"I would like you to know that I am all in favor of this match, dear cousin," Fanny said. "If you become a duchess, my own chances of a good match greatly improve. You could at least entertain the man's affection. For me. After all, up until this point, you've been a bit of a burden. You know it is true. I have no hopes of getting into Almack's at the moment, but that would all change if you married Eversley." She batted her eyes pleadingly in Georgette's direction. “Please, cousin. For me?”
"Oh, be off with you." Georgette swatted Fanny with the music. "Find someone else to bother. Perhaps Mrs. Timms, the housekeeper, knows a viscount."
Her cousin, laughing gleefully, left the room.
Georgette sat back down at the piano. What a delight! New music. She began to pick out the melody. He hoped to see her again. If she did, what should she say to him? What should she do? Should she send him a note of thanks?
Goodness, she had not been so excited to receive something from a gentleman since...her fingers faltered on the keys.
Since Sebastien.
No, she would not allow it. This time was different. She was a grown woman now. She knew that the Duke was not interested in her, no matter what Fanny might say. He had loved his wife. That was it. He had loved her with all of his heart and then she died and he would never love again.
He had told her this.
And she had sworn she would never love another. She had sworn to herself that never again would she set her heart out on a platter for someone to destroy. Never again would she risk her pride, her vanity, her sense of self, for a man.
She had told him this. It was true.
Then why was she thinking about him? Wondering what this gesture meant? She knew what it meant. He enjoyed her company. They were two survivors, of a fashion. And he had respected her accidental involvement in his work. She liked to think she had impressed him with her ability to easily break the code of the note, and to listen to the conversation between the two gentlemen. Perhaps they were friends. They could be that. If they were friends her heart would not be in such trouble. His friendship would lift her spirits.
She should pen him a note. She wished she could deduce if he had learned anything more regarding the list. What was it a list of? How could a list be valuable? Her curiosity was working overtime. Could Merry really be involved? He seemed so certain it had been Merry whom she overheard, but she knew Merry. His cousin was the same age as she was, and they had made their debut together. Merry was the gentleman on whom one could always rely; he danced with all the girls, wallflowers and diamonds alike. Merry would not work with the French. Merry would not betray his country.
The Englishman who had spoked had been more unpleasant. She believed she would recognize the voice if she heard it again, but could not be certain. Similarly with the Frenchman. Not that she had any opportunities to overhear voices, given the weather. Unless the Frenchman had hidden in her kitchen as the errand boy, she would not find them here.
She sighed. It was cruel, being exposed to some excitement, only to have it taken away. The duke was sending her the music to be polite; he did not have any interest in her, as a friend or anything more.
~.~
Chapter Four
"We're going riding," Fanny announced the following afternoon.
The skies had finally cleared, and the two of them hastened to Hyde Park. Fanny insisted they don their finest carriage-riding attire --and so they both looked quite smart, bedecked in ribboned bonnets and lambswool pelisses, half boots, and kid gloves.
Although it was no longer raining ice, and a reluctant sun peered from between the clouds, the London streets were muddy disasters. The carriage lurched along, and Georgette could not help feeling sympathy for the poor horses.
Once they hit the gravel of Hyde Park, however, conditions improved slightly. The vast expanse of green, crossed with riding trails and larger paths for carriages, was the place to see and be seen.
The rest of the ton evidently had the same idea, for the park was packed to the gills with carriages and ladies and gentlemen on horseback.
The two ladies, and Swindon, their excellent driver, made their way to the Ring. As they went along, they exchanged pleasantries with a number of other ladies and gentlemen.
"I cannot help noticing that we appear to be popular items," Fanny said. "No doubt we have your ducal attentions to thank for that."
Georgette rolled her eyes, but it was true: more and more people seemed eager to pause to chat with them. It was odd, Georgette thought. For years she had submitted to snubs and the lack of invitations. She had accepted this as her due for her hysterical behavior as a young lady. Now, however, she had been seen in the company of a duke --a mysterious duke, at that-- and suddenly everyone wished to speak with her.
