by Jo Beverley
“Perhaps so. She brought letters from Millicent for us all. I don’t know what was in the others, but I was sweetly reminded of the shame I’d brought on the family and how it was important to avoid more scurrilous attention. She even reminded me of that letter the dowager had trumpeted, and that it would not have been forgotten.”
“The nasty cat!” Lizzie exclaimed, and from her that was extreme condemnation.
“She is. And I won’t excuse her on the grounds of being with child. I’m sure it doesn’t turn you into a harpy.”
“Of course it doesn’t. I hope you burned the letter.”
“Instantly. I wish I could burn every bit of foulness, but whispers and rumors can’t be burned.”
“They can be extinguished,” Lizzie said, “or simply die for lack of fuel, which is the case with you. You have only to avoid creating any new dramas tonight.”
“So boring!” Georgia said instinctively, but then she wrinkled her nose at her friend. “Don’t worry, I’m determined to be the epitome of demure.”
Lizzie laughed.
“I can be,” Georgia protested.
“In that gown?”
“It’s not much lower than yours.”
“But that little extra makes all the difference.”
Georgia swiveled to study her bodice. Her breasts did swell up beautifully above the flat front, and her delicate sapphire necklace drew attention there. “There’s nothing outrageous about it.”
“But epitome of demure?”
Georgia swiveled back. “Very well, I won’t attempt demure. However— Jane, are you finished?”
“As best I can with you twisting this way and that, milady.”
“Yet you work wonders. Thank you. Now, the mourning bracelet, please.”
Georgia was already wearing the locket that held Dickon’s picture, pinned amid the silver lace that trimmed her stomacher. That wasn’t for show, but simply to have Dickon with her in some way. She knew he’d watch over her if he could.
The black and silver bracelet didn’t really go with her ensemble, but that would make it all the more noticeable. She had Jane fasten it on her right wrist, and then she looked at her friend. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Lizzie said.
“It’s so lovely to have my wise friend back by my side. Have I thanked you enough for your plentiful letters? You saved my sanity.”
“Your letters were a delight too, especially in the winter when I was as big as a whale with Arthur.”
“Oh, how is he now? He must be…heavens, is he five months old? I long to see him.”
“Then you must visit. He’s at a charming stage.”
“But keeping you in the country.”
“I enjoy the country, and when you have children, you will too. It’s much better for them.”
Georgia avoided talk of children by rising to put on gray silk shoes. If nature had worked as it should, she’d have a child, and if it had been a boy, she would still have most of her life. The Town house, Sanscouci, and Maybury Castle, at least for the next twenty years.
The question burst out. “Why do some couples have children easily—sometimes too easily—and others have none? It’s so unfair.”
“It’s God’s will,” Lizzie said.
“Then why does God will it so?”
Lizzie rose to take her in her arms. “That’s too deep a question for me, love. But when you marry again, I’m sure he’ll provide.”
“Not with a second Annunciation, I pray.”
“Georgia!” But then Lizzie hugged her. “Oh, you haven’t changed, and I delight in that. Certainly if anyone appears in your bedchamber in angel guise, be very, very suspicious.”
“Do you think any seducer has tried that trick? ‘But, Father, it was the Angel Gabriel!’”
They all burst out laughing, and Georgia could hold on to a bright smile as she left the room to face both friends and foe.
* * *
Georgia descended the stairs to the hall, chatting to Lizzie, striving to be as carefree as in the past, which was hard when pricked by avid glances. She was accustomed to being the center of attention, but not in this way. For most guests this was a first sight of Lady May since her husband’s death, and they were all passing judgment. And finding her wanting?
Had they expected her to attend in deep mourning, or in muted gray? She realized she was touching the locket and lowered her hand, but it was comforting to think of Dickon with her. He’d understand the peacock gown and approve as well.
Damnation, she would not cry.
She sought friends below. Harringay was over there, talking to Waveney, who was an admirer but could be more trouble than benefit now he was married. Babs Harringay must be here somewhere. She saw the Duke of Bridgwater, a possible suitor. He was paying no attention to her at all, probably absorbed in talk of canals.
Mr. Porterhouse’s smile was open, so she smiled back. He’d been one of the pleasantest members of her court and could always to be relied upon.
Dracy.
Where was Dracy?
Lizzie’s amiable, ordinary husband came to meet them, his eyes warm with appreciation of his wife. Of his wife, Georgia realized. Not of a spectacular gown or spectacular beauty, but of her. Had Dickon admired her most for herself or her style…?
No, she wouldn’t have such thoughts, especially here and now.
Where the devil was Dracy?
A quick glance around didn’t find him, and she was dismayed by how much that mattered. She realized she’d expected him to be waiting, as on the York Stairs ready to hurry to her side, to be her anchor. Lud, she was clinging to the Torrismondes like a nervous child. Porterhouse was talking to the Berrisfords; Waveney was with his wife.
