Lord Carlington looked surprised. “You are to wed? So soon?”
Georgiana felt the now familiar heat of a blush rising to her cheeks as Charles answered for them both. “Not as suddenly as one might think, Carlington. Georgiana and I have been long acquainted. Sadly, I had not been able to catch her between husbands till now.”
Lord Carlington guffawed. “Well done, Hunter! Keep after your quarry until she is yours, eh?”
“If you want something badly enough, it is the only path.”
The next course was served and conversation flowed easily. Lord Carlington seemed interested in the details of Lady Caroline’s daily life, and in her illnesses, as well. Sooner than Georgiana expected, a strawberry ice was served and dinner was over.
Lord Carlington held her chair for her and they retired to the library.
“I hope you do not mind joining us for brandy, my dear,” he said. “I should have invited some ladies to keep you company.”
“I do not mind in the least,” she said, taking his arm.
The library, a cavernous room with floor to ceiling bookshelves and fireplaces at both ends, was softly lit and inviting. She could not help thinking that Caroline would have enjoyed being mistress of such a house.
Then the thought struck her. Could Lord Carlington be her father? Had he and Caroline...
Lord Carlington led them to a grouping of chairs near one of the fires and indicated where they should sit before going to a side table to pour brandies for himself and Charles. “Would you like tea or wine, my dear?” he asked her.
Still puzzling the sudden notion that this man might be her father, she needed something stronger than tea. “Wine, if you please, Lord Carlington.”
He brought her a glass, then sank into his chair with a contented sigh. “I suppose, by now, that you have guessed that I was a little in love with Lady Caroline.”
She glanced at Charles and noted his grin. “I wondered at your uncommon interest.”
“I wrote her many times after her accident, you know. She ceased to return my letters after a while, begging me to get on with my life, and without her.” He drank deeply and stretched his legs out toward the fire.
“I am sorry, Lord Carlington,” Georgiana said.
“No. She was right, of course. Had she not pushed me away, I’d still be waiting for her.”
She and Charles exchanged a glance and she surmised they were thinking the same thing—that Lord Carlington had not gotten on with his life. He had never married. And, in his own way, he was still waiting for her.
“Was she...was she badly scarred, my dear?”
“I loved her. To me, she was beautiful. But to the outside world, she would have been...hideous. Only her eyes were unaffected. They were beautiful eyes, I recall.”
“The most beautiful ever I saw,” he agreed. “I wish she had not hidden from me.”
“She hid from everyone, my lord. She wore a veil even around the servants. I think her Abigail and I were the only ones who saw her without it.”
“Did she ever speak of me?”
“She spoke of her years growing up, her days at school, and then of her life after the accident, but she did not speak of the short time between. That is why I was so very surprised when I found this with her final instructions.” She pulled the little packet from the reticule dangling at her wrist and leaned forward to present it to the earl.
His eyes widened and his hand trembled as he took the packet, staring at the writing as if it were something precious. She realized he wanted to open it more than he wanted to breathe.
Charles stood and went to put his glass on the mantel, a pensive look on his face. “Would you mind if I showed Georgiana the gardens, Carlington?”
He looked up at Charles with an expression of profound gratitude. “Please do. I believe the roses are budding.”
Charles gave him a small bow and took her by the arm to lead her out the French door. “You did not mention you’d brought Carlington a present, Georgiana.”
“I did not know if the opportunity would arise for me to give him the letter.”
“I am glad you did. What was in it?”
She shrugged. “It was sealed, Charles. I haven’t the faintest notion what is in it, but there is something more than a letter. I could feel a small lump.”
“A love token, unless I miss my guess.”
“Do you think...they might have been lovers?” Georgiana glanced back toward the house.
“Appears to be a tragic love story. If she had not
encouraged him, if there had not been something deep between them, he would not still be sighing over her all these years later.”
Tears stung her eyes. How impossibly sad. Lord Carlington had remained faithful to Caroline all these years. Had lived with hope that she might someday return to him. While she, who had loved Charles since the first time she’d seen him, had allowed herself to be passed from husband to husband because she’d lost all hope.
Charles stopped and turned to look into her eyes. “You are deeply affected by this, are you not?”
“My...aunt Caroline’s life was very lonely. I cannot help wondering what would have happened if she had allowed him to visit. To see her. I am tempted to believe that he would have loved her anyway.”
Charles was silent as they began walking again and she knew that he doubted her words.
“She really was horribly scarred, you know,” she reminded him. “Perhaps, if Lord Carlington were not a public figure, or hadn’t had obligations, Aunt Caroline’s appearance would not have mattered.”
“But he did, Georgiana. And that made all the difference.”
Her own guilty secret rose to taunt her. Perhaps, if she weren’t illegitimate, she would not have so many misgivings about marrying Charles. Would her circumstances hold him back? Cause him embarrassment? “Do you think it is so terribly important, Charles? Who we are? Should it make a difference?”
