by Anne Herries
He did not want to face the notion that he might truly have feelings for this girl who had come into his life unasked. His work was too dangerous for him to think of marriage; he could be killed by an enemy at any time, and that would leave her a widow before she was a wife.
Besides, they hardly knew one another. It was ridiculous to even consider marriage. Neither of them truly wished for it! If he ever married it would be for an heir, as his sister never tired of telling him he ought to do, but never for love. His experience of these things was that they led only to pain. His mother had died in childbed, leaving his father distraught, a broken man. He had seen his uncle decline after Justin’s death, and the memory still haunted him. No, love was not something he wished to experience.
‘I am glad to have been of help,’ he murmured huskily and meant it. ‘Do not worry, Georgie. If your aunt should turn you away I shall think of something.’
‘I do not wish to be more of a burden than I have been already.’
‘You are not a burden,’ Richard said, his tone becoming harsh all of a sudden. ‘Excuse me, I must speak to Henderson. I trust you have no objection to his joining us in the parlour for our nuncheon as usual? He serves me, but I have been used to treating him as a friend rather than a servant.’
‘Of course not. Why should I?’ Georgie said, though she knew it was something that would not happen when their lives were back to normal. But when that happened she would not see Richard again, except perhaps as a casual acquaintance in town, if she should be fortunate enough to visit.
Georgie felt a hot burning behind her eyes when she realised that she had only a few hours left in his company. In the morning Richard would deliver her to her great-aunt’s home and go on his way, relieved to be rid of her no doubt.
When had she begun to think of him as Richard? And why did the thought of parting weigh heavily on her, making her breast feel as if it were being crushed? After all, he was merely someone who had come to her rescue when she needed him.
That was just it, of course. He had been there when she needed him, and insensibly she had come to think of him as her special friend, someone she could turn to in need. She must put that notion out of her mind. Richard had been considerate, kind and gentle towards her, but he must have found her a nuisance, especially at a time when he was wounded and in danger of his life.
She must not make him feel he owed her anything. He must be free to go on his way and forget her. Even as she made her silent vow, she knew that she would not forget him! Georgie sensed instinctively that this brief interlude would remain with her for a long time. Perhaps for the rest of her life. The thought made her want to weep.
What was she going to do with her life now? Georgie hardly knew what she wanted. Her great-aunt was elderly. It was not likely that she would entertain often, which meant that Georgie would be forced to spend long hours alone or with just her aunt for company. For a moment she sank beneath the weight of such a prospect, but then she put it behind her. If Great-Aunt Mary did not wish to take her to London or Bath she might know someone who would take it on for a consideration. There were bound to be widows of good family who did not have sufficient money for their needs.
And what then? Georgie wondered. It was usual for girls of good families to marry, settle down and provide an heir for their husbands. She did not know why the prospect of marrying an unknown gentleman did not appeal. When she was younger she had dreamed of falling in love, but as yet she had met no one who appealed to her…as much as Richard.
Oh, no! She was appalled at her thoughts. She must not even consider such a prospect. Richard had no desire to marry her, did not believe himself obliged to despite their circumstances these past few days. And she did not wish to be married simply to rescue her good name!
Georgie buried the renegade thoughts that told her she would not find it a hardship to marry Richard Hernshaw. She liked him despite his deplorable habit of mocking her—in fact, if she were truthful, she liked him a little too much for her own good.
Richard returned some twenty minutes later with his manservant, and the host followed almost immediately with their dinner. They were served cold beef, a dish of calves’ liver in sweet sauce, chops and jugged hare with a remove of mashed potatoes and swede, carrots and baked onions. This was followed by a quince tart and an apple turnover with fresh cream.
She was pleased to notice that for the first time Richard did justice to his food, eating almost as much as Henderson and more than she could manage. He looked at her as she refused the apples and cream.
‘I ordered that especially for you. Did you not like it?’
‘I have eaten more than enough,’ she replied. For some reason she had lost her appetite. ‘I do not usually eat as much as I have recently. I think I was making up for having gone without for some days, but now I am back to normal.’
‘It is not because I teased you about getting fat?’
‘Oh, no, of course not,’ she said and smiled a little wanly. ‘I just do not feel hungry.’
‘Well, it is only a few hours since we broke our fast,’ Richard said. ‘I should not have stopped so soon had it not been necessary. However, we shall go on again shortly. If you are worried about getting to your aunt’s, we might see if we can get there. The carriage I have hired will make good time, I dare say.’
‘Oh, no, I am in no hurry,’ Georgie said. She frowned and looked down at herself. ‘I must try to find a dress before we get to my great-aunt’s house.’
‘I have thought of that,’ Richard said. ‘There are some things for you with my luggage and Henderson will bring them to you this evening before you retire. I shall order your breakfast in your room and we can leave immediately afterwards so that hardly anyone will see you.’
