by Sandra Heath
“But you are in your undress, sir,” the footman reminded him.
“It won’t be the first time she has seen me thus,” Dominic replied wryly.
Georgiana appeared in the doorway. Her face was flushed and angry, and the plumes and ribbons of her stylish leghorn bonnet were all aquiver. She wore a cerise pelisse over a rich butter-cream muslin gown, and a heavy white ringlet of false hair fell over her shoulder. Her dark eyes were bright and accusing, and everything about her heralded a confrontation.
Dominic nodded at the footman. “That will be all,” he said quietly.
The man began to withdraw, although not quickly enough for Georgiana, who almost pushed him out and closed the door behind him. Then she turned to face Dominic. “Where did you go last night?” she demanded.
“Go?”
“You left the ball immediately after that odd ‘ghost’ business.” Her glance moved over him, lingering slightly below his waist, because his dressing gown did not cover him quite as completely as he thought. A little extra color flushed into her cheeks, and she straightened from the door. “Well? Where did you go?”
“I came here,” he replied truthfully, hastily pulling his clothes more effectively around him.
“Why didn’t you say good night to me? After all, you’d promised me another dance, and the least you could have done was—”
“Forgive me. In all the excitement, I’m afraid you slipped my mind.”
It was definitely not a wise response, for her eyes flashed. “So I ceased to be of consequence, did I?” She moved to the window, where she rested a graceful hand against the shutter and stared down the grassy slope toward the river far below.
“Georgiana, a great deal was happening.”
“You were with her, weren’t you?”
Dominic went to pour himself a cup of coffee. “I don’t understand,” he murmured.
“Oh, yes, you do. That Peach creature!”
“Miss Peach is an acquaintance.”
Georgiana turned furiously, her plumes and ribbons quivering again. “She’s more than that! I saw you with her last night, Dominic. You were kissing her behind that standard. No doubt you thought yourselves well concealed, but I found you.”
“Then I know there is no point in denying that I was indeed kissing the lady in question,” he said, putting the coffeepot down on the tray.
“Did you bring her here?”
“Georgiana, I really have no intention of explaining anything to you.”
She came toward him, halting so close that he could smell the sweetness of her perfume. “Don’t I have a right to know if you’re being unfaithful to me?” she asked.
“Frankly, no, although I have had the decency to inform you in writing that I now accept your choice of Hightower, and will not embarrass you further.”
“I’ve already told you I received no letter.” She met his gaze without so much as a flicker.
“No?” He didn’t believe her.
She slowly untied her bonnet ribbons. “I’m deeply hurt to think you’d inform me of such an important matter in writing,” she said, tossing the bonnet aside.
“It’s no more than you did to me,” he reminded her.
“That was different. I was overwrought, and not thinking clearly.”
“You seemed composed enough to me.”
“I wasn’t, believe me.” Suddenly she gave him a seductive smile and came close enough to put a hand against his chest where his dressing gown was parted. Her eyes were dark with desire. “Oh, Dominic, I need you to make love to me now,” she breathed, bending forward to put her lips to the dark hairs on his chest.
He closed his eyes for a moment as she stirred the sensuous tendrils of his waking dream, but then reality swept back. It was Polly he wanted. Just as he was about to extricate himself from Georgiana’s advances, a resounding crash rang out, and she leapt back with a squeal as the silver coffee tray somehow fell from the table. Dark coffee splashed all over the pale perfection of her butter-cream muslin gown, leaving a dark brown stain that would be very difficult indeed to remove. Georgiana was inconsolable. She burst into tears and rushed to the washstand to see what she could do to lessen the damage.
As Dominic stared down at the tray, the word “brownie” flashed into his head. He cast around for any sign of Nutmeg, or of Bodkin, but saw nothing. Yet how else could the tray have fallen?
Georgiana turned angrily from the washstand. “How could you be so clumsy, Dominic!” she cried.
“I didn’t do anything,” he protested.
“You must have!” Her expression was furious.
