The Duke’s wedding was approaching and she would have to make a decision about her choice of husband, or her sister’s bridegroom would make the choice for her. She needed to rest. She desperately needed more time. But time was running out and the moment of decision would soon overtake her.
A few hours later, as the cheerful chambermaid attended to Georgiana’s fireplace and brought her a basin of hot water, Cordelia knocked gently upon the door and stepped into her sister’s bedchamber to bid her good morning. Georgiana looked exhausted.
“My poor sister. You look as if you haven’t slept a wink all night. You’re going to need more than a touch of rouge this morning, my dear!” Cordelia sat down on the comfortable bed and held her sister’s hand. “Georgiana, I pray you don’t feel that we are trying to rush you into something that you do not want.”
She could see that Georgiana had been crying. She held Georgiana’s hand more tightly.
“Philip would much prefer that you make your own choice. He was very worried that you might make a terrible error and choose Oliver Kentworthy. But if you cannot choose, and Philip understands how difficult it must be for you, he will act on Papa’s behalf and make the match for you. He’s very fond of you, you know? He only wants what’s best for you.”
Georgiana felt the hot tears in her eyes again. She could not tell if she was weeping because of her sister’s love for her or because she had lost Oliver – the only one of the possible suitors here who had seemed to actually see her as a person. Whatever the cause, she felt thoroughly wretched.
“Come! It’s breakfast time. Rouse yourself from your bed. Wash and get dressed and don’t spare the rouge. I’ll send one of the maids to you with a potion of belladonna for your eyes. We can’t have you looking like you slept in a ditch! And remember to smile. This is supposed to be a time for celebration!”
With a light kiss on her sister’s tear-stained cheek, Cordelia rose from the bed and hurried away to find the eye-brightening potion that would disguise her sister’s lack of sleep. Ladies had to be cunning sometimes, and employ the wiles of nature to enhance their appearance.
Today was just such a day.
~~~~~
The day went by in a blur, and Georgiana hated the way that all she heard was scandalised gossip about the events of the previous evening.
As soon as she could, she convinced Miss Millpost that a walk would be a wonderful idea, and set off, determinedly, at a pace which Miss Millpost found hard to match. She only realised that fact when Miss Millpost, sounding rather breathless, called out to her.
“Lady Georgiana! Do you think that you might, perhaps, be able to manage a more ladylike pace?”
The words were laced with both frustration and sarcasm, mixed with amusement, and Georgiana stopped, instantly contrite. She genuinely liked Miss Millpost, most of the time, and had certainly not intended to run her to exhaustion trying to keep up.
Once Miss Millpost reached her, they continued, side by side, at a much gentler pace.
“And where might we be going, my Lady? For it seems to me that you have a definite destination in mind.”
“I am almost certain that you can guess, Miss Millpost. Where have I always gone when I’m feeling out of sorts?”
“Ah. The stables, then? And does this establishment boast kittens or puppies in the stables? For that is usually your entertainment of choice when you are feeling blue-devilled.”
Georgiana laughed, beginning to feel better already.
“I have no idea – but I plan to find out. And, if there are kittens or puppies, to be horribly unladylike and let them crawl all over me with their dirty little paws.”
Miss Millpost sighed and shook her head. But she was smiling. This was her Georgiana – not the moody girl of the last two weeks.
Upon reaching the stables, Georgiana discovered, to her delight, that there were, indeed, both kittens and puppies. She fell to her knees in the straw, and did as she had said – gathered them into her lap and played with them. For just a little while, she pushed aside her misery and all thought of marriage, suitors, the ton, and her heart-breaking uncertainty about Oliver’s character.
~~~~~
Gerald was oddly relieved, and a little ashamed of that fact, to realise, the next morning, that the scandalous scuffle involving the Marquess of Dartworth was still the uppermost thing on the minds of the crowd of house guests at Canterwood Park. For, as a result, they were, on the whole, ignoring Gerald completely – which he found far more comfortable than being the centre of their potentially censorious attention.
He broke his fast sparingly, comfortable in Setford’s company and, with barely a word spoken between them, they left the house early, to enjoy a ride through the extensive grounds of the Park, taking advantage of Rotherhithe’s generous offer of the use of his horses. Just stepping out of the room full of gossip was wonderful. The oh, so respectable, members of the ton resembled a flock of vultures gathered to wait for the final moments of an injured creature. All they could speak of was how Dartworth should be punished for his actions.
Yet, to Gerald, it still seemed wrong – he was certain that there was more to the story. He had, during the war, interrogated far too many men – he had a deeply developed sense of when a man was not telling everything that there was to tell.
Twenty minutes later, mounted on a mare of extraordinary quality, he raced beside Setford across the rolling hills of the estate. The wind in his hair blew away his sense of frustration, and he allowed himself to relax, to simply enjoy. Eventually they pulled the blowing horses back to a walk, following a shaded path along the banks of a river, companionably side by side.
“I’m still not happy with the events of yesterday. Something about the whole thing just feels wrong.” Setford stared away into the distance, speaking almost as if to himself.