Georgie was silent. It would only need one person of quality to see her leaving the inn to ruin her reputation, but she would say nothing more on the subject. After all, it did not matter so very much since she had no real desire to marry. Perhaps she never would marry. If only she had some burning desire, something she truly wished to accomplish—like becoming an actress or a famous explorer, perhaps.
She wondered if she should do something of the sort once she had her inheritance. She could engage a companion and travel abroad. For a few minutes pleasant thoughts of all the countries she might visit filled her mind, but unfortunately she kept thinking that it would be much better to travel with a gentleman for company—and one particular gentleman would not stay out of her head.
It was most disobliging of him! She struggled to change her thoughts, becoming aware that his eyes were on her, mysterious and intent, the colour of wet slate.
‘What? Have I done something wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ he said and shook his head. ‘I shall pay the host and then we shall continue our journey—if you are ready?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Georgie replied, though her heart said something entirely different. ‘I dare say you will be glad to deliver me to my great-aunt so that you may go about your business in peace.’
‘It is true that I have business of my own in Yorkshire,’ Richard replied, his expression serious. ‘However, there is nothing urgent. I intend to make certain that you are settled and happy before I move on.’ He frowned. ‘It has occurred to me that I have no idea of our eventual destination. You have not told me the exact location of your aunt’s home or even her name.’
‘Did I not?’ Georgie pulled a face. ‘I am not certain of the location…I know it is near a village called Shrewsbury Morton and it is not far from York, for in her letters to me she talks of dining with friends at an inn in York. Her name…she is Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury and Morton. She is usually addressed as Countess Shrewsbury.’
‘Good lord!’ Richard stared at her, obviously shocked. ‘I know the lady well. She was a great friend of my late mother and my sister resided with her for a few years before she married.’
‘Oh…’ Georgie’s mouth made a little moue of surprise. ‘Ho
w strange that you should know Aunt Mary…’
‘Well, that makes things a little easier,’ Richard told her. ‘It is possible that she will accept the story of my being a family friend since she knows me and does not entirely disapprove of me.’
‘Yes…’ Georgie felt a sinking sensation inside. ‘I did not know that your family came from these parts.’
‘You know very little of me,’ Richard said, frowning. ‘I do not live in Yorkshire myself, but my sister does. She married a gentleman she met while living with the countess, and I visit her occasionally—though not as often as she would like. Jenny is a fond sister, though these days she has her hands full with her children.’
‘What are they—boys or girls?’ Georgie asked, because this was the first she had learned of his private life. ‘And how old?’
‘She has a boy and a girl, and hopes to have more,’ Richard replied, a little smile on his lips. ‘The girl is about the age of the girl you talked to at the inn we stayed at last night, and the boy is scarcely two.’
‘How lucky she is to have one of each,’ Georgie said. ‘I always wished that I might have had a sister or a brother, but Mama lost one baby and Papa would not risk her health again. He loved her too much…’ She sighed, her smile dimming. ‘It was terrible to lose them both as I did, but I do not think that either of them could have supported life without the other.’
‘But you were left alone,’ Richard said. ‘My parents also died when I was still young, but at least I still had my sister—and I have her family when I am in need of some of the comforts of home. You have no one who truly cares for you, I think?’
‘Aunt Agatha was not unkind at first,’ Georgie said. ‘But her life was difficult. My uncle was for ever gambling and there were times when money was short. I am sure it was he who wanted to settle his debts by selling me to Monsieur Thierry. My aunt was shocked, but could do nothing but obey her husband.’
‘Will the countess be prepared to stand against them for guardianship?’ Richard asked. ‘Have you considered that your uncle may have the right to force you to return to his house until you are older?’
‘Papa’s will states that I should be free to live as I please once I come into my fortune,’ Georgie said. ‘There are two lawyers applying the terms of the trust, and I think they might support me if I tell them what he tried to do.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Richard said. He hesitated, then, ‘My sister can always reach me if she needs me. I shall furnish you with her address and you may apply to me if you are in trouble.’
‘Oh…’ Georgie looked down because her heart had begun to thump madly in her breast, feeling as if it would burst free of her ribcage. ‘Surely you would not wish to have the trouble of such things?’
‘I would help you if need be,’ Richard said and his eyes held hers. ‘Can you doubt it?’
At that moment Georgie would have believed anything he told her. She felt as if she were drawn to him, bound to him by invisible threads and her mind sought for something to say that would make him understand how she felt, but at that moment someone came in to announce that their carriage was waiting.
Georgie turned, preceding the others as they all went outside. She hoped that Richard had not noticed her confusion, because she did not want him to see that he had set hope flaring inside her. His promise that he would help her made her feel that perhaps she might see him again after the morrow.
Their journey that afternoon was uneventful, perhaps because Richard had hired grooms to accompany them. His young tiger had stayed behind with his master’s horses and rig, and would wait at the posting inn until he was told what to do next. Richard sat opposite her. He made conversation for a while and then leaned back, his eyes closed. She thought that he was sleeping and felt pleased, because she knew he had had little sleep the previous night. If he could relax now, it must mean that his wound was feeling a little easier.