"Oh, goodness, the gossips are going to go mad for this," Fanny said.
Georgette looked at her. "What are you on about?" she asked.
"Something wicked this way comes," Fanny said, her eyes glittering.
Georgette looked around and her stomach suddenly sank to the soles of her beautiful half boots.
"Perhaps they will not see us," she said quietly to Fanny.
Fanny snorted.
Lady Judith and her Adonis of a husband, Lord Sebastien Falks, pulled alongside the carriage.
"Well, well, well," Lady Judith said. "If it isn't the Mad Heiress."
Georgette swallowed. She wanted to shrink away into nothing, float off into the clouds above Hyde Park. Lady Judith had always intimidated her, even before she had run off with Sebastien. It was as if part of her had always known, Georgette thought, that Lady Judith wanted Sebastien to be hers. She had certainly stared plenty of daggers at Georgette when they were both young ladies. Georgette could still remember it: Lady Judith was forever glowering at her from the sides of ballrooms and assemblies and picnics and outings. Perhaps that was why Blanche, the Duchess of Eversley had been so nice to her, to compensate for the ever-poor behavior of her sister-in-law.
She took a deep breath. No. She would not let the lady continue to haunt her. Lady Judith had already won. Georgette would not allow her the satisfaction of seeing her squirm now.
"Lady Judith, Lord Sebastian." She pasted a false smile on her face. "How lovely to see you."
Lady Judith laughed. "I wish I could say the same thing to you, Miss Quinby. I must say, your audacity astonishes me."
"My audacity?"
"Indeed. Chivvying after my brother. I would ask if you had any pride at all, but I already know you don't," Lady Judith said. "You must know that any attention he gives you is due to his soft heart. He would never seriously consider you. He simply would not like for you to be further embarrassed in front of the ton by any sort of public rejection from him."
Yes, Georgette did know this, but it hurt to hear it from the lady who had already ruined her life. Before she could answer—indeed, what would she say? Fanny turned to Georgette to ask her, "Is she always so unpleasant?"
"I do not know how she conducts herself with other people," Georgette hedged. "But yes, with me, she is."
"I will not bother to ask who this is," Lady Judith said. "Gossip has already informed me that you are in town to bring out your cousin." She looked Fanny up and down. "Good luck," she said to Fanny. "You certainly will need it."
"I have no doubt that Fanny will do extraordinarily well," Georgette said. "She is rare, for someone so young. She knows what she wants, and she understands when the people around her merely pretend to be willing to give it to her." She looked at Sebastien. "Fanny would never make the mistake of giving her heart to someone who failed to value it."
For a moment Lord Sebastien looked at her. She could see it. And she realized he had never really looked at her. When they were engaged, his eyes had always slid away from her, or glazed over, or drifted away. For just a moment, he looked at her, and saw her, and then he looked away.
She had spoken the truth. She knew Fanny would not make the mistake she had made. An
d she had made it. She had been so overjoyed that such a handsome man, and a lord to boot, wanted to marry her. She had created an entire fictional version of him in her head. In her dreams, Sebastien had seen her and fallen immediately in love. It was Romeo and Juliet, only they were not star-crossed. Nonetheless, she had treated him as her Romeo, only she was not his Juliet. She was Rosaline, left behind, and forgotten, but alive. He should not have broken her heart, but she should not have given it to him. She had given it to a mirage, to a man who existed only in her dreams.
"Drive on, Sebastien." Lady Judith gave her one last glare. Lord Sebastien blinked, shook his head, and flicked the reins.
"Well!" Fanny turned to her. "We are sure to be the topic of many supper conversations this evening."
Georgette looked out. Several members of society were staring blatantly, curiously back. She smiled at them until her face began to ache.
"Yes, I suppose we are," she said.
~.~
Chapter Five
He should not have sent the music.
