At this point, Bella had picked up her embroidery again. Then she had paused, to add matter-of-factly, “Of course, later, when he went around seducing all the bored wives and beautiful widows—the Lady Changleys of the world, you understand—they simply painted his reputation blacker.”
Smothering a choking laugh, Georgiana had bent her head once more over her own embroidery, her thoughts far removed from petit point.
“Mind you,” Bella had added, waving her needle in the air to give her point emphasis, “despite all, he’s never particularly enamoured of them—the women he seduces, I mean.” She had frowned, totally absorbed in her subject and no longer conscious of her audience. “I suspect it’s because it’s all so easy.” She had shrugged. “Just like me, getting bored with the Season—it’s all too easy without some purpose behind it.”
They had fallen silent after that, each busy with their own thoughts.
Now Georgiana sat alone in the back parlour, having seen Bella off on a visit to her old nurse. Her thoughts revolved incessantly, driven by an unnerving juxtaposition of longing and uncertainty. The breathtaking thrill of basking in the warmth of his smouldering blue gaze…All the subtle attentions he had paid her throughout the long night of the masked ball… She’d already lost her heart to Lord Alton. Now he seemed intent on leading her on to more dangerous ground. But had he known it was her he was leading? Surely not. Her mind rebelled at the thought. If he had known, then that would mean…No. He couldn’t be seriously pursuing her. What on earth could he mean by it, if he was? And what on earth was she to do about it?
She puzzled and worried at her questions, but when Johnson knocked and entered the room two hours later she had still not found any answer.
“There’s a gentleman to see you, miss. A Mr Charles Hartley.”
The butler’s words effectively banished Georgiana’s dreams. Charles? Here? How on earth had he traced her? And why?
The soft clearing of Johnson’s throat recalled her scattered wits. She had enough unanswerable questions without Charles adding to the score. And, secure and safe in Winsmere House, she had no reason to fear her cousin. Johnson, she felt sure, would hover protectively near the door. “My cousin?” It was hard to believe.
Johnson bowed. “The gentleman did mention the connection, miss.”
From the butler’s stiff tone, Georgiana surmised her cousin had failed to find favour in his shrewd eyes. The observation gave her confidence. “I’ll see him in here.”
“Very good, miss.” Johnson made for the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. “I’ll be just outside the door, miss, in case you should need anything.”
Georgiana smiled her gratitude as Johnson withdrew.
A minute later, the door opened once more to allow Charles Hartley to enter. In the light streaming in through the long windows, Georgiana studied her cousin as he crossed the room towards her. His appearance had improved considerably since last they had met. She suppressed a grin at the memory. He had been drunk. Now he was clearly quite sober. His clothes were not as elegant as those she had grown used to seeing, but were clean and, unless she much mistook the matter, new. His cravat was tied neatly, if not with flair. A great improvement over the stained and ill-fitting togs he had worn at the Place. He was neither tall nor short, neither corpulent nor lanky. Yet his figure was unimpressive compared to the other in her mind. His colouring was much paler and less vibrant than her own. Lank fair hair hung across pallid skin; pale reptilian eyes regarded her with little evidence of emotion. Repressing her instinctive shrinking, she extended her hand as he drew near. “Charles.”
As he took her hand and bowed over it, Charles was conscious that his little cousin had somehow changed. The young girl who had fled to her chamber to escape his lovemaking had grown even more lovely. And more confident. But she would never be a match for him. He smiled, struggling to keep his thoughts from showing. She had blossomed into a more delectable piece than he would have predicted. The figure outlined by the bronze silk dress she had worn at the ball was quite real, albeit now garbed in sober grey. Perhaps he would enjoy the role of her husband rather more than he had anticipated.
At his continued scrutiny, Georgiana allowed her brows to rise haughtily.
Recalled to his purpose, Charles assumed a serious face. “Georgiana, I’ve come to beg your pardon.”
Now Georgiana’s brows flew upwards in surprise.
Charles smiled tentatively and pressed his advantage. “For my boorish behaviour at the Place. I… Well—” he shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly “—I was swept away with desire, my dear. I should have told you, of course, of the arrangements that had been made. But I had a hope you would love me for myself and it would not be necessary. I see now I should have explained it to you at the start. You see, my father and your father wanted us to marry.” At her instinctive recoil, Charles raised a placating hand. “Oh, at first I felt as you. You can imagine my dismay, a young man being told his marriage was already arranged. I ranted and raved, but in the end I agreed to do my duty to the family. So I waited for the day your father would send you home. As things fell out, he died before he had brought himself to tell you and send you away from him.” Pale eyes carefully scrutinised Georgiana’s face. “I can imagine how attached he was to you, and doubtless he sought to keep you by him for as long as possible.” Charles smiled meaningfully into Georgiana’s eyes. “I can understand his feelings.”
To his consternation, Charles could detect no response to his revelations, other than a slight widening of the huge hazel eyes.
“In the circumstances, you can imagine my surprise when I first saw you, first learned of your beauty.”
Another smile accompanied this piece of flattery, but evoked no hint of feminine preening.
