by Jo Beverley
Tomorrow, Georgia would arrive in Town, and Dracy couldn’t help but be glad that Tom would have set off back to the West Country by then.
Chapter 18
Georgia stepped into the barge to travel to Town thinking how happy she would have been only a few days before. Now it was a test of her courage.
Her mother had removed to Town herself the day before to begin the battle to overcome the new scandal, so Georgia had only Jane and one of Winnie’s footmen to attend her. Dracy was to meet them at the York Stairs, and he and the chairmen would be adequate escort. But it wasn’t attack by a mob she feared. Unless, that is, the beau monde could be considered a mob.
She had no choice, she reminded herself as the barge moved into the river downstream. She couldn’t stay at Winnie’s house, even if she wanted to, with Eloisa Cardross in residence, not without doing something she’d regret.
Although she’d retaliated in one way.
Eloisa had tried to be included in the move to Town, but on that Georgia and her mother had been of one mind. She could do as she wished, but there’d be no place for her at the Hernescroft House in Piccadilly. Doubtless letters would fly to Millicent at Herne, and howling reproaches would fly back, but letters from distant parts were so easily ignored.
Unless they came from Cologne, bearing wicked lies.
Who, she asked constantly, hated her enough to fabricate such a thing?
And what might they do next?
Despite the shrouded threat hanging over her, she had to move to Town. It was that or accept defeat and slink away forever. Never. Justice had to prevail, but the river seemed sluggish today, as if even it was reluctant to carry her.
Oh, nonsense. It was a tidal river. Once in a while it shrank almost to mud, and not because of human foibles. It would carry her to the York Stairs, from whence she would go to her father’s house. From there she’d go about Town, enjoy the company of the friends she still had, and pray the world would come to its senses.
After all, Dracy had the letter. It could not be published or displayed in some print-shop window. As Eloisa had claimed that it would be, its nonappearance should deflate the story. Eloisa would certainly not dare to come forward as sole witness to the letter’s existence.
All the same, Georgia traveled in sick dread until she saw Dracy awaiting her as promised, her steady anchor in the storm. She smiled as he handed her out of the barge. “Thank you.”
He kissed her hand. “I’m your trusty knight. Come, your chair awaits.”
He escorted her to the chair and handed her in. It was so like the last time she’d visited, and yet all was changed. Did London truly smell worse, or was that her imagination? It always stank in summer, and this year had been unusually hot.
The smell faded somewhat as they moved farther from the river, but there were others in its place. Sewers, horse dung, perhaps even dead cats and rats. She’d spent too much time in the countryside, that was all, and was now more sensitive to the stink.
She was carried into the house and Dracy handed her out into the tiled hall. It seemed chilly, but only in comparison to the heat outside, and she took courage from the ranks of Earls of Hernescroft looking down on her. She was a Perriam, they seemed to be saying, and must not falter.
She turned to Dracy. “Thank you for your escort. Can you return for dinner?”
“I’ve no need to leave. Lady Hernescroft was kind enough to invite me to lodge here for the while.”
“Here?” she exclaimed.
“I believe there are enough rooms.”
Georgia regretted her sharp response in front of the servants. “Of course, and I’m delighted, my lord. Ah, here’s the housekeeper to guide me to my room. Till dinner, then, Dracy.”
She escaped smiling, but jangled between delight and alarm. Much of the alarm was because of the delight. She liked the man too much, and meeting him morning, noon, and night would do nothing for her sanity.
“Heavens above,” she said to Jane as soon as they were alone in the bedchamber, “I’ve known too many women who have married rashly and regretted it.”
“What are you talking about, milady?”
Georgia ignored that, looking around the room. “So darkly decorated. Oh, for a home of my own. For silk wallpaper, pale paint, and gilding. And,” she said, flipping rust-colored velvet, “flowered hangings.”
Jane didn’t answer, and Georgia knew her maid wasn’t fooled by her light manner. She knew the full extent of the situation.
She was resident in Town again, she reminded herself. The first step back.
She raised the window to look out. Not swathes of green, empty but for animals, but only a small walled garden, and beyond, house roofs and church spires, implying people of all kinds, people from all around the world. This was a rich and fascinating world, and it was hers.
She sat to write a note to Babs to announce her arrival. Within half an hour, Babs was hugging her and blessedly acting as if nothing was amiss.
“How splendid this is. With Harringay flitting from club to coffeehouse to residence stitching together agreements, I’m sadly neglected. And I met Dracy below. You’re sharing a roof. How delicious. It will lend credence to the match.”
“It’s only pretense,” Georgia reminded her. “Tea, please, Jane.”
“Then do let me help you amuse him. He’s very toothsome.”
