“Grandmamma, I want to go home.”
Miss Carstairs’ cheeks reddened. She was obviously embarrassed by the large group of people gathered to see what was going on. Georgianne ignored her. She smiled at the child and beckoned to her. “Come.”
The child pulled the tattered, dirt-encrusted blanket over her face. Georgianne knelt. “What is your name?”
Johnson propelled his daughter forward with a gentle hand. “Annie.”
“How old are you, Annie?”
Again, Johnson spoke for his daughter. “Nine years old, miss.”
“Three years older than my little sister,” Georgianne mused. She looked up at Tarrant. He nodded. Her heart flooded with gratitude because he would allow her to help the man and child less fortunate than herself. She lowered her head. “Get into the carriage, Annie, your mamma would want you to have something to eat as well as a new gown.”
“Your ma would want you to have food in your belly and warm clothes,” Johnson coaxed.
Georgianne clasped Annie’s filthy hand.
“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Carstairs. “You’ll get lice and fleas from the horrid creature.”
Apart from anger glowing in the depths of his eyes, Langley’s face remained impassive. “Be glad you did not know us in Spain and Portugal. Sometimes, Miss Carstairs, fleas and lice not only inhabited us—they breakfasted, lunched, and dined on us.”
Mrs. Bettismore puffed out her flabby, rouged cheeks. “I protest, my lord, you go too far. Such subjects aren’t fit for ladies’ ears.”
Georgianne sighed, remembering the sad tale of a gently born young cornet so tortured by fleas that he committed suicide in Spain. Where was Miss Carstairs’ and Mrs. Bettismore’s Christian compassion? Thank God for Tarrant, who encouraged and defended her in all she did.
She ushered Annie into the carriage and then seated her. Tarrant sat opposite them. “This is well done, Georgianne.”
His approval warmed her. She smiled at him from the shadows.
Before one of her bruisers closed the door, Langley’s white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Mrs. Tarrant, I will call on you tomorrow to inquire about your protégés.”
* * * *
Some time after their return home, Tarrant opened the door between his dressing room and his wife’s bedchamber. Snuggled under the covers, Georgianne yawned and opened her eyes. Good, she was not yet asleep. “I hope you do not object to my presence, Georgianne.”
“Of course not, when my father was at home, my father spent every night in Mamma’s bedchamber.”
Tarrant cleared his throat. “I thought you might have been frightened this evening. In case you were, I have come to reassure you.” He put his candlestick down on a table by the bed.
“How could I be afraid with you by my side?” Georgianne put a hand over her mouth as she yawned again. “I beg your pardon.”
“You are tired. I am a brute to disturb you.”
“Dear Tarrant, I never think of you as a brute.”
He stared down at Georgianne, whose eyes shone bright by candlelight. “Be honest, are you sorry you married me?”
“Never.”
Georgianne held her arms out to him.
The sleeves of her nightgown slipped down her arms, revealing the tender skin of her forearms.
Knowledgeable about women, he knew his adorable wife desired his kisses. Even if she still did not know how a marriage was consummated, it was obvious she would welcome him into her bed. If only he could banish his memories and put aside his fears for her.
“Confound it!” he murmured but not too low for his wife not to hear him.
“Do not swear,” Georgianne reproved in a sleepy little voice.
“I am sorry. Goodnight.”
* * * *
On the following morning, after an early morning ride with Tarrant, no sooner did Georgianne step into the reception hall than her companion rushed down the stairs.
Georgianne looked at her sympathetically. “Mrs. Deane, you look tired. You should have slept until later.”
Mrs. Deane sniffed. “Why did you bring those beggars here last night? I vow I lay awake for fear they would either steal your silver or commit violence during the hours of darkness.”
Georgianne patted the lady’s back. “There, there, you should not have worried.”
“About what?” Tarrant asked as he entered the hall, remarkably handsome in his riding habit.
“Your cousin is afraid Johnson will burgle us and slit our throats while we sleep.”
Mrs. Deane swayed. “There is no need to be so explicit, my dear.”
