by Devon, Eva
He raised his hand, refusing to let her apologize again. Why, in God’s name, should she? “I do not wish to hear it, Georgiana. I will not hear an apology on your lips.”
And with that, he strode to her and pulled her into his arms.
“Wait here,” he said. “I will find your father.”
She nodded against his chest. He could feel the fear and the pain vibrating through her. Damnation, he wished he could take that all away. But he couldn’t force the feelings from her. And she was stiff in his arms, unwilling to take his comfort.
That filled him with a terror he never thought to experience.
“My family is everything you feared,” she whispered.
There was nothing he could say, because she was correct. But how could he make her understand that none of that mattered?
First, he would find her father and ascertain his safety.
Edward let her go, though he was loath to do so. Without a backward glance, he headed out into the hall.
He would make things right. For her, for them both.
It was, of course, within his power, and for once he was going to use his power in a way he never thought he would. He was going to save an absolutely foolish man, because in the end…it just might save himself and the woman he loved.
…
Georgiana carefully removed her diamond ear bobs then stood still as Greggs slipped the crimson gown from her shoulders. The silk rustled as her maid swept it away.
Her heart was breaking. She nearly snorted at her own drama. A heart could not break. But it hurt. It hurt terribly.
How could this truly be occurring? How could her father, who had always been harmless, if exasperating, have done such a thing?
Georgiana knew one thing above all else. She must go to her mother at once.
If she, herself, could not bear the heartbreak of it all, she could scarce imagine how her mother felt or how her sisters were bearing up under such conditions. They would be sitting alone in their small house in Yorkshire, wondering what their fate was, wondering the condition of their father…and praying not to be abandoned by the Duke of Thornfield.
She knew without hesitation that Edward would not abandon her family.
He was a man of too much duty.
The price would be high. So very, very high. For she could not believe that he could ever look upon them with respect again. The Bly family had played out exactly as he had foreseen, and it was agony. It burned so intensely, she could scarce draw breath. She clung to that pain. Her fear for her father was too much to even consider for longer than a terrifying moment.
Standing now in her chemise and stays, Georgiana shivered, though it wasn’t cold in London at this time of year. She didn’t move, for this was a costume change.
Every part of her longed to burst apart. Surely, she would sob at any moment. But something else had taken her over. Now she was driven. Driven to go to her home. Driven to ensure her family did not suffer any more than necessary as she waited to find out if her father was safe.
The silence was so intense, Georgiana ground her teeth just to break it.
Greggs rushed back to her with a simple green traveling frock and Spencer. Wordlessly, she let Greggs dress her, until at last her matching green bonnet, flocked with black ribbon, was placed upon her head.
She nodded at her lady’s maid. “Let us go.”
In just a few moments, Greggs had prepared all that she needed to depart. She admired the efficiency of the older woman. At present, it was a godsend.
Greggs collected her small traveling valise, then they both swept out into the hall with only moonlight to guide them. They rushed down the stairs and out through the cavernous foyer.
Aunt Agatha called to her across the foyer, her voice high over the clatter of their steps. “My dear, you must not go.”
Georgiana turned to the lady who had been so kind. “I must indeed. Please accept my apologies, but I cannot leave my mother alone.”
“But you must wait,” Agatha protested, aghast. “Edward will come back with news.”
“Please tell him to send a message posthaste.” She glanced toward the waiting coach in the courtyard. “He will understand duty to family.”
“Yes,” Agatha said woefully, “but he is your family now, too, my dear.”
“Something he is no doubt ashamed of,” Georgiana replied, before she swallowed the acrid truth of it.
When Aunt Agatha did not contradict her, Georgiana’s heart only sank lower.
But she would not be completely broken by it, even if her heart was bleeding from the knowledge she had almost certainly lost Edward’s respect forever.
She squared her shoulders, turned to the carved, thick wooden doors, and headed out to the pavement. She rushed into the coach without looking back.
Greggs followed behind her, a surprisingly sympathetic presence. And as the coach jolted forward, leaving London behind, Georgiana prayed that Edward would be able to find her father before it was too late.
Only Edward could find the man. Of that she was certain. But even so, even if he did set everything to rights, Georgiana felt in her heart of hearts that the great void between their families was one to vast to be breeched. The Blys would never be worthy of his great name.
Oh, Edward had not said it. He did not have to. After all, it had been clear from the night when they’d been caught kissing in his private library that he had felt his life ruined to be linked to such a family as hers.
In the end, he was right. Edward was almost always right. And the great disparity between his family honor and her family? Had been proved without question this night. All that he had struggled and fought for? Her father had made muck of it in a matter of weeks.
Georgiana swallowed back stinging tears. She had almost certainly lost the happiness and the hope and the love that she had begun to believe would be hers.
All the tutelage in the world mattered not.
In the end, she was still a Bly.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dashing down from the coach, without awaiting assistance from a footman, Georgiana raced into her childhood home. She whipped her cloak off, her gaze darting for any sign of one of her sisters or her mother.
The house was silent. No servant came to greet her, which only sent a new wave of alarm through Georgiana.