“Neither am I. Every instinct says that those puffed up popinjays that Dartworth flattened were not telling the whole story. They demonstrated every sign of being men who were hiding something.”
Setford turned and looked at Gerald, considering the younger man’s expression.
“That would be your formal assessment, as a man trained in extracting information from those who do not wish to give it?”
Gerald flinched, his intense dark blue eyes becoming shadowed with some sorrow or pain. A small shudder ran through him, causing the mare to quicken her pace in response. He eased her back, breathing deeply, and waited a moment before responding.
“Yes, if you put it that way. It is a skill I wish I had never learnt. But, once learnt, such things cannot be unlearnt. And the application of such knowledge has left me with memories that will haunt me forever. But, in this case, I supposed such a sense of things is useful.”
“I hope so.”
“I may, perchance, be biased in this assessment. I liked Dartworth when I spent that time talking with him. I found him refreshingly forthright and honest, a man not afraid to have an opinion, but not rash. He would not have survived the circumstances he has been through if he had truly been a hot-headed fool. So – biased or not, I find the claims of his ‘victims’ not entirely convincing. I do not see Dartworth as a man who would attack someone for no reason.”
“Indeed, I would agree with that evaluation.”
“It was, almost, as if those two who felt the force of his displeasure were actively avoiding answering any questions. Their performance would have done well on a stage, it was so drama filled. And those who provide a dramatic performance usually do so to distract from some much more important fact or activity. Much though it disturbs me to say this, much though it makes me revolted by my own capabilities, part of me would like nothing better than to put them to a true interrogation, to extract the truth from them by whatever means it took. What kind of person does that make me?”
“A loyal one. A man who values his country, his companions and the truth more than the social graces. A man who was brave enough to carry out the necessary, yet unsavoury,
tasks that war demands, but which few are capable of doing. Do not despise yourself, Otford – you are a stronger and better man than you realise.”
Gerald’s mouth twisted into a cynical half smile, but he said nothing more for some time, as they rode on along the path, the small river gurgling over the rocks beside them, and the morning sun burning the last of the mist from its surface.
“Setford, you are an old friend to Rotherhithe, might you be able to convince him to question those young fops further?”
“Perhaps, perhaps. Although, Philip has always been a man who can become rather over fond of his own ideas. It can take some effort to shift him from an opinion, no matter how reasonable a person he is most of the time. Still, you are right to ask. I’ll speak to him and see what comes of it. I won’t feel comfortable until I know the truth of what happened in that hallway, before we all heard the scuffling. Young Dartworth may be rather controversial in his political and societal views, but I’ve no indication, from any of my sources, that he is, in any way, actually revolutionary. Rather the opposite, actually.”
Gerald nodded, happy to let the discussion drop at that point, and to go back to considering far more pleasant things, such as the horse beneath him and the delightful scenery around him. By the time they reached the stables on their return, he was at peace with himself again, for now, pondering Setford’s words about the sort of man he was. Setford, it seemed, saw a rather different man than he saw himself as.
In the stables, they discovered Lady Georgiana, amidst a tangle of puppies, her skirt covered in straw and dust, but looking happier than she had seemed since their arrival. They dismounted, passing the horses to the grooms, and joined Miss Millpost in observing Lady Georgiana. Miss Millpost curtseyed, smiling at their approach.
“Some habits cannot easily be educated out of young Ladies.” Her smile belied the mock severity of her tone.
“And why would one want to? Surely the ability to play unreservedly is one to be treasured.”
Gerald spoke with obvious sincerity, smiling as he watched the puppies make a concerted attack upon Lady Georgiana. She allowed them to tumble her flat to the straw, laughing as they licked at her face.
Setford allowed a few moments to pass, before bowing to both women.
“Ladies, I am afraid we must leave you to your entertainment, for we have business to attend to in the house. Do enjoy your day.”
Drawing Gerald with him, he walked out into the spring sunshine and returned to the house, intent upon seeking Rotherhithe out at the earliest opportunity.
~~~~~
They found Rotherhithe in his Study, just finishing a discussion with his estate manager. Philip looked up when they tapped on the door, and smiled with real pleasure.
“Setford, Otford, do come in and take a seat. What can I do for you?”
“Rotherhithe, old man, we’ve just been for a ride about your excellent estate. I have to thank you for the use of your bloodstock. Quality indeed. But, while we were out, we’ve been discussing the events of yesterday. Yes, yes, I know that everyone has, but I hope that we are rather more considered in our thinking than that flock of gossipy scandal mongers you’ve invited to eat and drink you dry.”
The Duke laughed – Setford went right to the heart of things, as usual.
“And the result of your conversation brings you here, now?”
“Yes, it does. It is my… professional… opinion, that there is more to the story than we’ve been told. Something about the events of last night does not ring true. I’d like your permission to question the two ‘victims’ of the event further. You’re aware of my role – it’s my business to be certain of the truth behind what goes on in society, for the security of the country, and the Prince Regent. But it’s your house – and your decision.”
Rotherhithe looked startled at the formality of this pronouncement, and eyed Gerald with interest, wondering what his role was, that Setford had included him here. He leant back in his chair and thought.