He did not know what had compelled him to do such a thing. It felt right. She had been playing Beethoven's sonata when he visited a week ago, and she had looked so lovely. And then her eyes had glowed as she spoke of Beethoven’s music. And he had told her about seeing Beethoven's new ballet in Vienna last year. And…And….And. And what? He sighed.
He had not told her that he had been in Vienna because he was recovering from a near mortal stabbing he had suffered in France, shortly after the Peace of Amiens. However, he could not shake the overwhelming feeling that he would share those details with her at some later date, and she would understand.
Ridiculous. This was ridiculous. He had first seen her in the garden a week ago. He barely knew the lady. He certainly had not gained a good measure of her when she had been a chit barely out of the schoolroom and engaged to his friend, but now he felt as if he had known her for years.
She was a friend. That was it. She was a friend and he had not had a good friend for so long. After Blanche, those with whom he had been close had drifted --or been pushed-- away. He no longer confided in people. It was a drawback of his work as a spy. He had learned not to trust, not to confide.
But he wanted to confide in her. He wanted to tell her about being stabbed in France. He wanted to tell her the burdens he bore for his country. He wanted to tell her about the contents of the list and the people on it; people who depended upon him. He wanted to tell her about what he had done for England. He wanted to tell her about realizing how he had shirked his responsibilities as Duke. He wanted to tell her about his day, just his day.
There was no reason he could not do this, he realized. They could be friends. He had sworn to never again fall in love; he hadn't sworn to never again have a dear friend in whom he could confide.
She was nothing like Blanche. Blanche had always been so cool, so elegant, so beautiful. Georgette was quicksilver and passionate, but Blanche had liked her, even all those years ago, and he had never known Blanche to be wrong about a person, save once, when she went back to France to her family. Even then, she went to persuade them to come to England. She was right even then. She was right; only she was too late.
Oh, Blanche. What am I doing?
~.~
The ghost of his wife stood in the room with him, watching him tie his cravat, her ethereal form gazing at him. She was wearing powder. It was such a little thing, he thought, to realize that when she had last stood, living, in his dressing room, they had both dusted their hair. He had not worn powder for years. Where had the time gone?
"Sending music to a lady," she said. "I do believe you might have a little tendre."
He shook his head, trying to shake the vision of her away, trying to refuse her accusation. She walked forward, reaching out to him, trying to touch his cheek.
"I like her," she said. "Your mademoiselle."
"She is not my mademoiselle," he said. "Although I do believe she might become my friend."
She smiled. "That is good," she said. "You need a friend."
Then she was gone, vanished, nothing but a breath of wind against his cheek. He was alone in his dressing room with no one but his valet, who was eyeing him with some misgiving.
He finished tying his cravat, and allowed his valet to brush his shoulders. He had learned yesterday evening, during his now regular visit to the gambling halls to keep an eye on Merry, that his sister had taunted Miss Quinby in Hyde Park. The word was that Judith had accused Miss Quinby of "chivvying" after him.
Miss Quinby did not strike him as such. She did not have lures; she did not try to bring him in or give chase.
He was irked with his sister. She had always been spoilt and rude. Blanche had never admitted to disliking her, but neither had she ever expressed any interest in spending time with Judith. When Sebastien had run off to Gretna with her, he had been relieved. His sister, and all her tantrums and fits and mean-spirited remarks, would now be Sebastien's problem, not his.
Still, he found himself unable to let her reported behavior to Miss Quinby go. She had already ruined Miss Quinby's life. Did she need to confront her in public as well? It seemed terribly mean-spirited. There was no point.
On a whim, he had invited Miss Quinby and her cousin to a small supper and musicale performance which was to be held at the house of an old friend. He knew that Stewart would not mind the addition of two ladies at the last moment, and he wanted his sister to know that he would continue to associate with Miss Quinby, no matter how horribly Judith might behave.
His note, inviting the ladies, had been dispatched this morning. The acceptance, penned by Miss Fanny, had arrived soon after. They would be happy to attend a musicale, and would await his escort.