“Georgiana, I’ve already told you that I didn’t do anything,” he replied patiently. Oh, how many times had he seen her in a temper like this? Too many to mention. He began to wonder what he had ever seen in her.
She correctly interpreted the expression in his eyes. “If you didn’t want to make love to me, you only had to say so. There was no need to do that with the tray.”
He didn’t reply, for there was no point.
“It’s that Peach creature, isn’t it? Is she the wife you’ve decided on? She and her inheritance, that is.”
Dominic met her eyes. “I have no need to seek a fortune, Georgiana, for I have more than enough of my own. As to whether Miss Peach is the bride I am about to seek, it really has nothing to do with you anymore.”
“But you do want her?” Georgiana pressed.
“If I do, she is the one I will inform, not you, and I will do so when I meet her at Sydney Gardens at noon. Now, I will send a footman to the White Hart so that your maid can bring you another gown, and as soon as you’ve changed, I wish you to leave.”
But as he went to the door to call for a footman, he heard her whisper, “It isn’t over yet, Dominic, not by a long shot.”
Chapter 34
It was half past eleven, and Polly was in the hotel writing room, finishing her short letter to Lord Benjamin. The room was at the rear of the hotel, with French windows that opened onto the orchestra’s balcony. She had been writing to the strains of Mozart and Handel, but as she put her quill down to read the letter, the musicians were enjoying a well-earned rest.
Sydney Hotel, October 31st, midmorning.
Lord Benjamin.
Now that some hours have passed since events at the ball, I feel I may have been a little hasty in my judgment. I was very upset, as you know, and said things I wish now had been left unsaid. It would make me feel a great deal better if you could overlook my conduct, as indeed I shall overlook yours, so that perhaps we can attempt to be agreeable toward each other. I have already conveyed my feelings regarding this to my uncle, who will no doubt confirm that contrary to what I have said thus far, I have not entirely discounted your proposal. Tonight I will attend the Halloween festivities in Sydney Gardens, at which I trust to speak civilly with you again. I sincerely hope to see on your countenance a kindness that will obliterate all past unpleasantness.
I am, sir, yours in all sincerity,
Polly Peach
She drew a long breath. Under the circumstances of their last parting, had she been too conciliatory?
A maid came up to her. “Begging your pardon. Miss Peach, but Lady Georgiana Mersenrie has called and wishes to speak with you.”
“Lady Georgiana?” Polly repeated, thinking she’d misheard.
“Yes, madam.”
“One moment.” Polly quickly addressed and folded the letter, then held sealing wax to the lighted candle on the desk. After applying her seal, she handed the letter to the maid with some coins. “Please see that a running footman takes this without delay, then show Lady Georgiana in to me.”
“Very well, madam.”
The maid hurried away, and Polly got up from the desk to go out onto the balcony, feeling somehow that she wanted to face the chienne in sunlight. The musicians were lounging casually on their seats, drinking tea and talking among themselves, and in the gardens the workmen by the bonfire and fireworks s
tands were laughing together. There was rhythmic chanting as other workmen hauled on ropes to erect the purple-and-gold royal pavilion Polly had seen on Claverton Down. Soon a red carpet would be laid to it from the broad walk, so the Duke and Duchess of York would not have to step upon the possibly damp grass of an autumn night.
The rear entrance to the hotel was directly below the balcony, and maids carried out covered trays to tables beneath the trees. Pairs of waiters brought large silver bowls of punch, some alcoholic, some not, while footmen took benches and folding chairs to strategic points in the gardens, for those of a less energetic disposition. Halfway between the hotel and the bonfire site, a shallow pit had been dug so that a whole pig could be roasted on a spit, and the jack-o’-lanterns had now been unloaded from the wagon for two boys to gradually disperse among the trees and bushes. Jingling bells announced the arrival of the hobbyhorse and morris dancers that were traditional on Halloween, although these particular ones hardly resembled those to be found in country villages. The beau monde did not appreciate truly rustic things, so the morris dancers were clad in cloth-of-gold and boasted more ribbons and feathers than Miss Pennyfeather’s entire stock. The hobbyhorse was so sumptuous it might have entertained the Sun King at Versailles. A poor farm laborer would not have recognized them!
