Page 2 of A Seaside Scandal (Change of Heart #2)

As if she had practiced countless times, she slipped off her lace shawl and flicked it into the breeze. The wind carried it around Edmund and Mama, tossing it up and down and into the distance ahead of them. Charlotte gasped, picking up her skirts and rushing after it.

I watched the display with a mixture of shock and admiration. Charlotte skirted the line between clever and conniving, but still, I would do well to learn a thing or two from her.

Don’t do it, Edmund, I urged my brother in my mind. But he was a gentleman by nature. He saw the floating shawl and ran immediately after it.

Charlotte chased him down the beach, laughing as they both reached the shawl at the same time.

Even from a distance, I could see her sugary smiles of gratitude as she accepted the shawl from Edmund’s hands.

Before he could escape, she looped her arm through his, pointing ahead at the water’s edge.

I sensed his reluctance as he walked forward, following whatever instruction she had given him.

Mama waited for my approach, an amused smile on her lips. She squinted against the sun, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Poor Edmund,” she said with a laugh.

“Charlotte does not give up.”

“As her friend, you must discourage her.” Mama’s expression turned serious.

“Edmund will not remain in Brighton if he suspects any gossip will form about an attachment between them. This cannot be taken lightly. The people here survive on only two things: gossip and seawater. They are prone to form a scandal out of nothing.”

I sighed but nodded. “I know.”

Mama gave me a reassuring smile. “Not to worry. There is nothing that can ruin this trip for you. I know how long you have dreamed of it.”

I took a deep breath, allowing myself to smile again. I was here—I was in Brighton. Charlotte’s disappointment would pass, and we could still have a beautiful holiday. We had an entire month to enjoy all that Brighton had to offer. The views, the socializing, and of course, the gentlemen.

I had been so focused on the scenery that I had forgotten to observe the people on the beach.

I began my discreet study of at a group of passing promenaders.

One man among them, with chestnut brown hair, angular dark brows, and coffee-colored eyes stood out from the rest. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a perfectly tailored black jacket.

His expression was stern, even as his gaze met mine.

I tried not to stare but found that I couldn’t help it.

He commanded attention, even if he didn’t appreciate it.

The instant our eyes met, he looked away, aloof and unaffected.

My lungs felt heavy as I drew a deep gulp of sea air. Well. A handsome face, but certainly not a friendly one. I, on the other hand, had been told that I had a very friendly face. I had inherited it from my mother.

I shook the image of the aloof man from my mind as I observed the other faces on the beach. Charlotte and Edmund were growing farther away in the distance.

“We ought to rescue him,” Mama muttered.

Not only was she concerned for Edmund, but she was also responsible for being Charlotte’s chaperone—as well as mine.

I understood Mama’s concern, being trusted by Charlotte’s parents to protect her reputation, but I also knew Lady Pembury, Charlotte’s mother, would be more than pleased to learn that her daughter had been alone with Edmund.

Clearly assuming I would follow her, Mama set off in their direction.

I followed for several paces before slowing down, eyeing the children who played in the sand near the water’s edge.

After Charlotte rejoined us, I knew she would judge me for collecting shells or dipping my hands in the water.

She would call me childish or improper. But I knew in my heart that I couldn’t call my first day in Brighton a success unless I felt those waters against my own skin.

They were rumored to have healing powers, and though I wasn’t certain I believed it, I was still painfully curious.

I strayed off toward the shoreline, making sure to remain within Mama’s range of sight if she wished to find me.

I watched the pebbles under my feet transition to wet, mushy sand.

Strands of seaweed littered what had been the sea floor just hours earlier, before the tide had peeled the water away.

Small tan and white shells were half-buried in the sand, peeking up and tempting me.

I cast my gaze around briefly before removing my gloves and stooping down to pick up a white shell.

I ran my thumb along its ribbed edges. Perhaps while I was in Brighton, I could experiment with shell craft.

I had always wanted to create a painting of the sea, and it would only be fitting to pair it with a frame decorated in tiny shells.

I opened one of my gloves, using it to hold the shells I collected.

I worked quickly, snatching up all the whole pieces I could find and discarding the broken ones.

I approached the water’s edge and rinsed the sand from my fingertips.

The waves came in quickly, spilling over my boots.

I laughed, a giddy sensation gripping my entire body.

The water was cold, which made the idea of the bathing machines even more thrilling.

I scoured the sand as I walked along the shoreline, catching sight of a unique shell, at least an inch larger than the others I had collected, buried deep in the sand.

I crouched down, prying it out by the edges.

The moment I unearthed the shell, I caught sight of legs—several legs—dangling from beneath it.

And then they moved, curling toward my finger.

A sharp pinch made me gasp. I dropped my gloves, and all the shells I had collected scattered in the sand. Instinctively, I flung my hand outward as I tried to detach the small crab. I let out a screech, and the creature flew several feet through the air in a perfect arc.

I looked up just in time to see it collide with a gentleman’s face.