Charles frowned. Was the child paying attention? He turned the frown to good effect as he continued, “I’m afraid my behaviour was rather wild. I can only ask you to excuse my excesses on the grounds of my incredible relief that, now you were finally here, everything was going to be all right.”
Still Georgiana gave no sign of reaction to his tale.
Mentally groping in the dark, Charles put on a humble face and asked, “Georgiana, can you possibly forgive me?”
At the start of her cousin’s tale, Georgiana had schooled her features to impassivity. As his story unfurled, she was thankful for the iron control, polished over the weeks of social gadding, that held her silent. She had no doubt that the existence of a long-standing, family-arranged betrothal between them was a fabrication. Her father had always shown particular concern for her eventual state. He had not expected to die suddenly, it was true. But that he had died forgetting to tell her she was formally betrothed was impossible. She resisted the impulse to laugh scornfully, and forced her voice to a cool and even tone. “I suggest your behaviour at the Place is best forgotten.”
At his too ready smile, she assumed her most regal manner and forged on. “However, as to this other matter you have raised, of us being betrothed, I’m afraid I must insist that such a betrothal never occurred. Certainly my father never told me of it. Nor were there any documents among his effects to support such a notion. I’m afraid, if your father led you to suppose there was an agreement, then he misled you.”
Charles’s frown was quite genuine. So much for that idea. He would have to try his second string. He turned slightly and moved away from his cousin, taking a few steps away, then pacing back. His features obediently fell into a look of downcast dismay. He looked straight at Georgiana, an expression of wordless misery on his face. Then he gestured eloquently and turned aside. “Georgiana. My dear, what can I say to convince you?”
If she had not been so sensitive on the subject, Georgiana would have found his histrionics quite entertaining. As it was, she felt no inclination to smile, let alone laugh.
From the corner of his eye, Charles watched her stony countenance. Intuition told him an avowal of love would fall on barren soil. Instead, he o
pted for a more avuncular line. “I would do everything possible to make you happy. Your father’s death has left you alone in the world. Please, I beg you, allow me to take on the task of caring for you.”
Georgiana barely managed to keep from laughing in his face. He, to talk of caring for her! He had threatened her—more than threatened her—and under his own roof! She could manage quite well, she felt, without his sort of protection. With perfect composure she replied, “Please say no more. My mind is quite unalterable on this point. I will not marry you, Charles.”
Yet another proposal, she thought with a wry inward grin. Even less welcome than the others.
Charles sighed dramatically and turned so she could no longer see his face. All in all, he was just as well suited with her decision. It was hardly a great surprise. At least now he had a clear path to follow. After a pained moment, he turned back to her and smiled bravely. “I knew it was no use. But, you see, I felt I had to try. If I could just ask that we remain friends?”
Georgiana blinked. Friends? Well, it couldn’t hurt to make that concession. It meant so little. She smiled gently, somewhat relieved that the episode seemed set to conclude on a much more reasonable note than she had anticipated. She held out her hand, a friendly enough gesture, but still a clear dismissal. “Friends, then, if you wish it.”
Charles took her hand and bowed over it. As he straightened, his face cleared as if reminded of a pleasant event. “Ah, I nearly forgot.” His eyes sought Georgiana’s. “Those paintings you were looking for. At the Place.”
Georgiana’s heart leapt.
Sensing her response, Charles inwardly smirked. So much for her impenetrable shell.
“Yes?” Georgiana prompted, not bothering to conceal her eagerness.
Charles smiled. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the Pringates were clearing out the attics when I left. They sent me a message two days ago that they had found some pictures, among other things. I wrote back to ask who had painted them. If they are the ones you seek…” He let his voice trail away.
Breathlessly Georgiana seized the proffered moment to issue the invitation Charles was angling for. “You’ll let me know at once? Please, Charles?”
Genuinely pleased, he allowed his smile to broaden. “I’ll let you know at once.”
Deeming it wise to leave well enough alone, he merely bowed over her hand and smiled encouragingly as she crossed to the bell-pull to summon the butler.
NATURALLY, after she had considered the matter from all angles, Georgiana sought Bella’s opinion of Charles’s visit and his declaration.
“Friends?” The incredulity in Bella’s voice left little doubt of her opinion of Charles. She snorted. “He’s a bounder. Always was, always will be.”
Georgiana shrugged. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.” She bent her head over her stitchery. It was the day after Charles’s visit and they were in the back parlour, as was their habit of a morning.
Bella stifled a yawn. “Ye gods! I declare I’m infected with your illness.”
Georgiana raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“Finding the evenings over-tiring,” Bella explained. “I would never have thought a musical supper would be so positively exhausting.”
“I rather think that depends on the music,” put in Georgiana, with a smile for her hostess. “Besides, from what I saw, you were half asleep through most of the recital.”
Bella waved a hand airily. “It’s fashionable to nod off. All the best people do it.”
With a gurgle of laughter, Georgiana set her work aside. “Seriously, though, do you think Charles will give me my father’s paintings back?”
“Don’t get too carried away. They might not be your father’s at all.”
A discreet knock heralded Johnson’s entry. “A note for you, miss. There’s a messenger waiting for your reply.”
