by Jo Beverley
It turned out that Maria had come up to London to earn higher wages in the hope that in a few years she could save enough for them to have a cottage of their own with a bit a land where they could grow some food and keep a pig.
What a crisis that situation had been!
The housekeeper had refused to keep Maria in the house even overnight for fear she’d corrupt the other servants, and Mistress Hownslow had been far too valuable to lose. Georgia had begged advice of Babs Harringay, who had told her about Danae House, a charity that provided help for female servants led astray.
Georgia had taken the girl there in her own carriage, ready to pay for her to be admitted, and been astonished to find herself talking to the Marchioness of Rothgar.
Lady Rothgar, it had turned out, had founded Danae House and recruited aristocratic ladies as patronesses. The price of Maria’s instant admission had been that Lady Maybury become a patroness of the house herself. Georgia had done so willingly, for Maria’s story was gentler than others’. Most of the girls helped by Danae House had been seduced or raped by the men of the family that employed them or by guests.
Each case was handled individually, but if a marriage was possible, a dowry was provided. That had been Georgia’s participation. She’d provided a dowry for Maria and then added to the fund every month. The sums were so trifling. Ten guineas had enabled Maria and her swain to set up life together, but sometimes less would do.
It was satisfying to help, but the charity had always troubled her. Georgia entered her room with the old question rattling in her head. Danae House was proof that hasty coupling and even brutal assaults could result in children. So why had she, a virtuous, well-loved wife, never quickened?
Jane came in with a pile of ironed shifts. “How is the baby, milady?”
Georgia smiled at her. “Small. But if I’m to acquire a similar minikin, I’d best be about choosing a husband.”
It was the only way. A woman without a husband was nothing.
She sat by the window to go over her notes. The top entries were the unmarried dukes. “Beaufort is still my first choice. He’s only a little older than I and malleable.”
“Go on with you, milady. If it’s malleable you want, choose a doting dodderer.”
Georgia shuddered. “Wrinkles and bad teeth. Never. There’s the Duke of Bridgwater, but he shows no interest in marriage. They say one of the Gunning sisters broke his heart, but I suspect he’s wedded to his canals.”
“And producing a progeny of them, milady.”
“Jane, you’re a wit! I’ll use that line one day. Bolton’s unmarried, but gone forty and becoming rather odd. As for marquesses, alas, with Ashart gone there are none left unmarried. I might have to satisfy myself with another earl.”
“You look for a good man you can love, milady.”
“I will love the right man, Jane, but I couldn’t love a man who would tumble me down the social scale.”
Jane’s lack of response was eloquent.
Georgia swiveled to look at her. “Don’t you take your status in the servants’ hall from mine? You’re Countess of Maybury now. Do you want to become Viscountess Lowly, or Lady Down-in-the-Mud if I marry a baron?” A baron like Lord Dracy…She pushed that out of her mind. “Could you bear to rank below ladies’ maids who were previously below you?” She saw Jane wavering and pressed home the point. “On the other hand, imagine being a duchess, ruling the roost.”
“I’d not mind if you were happy, milady.”
“I wouldn’t be happy, so that’s that.” Georgia picked up her sheet of paper. “I shall go and speak to my sister.”
Winnie was in her boudoir, setting neat stitches in a tiny gown, wearing spectacles. She looked dowdy but still content. She looked up over the lenses. “You have everything you require, Georgie?”
Georgia sat. “Yes, thank you. What a delightful little garment. Charlotte will look lovely in it.”
That had Winnie smiling. Good.
“About the ball. Will you be able to add a few names to your list?”
“Of course, dear. I know you must want support.”
Georgia’s teeth gritted over two aspects of that sentence—pity and “must”—but she maintained her smile. “The Harringays are in Town, for Babs refuses to be separated from her husband, and he does something very important in some government department. And the Torrismondes’ estate is not far to the west.”
“I will certainly send them invitations.”
Georgia moved on to the next point. “Have you invited any dukes?”
“Newcastle, Bedford, and Grafton.”
“Perhaps we could add Beaufort? And Bridgwater?”
Winnie looked at her. “For your support, it’s the duchesses that matter, and those two are unmarried.”
Winifred wasn’t stupid, and there was no purpose in denying it. “Perhaps I aspire to become a duchess.”
“In light of the past, you may wish to aim lower.”
“May” was not “must,” but close enough. “I did nothing to cause that duel, Winnie, and I carry no blame.”
“That isn’t how the world sees it.”
“Then I’ll change what the world sees. As to a husband, I’m in no hurry,” she lied. “I wish my second marriage to be perfect.”
Winnie’s gaze sharpened and Georgia realized what she’d heard—that her first marriage had not been perfect.
“I mean, of course, that I hope my next marriage will bless me as you have been blessed, with a child.”