Had her mother and sisters been abandoned in the scandal?
Greggs staggered behind her, her legs weak no doubt, after so much time traveling. The lady’s maid gawked at her surroundings in complete shock. Likely, she’d never had an employer who had lived in such an unremarkable dwelling.
Georgiana did not take time to assure Greggs that they would indeed be able to find a place for her to sleep that was not in the back chimney. She had far greater concerns. Even so, she was grateful to the maid who had accompanied her on their wild ride.
“Wait here,” Georgiana instructed, handing over her cloak.
Greggs nodded wordlessly, too astounded to make reply. Georgiana left her standing in the foyer, small though it was. She started for the stairs and called out for Elizabeth. A great racket and mixtures of female voices ensued up above.
Elizabeth raced out to the landing, her cheeks drawn and pale. “Thank goodness you have come.”
“Where is Mama?” Georgiana demanded, swooping Elizabeth into a quick embrace.
Hugging her back mightily, Elizabeth whispered against her bonnet, “She is in her room, at her desk. She has been writing letters for days, desperately hoping that someone, anyone we know, might have information regarding Papa’s whereabouts.”
The news did not shock her. Her mama had always been a woman of action. “And where are our sisters?”
Elizabeth pulled back, her shoulders easing as if just the sight of Georgiana had repaired her a good deal. “They’re all with
her. Everyone is in a worried state. No one has been able to sleep. I think we’re all surviving on cups of tea.”
“Take me to her.”
They rushed up the stairs, leaving Greggs standing alone. But Georgiana was quite certain that Greggs was capable enough to find the kitchens. Greggs was capable enough to lead Wellington’s Army.
Georgiana all but ran through the narrow hall and to her mama’s room.
She crossed the small chamber swiftly and fell to her knees before her mother, who was indeed sitting at her writing desk. In all her life, she had never seen her mother’s shoulders bent. But one glance told Georgiana that she had aged a good ten years in a matter of days.
Her mama’s usually rosy cheeks were hollow, her eyes were gaunt and her fingers were stained black with ink. Her dressing gown of deep rose was rumpled, and her braid was coming undone, strands flying about her shoulders.
“Oh, Mama,” Georgiana exclaimed.
“My darling girl,” her mother breathed, lifting her gaze with painful slowness from the letter she was currently scribbling.
Her hand shook slightly as she cupped Georgiana’s cheek. “Have you traveled all night, then? We must get you a cup of tea.”
Georgiana swallowed back tears at how her mother still thought of others in her own pain. “I have traveled for three days straight to be with you. We did not spare the horses and we had to change at coaching inns along the way, but here I am now, and we shall make sense of all this.”
Sorrow filled her mother’s usually knowing eyes. “What shall be done?” Her lips trembled as she fought back tears. “He has ruined us, but I care not for that. I am most worried about his well-being. You know how dark moods can take him.”
“Mama,” Georgiana said, holding her mother’s hands fast. “Edward is looking for him.”
“Edward,” her mother repeated, before her shoulders shook. “Of course he is. Dear boy. He is such a good man. Is he not?”
“He is, Mama.” Georgiana took her mother in her arms, holding her carefully, willing her not to give in. “He is better than any man I have ever known.”
“But how shall we ever repay him?” her mother asked, holding onto Georgiana like one lost at sea. “If he finds him, my God, what if he does not?”
“Mama, we must stay calm.” Georgiana forced herself to speak with the same sort of steadiness that Edward often employed.
Her mother pulled away then took Georgiana’s hands again in hers and squeezed. Words tumbled out of her like a stream that had flooded its banks. “I do not know if I can remain calm. I am so frightened for him. You should have seen the state he was in when he left. He went to London determined to find the men who had tricked him. But I do not think he will be able to. Such men as that?” Her mother shuddered. “They are the very worst of society. The dregs, the scum of the earth.”
“Mama, I cannot agree with you more,” Georgiana said gently, meeting her mother’s gaze. “But now all we can do is wait. I know how hard that is. But if anyone is capable of finding him, it is Edward.”
“And Montrose,” Elizabeth said from the doorway.
Georgiana turned to her sister. “I beg your pardon.”
“The Earl of Montrose,” Elizabeth said. “He went after father.” A blush stole across Elizabeth’s face. A moment of happiness, quickly replaced by the pain of the present. “You see, he has been staying in the area, and he and I have been… Well, he has been calling almost every day. We…we admire each other very much.”
Georgiana could see the hints of affection on her sister’s face, and she was heartbroken for her sister that the feelings between them had been so brutally interrupted by this affair.
Elizabeth winced. “And when news of Papa’s disappearance came to us, Montrose offered immediately to go in search of him. I hope because he left so quickly after we discovered Papa missing that he will be able to find him with haste.”
Surely, Montrose and Edward would be an unstoppable force in the finding of her father. “There,” Georgiana said. “All will be well with two such fine men searching for Papa.”
Her mother nodded, though nothing would likely convince her until she had her husband with her again.