For the first time in many many years, Eversley found himself dressing up for a lady.
~.~
Chapter Six
Georgette could not believe Fanny had accepted the Duke's invitation without asking her. She had returned from a visit to the Hatchard's and been told by her cousin that the Duke had invited them to dine and enjoy a musicale performance at Lord Stewart's, this very evening.
"Heavens," Georgette had said. "I do not know that we should go."
"Certainly we must," Fanny had said. "And we will, for I have already accepted."
Georgette grumbled quite loudly, but secretly she was pleased. He had invited them! Her spirts lifted, and her heart pattered like a butterfly against her chest. It was silly. They were only friends. Indeed, he was probably just being polite.
She assumed that his actions were prompted by what had occurred in Hyde Park the day before. He should not feel any obligation to befriend her. The actions of his sister did not reflect on him, and yet she was happy that he had made the gesture. She wanted to see him.
She took extra care with dressing. Her gown was white satin, trimmed with green velvet, her stomacher heavily ornamented. Her brown hair was elaborately done into a pile of curls. Fanny burst into her dressing room as the maid was helping her pull on her gloves.
"Oh, don't you look a treat," Fanny said. "The Duke is sure to fall even more in love with you."
"The Duke is not falling in love with me to begin with," Georgette said, calmly.
"Pish posh." Fanny waved her gloved arms about. "Nevertheless, you do look lovely."
"As do you," Georgette said. Her cousin was more demurely dressed --fitting for the younger lady, but the rose of her gown flattered her coloring, her golden curls. The ribbon strung through her curls matched her dress.
"I have been told he is here," Fanny said, eagerly. "Which is quite a relief, I must say. There is nothing worse than dressing and waiting, unable to sit for fear one's gown will wrinkle."
"Indeed," Georgette said dryly. "Nothing worse."
Fanny took her arm, and the two of them made their way down the stairs to where the Duke awaited them.
Georgette's heart gave a small twinge when she saw him. He was so handsome, dressed in a coat
of superfine, and well-fitting breeches. He looked up at the ladies as they descended, then bowed.
"The two of you lovely ladies put me to shame," he said.
Georgette dimpled. It was so nice to be attended. She allowed him to bow again and kiss her hand. He then made the same motions to Fanny.
He motioned to the door. "Shall we?" he asked. "My carriage awaits."
The party made their way to the carriage and climbed in.
"How extraordinary," Fanny said, once they had settled into the carriage.
"Oh?" The Duke sounded confused. "May I ask what is extraordinary?"
"I assumed a duke's carriage would be bedecked in leather and jewels. But it isn't. It looks just like our carriage."
Georgette watched as he bit back a smile. "I must apologize. I recently arrived in London. I have not yet had time to properly outfit my carriage."
Fanny nodded seriously. "No doubt you have had other thoughts on your mind. Such as Georgette."
For a moment his eyes widened in surprise, then quickly shuttered.
"Er, yes," he said to Fanny. He glanced over at Georgette.
She rolled her eyes. His lips quirked, and the tension in her stomach loosened. He knew she did not believe him to be avidly courting her. Fanny would no doubt be disappointed when no romance would result, but Georgette was glad to know that duke did not believe her to be laboring under any misapprehensions.
"The musical performance is to be at Lord Stewart's house?" Georgette asked.
"It is," he said. "Stewart always has extremely accomplished performers. I hope you will enjoy yourselves."
"I've no doubt we shall."
~.~
Chapter Seven
He kept being surprised by how pretty she was. Throughout the evening, whenever he glanced over towards Miss Quinby, he felt as if he was noticing some new detail. The way she dimpled when her cousin leaned in to speak to her; the way she cocked her head to listen to the music; the way she patiently stood next to Lady Fitzravels, as the lady related her health concerns in detail.
The Mad Heiress and the Duke – Miss Georgette Quinby: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 1) Page 5