“Ah, yes. But, Georgie, there’s no way to know. Unless you marry a widower with children.”
That was a new idea, and Georgia considered it. “Are there any young widowers with children?”
“Everdon,” Winnie said. “And Uxthorne, though as his poor wife bore five babies in eight years he might be too…productive.”
“Lud, yes!”
“And every child a daughter. You would need a widower with sons in case the fault lies with you.”
“It doesn’t! A doctor assured me of that.”
“Good heavens. Can they be sure?”
“I’m sure.” Before they fell to quarreling, Georgia passed over her sheet of names. “There are some other gentlemen. Mere earls, you’ll see.”
Perdition. As Thretford was an even lowlier viscount, there was a jab in that which Georgia hadn’t intended. “I don’t want to overburden your house,” she said, and then realized that too might sound like a slur.
Winnie’s smile was tight. “As long as the weather holds, my guests can enjoy the terrace and gardens. We hang lanterns in the trees, and more float in the lake. It’s very pretty.”
For Winnie to call the pond a lake…But Georgia had never thought of floating lanterns on water. One day, when she had a house again, could entertain again…
Soon.
“I look forward to seeing it. The ball and house party will be a great deal of work for you—don’t deny it, Winnie! Please let me assist with the preparations.” When her sister looked suspicious, she added, “I’m longing to arrange a social event again, yes, but I’m trying to ease your burdens too. You have little Charlotte to take care of.”
Winnie thawed. “Could you supervise the writing of the invitations, then? And perhaps the flowers? You always had a gift for flowers.”
And still do, Georgia thought. I am unchanged. But she smiled as she said, “Of course.”
Chapter 8
She set to her duties and left the house in search of her sister’s head gardener. She inquired about what flowers and greenery the garden could provide, and as they discussed the possibilities, she thought of something.
“Do you have nicotiana planted here?” she asked. “I believe my mother’s gardener sent seeds.”
The elderly man pulled a face. “I do, milady, but off in a corner. Nasty, ungainly things.”
“But with a glorious perfume after dark. Would it be possible to move some into pots and place them where people will stroll?” When
his scowl deepened, she added, “They need not be in sight.”
“I can try, then, milady. And if they die, it’ll be no great loss.”
Georgia kept her temper. “I’m sure you want Lady Thretford’s entertainment to be a success. Where is the nicotiana?”
Sullenly, he took her to a small patch behind some foxgloves and delphiniums. She sent him off to his duties and then touched a pale trumpet blossom.
“I hope moving doesn’t kill you, but you deserve to be more widely appreciated. And I shall make a note to send some seed to Dracy Manor.”
She smiled as she strolled around the gardens, admiring some places and noting lacks in others. She often thought of that time on the terrace at Herne. Sometimes she could almost feel again his hands on her waist. Remember being effortlessly lifted up onto the coping and confined, boldly close.
She shivered in the memory of a frisson, but all memories of that day were darkened by his damaged face. She’d suffered a few unpleasant dreams about hot tar falling on her face and woken in a sweat, having to run to the mirror to be sure she was unblemished.
A part of her wanted to meet him again, to see if that sense of connection and friendship was real, but on the whole she was happy to have him in Devon restoring his crumbling inheritance.
She returned to the house to check on the work of two clerks who were writing out the invitations. She looked over Winnie’s list and paused on Sellerby’s name.
He’d continued to write letters, even though she no longer replied, and he’d sent her an exquisite bottle of gilded Venetian glass in the shape of a heart. Completely unsuitable between friends, and she’d received it on the very day her mourning ended, which had added to her discomfort.
She’d returned it and heard no more, but then she’d left to travel south. Perhaps a letter pursued.
She did not want him at her ball.
Alas, a tick indicated that an invitation had already been written. She riffled through the pile, found it, and slipped it into a pocket, then flipped through the rest so as not to be obvious.
What? She picked up another sealed invitation and hurried to her sister’s boudoir. “Lord Dracy?”
“Dracy?” Winnie looked up from the baby in her arms. “Mother suggested his name. To help him in society, she said.”
“He’s in Devon.”
“Mother said he was in Town. Isn’t there an address?”
Georgia looked. “Marton Street. I was sure he was in Devon.”
Winnie shrugged. “An invitation can be flattering even if the person can’t attend.”
“I certainly hope he can’t!”
“Why? Is something wrong with him?”
“No…” Georgia could never put her revulsion over his appearance into words. “Nothing at all. It’s only that…Oh, of course. Fancy Free. Father’s still trying to sweeten the pot.”
“You’re babbling like an idiot, Georgie. Sit and explain.”
Georgia sat but was distracted by the infant. Charlotte was still hardly visible amid shawl and cap, but there was something delightful about the tiny hands and the big eyes fixed on her mother.