He was silent as they strolled past an arbor where fragrant roses would soon bloom. When he spoke, she knew he had considered his answer. “Perhaps it shouldn’t, but it does. Futures rest upon who you are and what you do. Caroline was right to have refused to see him. He could not deny his responsibilities. That could only have brought more pain.”
“Yet you have overlooked who I am. An orphan with no connections. A woman who has become scandalous by virtue of her circumstances. Marriage to me could damage your reputation or your prospects. We should call if off before it is too late.”
He turned her back toward the house. “It is growing late, Georgiana. I think Carlington has had enough time to read your aunt’s letter. We should go back.”
His lack of a reply to her offer was telling—an acknowledgment that she was inferior in society’s eyes but that he was determined to go through with the marriage at any cost. Would he still if he knew the worst of her past? She took his arm again as they turned. “Do you think it is because of her that he is still unmarried?”
“He had an obligation to provide an heir for his title, and he did not. Any wellborn woman would have fit his needs, yet he remained single. There must be a reason for that.”
“I did not realize that men could languish over lost love as women do.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Did you not?”
“I have seen no evidence of it. Most men have wives and mistresses. Which do they love, if either?”
“That would depend upon their reason for marrying, Georgiana.”
What would that say about Charles’s reason for marrying her? “Do you have a mistress, Charles?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Will you have one again?”
He coughed. “We are marrying tomorrow.”
“Yes, but—”
The French doors
opened and Lord Carlington peered out. “There you are. Wondered what happened to you.”
Georgiana noted his reddened eyes and his flushed cheeks. Whatever Caroline had written him had affected him deeply.
Charles saw his state, too, and interceded. “We really must be going, Carlington. Much to do tomorrow, you know.”
“Oh, of course. Well, thank you for coming.” He led them toward the door. “Lovely visit. And I was quite pleased to read Caroline’s letter after all these years. Still the most beautiful script. She had a very fine hand, did she not, Georgiana?”
“Yes. I think she was a bit vain about it.”
He laughed. “I recall. I used to peek over her shoulder when she’d write in her little journals. She’d shoo me away and say that her scribblings were not meant for men. Did she keep them up, my dear? Those little diaries?”
“Every day, though I wondered what she could possibly have to say when our lives were so quiet.”
Carlington cleared his throat as a footman opened the door for them. “If there is nothing too personal, I’d like to read them. I would be interested in what her days were like. And her nights.”
Georgiana blinked back her tears. She had not thought of her aunt’s journals since she’d died. In fact, she could not remember her aunt writing in them at all after their last return to Kent. Perhaps there were some in the attic at the town house. She would have to read them first, of course, to make certain there was nothing that would compromise Caroline’s dignity.
“I will look for them, Lord Carlington. If I should find one or two fit for male eyes, I will be glad to share them.”
He took her hand and squeezed it in gratitude. “I shall look forward to it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Once Georgiana had finished bathing, Clara dressed her hair into a Grecian knot from which curls were left to dangle down her back, and made shooing motions with her hands. “Go on with you, now! You will only get in my way. Mind you, do not muss yourself. This is your wedding day. Just sit somewhere and look pretty.”
Georgiana slipped a modest gown over her head and left her room, noting the whirlwind of activity everywhere in the house. Charles’s servants had arrived and were busily crating the belongings she would take with her. And, in a matter of hours, she would be married again.
Fear was growing in her and she was near panic. The closer the wedding, the closer Charles could be to death. How could she go through with it? How could she marry him without telling him the truth of her birth?
One of Charles’s servants passed her in the foyer with a muffled apology and she knew she would have to find someplace quiet to think. She turned and went back upstairs to the attic. The windows were still uncovered and it didn’t look as though anything had been disturbed since the last time she’d been up here just before Charles evicted Hathaway.
One of the opened trunks was a small one she thought might contain her aunt’s—no, her mother’s, journals. She had never looked in that trunk, respecting Caroline’s privacy, but Hathaway had had no such qualms. She fingered the latch and noted that the lock had been forced. What could he have been looking for?
She sat on the bare floor, lifted the little trunk into her lap and began removing the journals to take stock. Each one bore dates on the inside covers but they were out of order. She found one that began when Caroline was away at school with Lady Aston. By matching the date of the last entry of one journal to the date on the insider cover of another, she put them in order and found that only a few were missing. Perhaps they were back in Kent, perhaps never written. Surely Hathaway had not taken them. What use would he have for such things? She searched for the dates she knew by heart. The year that she was born was missing, but she found the one from three years later when Lady Caroline had brought her home from Cornwall.
Oh, she was full of “duty” and “obligation,” but there was no mention made of love. She was reported to have been “an amiable child, not overly fussy or demanding.” She had “cheered the servants after the bleakness following father’s death.” None of them “suspected the truth.” Reference was made to Caroline’s having been sent away to Devon for her pregnancy, so the servants or neighbors would not suspect. They’d been told she had gone to a private nursing hospital to convalesce from her injuries as a result of the accident.