Eloisa Cardross came over in extremely low-cut pink, smiling prettily. “Such a lovely house, is it not?”
“Charming,” Georgia said.
“Exquisite floral arrangements.”
“Thank you.”
Eloisa looked at her.
“I assisted my sister by managing the flowers. I’m pleased that they please you.”
Eloisa looked as if she wished she could bite the words back.
“I suppose you miss having a home of your own to manage,” Eloisa said. The words could be sympathetic but weren’t.
“I miss my husband more.”
“But are hungry for another, I’m sure.”
“You must have a healthy appetite for your first,” Georgia said. It came out more cattily than she’d intended, but completely in response to Eloisa’s catty tone. “I’m sure you will have your pick of the dishes,” she said, to sweeten it.
“If you leave any for any other lady!” Eloisa snapped and swept away.
Georgia stared after her. She’d known Eloisa was jealous, but not how viciously. She must certainly leave Thretford for Town as soon as possible. To add to her problems, Lord Sellerby approached. “My dearest Georgia, in full bloom. Or should I say plume?”
She had to smile at that. He could be witty. “Birds of a feather, Sellerby,” she said, admiring his suit of lilac silk. “Thank you for coming. I know you won’t disappear into a political huddle at the slightest excuse.”
“Not with you as my lodestone,” he said, that light in his eyes.
Georgia had to do something about that. “You know you can’t monopolize me, Sellerby. May I ask you to be kind to Miss Cardross, who may not know many here? You may remember her from the dinner at Herne?” She took him over.
“How could I notice anyone in your presence,” he murmured, but was too civil to show anything but delight.
The Bryght Mallorens arrived, so Georgia went to greet them, wondering if she could promote a match between Sellerby and Eloisa. Eloisa was beautiful, which was important to Sellerby, and her portion would be reasonable. Presumably she’d be happy with an earl in her dish. Yes, two birds with one stone.
Lord Bryght’s full name was Arcenbryght, which Georgia felt a weighty burden to place upon an
infant. Some ancient British prince or such. He had shoulders broad enough to bear it. He was a fine figure of a man, which made him an odd match for his wife, Portia, a petite redhead of no particular beauty from a very ordinary pedigree. Despite the mismatch they seemed a devoted couple.
Pairings could be so very odd.
Georgia knew Portia Malloren through Danae House, for she was also a patroness and sister-in-law to the founder, the Marchioness of Rothgar. Georgia didn’t know Portia well, for the Bryght Mallorens shared the Torrismondes’ enjoyment of country living, but the couple were safe company. The three of them talked of nothings such as the weather and the prospects for the harvest. Then Lizzie and her husband joined them.
Georgia wondered if Lizzie was hovering protectively, but Torrismonde wanted to discuss canal building and Lord Bryght was a well-known supporter of Bridgwater’s enterprise. Soon the two men went off to speak to the duke.
“Canals, canals, canals,” said Lady Bryght, rolling her eyes. “I hear of little else.”
“They do seem to be important,” Lizzie said.
“And becoming profitable, but Bridgwater’s obsessed.”
“All men have their obsessions,” Lizzie said. “Digging channels for water to flow through seems harmless enough. Oh, I see Mistress Wayworth. Do excuse me.”
Georgia smiled at Lady Bryght. “Speaking of obsessions, Lizzie and Maria Wayworth can talk forever about glass houses and the production of tropical fruits.”
“I confess, I’m content with my hardy orchards and berries. I wish I were there now to tend to them.”
“You’re fixed in Town?” Georgia said. “That’s unusual for you.”
“And unwelcome. The political chaos wreaked havoc with trade and ’Change so Bryght felt he should be on hand to watch over the Malloren interests. I was torn, for we didn’t want to bring the children to Town, but in the end I left them and came with him. I didn’t expect to be away so long.”
Children. When last they’d spoken Lady Bryght had only a son.
“I’m sorry. I’m sadly out of touch. You were expecting…”
“Last June, yes, when you had no interest in such matters. Again, my deepest condolences.”
Portia had written, as had all Georgia’s friends and acquaintances. Such a mountain of black-edged paper.
“Thank you. It was a hard time. Do you have girl or a boy this time?
“A girl, Joanna, and she has Bryght’s dark hair rather than my carroty color.”
“You can’t expect another redhead to be so dismissive.”
“There’s red and then there’s red,” Portia said. “Your coppery shade is lovely.”
Georgia smiled and waved her fan, not wanting to get into that, for Portia Malloren’s red was closer to orange and went along with a great many freckles.
“And your son?” she asked dutifully, but wondering if she was to hear of nothing but babies, babies, babies all night.
After a few minutes of the brave, kind, clever Francis Malloren, Georgia plunged into the only topic they had in common. “Have you had an opportunity to visit Danae House while you’ve been in Town?”