Methodically, Georgiana stood, cleared away her mama’s writing tools, and said in a voice that booked no argument, “Mama, you must have a bath. It will relax you and we shall prepare hot tea and toast for you.”
She eyed her mother’s frame, which looked as if it had shrunk considerably in but a few weeks. “And you will take a bit of broth.”
And they would wait together, for it was the only thing that they could do.
…
Edward and Montrose checked every tavern near the dockside. When they proved fruitless, they then headed into the more dangerous warrens of East London.
Much to Edward’s surprise, Montrose knew of Bly’s misfortunes, for he had been staying near the family for the last month. His affection for Elizabeth apparently more than a passing fancy.
And Edward’s friend had ridden from Yorkshire with the devil on his heels in hopes of finding Mr. Bly. Together, they’d find him, no matter what state he was in.
Despite his abilities, Edward was damn glad his friend was with him on this harrowing hunt. It felt as if both their futures depended on the outcome, a feeling which dogged their every step and failure.
Bottles of gin and pints of ale were bought for all the thirsty tavern-goers at The Maiden’s Legs, The King’s Head, The Mermaid’s Tail, and The Rose and Thistle in the hopes that someone had concrete word of Mr. Bly.
All these hopes were to no avail. Mr. Bly had gone well and truly missing. Worse, it seemed his father-in-law did not wish to be found. Edward prayed he would not need to contact the morgues and ask if a body had been discovered in the river or on its banks.
Desperate men were known to take to its unforgiving tides.
But… There was a single thread of hope.
Rumors of a drunken old man weaving from hellhole to hellhole, blathering on about how he had destroyed his family’s life had been whispered to them by a costermonger. But Bly’s location was yet to be found.
Edward wanted to thrash the man.
He wouldn’t. But the man’s need to run away was causing anguish.
He paid every pickpocket, every street urchin, and every light skirt for a bit of information until finally, finally, a young boy who swept the streets to protect rich men’s shoes from mud rushed up to him on the crowded alley and hollered, “Oi found yer bloke, Yer Grace. He be livin’ in a room up above Madame Quick’s.”
Madame Quick’s indeed, he thought.
Of all the places of ill repute Mr. Bly could have found, he’d managed to find the worst.
The knowledge captured Bly’s life in entirety.
The poor man seemed to fall from mud puddle to mud puddle to sewage pit. If he was still alive, it was a miracle he hadn’t been skewered by a tough. It was even more remarkable that a man such as that had managed to have such daughters like Georgiana or even Elizabeth.
Poor Montrose was just as driven to find Mr. Bly as Edward. For the Scot kept muttering on about Elizabeth being in a state of distress. Edward understood.
The look on Georgiana’s face haunted his every step. He did not know if he would ever recover from his part in it. Unlike the vast swaths of humanity, her face was one that he could now easily read, and the pain upon it had struck his heart like a dagger’s blow.
This was his fault. There was no circumventing that. He’d given Bly the money to spend, and he had not thought to give him any guidance.
Bly was a foolish man, and foolish men needed a great deal of guidance.
Over the years, Bly had proved again and again that he was incapable with his finances. And much like giving a man prone to drinking gin a large cask, who then drinks it all in one fatal go
, Bly had spent every penny that Edward had given him. What a fool Edward had been, something he was entirely unaccustomed to being.
Now he knew the only path forward. It had repeated in his head like a never-ending drum beat. He would develop a plan to save Mr. Bly from himself, not for his father-in-law, but for Georgiana and her family. And for all the people who had been hurt in his carelessness.
If he was honest, he supposed he did have an element of sympathy for the old man, too, who desperately wished to be the equal of far more sensible and wealthy men.
Alas, Bly was incapable, left to his own devices.
Edward and Montrose stormed the crowded alleys and into the dangerous closes of Seven Dials.
Various street sellers hocked their cakes, street gin, wilted flowers, pasties, and second-hand clothes. Everything one could imagine was on sale on the back streets of London.
If one turned the wrong way in the cacophonous area, they could have their throats slit as fast as they could have their tail tickled. Edward knew this from long experience.
Unlike many of his peers, he avoided these parts of town. So many lords adored them. They loved to go slumming in the misery, the raw life that was lived in poverty.
Edward found nothing entertaining about the sorrow of the people who lived and died in these parts, who often only escaped in a cheap wood coffin.
No, his entire life had been spent on measures passed in Parliament to improve the state of affairs here. It was troubling beyond measure to see that Mr. Bly had fallen in amongst the most desperate of England’s populace.
At last, they came upon the rickety building that dated back to Tudor times. Home of Madame Quick’s worn rooms that were often let by the hour. Somehow, the crooked house had survived the great fire and it was evident. The plaster which covered the waddle work was missing in spots and the place looked as if it, too, was drunk on sulfur-laced gin.
Edward and Montrose beat upon the dusty door.
It opened on creaky hinges that screamed in protest.
A black-toothed old woman stood in the dark frame, her gnarled hands fisted upon stained skirts. “Why, Yer Grace,” she cackled, “Oi’ve been awaiting yer man of business. But ye’ve come yerself!”
