by Jo Beverley
“If you please, ma’am.”
She nodded. “I’m pleased to see you so engaged with my daughter’s good, Dracy.”
“I hope I would do as much for any lady, ma’am.”
“That’s not, however, how the heart behaves.”
“It’s how my mind behaves.” He paused, then spoke his mind. “May I ask why you support a marriage between me and your daughter, ma’am? She’d be better protected from ill winds by someone like Beaufort.”
“Not in my opinion, and there’s the question of Fancy Free.”
“I’m surprised such a minor matter concerns you.”
“It is not minor to Lord Hernescroft, and his interests concern me.”
He wanted to demand, Shouldn’t your daughter’s interests concern you more?
He must have shown his feelings, for she said, “You have much to learn, Dracy. In a marriage it’s often the small accommodations that are more effective than the large.”
“But if large are necessary?”
“Then the marriage was ill planned. You think the accommodations between you and Georgia would be large?”
“Vast. She’s a hothouse plant and I have no glass houses at Dracy.”
“Twelve thousand pounds will build some,” she said. “And many pampered plants do better in a more natural setting, if hardened off appropriately first.”
“How, exactly, do you suggest your daughter be hardened off?”
She didn’t react to his caustic tone. “Slowly, Lord Dracy, slowly. But don’t take too long about it or the growing season will be over.”
She swept off, leaving Dracy clench-jawed. He’d like to marry Georgia if only to save her from her heartless family. For now, all he could do was hunt down her enemy.
He returned to the smoking room and, as he’d hoped, heard two men gossiping. “In his own words…And the letter is to be published and put on display at Rope’s Print Shop.”
He interrupted them. “You speak of the letter relating to Lady Maybury, sirs? I must warn you that it’s mere malice, with no substance.”
“Indeed? And how would you know, Dracy?”
“In the same way you think you know it’s true. Someone told me. May I ask who told you?”
“Not if it’s going to lead to blood.”
Dracy remembered not to smile in reassurance. “I’m a very peaceable fellow, Morgan. I merely wish to discover where this weed has grown from.”
The other man, Dormer, spoke up. “From the lady, sir, and her reputation.”
Dracy looked at him. “Peaceable though I am, I cannot stand by to hear slander—”
The first man hastily interrupted. “I had it from Sir Quarles Cork.”
Dracy bowed, said, “Thank you,” and cruised in search of Sir Quarles, whom he thought he remembered as young, big-bellied, and hearty. If he had the right man, he was here because he was a neighbor, not for political reasons.
He found him in the card room and observed until a hand ended.
“A word with you, Sir Quarles, if you would be so kind.”
Cork looked surprised, as well he might, but he rose and stepped aside.
“I won’t keep you from your game, sir, but I’m tracking down the source of the lie about a letter from a man called Vance?”
“A lie? Do you say so? Had it as a certainty from…Now, who was it? I remember. Pretty Miss Pierce. I did think it a bit of a warm subject for her, but of course, she was only expressing her shock.”
“Of course,” Dracy said. “My thanks, sir.”
Miss Pierce. That meant nothing to him, and he couldn’t imagine questioning a young lady, so he went in search of Georgia.
She was dancing with Lord Bryght, which was probably a good strategy, given the Malloren reputation. She was giving a skillful impression of untroubled pleasure, but Dracy wanted to go around the room and wipe the expressions off all the faces. He spotted Lord Sellerby standing with two older women but watching Georgia most of the time. He’d defended her once before and could be recruited again. But then Dracy remembered how she’d tried to avoid him and gave up the idea.
Pray God he didn’t become as insanely besotted as Sellerby. The man had had years to be bewitched out of his senses. Perhaps Tom Knowlton was right and he should escape to Dracy Manor as soon as possible.
The dance was ending, so he went to Georgia to mention Miss Pierce but was intercepted by Lady Hernescroft.
“Eloisa Cardross claims to have heard the story from Lady Waveney.”
She walked on, leaving Dracy puzzled as he joined Georgia.
She thanked Malloren and smiled at Dracy. It didn’t reach her eyes, but he realized she was less worried than angry. “Are we any further along?” she asked.
“I have two interesting strings, but nothing at the end of either yet. Do you know a Miss Pierce?”
“Of course. A Grenville connection. Brunette in pale blue, over there with her mother.”
“Too young for me to accost. She told the tale to a Sir Quarles Cork.”
“I think I’d terrify her too. I’ll ask Lizzie.” They went in search of her.
“Your mother traced it back as far as Lady Waveney. What of Porterhouse?”
“Had it from Carlyon, so I put Harringay on that trail. I truly think we’ll catch the rat.”
“And it cheers your heart.”
She smiled at him. “It does. Dance the next with me?”
“Your toes are still willing to take the risk?”
