same opportunity that Rotten Row provided in London for the members of the beau monde to see and be seen. Almost every day the prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert and their friends, as well as many of the nobility, joined the general throng of visitors on the Steyne. Although it was the fashionable promenade, it had not always been the most delightful place for walking, Nell remembered, especially in the wintertime. In earlier years when the ground had been rough and often muddy or encumbered by the fishing nets spread around to dry, the grass had been patchy and uneven, and a stagnant pool of dirty water had stood almost perpetually in front of the Pavilion. In wet weather, the water of the Wellsbourne flowed into it and ran down the Steyne into the sea at Pool Valley.
    She reminded Huntley of that nuisance, and he nodded. “I remember the year the prince and the Duke of Marlborough provided for the arched brick sewer to be built,” he said.
    “So they did,” Nell said with a smile. “And in return the Lords of the Manor gave them permission to enclose a portion of the Steyne in front of their houses. I confess, I am astonished that this lovely expanse of grass has been allowed to remain. One would expect a main road to have been cut through here by now. Do you know that even the footpath connecting St. James’s Street with Castle Square has been left as it was? But the little winding stream is gone. Do you remember the black pigs that used to graze along its banks, sir?”
    “I do. And,” he added with a wry grimace, “I remember as well that one had to watch carefully where one trod.”
    Nell chuckled. “Rory is quite right to say you lack a sense of romance, my lord. I thought the little pigs quite picturesque myself.”
    “I daresay. I prefer to think myself a realist, however.”
    Rory made a small sound closely resembling a snort, and Nell grinned at her. “We are leaving you out of our conversation, my dear. It is vastly unfair of us to discourse upon a subject of which you can know nothing. Pray forgive us.”
    “I don’t mind,” Rory said, smiling back at her. “I was trying to picture the place as it must have been in the olden days.” Nell stifled a choke of laughter and looked quickly at Huntley, who was looking very much taken aback. But before she could comment, Rory went on, “Those houses look new, Aunt Nell. What could you see there before they were built?”
    “Only the Downs, my dear, and a distant view at that. This whole central area was open, too, for the railings were not here then. And the grass itself was not so carefully mowed and evenly thick as it is now. Most of the changes, I must confess, have been for the better.”
    There were a great many people strolling about now on the smooth green lawn and the brick path, the ladies lovely in their clinging gowns, and the gentlemen more severe in their dark cloth coats and pale pantaloons. Rory saw her first real fops mincing along arm in arm, their pomaded locks confined in intricate topknots or braided and curled to compete with any of the women. Unlike the other gentlemen, they reveled in brilliant colors and startling effects.
    There were others, too.
    “Who on earth is that?” Rory demanded suddenly.
    Nell, following the direction of her gaze, saw the object of her amazement immediately. He was a spruce little man driving a green gig. But it was not the color of his vehicle that was so startling. Rather it was the fact that everything else about him was tinted to match. He wore green pantaloons, a green