At the next inn they were shown to their rooms, and shortly after Georgie had washed and made herself comfortable she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find Henderson standing there with a valise, which he handed to her with a smile.
‘Can you manage, miss?’ he asked. ‘I could ask the innkeeper’s wife to send a girl up to help you.’
‘No, thank you. I am sure I can manage,’ Georgie said. ‘I shall not come down this evening. I think it best if no one sees me—and I am not hungry.’
‘I’ll ask for a light supper to be sent up, miss,’ Henderson promised as he left.
Georgie smiled and closed the door, locking it once more. She carried the valise to the bed and opened it, taking out a gown of primrose muslin. It was the fashion of two seasons previously with a high waist, puffed sleeves and a white sash, which she could tie at the front or the side. It was a little creased, but she shook it out, laying it over the back of a chair as she examined the rest of the clothes. There was a shawl of white silk, some dainty white leather half-boots, which were a little too large for her, but wearable once she had laced them, silk stockings and garters, a fine silk petticoat—which, considering the cold weather of the past few days, she thought it advisable to wear—and a heavy pelisse of dark blue for travelling. She pulled everything out of the valise to make sure, but there were no pantaloons. Of course some fashionable ladies did not wear them under their clinging gowns, but Georgie had been accustomed to such items of underwear and felt that it would be very daring of her not to do so. However, as there were none, she would simply have to brave it.
No one would know, of course, but she felt it a little shocking. However, it might have been even more shocking if they had been there for her bag must have been packed by Henderson, who was more used to serving a gentleman.
She considered dressing in her finery just to see how she looked, suddenly keen to be a young lady again. However, the hour was late because Richard had wanted to make up for time lost earlier in the day, and she decided that it could wait for the morning. When she undressed she placed the youth’s clothing into the bag, apart from the shirt that she had used as nightwear the previous night and would use again.
The Countess of Shewsbury and Morton would no doubt think it very odd when she arrived with no baggage, but they must hope that she was prepared to believe Georgie’s story of having lost it on the road. She would have to send for her things, or wait until she had her money and could buy more, though that would be awkward.
Her life would be less than comfortable even when she reached the safety of her aunt’s home, Georgie realised, and there was no guarantee that the countess would be willing to defy her uncle. As Richard had pointed out, her uncle was her legal guardian, of course, and could demand her return at least until she came into her inheritance.
Notwithstanding her troubled thoughts, Georgie slept soon after her head touched the pillow.
She woke as soon as the first rosy fingers of dawn began to creep through the partially drawn curtains, and was dressed and ready when the maid brought her a breakfast tray containing soft rolls, honey and a pot of dark chocolate.
Once she had eaten, Georgie gathered her things and went downstairs. She discovered that Richard and Henderson were already in the hall, and by the sound of it they had something important to discuss. However, they stopped speaking as one and turned to look at her as she reached the bottom stair, a picture of youthful beauty in her yellow gown and white shawl, the pelisse over her arm. She had no bonnet or even a ribbon to tie up her hair and so it fell on to her shoulders in a riotous tangle of shining curls and waves.
‘You are ready, then,’ Richard said, his eyes seeming to dwell rather too long on her slender form. ‘I was about to send the maid to see if you were. I trust you slept well?’
‘Very well,’ Georgie replied. She thought that some of the shadows had gone from beneath his eyes and assumed that he too had rested. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Henderson says he thinks we were followed here yesterday evening. The grooms told him someone was inquiring f
or a gentleman travelling with a youth, but since I had warned them to be on their guard they told him nothing.’
‘Was he a Frenchman?’
‘Yes, they seem to think so—at least they said he had a queer accent, so it seems likely it was Thierry or one of his cronies.’
A little shiver ran down Georgie’s spine. She had hoped that Thierry would be left far behind, but if he had followed her here he might have ideas of snatching her from beneath her great-aunt’s nose. She would have to be careful not to go out alone.
‘Well, are you ready?’ Richard looked at her, a crease forming on his brow. ‘You need not be afraid of him, you know. I think it must be me he wants. He believes I know something about him—and perhaps I do, if I could but think what it is.’
‘You have never met him?’ Georgie asked. She tipped her head to one side, considering as he shook his head. ‘Some might think him very handsome, but I do not. He is a fine figure of a man, but there is something…greasy about him. And he has a horrid way of looking at one.’
‘Yes, I think I know what you mean,’ Richard said. He had met characters he would describe as oily in the past and understood what she was trying to say. It was a slyness, a smoothness of manner that was too ingratiating to be believed, and an unpleasant feeling of being laughed at secretly. ‘Well, are you prepared for what comes next?’
‘Yes…at least I must be,’ Georgie said. She moved towards him, laying her hand on his arm. ‘You did mean it when you said I might call on you if I needed you?’