And never—not once—was there mention of her father. Was he living or dead? Was he a secret affair? Or could he have been Lord Carlington?
Georgiana closed the journal and wondered if the answer was in any of the journals, or if the truth would always elude her. What, dear Lord, could she tell Charles? It was bad enough that she’d been born out of wedlock, but that she did not even know the name of her father was untenable. Unthinkable. Surely telling Charles the truth would be easier if she could name her father.
She closed the journal quickly when she heard a scuffle on the stairs. “Madam? Are you up there?”
“Yes, Clara.”
“There’s a Mr. Foxworthy at the door, missus. Says he must see you at once. I told him you were not receiving today, but he insisted.”
Foxworthy? Good heavens! “Put him in the front parlor, Clara, and tell him I will be down in a moment.”
She replaced the journal hastily, closed the lid and carried the trunk in front of her as she descended the narrow attic stairs. Finn was waiting for her, his massive arms crossed over his chest and a frown of disapproval marring his brow. She pushed the trunk into his arms. “Give that to Clara, will you? I’d like it packed with the rest.”
Finn held the trunk tightly but ignored her instructions. Instead he followed her down the two flights of stairs and across the foyer to the parlor. She paused outside the door to pat her hair and smooth her skirts, took one deep breath in preparation and opened the door, Finn fast behind her.
A man who appeared slightly older than Lord Carlington turned from his study of the garden outside the window. He was not unpleasant looking, but appeared very stern and uncompromising. “Mrs. Huffington?”
She went forward, her hand extended. “Indeed. And you are Mr. Foxworthy?”
“Mr. Walter Foxworthy,” he corrected, ignoring her offered hand.
“I did not know you were in London, sir.”
“No reason you should. Our branches of the family have not been close for a generation or more.” He gripped the lapels of his brown jacket and puffed his chest out. “I say ‘ours,’ Mrs. Huffington, but I am referring to Cousin Caroline. You are not a true Betman.”
A truer Betman than he knew, but she did not intend to tell him that. “I’m aware of the distinction, sir,” she allowed.
“I have just come from Mr. Goodman. He informs me that you are aware of my suit.”
“To become my conservator? Yes.”
Mr. Foxworthy glanced at Finn. “I believe this is a private conversation, Mrs. Huffington.”
She turned and smiled at Finn. “Will you excuse us, Finn? You may wait outside the door.”
“I cannot leave you alone with strangers, Mrs. Huffington.”
“Mr. Foxworthy is family.”
Finn looked between the two of them and finally nodded. “I will be outside,” he allowed, leaving the room with the trunk tucked under one massive arm.
When the door closed with a quiet click of the latch, she breathed out and pretended an ease she did not feel. “May I offer you refreshment, Mr. Foxworthy? A cup of tea or a glass of sherry, perhaps?”
“I do not like your people poking around asking questions of my neighbors.”
Ah, Mr. Renquist’s questions had alerted the Foxworthys. “Surely you can understand my concern when I heard that a man I’ve never met has filed to control my fortune and my person on the accusation that I am not of stable mind? I think it only natural to inquire what sort of man that might be.”
“You see him before you now.”
Yes, she did. She let her gaze sweep him from head to toes. She did not think she would like being under his control at all. “What will you take, Mr. Foxworthy? How much do you want to drop the proceedings?”
He bared his teeth, but she gathered the gesture was not a smile. “You think you can buy me off? You’re just like Caroline and his lordship. Looking down your nose at the Foxworthys. Think you’re better than us, do you? Think you can buy your way out of trouble? Not for any amount, Mrs. Huffington. We, my brother and I, are going to do what’s right.”
Georgiana perched on the edge of a settee, fearing her wobbly knees would give out. She knew she could not afford to show any weakness to this man or he would rip her to shreds. “What is right?”
“Stopping you from squandering the family fortune.”
“I’ve been conservative, sir. I’ve certainly spent less than Aunt Caroline used to.”
“This is not just about your spending, Mrs. Huffington. It is about your rash behavior and your...your unseemly decisions. You are frivolous and unstable.”
And the fact that she was not a blood relation, no doubt. “Decisions? What controversial decisions have I made?”
“I learned today that you have got yourself engaged to Mr. Charles Hunter. This barely six months after Lady Caroline’s death.”
Oh, Charles knew society well. News had traveled quickly. “I am past the prescribed period of mourning for my aunt, Mr. Foxworthy, and well past it for my late husband.”
“Have you no shame? Your engagement so soon after your return to London has caused a stir in society. Why, it is as if you care nothing for the good opinion of others. You’ve gone about buying gowns from the most expensive dressmaker in London. You cavort at pleasure gardens and—”
“Cavort?” The man had made it his business to know her comings and goings, for heaven’s sake! She clasped her hands tightly to keep from doing something rash. “Has it also caused a problem with your suit, sir? Is that why you came to see me now? Do you fear that a marriage would put my fortune out of your reach?”
Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Never Trust a RakeDicing With the Dangerous LordA Daring Liaison Page 66
