The man was her dead husband.
* * *
Despite the early hour, Con had decided against going out to the tavern with his younger male cousins and instead retired to his bedchamber to look over the papers his estate agent had given him before he left for Bath. He’d learned the hard way that ignoring his holdings could lead to trouble—a missive from his steward read too late had led to a costly repair to the roof of Coniston Grange last summer—and he was not so wealthy that he could afford another such mishap. Besides, when his cousins had tried to tempt him out with the promise of pretty wenches, for reasons he was not willing to contemplate, his mind had conjured up the image of Georgina, her blond hair gleaming in the lamplight.
He must be more fatigued from the journey to Bath than he’d thought. She was an attractive woman, he conceded, but hardly the sort to inspire flights of fancy. As his aunt’s companion she was out of bounds anyway. Instead of carousing with his cousins, he’d do much better to get some rest and put the pretty, if stubborn, lady from his mind.
No sooner had he shrugged out of his coat, however, than he heard a startled cry from down the hall.
His reverie broken, Con’s head snapped up as he met his valet’s gaze.
“What was that?”
“Like as not someone has seen a wee mousie, my lord,” Burns said with a frown. “’Tis the time of year when outside creatures long to come in.”
“Even so, I’m going to see what’s amiss,” Con said, heading for the door. He was probably just imagining things but the cry had sounded feminine. And terrified. It would do no harm for him to investigate the source of it. He was, after all, the head of the family despite the fact that the house belonged to his aunt.
Pulling his coat back on, he strode out of his chamber and into the hallway beyond. His family members, in various stages of undress, were standing in their doorways. They all denied having made the sound, and when he reached the far end of the hall he saw his cousin Clara speaking to Georgina.
“Is aught amiss?” he asked, as he reached them. Georgina, he noted, was pale but otherwise appeared unharmed.
“I was just telling your cousin that I am quite fine, my lord,” she said, tucking a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. She’d braided it in preparation for bed, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it would look like spread out upon a pillow. Oblivious to his thoughts, she continued, “I do apologize for disturbing everyone but, really, I am well. I simply thought I saw a mouse in the wardrobe. I feel so foolish for mistaking a balled-up stocking like that.”
Everything she said sounded plausible, but Con was quite sure that she was lying. He’d played cards since his youth and had come to figure out that there were certain ways to tell when a fellow player was telling an untruth, and for whatever reason, Georgina was doing so now. He could see it in the way she didn’t look at them as she told her story.
“We’ve all done it, my dear,” Clara said, touching the other woman’s arm. “I mistook a potted plant for a man once after I’d spent the entire evening before reading one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s gothic tales. I will never fail to be amazed by the degree to which the mind can be fooled. It is really quite extraordinary.”
“But you’re sure it was a stocking?” Con demanded, watching as Georgina blushed under his scrutiny. She might well blush, he thought, given how she was fibbing to Clara. “There was no other reason for you to be upset?”
But before Georgina could respond, Clara placed herself between them. “Really, Con, you needn’t glare at her as if she’s a common criminal. The poor woman’s had a fright. We should all just leave her be and get back to our own bedchambers.”
The relief on Georgina’s face was enough to tell him that she was indeed hiding something. Still, he could hardly press her further when Clara was here to stand as watchdog.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Mowbray,” he said with a stiff bow. “I did not mean to alarm you. I was merely attempting to assure myself that you are recovered from your fright.”
“I am quite well, my lord,” Georgina responded, her features once more schooled into a mask of calm. “I do, however, wish to ensure myself that your aunt hasn’t been disturbed by my foolishness.”
Clara, however, forestalled her from leaving. “Never fear, my dear, I will go check on Aunt Russell. You return to your bedchamber and get some rest.”
One by one, his cousins had returned to their bedchambers, leaving Con alone with Georgie in the hallway.
“Are you sure there’s nothing amiss?” he asked once Clara was out of earshot. “I somehow do not think you are the sort of woman who would shriek at the sight of a mouse.”
“I’m afraid you do not know me well enough to make such an assessment, my lord,” the widow said with a frown. “We’ve not met above a dozen times at most. How can you know what might startle me or not?”
“That is true enough,” he said, not fazed by her set-down in the slightest. “I will perhaps get to know you better now that we are to be in such proximity to one another for the next week.”
Realizing what that must have sounded like, he added, “To ensure that you are the right person to care for my aunt, I mean.”
“I believe it is up to your aunt to make that decision, is it not?” Georgina asked, not backing down an inch. He found himself impressed even as he was annoyed by her refusal to cow to him.
“It is,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t mean that I cannot ensure that her choice is a wise one.”
She looked as if she might wish to argue, but said, “My lord, it has been a long day. And we must be awake bright and early to accompany your nieces and nephews to the ruins. Do you suppose we might argue over who knows best for your aunt tomorrow?”
He realized then that she was still pale, and upon closer inspection, he saw that there were purple shadows beneath her eyes. Dammit, when had he become the sort of man to browbeat a woman into doing his bidding? “My apologies, Mrs. Mowbray,” he said sincerely. “I was merely concerned for your and, by connection, my aunt’s safety. As you say, we must accompany my young relations to the ruins tomorrow. I will bid you good night.”