As he’d intended, she smiled at that reminder of an earlier, lighter moment, but as they returned to the dance, she sobered.
“After this one,” she said, “we compare notes.”
There was such a fierce light in her eyes that he said, “Remember, no bloodshed.”
“Alas, no, but I’d like to see some.”
Georgia danced with Dracy, aware that it could be their last. There were few left before dawn, and after this event he should return to his duties in Devon. It was all for the best, but she’d miss her friend. When the dance ended and they strolled out onto the terrace, she said, “Have I saved Fancy Free?”
He looked a question at her.
“Remember? If you enjoyed the ball, then you’d accept whatever exchange my father offers.”
“Ah, that. It’s certainly not been boring, so I can promise to do my best.”
His words seemed guarded, as did his expression, but they were coming up to the others.
“Eloisa Cardross!” Lizzie said as soon as they reached her. “I can’t believe she’d stoop so low.”
“You’re sure?” Georgia asked, looking at them all.
“Three lines lead to her,” Harringay said.
“Perhaps four,” Dracy said. “Lady Hernescroft had it from her. Miss Cardross passed the blame on, but I remember that Lady Hernescroft used the word ‘claimed.’ She didn’t believe it.”
“My mother is a very clever woman.”
“Miss Pierce had it from her,” Lizzie said. “How busy she must have been. I want to tear her hair out!”
Georgia had to laugh. “Dear Lizzie, you’re usually the most peaceable of us all.”
“Not over something like this. What are we going
to do?”
“Confront her with her lie,” Georgia said, “but I do feel a little sorry for her.”
“You feel sorry for everyone!” Babs exclaimed. “What excuse do you have for such spite?”
Georgia sighed. “She was expecting to spend the spring in Town, but Millicent demanded her company during her delicate time, so she was trapped at Herne, which is enough to turn anyone sour. Then Millicent fed her stories about me.”
“That’s no excuse,” Babs said. “Now, how do we deal with her?”
“We don’t,” Torrismonde said. “Six accusers would probably terrify her out of her wits.” He looked at Georgia. “Are you strong enough to confront her?”
“I’d resist any attempt to prevent me, but I’d like support.”
; “I go with you,” Dracy said. Georgia knew she should object to such a tone, but she wanted him by her side.
“We might need extra ladies in case she does throw a fit,” Georgia said. “Babs? Lizzie?”
“Of course,” Lizzie said, “but where should we be?”
“There’s the problem,” Georgia said. “The whole ground floor is being used for the ball, and I don’t want a public scene. I wonder how susceptible she’d be to a mysterious tryst. In her bedchamber, even…”
“She wouldn’t!” Lizzie protested.
“She might,” Babs said. “She’d do anything to hook a titled suitor. So if the tryst was with a duke…”
Georgia put her hand over her mouth. “That’s positively wicked, but she deserves it. Very well. We’ll forge a billet-doux and have Jane give it to a footman we can trust. If she slips upstairs, we have her.”
“Which stairs?” Harringay asked.
“I don’t think she’d use the servants’ stairs, but there are two others.” She looked up at the house. “My room is second from the left there, and hers is two windows along. She’ll have to pass mine. I’ll wait there, and if she takes the bait, I’ll wave a handkerchief out of the window.”
“A mind made for conspiracy,” Dracy teased. “Do I wait with you?”
Georgia prayed to stop the blush. “In my bedchamber, sir? Certainly not. You can wait out here with everyone else.”
Georgia hurried away, fleeing, in fact. For a moment there, his question had dangled like a golden apple of temptation.
She was halfway up the stairs when she realized she had no plain paper on which to write her note. She detoured to her brother-in-law’s office, praying not to be caught, and rummaged in drawers until she found some plain sheets. She slipped out, feeling like a thief, and hurried to her room.
Once there, she had to light a candle, and nervousness made her fumble the tinderbox.
With the flame burning steadily, she sat, uncapped her ink, prepared her pen, and considered how a man’s handwriting looked. Perhaps she should have brought Dracy along to write this.
She hadn’t received many letters from men. A few scrawls from Dickon when they’d been apart. He’d used a clerk for anything more formal. There were those long letters from Sellerby. He had an elegant, flowing style. Sir Harry Shaldon had sent her a few billets-doux. Strong strokes that used a lot of ink.
She practiced on one sheet, adding a heavy hand to an even script. She decided it would do and indulged in excess.
Dear Lady,
Bright star in the firmament, I am slain by your beauty, your goodness, and your charms. I cannot bear to leave this house without speaking, but where? Would you grant me the greatest honor a man can ever attain and trust me for a few moments in the privacy of your chamber? I have ascertained where it is. Please forgive me for that boldness, angel of my heart.