Apart from all this, the usual business of the Vauxhall was also in progress. People strolled on the walks, laughter issued from the labyrinth, and horsemen and women exercised their mounts on the rides. A breeze stirred, and some autumn leaves fell, shining like polished brass and cooper in the bright sunlight. Polly caught one as it drifted past.
“Is that how easy you think it is to capture what you want, Miss Peach?” inquired Georgiana’s voice from just inside the writing room.
Polly turned. “You wish to see me, Lady Georgiana?” she inquired coolly.
“Yes, Miss Peach, I certainly do.” Georgiana’s dark eyes glittered as she stepped into the sunlight. She still wore her cerise pelisse and leghorn bonnet, but the spoiled butter-cream muslin gown had now been replaced by one of the softest ice-green silk. “It grieves me to have to speak with you on such a delicate subject, but I fear there is no alternative.”
“What delicate subject might that be?” Polly inquired, but knew it could only be Dominic. She braced herself for whatever was about to come.
“Why, Dominic, of course. Strange to say, I wish to spare you the humiliation that undoubtedly awaits if you keep your assignation with him.”
Polly drew back uneasily. How did Georgiana know about that? The answer followed swiftly, for it could only be because Dominic himself had told her. Polly’s self-confidence faltered. Compared with Georgiana’s glorious raven beauty, what chance had Polly Peach’s pale prettiness ever had? Oh, fool, fool!
Georgiana smiled. “You can hardly be surprised that I know, Miss Peach, for he was bound to tell me.”
“Bound to?”
“Of course, for he has proposed, and I have accepted. He came to me before dawn today and spent several very passionate hours in my arms. At your, er, assignation, he intends to tell you quite bluntly that he has been leading you on. My advice is to stay inside and save your dignity.”
Polly’s heart plunged. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I lie? Why would I come here to warn you?”
“For spite?” Polly suggested.
Georgiana gave a light laugh. “Well, I suppose you would think that, wouldn’t you? However, I have proof that he is mine, although I trust you will forgive me if I don’t reveal the full contents of what is a very tender and loving letter.” She took a folded sheet of paper from her reticule and held it up so that Polly could read the top portion. October 30th, 1800. Royal Crescent. My dearest Georgiana. . .
His dearest Georgiana? A lump constricted Polly’s throat, for the letter had been written only yesterday. A snatch of words from the ball rang through her consciousness again. Her own voice speaking to Dominic, “I was wondering about your feelings for Lady Georgiana.” His reply, “What feelings?” He had avoided a direct answer, and she, poor idiot, had let her emotions run free.
Georgiana came to stand beside her, resting cool gloved hands on the balcony rail. “Spite is not my motive, Miss Peach. I am genuinely concerned, and have no wish to grind you with my heel.”
“Lady Georgiana, given your attitude hitherto, I find your apparent magnanimity now impossible to believe.” Polly’s emotions were spinning. After all last night’s kisses, Dominic had so far dismissed Polly Peach from his mind as to invite the greatest cat in England to be his bride? More, he intended to humiliate her when she kept their assignation?
Georgiana smiled again. “If you will not believe what I say, or the loving evidence of his letter, at least you must accept that I could only know about your noon assignation if he told me.”
Polly didn’t respond. Her heart was thudding so wretchedly that she was sure the other would hear, and she had to place her hands very firmly on the rail in order to hide their trembling.
Georgiana went on. “He found you amusing, my dear, that’s all. You were nothing more or less than a passing conquest. That’s the way of it, I fear, green young creatures like you so often fall prey to a talented seducer.”
“He didn’t seduce me!” Polly cried, then turned away in embarrassment as the musicians nearby all turned to stare.
“No? He says he did. He says it happened last night, after you left the ball together.”
“It’s not true,” Polly whispered.
“Possibly, but the fact is that he says that’s what happened. Men will boast of their conquests—imagined or otherwise—will they not? And I fear that we women pay with our reputations. So you see, if you keep that appointment with him, you will feel very foolish indeed.”