“Not opportunity so much as necessity. Diana had to go north to attend to some problem on her estates and she made me promise to do her weekly inspection. If it weren’t for that…” She looked sharply at Georgia. “Is there any way you could take over that duty?”
“Of course,” Georgia said, but then she grimaced. “Except that I’m stuck out here.”
“Why?”
“Father thinks London unsafe.”
“It’s still restless, I grant, but the rioting seems to have stopped. Of course, I argue in my own cause. If you could take over until Diana returns, we could go home to Candleford. We’ve only been delaying for this.”
Georgia’s heart actually pitter-pattered with excitement. Here was an excuse to visit Town weekly. Or even move there?
“When’s Lady Rothgar expected back?” she asked.
“Impossible to know what issues she might have found or how long the journey will take. With a baby, even! I do think…But it’s not for me to criticize. She’ll return as soon as possible, I’m sure, having left Rothgar behind.”
Indeed, the Rothgars seemed hardly able to bear to be apart. Had she ever felt like that about Dickon? She couldn’t remember it. She touched the locket, feeling as if she betrayed him.
With a start, she realized Lady Bryght was still talking about Danae House. “…is particularly busy. Such hard times. It’s as if war created prosperity and peace has created poverty and unemployment. That seems all wrong, but…Oh dear, I shouldn’t talk serious matters here.”
Georgia hoped she hadn’t seemed bored.
“I don’t see why not. Most of the men are talking politics. Or canals,” she added with a smile.
“Danae House?” Lady Bryght persisted. “Is there any chance…?”
Georgia made the decision. “Yes. I’ve kept an eye on things before from Chelsea when summer took most of the patronesses to estates. Alas, wickedness and folly know no quiet season.”
“Thank you!” For a moment Georgia feared Portia would hug her, right there in the hall. “I feel as if I’ve shed a burden. As for season, love knows no season either.”
“Nor rape,” Georgia said, “and summer sorrows grow from spring assaults.”
“There are some who are led astray by love, like that maid you brought. I feel some sympathy for such as they. How hard it must be to wait for years when love and desire run like fire in the veins.”
Georgia tried to find the right expression in response to that, especially as Lady Bryght had glanced at her husband with such a look. She could only say, “I suppose it must.”
When love and desire run like fire in the veins?
Georgia knew she’d never felt like that with Dickon, never found days apart intolerable, and now it seemed worthy of tears.
“Georgia!”
Georgia turned with relief to buxom Babs Harringay, dark curls bobbing, dimples deep in round cheeks. She greeted her friend and made the two ladies known to each other, glad to be back to normal matters. Within minutes, however, the two mothers were talking of children, of their charms and mischiefs, their feeding and clothing, and the unpleasantness of being separated from them.
Georgia excused herself and moved away, smiling, greeting, but seeking Dracy in all seriousness. He could be depended upon not to speak of nurseries.
She strolled from the hall into a reception room, pausing to talk to friends and flirt with suitable gentlemen and doing her best to ignore piercing looks from others. As soon as they became accustomed to her being as she’d always been, incapable of squalid sin, all would be well.
Remembering where she’d found Dracy at Herne, she went out onto the rear terrace. Alas, no beached tar leaning over the copingstone, but then he’d have no need to do that here. The shallow terrace was but four feet up from the lawn, and the balustrade only hip high.
She returned through the library, which was set for cards, but still saw no sign of him. Impossible that he would have backed out. A man like that feared nothing.
Or did he simply disguise fear well?
Perhaps people here thought her fearless, and in the past they would have been correct. Now, however, she had to at least admit unease. People did not smile as warmly at her, nor rush to be in her company. This wasn’t the world she remembered.
Ah, Beaufort! Here he came, glowing with pleasure, soothing her pride. As he kissed her hand, he even flushed slightly in a most endearing way. Then Lord Everdon joined them, perhaps with courtship in mind. Her court was increased when the Duke of Richmond came to flirt. Two dukes, even if one was a mere seventeen. All was as it should be after all.
She allowed Richmond the first dance—the formal minuet—mainly to tease the others. As she walked onto the floor, she saw Sellerby ask Eloisa to dance, so perhaps her plan was working there. If only Dracy would arrive, the evening could be perfe
ct.
She smiled at Richmond. “This will be my first dance in a year, Duke. Thank you for the opportunity.”
He blushed. “The pleasure and honor are all mine, Lady May. The world has been dull as November without you in it.”
“A clever turn of phrase, Duke, and charming as well.”
He blushed even more.
The music started and Georgia happily lost herself in the pleasure of the stately dance, knowing she executed the movements to perfection. Well satisfied with that, she granted the first country-dance to Beaufort, who seemed almost giddy at the honor. She stepped and wove and turned, unable to stop smiling. Lady May was back, and her world was just as it ought to be.