Georgia glanced at the clock. It was almost half past two.
I will await nearby at a quarter to three, and if I see you enter, I will know I have hope.
Your newest, most ardent admirer,
B
She let the ink dry, pleased with her work, and then folded it neatly. She melted sealing wax and dripped it, then applied her own seal. Quickly, she pressed on it to smudge the impression, but a seal, even a smudged one, looked more formal and impressive.
She rang the bell and Jane soon hurried in. “Is something amiss, milady?”
“No, but you look as if you’ve been enjoying yourself.”
Jane blushed and adjusted her mobcap. “No harm in a bit of fun when we can snatch the time. What do you need, milady?”
Georgia gave her the letter. “It’s to go to Miss Cardross, but she mustn’t know who sent it. Is there a footman who’ll keep his mouth shut, at least for now?”
“Charlie’s a good sort, milady.”
“Good. Tell him he’s to slip it to Miss Cardross and say it’s more than his job is worth to say who gave it to him, other than that it was a titled gentleman.”
“Very well, milady, but are you up to mischief?”
“This is a very serious matter, so don’t fail me. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
When Jane had left, Georgia extinguished her candle and went to the window. The illuminated garden looked lovely from here, and the lights floating on the pond could be admired to the full. She would like to know just how that was done.
She could see her five friends on the terrace, chatting as they waited. A few other people were out there, but the music continued for the dance. The ball was winding down, but no one would leave until dawn provided light.
She moved over to stand by her door, listening for footsteps. She hoped Eloisa would come, for she needed an enemy to fight. Still, she knew much of the damage would linger unless she forced Eloisa to confess her spiteful lies. She wasn’t sure she could do that to anyone.
Ah, someone was coming. The footsteps went past, and a door along the corridor opened and shut.
Georgia hurried to the window and waved her handkerchief, and then she returned to open her door. She waited until Dracy joined her and then went to knock on Eloisa Cardross’s door.
Eloisa opened it eagerly, but then gaped.
Georgia went in. “A word with you, Eloisa.”
“What? Who? I’m innocent!”
Georgia was startled but then realized that Eloisa thought they’d found out about the tryst.
“Innocent?” Georgia said. “We have proof that you’ve spread malicious lies about me during this ball.”
“What?” Eloisa exclaimed, but the new tack had changed her completely. Now she was bold. “Are you here to protest your innocence, Georgia? That won’t wash.”
“I am innocent. Of everything. I know Millicent will have told you things—”
“No excuses,” Dracy said, cutting her off.
True, she’d been about to plead Eloisa’s case for her.
Dracy took the reins. “Miss Cardross, we know you have deliberately spread a lie this night about a letter that would incriminate Lady Maybury if it existed. We require you to put right the wrong by telling as many people as possible that you were mistaken.”
Eloisa had stared at him throughout, but now she laughed.
“Has she duped you too, Lord Dracy? I haven’t lied about anything.” She turned to a drawer, opened it, and took out an unfolded letter. “There—read that. It does, as you say, incriminate Lady Maybury of the most heinous sins.”
Chapter 16
Georgia snatched it out of his hand and worked through the execrable handwriting.
My dear Jellicoe,
I write to you a broken man, exiled, penniless, and without friends through the machinations of a coldhearted woman. You know what she promised me, that we would be happy together, well funded by her jewels. Once I’d rid her of her husband, however, she laughed at my expectations, writing to say that I’d liberated her to marry the man she truly loved. Spring by name, but winter in her heart. Of your kindness, can you send me funds to the Hartmann bank here, else I must shoot myself.
Vance
“Lies,” Georgia said as Dracy took it from her. “Every word is a lie.”
“It seems genuine to me,” Eloisa said, smirking.
Georgia had to admit that it did. The letter itself had the battered appearance of one that had traveled far and been handled by many hands.
Dracy turned it to inspect the address and place of dispatch. “Cologne, and addressed to Major Jellicoe.”
Georgia couldn’t read his expression.
“You see!” Eloisa said.
“But it’s all lies,” Georgia protested again, feeling as if she’d fallen into a nightmare. “I made no pact. I rarely exchanged a word with Charnley Vance!”
“I know that,” Dracy said. “Either Vance wrote this for his own malicious reasons, or it was forged to do you harm.”
“Forged? By the dowager?” Georgia shook her head. “Impossible. She’d have shown it
if she’d had it.”
“So she never had it,” he said.
“That letter is real,” Eloisa snapped, “and it identifies you, Georgia, as if your name was stated. How long can you keep up this pretence? Faith! You sent that letter to bring me here! You are the forger, Georgia Maybury, and wicked to the core.”
Georgia wanted to slap her, but Eloisa probably did believe every word, and the letter…the letter was a disaster. Now she truly was ruined.