“She’s lovely.”
“I think so,” Winnie said, smiling at her child and making little kissing movements. “And healthy, which is a blessing. They’re so vulnerable at this age. So why is Father sweetening the pot? And what pot?”
“It’s all about Fancy Free,” Georgia said and told the story.
“What a tangle. But if Lord Dracy’s establishment is as ramshackle as it sounds, I’m not surprised Father doesn’t want a fine horse sent there.”
“Cartagena’s a fine horse, and she isn’t harmed by it.”
“Perhaps it’s a matter of what one’s accustomed to. People live contented lives in cottages, but we could not. Even a manor house would be uncomfortable after growing up at Herne. But a manor house would seem a palace for many.”
It was an excellent point. “It works in the other direction too, doesn’t it? A cottager wouldn’t be comfortable here, and we wouldn’t like to live in a palace.”
“Certainly not St. James’s!” Winnie said, and they both laughed. The old palace was a collection of drafty rooms and corridors.
“No wonder Their Majesties have abandoned it for Buckingham House,” Georgia said.
“Would you like to hold her?” Winifred asked.
Georgia realized she’d been looking at the baby as she spoke.
Instinct was to deny all interest, but she did want to hold Charlotte. She moved to sit beside her sister on the settee and took the baby into her arms. “So light.” The big eyes fixed on hers, and Georgia smiled. “Good afternoon, my pretty.”
The baby opened and shut her mouth, making Georgia laugh with delight. “She’s trying to talk!”
“Not yet, I think, but she is very quick and clever.”
“She’s perfect,” Georgia said, and meant it, feeling an oddly intense pang.
For the first time she wanted a baby in a physical, yearning way. Before, it had been a matter of fulfilling her duty and proving there was nothing amiss with her, but now she simply wanted. She touched a tiny hand, and the baby grabbed.
“So strong.”
“Not too strong,” Winnie said. “She will be a perfect, pretty lady.”
You may be what you want, Georgia thought at the baby, and your aunt will make sure of it.
“So Dracy is to be pleased,” Winnie said. “If he attends, I will do my best. But to what purpose? Does Father hope he’ll accept less than the real value of the horse? That doesn’t seem quite right.”
“It won’t be a lesser value,” Georgia said, still entranced. “But Father has no mare as valuable as Fancy Free.” The baby blew a bubble, making Georgia laugh. “If your uncle Arthur hadn’t been such a fool,” she said in a singsong voice to little Charlotte, “your noble grandfather could give Dracy the value of Fancy Free and be done with it.”
Winnie snatched her baby back. “Don’t criticize our brother in front of her!”
“Why not? To lose over ten thousand at cards, when his naval officer’s income plus his allowance is only a thousand a year? Father should have let him sink to debtors’ prison instead of paying the debt so he could stay afloat in the navy. Lud, two fleets.”
“What?”
“The Fleet Prison and the naval fleet. I must work that into an epigram.”
“Georgie, it doesn’t serve for a lady to be too clever.”
The baby squawked and Winnie fussed over her. “Hush, my darling, hush. Your aunt didn’t intend to upset you.”
Georgia rose and moved away from mayhem before she responded to that.
Lud, a baby could make a vast amount of noise.
“Margaret!” Winifred called, which didn’t help matters, except that a buxom maid hurried in and took the baby away. As blessed silence settled, Winifred said, “She must need feeding. I have an excellent wet nurse.”
“I was only saying that Arthur’s made things difficult. He should at least admit his folly and show some shame. Then Pranks went ahead and commissioned all those new statues for Herne, and the mirrored wall. And Father himself—”
Winnie clapped her hands over her ears. “Georgie, don’t! We can’t have discord in the family.”
“Then the men should behave better,” Georgia snapped. But then she said, “I’m sorry, Winnie. Perhaps we should show reverence to our father.”
“Perhaps?” Winnie queried, lowering her hands. “Really, Georgie.”
“But why our brothers?” Georgia persisted.
“Because they’re men.”
Her sister was close to tears, so Georgia swallowed an argument. She’d met very few men worthy of reverence, and as for them being cleverer, many would fall apart without a woman to cope with life for them.
“I remember the horse business now,” Winifred said, anxiously picking up that conversation. “It happened not long after Charlotte arrived, and I was paying no attention to gossip,
but I think Thretford said Dracy was after Gosling-go.”
“What?” Georgia exclaimed, completely distracted. “Dracy intended all along to trade? The cunning rascal. What a shame the nasty creature had to be shot. Gosling-
go would have been well served to end up at Dracy, with rotting straw and a leaky roof. But Fancy Free must be spared, so Dracy must attend and not be uncomfortable.”
An idea began to stir.
“Is he very uncouth?” Winnie asked.
