Moore Jennifer - A Week in Brighton

Copyright 2019 Mirror Press

E-book edition

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No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the authors imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

Interior Design by Cora Johnson

Edited by Kelsey Down, and Lisa Shepherd

Cover design by Rachael Anderson

Cover Photo Credit: Martha Keyes

Cover background: Deposit Photos #30255627

Published by Mirror Press, LLC

A Week in Brighton is a Timeless Romance Anthology book

Timeless Romance Anthology is a registered trademark of Mirror Press, LLC

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TIMELESS REGENCY COLLECTIONS:

Autumn Masquerade

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A Night in Grosvenor Square

Road to Gretna Green

Wedding Wagers

An Evening at Almacks

A Week in Brighton

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Arthur Grande was pleased to find his hotel suite was less than satisfactory. The rugs were faded, the rooms drafty, and the view from the windows marred by a warehouse in desperate need of paint. He rolled up a stack of schematics and architectural drawings and slid them into his satchel, then double-checked that the contracts, lease agreements, titles, and other documents were in ordernot that he doubted the competency of his solicitor, Mr. Fawcett, in the leastbut todays meeting was extremely important, and arriving at the site unprepared would not do at all. First impressions were everything.

He checked his presentation once more in the mirror, straightened his cravat, locked the door, and started down to the dining room, noting with a pleased nod the musty smell of the staircaseyet another aspect in his favor. Brighton was in need of a luxury hotel, and as luck would have it, that endeavor was precisely what had brought Arthur Grande to Sussex in the first place.

Mr. Fawcett stood when Arthur entered the room, and Arthur was not surprised to see that the mans collar was freshly starched and his cravat tied in a splendid knot. The solicitor was always immaculately attired. Good morning, sir. I know youre likely too overwrought with nerves to have an appetiteMr. Fawcett motioned to the breakfast tablebut a meal will do you good. And youll need your energy today.

The man was correct. The sight of eggs and sausage turned Arthurs anxious stomach, but he obediently put a piece of toast onto his plate and poured a cup of tea. Thank you.

Mr. Fawcett settled back into his seat, opened the newspaper, and tucked into his breakfast. The solicitor was past his sixtieth year, but one would hardly know it based on the mans energyand his appetite. He had served the Grande family for thirty years, since before Arthur was born, and knew both the man and his finances better than even Arthur.

Arthur buttered the toast and took a reluctant bite.

You have everything? Mr. Fawcett pointed with his fork at the satchel.

Yes. Arthur handed the bag across the table, knowing the detail-oriented solicitor wouldnt be satisfied unless he inspected the documents with his own eyes.

Mr. Fawcett looked through the papers. All in order. He gave a nod, flipped over the satchels flap, and fastened the buckle. He set it on the floor beside his chair and returned to his breakfast, mopping up a drip of yolk with his toast as he read the Times.

Arthur took a sip of tea and tapped a finger on the table, wishing the older man would eat faster. Hed planned and worked and waited years for this day.

The final titles and contracts had been signed over six months earlier, loans had been negotiated and plans had been drawn, and at last today the real work would begin. He glanced at his pocket watch. They were not expected at the site for another hour, but they had arrived in town late last evening, and Arthur was eager to see the property again.

Hed first come to Brighton years earlier in search of a location for his hotel. Mr. Pickering, the land broker, had shown him various sites. Theyd visited the hills of the downs and properties throughout the town, but when Arthur saw the block of the mismatched cluster of warehouses, shops, and tenement buildings directly facing the beach, he knew it was the perfect spot for The Grande Hotel by the Sea. Purchasing the properties had been a test in patience. While some of the shops were leased or rented from the same owner, many were independently owned, and negotiating various loans and transactions had been complicated and time-consumingnot that Mr. Fawcett was the least bit incapable of such an undertaking.

But now the final lease was expired, the initial plans were drawn, and Arthur would begin working in earnest with the builders, engineers, and craftsmen. His dream was becoming a reality.

Arthur patted his coat pocket, ensuring his pocketbook was inside. Supplies and materials had already been purchased, and others were on order. Thank goodness Mr. Fawcett was such a fastidious bookkeeper. Arthurs mind spun with the immensity of the project, and a thrill of anticipation moved through him. He stood, unable to sit still a moment longer. Ill meet you at the site. Arthur put on his hat, grabbed his walking stick, and pushed in his chair.

Mr. Fawcett nodded. The clean air will do you good, sir. Ill be along presently. He lifted the satchel. And Ill bring the documents.

Arthur stepped outside as an ocean breeze rushed past. He grabbed hold of his hat lest it blow away. The street where he was staying was narrow, with high buildings on either side funneling the wind from the ocean. He set off at a quick pace. This early in the morning, the roadway was nearly empty. But that would change in just a few months as soon as the Season ended and high society turned its attention to the coast and the latest health craze: the sea-water cure. Bathing machines would line the beach, and vendors and pleasure seekers would crowd the walkways. Each year the city became more popular for both recreation and health-improvement purposes. And when the prince regent had begun renovating his pleasure pavilion, making it into an Oriental-style palace, Brighton had fairly exploded with tourists.

Arthur emerged from the street and stepped onto the smaller road that followed the rocky shoreline. The sea spread out before him. He slowed his pace and breathed in deeply. Overhead, seagulls glided, their calls distant beneath the sound of the waves. Further down the beach, fishermen spread out their nets on the rocks. The water was a light-grey color, broken by the frothy white crests of waves. Arthur thought he could never tire of the view. Only a few other people were out for a morning seaside stroll, and the air felt crisp and the day full of possibilities.

Arthur put his hands on his hips, closing his eyes, and inhaled a deep breath, enjoying the feel of the cool air on his skin.