“He’s a scarred ex–naval officer, more accustomed to warfare than drawing rooms.”
“Which probably explains the toothsomeness. He sends shivers down my spine. And through other places.”
“Babs!” Georgia exclaimed, cheeks hot. “Does Harringay know?”
Babs smiled, showing her dimples. “Harringay knows me. Having a dashing man as escort puts him on his mettle, which is completely delightful.”
“Babs!”
“Dear Georgia, in some ways, you’re such an innocent! If you ever need advice, come to me.”
“That book you had was bad enough.”
“Positively wicked!” Babs agreed. “Harringay and I enjoyed exploring the possibilities.”
As the book had contained illustrations of couples doing extraordinary, seemingly impossible, things, Georgia blushed even more.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Babs said, becoming completely sober. “I can only imagine how painful it must be for a widow to speak of such things. I’ll talk scandal instead. Did you hear that Mistress Benham has run off with her footman? Oh dear. You won’t want to talk scandal either.”
“It’s not my favorite subject, no, but if the lady has truly done that, it’s a different case than mine.”
“She certainly has. Benham’s a brute, of course, but one wonders how she’ll survive. Perhaps poverty is tolerable in the company of the beloved.”
“I doubt poverty is ever tolerable,” Georgia said. “Given that, can love last?”
Jane returned and set down a tea tray. Georgia thanked her and sent her away before Babs said something else outrageous.
But Babs took a cake and asked, “What’s happened to Eloisa Cardross?”
Georgia told her.
“She should have been made to confess in public!”
“To what?” Georgia asked. “She would claim only to have spoken of something that appalled her, and anything she said now would only extend the interest in the letter.”
“True, alas. And to think that someone forged it. It was like loading a pistol and putting it in her hands, not caring whom she shot.”
“Except that the only possible target was me.”
“I don’t know how you can be so calm about it.”
“I have no choice, Babs. I can only carry on as if nothing is the matter and hope it becomes true.”
Babs looked doubtful, but said, “Well, then, have you heard about the masquerade?”
“A masquerade?” Georgia said, grateful for a change of subject. “Vauxhall or Ranelagh?
“Carlisle House. Madame Cornelys is engaged by the Whigs to host a
grand masquerade on the theme of peace, prosperity, and patriotism.”
“I heard nothing of this.”
“It’s a suddenly hatched plan.”
“When is it to be?”
“Three nights from now.”
“So soon!” Georgia was panicked by the lack of time to prepare, but then she saw another problem. “Should I go?”
“Of course! What point to being in Town if you skulk here?”
“Lady May never skulks. Jane! Oh, I sent her away. We must begin immediately to design a costume. Three days! It can’t be done.”
“Yes, it can. And Lady May’s costumes have always outshone others.”
Thus stirring envy and hatred. Georgia gulped some tea, wondering if this time she should wear something conventional. “What will you wear, Babs?”
“Nell Gwyn again. I love that part.”
“How is that connected to peace, prosperity, and patriotism?”
Babs winked. “She was cheerful and generous and served the king right mightily.”
Georgia laughed. “That’ll pass muster.”
“So what will you be?”
“Perhaps a goddess of peace.”
“Not the goddess costume,” Babs said, actually looking alarmed.
“Of course not. Do you think I’m mad? I was thinking of normal, classical robes, both concealing and conventional. Who was the goddess of peace?”
“I’m not sure there was one.”
“That probably explains the whole of human history.”
“Perhaps you should avoid goddesses,” Babs said. “What about Britannia?”
“Wasn’t she modeled on one of King Charles’s other mistresses? Too racy a connotation.”
“You could go as a saint.”
“People would say I’m a papist.”
“Good Queen Bess?”
“The virgin queen? A protest too far, I fear, and I’m sure there’ll be a dozen of them. The men will have the easier part. Most of them will resurrect the togas and robes they keep for the Olympian Revels.”
Babs grinned. “I wonder if Ithorne will repeat his performance as a lowly shepherd. Very fine legs. You could cover yourself in sheepskin and go as one of his lambs. That’s a symbol of peace.”
“Oh, Babs, you tempt me.”
“Remember that he’s married now.”
“I do, and…Ah!”
“You have a costume idea?” Babs asked. “What?”
“A secret.” Georgia grinned. “A million apologies, Babs, but I must shoo you away, summon Jane, and go to my mantua maker immediately. There’s not a moment to lose!”
“Why can’t I come?” Babs protested.
“Because my costume will be a secret!” But Georgia hugged her. “A Cornelys masquerade on the theme of peace. I feel sure that is a good omen.”