“Dominic wouldn’t say such things of me,” Polly said in a choked voice.
Georgiana straightened. “You think not? Well, go out there at noon and find out. Take this visit of mine as the friendly gesture it is, Miss Peach, and be advised to stay inside. He’s mine, and the truth is now sealed with a betrothal.” She removed her glove to reveal a dazzling diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “It was his mother’s,” she murmured, turning her hand so the jewels caught the sunlight.
“What of the Marquess of Hightower? Were you toying with him as Sir Dominic would seem to have with me?” Polly asked, struggling not to show how devastated she was.
“No, I wasn’t toying with him. Indeed I had every intention of marrying him, but true and passionate love outranks everything, my dear, even one of the grandest titles in the land.” Georgiana slipped her hand back into her glove. “Ah, well, my good deed is done, and whether or not you pay heed to my advice is up to you. Good-bye, Miss Peach, for I doubt we will meet again.” With that she swept from the balcony.
Cruel heartbreak grasped Polly, and she closed her eyes as tears began to well down her cheeks.
Meanwhile, as his niece’s happiness crumbled into misery, Hordwell sat in the library at Royal Crescent. He was trying to read the daily paper as he waited for Lord Benjamin to arise, that gentleman having been brought home from the ball in such a drunken stupor that four footmen were needed to carry him to his bed. Hordwell was anxious to start searching for Nutmeg’s belt, and so was far too agitated to concentrate on the newspaper. He didn’t know Bodkin and Ragwort were in the room with him. They were seated on the pelmet, and would have indulged in much mischief at his expense, had not Ragwort been still so much the worse for wear that all he could do was sit with his aching head in his hands. Never again would he touch alcohol! Never! And as if a headache and churning stomach were not bad enough, he knew he’d cooked his goose with Caraway. Oh, why had he drunk so much?
The wretched brownie closed his eyes as he thought of all the things he’d done. Not that he remembered anything; his mind was a blank from the moment he’d spoken to Caraway. Bodkin told him he’d swung from the ballroom chandeliers, breaking one
of them, and that Caraway had been so disgusted with him that she’d walked off in a huff. He felt unutterably awful!
At last Lord Benjamin came downstairs. He, too, was suffering the aftereffects of the night before, having had far too much cherry brandy. Wearing a gray-and-gold embroidered dressing gown and a tasseled cap, he came gingerly into the library, intent upon some hair of the dog. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Hordwell,” he grunted, pouring a hefty measure of cognac.
“Still here?” Hordwell replied brightly. “Why, of course, my friend. Why should I not be?”
“Because of my trials at the uncaring hands of your niece.” Lord Benjamin flung himself on the sofa. “God, I feel ill.”
“Then drink up and you will soon be a little better,” Hordwell advised, smiling in a way he hoped was disguising the blistering rage he felt toward his host. Lord Benjamin sipped the cognac, then looked across at him. “I’m told she’s gone to the Sydney Hotel. Is this so?”
“Yes. I’ve already been to see her.”
“Then you’ll know my supposed crimes. None of what she says is true, you know.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.”
Bodkin glowered at his former master. How like the miserly old curmudgeon to dismiss Polly’s word and believe Lord B instead.
Lord Benjamin sat up suspiciously. “What’s going on, Hordwell? Why are you being so amiable?”
“Because Polly has explained everything. Oh, I did indeed think the worst of you at first—it was natural that I should—but after I visited her this morning, and we spoke a while, I am sure it can all be resolved.”
“Resolved?”
“The match, dear sir, the match.” Hordwell eyed the pockets of Lord Benjamin’s dressing gown, wondering if either of them contained Nutmeg’s belt.
Bodkin watched him curiously. What was the old skinflint up to?
Lord Benjamin gave a mirthless chuckle. “The match? Hordwell, she won’t even hear of such a thing. You know it, and I now know it, too, so pray do not insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise.”
“Polly’s mind isn’t finally made up on the matter. She feels she may have acted a little precipitately last night, and now wishes to be reconciled with you.”