Tarrant’s lips twitched as though he wanted to laugh. “Nonsense, poor Johnson is too hungry and exhausted to do more than thank God for food and shelter.”
Mrs. Deane pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I think both of you are foolish to allow him to enter this house with his daughter.”
Georgianne rolled her eyes at Tarrant, taking care Mrs. Deane did not see her do so. “Shall we breakfast?”
Instead of going to her parlour to eat with Tarrant, Georgianne led the way to the dining room.
“Are you going to see the fireworks and the mock battle on the Serpentine?” Mrs. Deane asked after they sat.
“Pardon?” Georgianne said, amazed by Mrs. Deane’s abrupt transition from her avowal that she feared for their lives.
Mrs. Deane repeated her question.
“Yes, we are,” Georgianne replied.
“Has the Prince of Wales’s invitation, for the ball he is giving in honour of the Duke of Wellington, arrived?” her companion inquired, in her usual persistent manner.
Georgianne poured coffee for Tarrant. “Yes, it has come.”
Mrs. Deane finished her breakfast before she spoke again. “You are right, my dear, I am worn to the bone. If you do not need me, I shall rest.”
“By all means,” Georgianne said as Mrs. Deane left the room.
Sunlight streaming through the windows illuminated Tarrant’s fair hair. Georgianne peered at him. In her eyes, he grew more handsome day by day. At that moment, she knew she both loved him and needed him to return her love. Her hands trembled. Some coffee spilled from her cup onto the immaculate tablecloth.
Jolted from her thoughts, Georgianne sprinkled salt over the spreading stain to soak up the liquid. “How clumsy of me, I hope the laundry woman can remove the stain.”
Tarrant’s gazed at her intently. “No need to fret, we can afford another tablecloth if this one is ruined.”
She swallowed, quivering, craving a kiss from him. “Yes, of course we can, how foolish of me to bother you with such a matter.”
Tarrant cleared his throat. “You are trembling. I hope I have never done anything to make you afraid of me.”
“Well, you beat me then lock me in a cupboard,” she teased.
“Minx.” Tarrant rose, came to the side of her chair, and raised her hands to his lips. A thrill ran through her. In return, she burned to seize his hand and fondle it. Instead she looked into his eyes as soft and grey as a morning mist.
The door opened. “Viscount Langley,” Barnes announced.
“You may admit him,” Georgianne said while Tarrant resumed his seat at the table.
“Good morning, Rupes. Good morning, Mrs. Tarrant,” Langley said. “I am keeping my promise to see how your new dependants are.”
Georgianne gestured to a chair. “Have you breakfasted?” Langley nodded and then sat at the table. “Some coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
While Georgianne poured coffee for the viscount she addressed Barnes. “Ask Mrs. Moorton to fetch Annie.”
While they waited to see the girl, Georgianne looked thoughtfully at Tarrant. “There is a charity school in a village on your father’s estate. I shall ask him if Annie may attend. She would learn housewifery, reading, writing, and figuring.” She eyed Tarrant uncertainly. “I would like to help more people like Annie and her father. Many former soldiers need skills to earn a liv
ing. Such a project requires patrons. Do you think the Duchess of York would be one—of course, I have not met her, but I heard she is very charitable?” She awaited Tarrant’s answer, relieved because she had expressed her wish not to live in idleness, enjoying ball after ball, beside all the other entertainment London offered.
Tarrant smiled. “Commendable but I want you to enjoy your first season instead of worrying about such things.”
Could her husband not understand her need to help unfortunates? She looked down to hide a smile. Tarrant had not forbidden her to help the needy.
Mrs. Moorton led Annie into the room.
“A miracle!” exclaimed Tarrant.
Annie ran one hand through her clean, light brown hair. With a finger of her other hand, she pointed at the housekeeper. “Me skin ‘urts after the scrubbing the old witch gave me.”
Mrs. Moorton sniffed. “There’s gratitude for you.”
“Miss Annie,” Tarrant said, “do not be rude to kind Mrs. Moorton.”
Annie scuffed the carpet with her toes.