Georgiana lifted the simple note from Johnson’s salver. It was sealed with a nondescript lump of wax.
Dismissing her butler with a nod, Bella turned to find her friend regarding the missive in her hand with some nervousness. “Well? Open it!”
With a small sigh, Georgiana broke the seal and spread out the single sheet. “It’s from Charles,” she told the waiting Bella. After a moment, her face brightened. “He’s found them! Oh, Bella! They were there after all!”
Seeing the sunshine in Georgiana’s face, Bella relaxed and grinned back. “How lovely for you. Is he sending them over?”
Georgiana was reading on. A small frown clouded her brow, then lifted. “Yes and no. He hasn’t actually got them yet. He says he’s sent to Pringate to bring them to the Hart and Hounds—that’s the posting inn, the last before London on the road to Candlewick. I remember stopping there on our way here.”
Bella nodded absent-mindedly. “Yes, but why? Why not just bring them to London?”
Georgiana, engrossed in deciphering Charles’s scrawl, shrugged aside the quibble. “Charles says he’s going to meet Pringate this afternoon to pick up the pictures, and asks if I would like to come too. Oh, Bella! Just think! By this afternoon I’ll have them.”
“Mmm.” Bella eyed her friend with a frown. It would be of no use to tell Georgiana that Charles was not to be trusted. From her face it was clear nothing on earth would stop her from going to fetch her paintings. With a definite feeling of misgiving, Bella held her peace.
While Georgiana penned an enthusiastic reply to Charles’s invitation, Bella sat and worriedly chewed her lip. But, by the time Johnson departed to give Georgiana’s note to the messenger, she had perked up and was able to listen to Georgiana’s excited ramblings with an indulgent smile. It was obvious really. To protect Georgiana from Charles’s machinations, all she had to do was precisely what she had always done whenever Charles had threatened. She would tell Dominic.
When Charles called for Georgiana at three, Bella played least in sight. Charles was high on her list of unfavourite people. She had already surreptitiously dispatched a note to her brother, summoning him to her instant aid. As she watched Charles’s small phaeton carry Georgiana away, she struggled to subdue a disturbing sense of disquiet.
Impatiently, she waited for Dominic to call.
ENSCONCED in the comfort of well padded leather, Dominic Ridgeley, Lord Ridgeley, Viscount Alton, man of the world and political intriguer, was deep in consideration of the beauties of nature. Or, more specifically, one particular golden-haired, golden-eyed beauty. The silence of the reading room of White’s was punctuated by the occasional snore and snuffle and the crackle of turning pages. Otherwise, there was no sound to distract him from his reverie. The daily news-sheet was held open before his face, but he would have been hard pressed to recall the headlines, let alone the substance of any of the articles. This morning Georgiana Hartley occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else.
He had not seen her for over twenty-four hours. Which fact, he felt, was more than ample excuse for his preoccupation. A political dinner had prevented him from attending Lady Overington’s musical supper—a mixed blessing, he was sure. Hence, he had to be content with reliving the events of the masked ball. A slow grin twisted his lips as he recalled his angel’s response to some of his more outrageous sallies. He would have to make certain he disabused her mind of her apparent belief that he had not known her identity. The point niggled, like a burr caught under his collar. It had been a strategic error, to allow her to leave him still thinking he was showering his attentions on a damsel unknown to him. An error he was more than experienced enough to recognise. Still, he would ensure the matter was rectified at their next meeting—tonight, at the Pevenseys’ gala. Consideration of her likely reactions to his revelations kept him entertained for some minutes. The sight of her face when the penny finally dropped, her innocent confusion, all unknowingly reflected in her glorious eyes, would afford him untold pleasure.
A soft smile of pure anticipation curved his fine lips.
Seeing it, Lord Ellsmere paused, before clearing
his throat meaningfully.
At the sound so close by his ear, Dominic jumped. His eyes met those of his friend in pained surprise.
Julian Ellsmere grinned. “Interesting thoughts, old man?”
Dominic struggled up out of the depths of his chair. “Damn you, Julian! I was just—”
“Shhhh!” came hissing from all corners of the room.
“Come into the smoking-room,” whispered Lord Ellsmere. “I’ve got some news I think you should hear.”
They had been at Eton, then Oxford, together, had shared all the larks and adventures of well heeled young men. And had remained close friends to the present. Which, when they’d found a secluded corner of the smoking-room, allowed Lord Ellsmere to say, “Don’t know how deep your interest goes with your sister’s protégée, but I just saw her being driven out of town by a rather rum customer. Tow-headed, pasty-faced bounder.”
The sudden hardening of the lines of his friend’s face told Lord Ellsmere more clearly than words just how deeply Dominic Ridgeley’s interest in Georgiana Hartley went.
“When?”
“’Bout twenty minutes. Up the North Road.”
Dominic’s eyes had narrowed. “Tow-headed?” When Julian Ellsmere nodded, he continued, “Medium height and build? Fair skin?”
“That’s the man. Know him?”
But Dominic was muttering curses under his breath and heading for the door. When Julian caught him up in the hall, where the porter was scurrying to find his cane and gloves, Dominic turned to him and said, “My thanks.”
Impetuous Innocent Page 13