“I really can’t see why you’d think that there was anything more to it. It seems remarkably obvious to me. Young Dartworth has spent too long amongst the lower classes, dealing with things by brute force, and has forgotten how to be a gentleman. I’ll admit that the other young men who are guests here have not treated him well, have not shown themselves in the best light either, but they have not resorted to violence. It seems very clear that Dartworth’s resentment of their attitudes, and their wealth, finally overflowed into action of the most reprehensible kind.”
The Duke shook his head sadly, and gave a little shrug, as if pushing the whole thing aside.
“Surely, Rotherhithe, it cannot be that simple? The boy has been under very strained circumstances, but I’ve never heard of him resorting to violence. His father may have been an inveterate gambler and womaniser, but he was never a violent or intentionally dishonourable man.”
“Ah, but his father never spent time working in the fields alongside a collection of revolutionary commoners, did he? Who knows what habits young Oliver developed during his years in the Americas? Are you suggesting that I doubt the word of Bentwick and Eggmorton? They are from impeccable bloodlines, families without the least breath of scandal touching them – why would I doubt them? No, I most certainly cannot allow you to question them, as if they were common criminals. You will have to be content with my decision, I’m afraid.”
Gerald forced himself not to grind his teeth in frustration at the Duke’s words. The man was, although generally a reasonable person, from all that he had seen, obviously exactly as Setford had said – very hard to shift from his position once he had formed an opinion on a matter. Every part of Gerald’s war trained instincts screamed at him that those two ‘victims’ were lying – or at least not telling the whole truth. But how could he discover the truth, if Rotherhithe wouldn’t even allow them to talk to the men about it?
“You’re quite certain, Rotherhithe? I can’t convince you otherwise?”
Setford’s voice was as calm as ever, but Gerald could see the tiny signs of tension in him, the strength with which his hand grasped the arm of the chair, the tiny narrowing of his piercing grey eyes. It took long exposure to the man to become aware of such things – he wondered why Rotherhithe ignored it, for surely, as an old friend of Setford’s, he should notice it as much as Gerald did?
“If there’s nothing else I can do for you?” Rotherhithe looked at them enquiringly – clearly, the conversation was at an end.
Setford sighed.
“If that is your final word on it, then no, nothing else. I hope, Rotherhithe, that you don’t come to regret this decision.”
They rose, bowed, and left the room, both wondering how on earth they could investigate when the Duke had expressly demanded that they not do so.
The following morning, the two sisters were seated next to each other, with a basket of freshly baked bread and fine cups of hot coffee, as the servants brought the breakfast dishes to the table. The other guests had not emerged from their chambers and the young women had the elegant dining table to themselves for a change.
Not even Miss Millpost had joined them yet. Georgiana, perhaps a little uncharitably, suspected that an over indulgence in madeira may have something to do with that too.
Cordelia smiled.
“Too much wine and cognac last night, I’ll wager. The guests seem to enjoy making free with Philip’s hospitality. There’ll be many a sore head this morning, I expect!”
Georgiana nodded. “It will serve them right for their lack of sobriety. Yet I have not seen the Duke in his cups once since we arrived. He seems to prefer moderation over excess, and that is a most commendable virtue, dear sister.”
“He has many virtues, to be sure. He told me that the king’s own physician advised him to drink less, or else risk the gout as he gets older, and he has most wisely heeded the advice. So, he is a wise and virtuous lord! And who could not possibly love him?”
“You are most fortuna
te in Papa’s choice of husband for you, dear sister, and in the fact that you are in love with him. Of that there is no doubt.”
“I know. I am truly blessed and I have noted that often Philip prefers to take his ease with a good twist of tobacco amongst his beloved falcons. He finds more peace amongst the society of birds than amongst the finely plumed gentlemen of the county.”
“But quiet now, dear sister, for your Lord approaches.”
The Duke strode into the dining room and each of the servants paused to turn towards him and bow. It was a rigidly upheld formality that reminded everyone of their position in the household and of their duty and loyalty to the noble head of the house. Woe betide any servant who neglected to bow their heads in the presence of the Duke – or at least, not whilst the house was full of gossiping nobility!
A noble’s title and power were never to be taken lightly., as far as most of the ton were concerned, and Philip had no interest in giving them any fodder for more gossip!
Cordelia and Georgiana both rose at the Duke’s approach and curtsied most prettily to acknowledge his presence. He smiled broadly and lightly waved them back to their seats as he took his place at the head of the table. Servants bustled around him, bringing him fresh bread and coffee, and offering other dishes for his choice. He leaned a little closer to Georgiana.
“Did you sleep well, my girl?”
“Your Grace, I fear not.”
The Duke looked a little startled at the frank admission. Cordelia shrugged with a small shift of her shoulders as if that would explain all that was to be said of her headstrong sister.
“Well, never mind. Georgiana, my girl, time is pressing and it is clear to me that you are completely unable to make a decision for yourself and choose the fortunate fellow who is to be your husband.”
Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6) Page 8