“Georgianne,” Tarrant began, “as soon as the child puts on some weight, she will look like a well-to-do tradesman’s daughter.” Annie glanced at him suspiciously. He laughed. “Well now, Miss Annie, I wager you were less frightened of the French than you are of us.”
“Me ma and me weren’t frightened of the French.”
Tarrant smiled at the child. “I guessed you followed the drum because your skin is as suntanned as my own was when I returned to England.”
“An’ I wish me and me ma was following it now. If we was, she’d be alive, sir.”
Georgianne smiled at Annie to encourage her. “Well, child, I am sure she would be pleased if she knew you are to go to school and that you will learn to cook.”
“You don’t know anything about us. I don’t need to learn cooking. I can cook for me da over a campfire.”
“Yet you could widen your knowledge. Would you not like to learn to cook in a kitchen, and to read?” Georgianne cajoled.
“I knows ’ow to read. Me da’s friend was a reverend gent’s son. ’E taught me to read before ’e went and got ’imself killed. Silly man, ’e popped ’is ’ead up when ’e should ’ave ’ad enough sense to keep it down.” A tear rolled down Annie’s cheek.
“I am glad you knew when to keep your head down.” Georgianne sighed. What horrors the child had witnessed and endured.
Tarrant patted Annie’s head. “You must forget the war. You shall go to school and while you are there your father will have work. If you do not go to school he will have no-one to care for you while he is working.”
“Oh,” said the child, obviously thinking over what he had said. “I thanks you, sir, if you ain’t lying to me.”
Tarrant laughed. “Do not thank me, thank the lady.”
“Ta,” Annie said to Georgianne. “An’ if me da and I can do anything for you, lady, tell us and we will. Work! We’ll do a lot for ’onest work.”
Well aware of Tarrant and Langley’s restrained laughter at the proud child’s mode of expression, Georgianne withheld her own laughter because she did not want to hurt Annie’s feelings. “Mrs. Moorton, please return the girl to her father.”
“A quaint child,” Georgianne said after her housekeeper left with Annie.
Tarrant inclined his head in agreement. “She would not care to hear you say so.”
Langley cleared his throat. “My parents want both of you to stay with them in Brighton. M’mother will send you a formal invitation.”
Georgianne looked at Tarrant, who nodded. “We are pleased to accept.”
“I hope you haven’t forgotten the nursery platoon,” Langley murmured. “Oh, that reminds me, ma’am, m’mother suggests you bring Miss Whitley and Miss Barbara Whitley.”
Georgianne’s eyes narrowed. Although she and her sisters could not spend the rest of their lives in fear of Pennington, Tarrant’s unspoken acceptance of the invitation surprised her. Her eyes widened. Did Langley ask his mother to invite Helen and Bab because, in spite of his betrothal, he wanted to see Helen? “How kind of Lady Rosamund, Langley,” she murmured, resolving to keep a sharp eye on her younger sister.
“Yes, Mamma is kind.” Langley sighed. “She has also invited Miss Carstairs and Mrs. Bettismore.”
Georgianne looked at Tarrant. “Are you sure we should accept Lady Rosamund’s invitation to take Helen and Bab with us?”
“Yes,” he replied, “they will be safe because Pennington is on the verge of departing for Europe.”
Georgianne took a deep breath. Perhaps Pennington was embarking on another search to find out if his son had married, leaving a widowed daughter-in-law and orphaned grandson. A plan formed in her mind. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and then stood. “Good day gentlemen, I will leave you to enjoy another cup of coffee.”
Chapter Nineteen
Georgianne decided to attend to some urgent business before she left town, so she gave orders for the carriage to be brought around from the mews.
Elliot dressed Georgianne in a periwinkle blue carriage dress, and then handed her a tall hat, with a feather which curled around the brim. By the time Georgianne descended the stairs, her carriage awaited. After settling herself on the seat, she nodded at her bruisers who would accompany her.
In the city, Georgianne alighted. Accompanied by a ‘bruiser,’ she entered a squat stone building, in which Syddon, her late father’s attorney, had his chambers. His clerk, who received her, seemed as flustered by her burly companion as he was by her request to see his employer. She smiled at him. “If Mr. Syddon has a prior engagement I will make an appointment to see him on another day.”