Dracy went to his room and made himself settle to some legal papers he needed to review. Ceddie had not only drained the estate but left the administration in a tangle. Because he’d loved Town, he’d transferred all the estate business to a London firm, and Dracy was in the process of moving it back to Devon. He was going over everything in case he had questions to put to Lacombe, Bray, and Pugh, because he wouldn’t trust any of them further than he could throw an anchor.
He expected word from Georgia about their activities for the day, but when an hour had passed he went down and asked the footman in the hall.
“Lady Maybury has left the house?”
“Yes, your lordship. In haste.” That alarmed, until the man added, “She wished you to know that she has an appointment with her mantua maker and would return for dinner.”
Her mantua maker. Why should he be surprised? Lady May returned to Town and her first thought was of new clothes. He had to accept who she was instead of constructing an imaginary woman who’d settle cozily in Dracy Manor.
He thanked the footman, tempted to linger in the hope that she’d soon return. Instead, he’d pursue his quest to set his scandalous countess free to wed a duke.
He returned to his room for his gloves and hat, considering his course for the day.
He’d already sent a note to Sir Harry Shaldon and heard back that the man was out of Town. He’d have to find another person who might know Vance’s handwriting, but without help he’d be poking around blindly. He also needed to find a forger, but again, he had no knowledge of such matters, and a criminal wouldn’t be easily unearthed. He was beginning to think his offer to vindicate Georgia rang hollow.
For the moment, the best he could do was glean, and the snatch of gossip at the chophouse made him think much might be learned that way. The favorite gathering places for gentlemen in London were the coffeehouses. They all had their particular clientele, and much business was done there. Last week he’d attended an auction of goods from India at Jonathan’s Coffeehouse in Covent Garden, simply out of curiosity.
He had no need of a mercantile or scholarly coffeehouse, however. He needed one where the idle gentlemen of the beau monde sipped and gossiped. He knew a few of those.
As he returned downstairs, the footman was opening the door to a gentleman elegantly dressed in olive green, with a striped waistcoat, clocked stockings, and high-heeled shoes.
Lord Sellerby, in his natural plumage.
“Lord Sellerby for Lady Maybury,” he said and stepped inside.
The footman allowed him so far but placed himself in the way of progress. “Her ladyship is not at home, milord.”
Sellerby’s eyes narrowed as if he’d question that, but then he saw Dracy. “My lord!” he said and bowed, but if looks were daggers, as the old saying went, Dracy would at the least be bleeding. He must have heard of the possible betrothal.
“My lord!” Dracy echoed, crossing the hall and trying to hide an unwarranted sense of victory. “A pleasure to see you again.”
“You are leaving?” Sellerby said. “May I walk with you a while?”
Dracy would rather go straight to his task, but there was no polite way to refuse, and perhaps the man deserved an opportunity to vent his bile. Better on his head than Georgia’s. They set off down the street, Dracy having to moderate his stride to Sellerby’s.
“You are enjoying your dalliance in Town, sir?” Sellerby asked.
“Well enough, Sellerby, though I’m unable to dally all the day. My estate makes demands on me.”
“And soon will drag you back to Devon, I have no doubt. I’m sure you find this milieu mere froth after a life on board ship.”
“Only in parts,” Dracy said, wondering where this meandered. “Riots are distressingly solid, and the streets are hazardous at times.”
“They are indeed, sir. They deprived me of my valet last year. Sent the poor fellow out on an errand—a mere few streets—and he was discovered a corpse, struck over the head.”
“Shocking, and you have my condolences.”
“Indeed, he was a superlative valet.”
Dracy assessed Lord Sellerby as one who saw nothing but his own interest. No matter, except that he wanted Georgia.
“I heard the most amusing rumor last night,” Sellerby said.
“Yes?” Dracy asked, plotting a course to detach himself from his shallow companion.
“I heard—but you will be so diverted, sir!—I heard you were to wed Georgia Maybury. Of course I immediately disabused all.”
“How extraordinarily kind, sir,” Dracy said, “but perhaps unnecessary.”
“Of course, of course. As I said, most amusing.”
“Or perhaps based on truth? After all, I am a guest in Hernescroft House.”
Sellerby halted to look at him. “You are residing there?”
“In the circumstances it seemed suitable.”
“My dear Dracy!” Sellerby recovered and strolled on. “You are new to Town, sir, and even new to England in a sense. You can’t be faulted for a poor understanding of the beau monde.”
“So kind of you, sir,” Dracy said, fascinated.
“In parti
cular, you may not be familiar with the ways of ladies such as Lady Maybury, the navy being a manly world.”
“There were times ashore,” Dracy suggested.
“But not, I’m sure, in the highest circles.”
Dracy didn’t correct him.
“You may not understand, therefore, when a lady is being playful.”