With a bow, he turned and strode back down the hall toward his bedchamber.
Behind him he heard her shut her bedchamber door and then set the lock with a firm snap.
* * *
Safe inside her bedchamber, Georgie leaned back against the door with a sigh of relief.
It would have been easy to hide the unease that gripped her if Lord Coniston hadn’t been there watching her with his gaze that seemed to see straight into her very soul. She’d never been a particularly skilled liar, but had his lordship not been there watching her, she was quite certain she’d have been able to pass the incident off without anyone suspecting anything was amiss.
Remembering the moment when she’d realized just who the man in the garden was, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Moving away from the door and changing back into her night rail, she lifted the counterpane, climbed beneath, and curled into a protective ball.
No matter how she tried to tell herself that it was impossible, she could not deny that the face looking up at her from the garden was that of her brutish, cruel, vindictive, and very much deceased husband. The husband she’d seen dead of his wounds on a battlefield in Belgium.
Throughout her horrific marriage to Colonel Robert Mowbray, the one thing she’d relied upon was the fact that no matter how out of control his behavior became, her own mind was always to be relied upon. Robert might fume and curse and strike out at her, but Georgie would remain in control of her own emotions. And that, above all things, gave her the inner strength she needed in order to survive.
Little wonder, then, that seeing Robert, or his double, in the garden behind Lady Russell’s house had sent Georgie into shock. The notes referring to Ormond’s death had been disturbing, certainly, but they hadn’t made her question her own sanity.
“He is dead and gone,” she said, wrapping her a
rms around herself to keep the chill at bay. Over and over she repeated the words, like a prayer.
It was a long, long time before she slept.
Three
The next morning dawned far too early as far as Georgie was concerned, but she could hardly complain when she’d been the one to cause her sleeplessness.
In the cold light of day, she was amazed at her own foolishness of the night before. How could the man in the garden have possibly been Robert? The short answer was that he couldn’t. Ashamed of her own foolishness, she marveled at the way she’d allowed a trick of moonlight to frighten her. Her dead husband, indeed. Georgie was quite sure she’d never been so foolish as she had been last night. She’d tended Robert’s wounds herself when he’d been brought back from the battlefield at Waterloo. His medals were tucked away in her jewelry chest. Medals awarded to him posthumously, for heaven’s sake. What she’d seen last night had been the conjuring of a tired brain after a day spent preparing for Lady Russell’s guests.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Dressing quickly, she put the finishing touches on her hair and hurried from her bedchamber to visit her employer.
She found Lady Russell tucked up into her bed still, a cup of chocolate on the tray before her. “Ah, Georgina,” she said with a smile. “I am glad to see that you are recovered from your fright last night. I cannot account that I heard none of the to-do last night. I suppose I was more tired than I at first thought. I hope you are none the worse for wear.”
“Not at all,” Georgie said, sitting down on the side of Lady Russell’s bed. “It was a trick of the light. I am fit as a flea now thanks to a good night’s sleep.
“Now, enough of me, what of you? Are you certain that you will have no need of me today? I can still tell Lord Coniston that I am unable to accompany them to the ruins. In fact, I’d prefer it, I think. I’ll just ring for a footman to let him know.”
But Lady Russell reached out a staying hand and placed it on Georgie’s arm “You will do nothing of the sort. I will be quite well here with my sisters to keep me company. You have spent the past three months watching over me like a mother hen. I insist that you have a bit of amusement yourself while you may.”
Georgie frowned. How could she possibly tell the older woman that her nephew was not the sort of amusement that she wished for?
Aloud she said, “But I am here to act as a companion to you. Not for my own amusement.”
“Oh, piffle,” the elderly lady said with a frown. “You are a fine companion. But you are a young woman yet. You need the company of young people from time to time to remind you of it.”
Georgie would have protested further, but was prevented by the arrival of Lady Russell’s maid who had come to dress her for the day.
“Away with you,” Lady Russell said with a finality that Georgie knew would not be gainsaid. “I expect to receive a full report of your day’s adventures when you return.”
Knowing she was beaten, Georgie returned to her bedchamber to get her hat. She met Lord Coniston at the bottom of the stairs where he was leaning elegantly against the newel post while his six younger cousins stood about chattering.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mowbray,” he said, straightening to offer her a bow, which was graceful despite the sketchbook tucked beneath his arm. “I trust you were able to sleep after your fright last evening. Mice can be so alarming.”
She studied his expression to look for any sign of sarcasm, but found none. Offering him a brief curtsy, she said, “I thank you, my lord. I am quite well. And eager for our outing.”
A quirk of his dark brow let her know he suspected that last to be an exaggeration at best, but he merely offered her a short nod. Accepting his hat and gloves and walking stick from the butler, he called his cousins to attention and they set out.