“Please sit down, madam,” the clerk said. After a minute or two, he returned to usher her into the attorney’s chamber.
Mr. Syddon, a gentleman of medium height with unremarkable features—apart from a pair of intelligent brown eyes—stood. He bowed low while telling his clerk to dust the chair opposite his desk.” I would have been pleased to wait on you at your London house or elsewhere, Mrs. Tarrant.”
Georgianne clasped her hands on her lap. “Well, to be honest, I did not care to broach the matter to my husband.”
“If you and Major Tarrant are involved in, shall we say, a matrimonial dispute, I advise you to engage another attorney. It so happens that not only did I serve your late father but I am also your husband’s attorney. If there was a conflict of interests between you and the major—”
“A conflict of interests? What do you mean?”
Mr. Syddon pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Do you wish to confide in me?” he asked in an avuncular tone.
“Yes, the major arranged for me to have an allowance. My husband is extremely generous. At first, I thought Major Tarrant expected me to pay for my clothes, horses, carriage, and other personal expenses, but he settles all my bills and even paid for my high perch phaeton.”
Mr. Syddon tilted his head to one side. “If you have lost money at the gaming tables, my sympathies are with you, madam. However, I suggest you confess not to me but to your husband.”
Georgianne pealed with laughter before dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “I have not gambled for more than pennies. The fact is, I have more money than I need.”
“More money than you need?”
Georgianne leaned forward to prop her elbows on the desk. “You seem surprised.”
“Yes, yes I am. I have many clients who overspend. I assumed your circumstances were desperate.”
She cupped her chin with her hand. “No, they are not. I came to see if you would help me rent a property.”
He made some notes. “Why? I mean, Major Tarrant has a London house, a fine country residence, a hunting lodge, and—”
“Yes, I know, however none of them suit my purpose.” Thoughtful, she removed her chin from her cupped hand and her elbows from his desk.
Mr. Syddon mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “What is your purpose?”
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br /> “To found an institution for the children of distressed soldiers, for the protection of and aid for the widows and orphans of soldiers, and to give former soldiers the training to earn an honest living.”
“I do not think your pin money is sufficient.” Mr. Syddon dipped his quill into the ink and made more notes.
“It will suffice to rent a small property. Subsequently, I hope to raise funds by subscription. I hope The Duke of Wellington will be a patron, for where he treads many follow. He is all the rage, you know.”
“Do you know The Duke?”
Georgianne nodded and smiled. She was not naïve enough to found her project on a wave of sentimentality likely to evaporate as quickly as it came to the boil, and had given much thought to the matter. If all went well, she would be able to please Tarrant by enjoying her first London season, by playing her part in society, and please herself, by helping others.
“Have you a particular property in mind?” Syddon asked in a more respectful tone.
“No, but Major Tarrant and I are going to stay with the Earl and Countess of Cridland in Brighton. I hope their son, Viscount Langley, will advise me. He fought in the Peninsula so he will know what will suit my purpose.”
“Surely, your husband would also know, madam.”
“The major said he does not want to hear any more about my allowance. He told me it is mine to use as I wish. I am determined to found a charity and hope you will help me.”
Mr. Syddon inclined his head. “It is my privilege to be of service to you.”
Georgianne settled back in her chair. “Modern people believe sea-air is health giving. I hope to lease a property near Brighton. Please obtain a list of available estates? A farm with commodious buildings or a small manor house, with enough land to grow vegetables and fruit, besides sufficient acreage to keep poultry and some milch cows, will suit my purpose.”
“Yes, I will make inquiries.” Mr. Syddon cleared his throat. “I don’t want to discourage you but your undertaking requires much planning. Who will manage the foundation?”
“A former soldier called Johnson will help me. And I hope he will also help me with another matter,” she said, thinking of Pennington’s lost heir. “Now, Mr. Syddon, I think we should draw up a budget.”
Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1) Page 19