The ladies rode in an open carriage while the gentlemen rode alongside, Georgie remaining silent as Lord Coniston spoke up now and then to engage his cousins in conversation. They seemed to be a close family, and Georgie found herself wishing she’d been part of a larger family. With only her parents and a sister, she’d been able to count the army as a family of sorts, but that hardly replaced the comfort of actual kin.
Still, she had Perdita and Isabella to turn to. And Lady Russell treated her like a daughter, though Georgie knew better than to mistake that relationship for anything other than what it was—that of employer and employee.
By the time they reached the well-worn drive to the Farley Castle grounds, the sun had slipped from behind the clouds. Taking in a deep breath, Georgie allowed herself a moment to simply appreciate the feeling of the sun on her arms and the breeze on her skin.
“I never would have guessed it,” Lord Coniston said, bringing his mount alongside the carriage. Turning, she found him watching her with a wry half smile.
“What?” she demanded, reaching up to ensure that her hat was securely fastened. “Is there something on my face?” she asked warily, bringing a gloved hand up to wipe at her cheek.
“You’re a country girl,” he said with a tone that might almost have been accusing. The hint of a dimple in his cheek took away any suggestion of ill will.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a self-conscious tug of her shawl around her arms. For some reason she felt as if he’d seen her in her shift or some equally revealing state.
“I don’t suppose it should matter,” he continued, his eyes intent upon her, “but it simply never occurred to me. I’ve always seen you in town.”
“Why should that matter?” she asked, glad that the others were engaged in a spirited conversation of their own, so they wouldn’t hear the querulous tone in her voice. It would not do for her to seem too familiar with her employer’s nephew. “It is hardly a crime for me to enjoy the open air.”
“No, of course not,” Lord Coniston said with a maddening sense of his own certainty. “I am only remarking upon the fact that you seem far more comfortable out of doors than in. You’re positively aglow with it.”
Feeling self-conscious, Georgie felt a blush steal into her cheeks. “It is true, I do enjoy the outdoors. I suppose it comes of army life.
“Though it is hardly to be expected,” she continued. “Any number of ladies who followed the drum were happy beyond words when their husbands returned to England and they could spend their days in drawing rooms and nights in houses with sturdy roofs.”
“But not you,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her.
“I happen to enjoy the countryside,” she said, trying to suppress the flip in her stomach that came of being in the gaze of such a handsome man. “And I happen to dislike the feeling of confinement one gets after several days indoors. I hardly think that makes me completely out of the ordinary.”
“I suppose not,” Lord Coniston said with a shrug, completely oblivious to his effect on her. “It is simply unusual in the ladies of my acquaintance.”
“That is because the ladies of your acquaintance would never dream of suggesting anything is more appealing than your fascinating conversation,” she said with a wry grin, as much for her own weakness as for theirs.
He laughed. “You might be right about that, I’m afraid. There is far too much dishonesty exchanged in the drawing rooms of the ton. I am relieved, in fact, that we are having this discussion in the open air, so I need not fear such dissembling from you, Mrs. Mowbray.”
“Or so you think,” she said pertly. “Fresh air is hardly a guarantor of truthfulness.”
“Why, Mrs. Mowbray, I had no idea you were capable of such taunting,” he said, with a grin.
“For shame, my lord,” Georgie said, looking up at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “You forget that I also spent my formative years surrounded by scores of young soldiers with hours between battles to spend flirting.”
That seemed to give him pause, for he lost his customary poise for a moment and gaped at her. Then, almost as quickly as he’d
dropped it, his charming mask returned.
“Were you a flirt?” he asked, dipping his head slightly to look her in the eyes. “I somehow doubt it.”
She fought the instinct to look away, knowing somehow that she had to hold his gaze. “Not so much as my sister,” she admitted with a shrug. “But I had my moments.”
“I’ll bet you did,” he said, evidently seeing something in her gaze that satisfied him. He nodded and that elusive dimple appeared again.
They continued on in companionable silence for the rest of the ride, the ebb and flow of conversation of the group ahead of them an accompaniment.
* * *
“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what happened last night,” Con said, resuming their conversation once they’d left the horses and carriage behind and continued the rest of the way on foot. “What made you cry out.”
Though he’d known the question would break the ease between them, he also knew that the question had to be asked. He felt her stiffen beside him, but when she made to remove her arm from his, he clamped down on her hand and held her there. “Do not fly up into the boughs. I merely ask as a friend.”
“As a friend?” she asked skeptically. “There is no such thing as friendship between an earl and a lady’s companion, my lord.”
“Why not?” he asked, diverted from his original question. “You are a friend to not one but two duchesses. And they are far more elevated than a mere earl.”
“Do not attempt to cloud the issue, my lord,” Georgina responded firmly. “I thought I saw a mouse. That is all. Nothing to concern yourself with. Nothing that could endanger your aunt. You must know that I care enough about her not to keep something from you that might truly endanger her.”
“But there is a difference, Mrs. Mowbray, between something that you think might endanger her and something that I think might endanger her. We are of two different perspectives after all.”
Why Earls Fall in Love Page 4
