She remembered Sebastien laughing at her when she had told him she even loved the ham. "This does not surprise me," he had said. "Ladies who have never had to consider the price of food enjoy thin slices of ham. I have observed this behavior more than once."
She should have known so much sooner, she thought now, that Sebastien was only interested in her money --and in fact appeared to possess a good amount of disrespect for her. Poor Sebastien. She hoped he was happy with an even greater heiress.
It was a good reminder for her, however. She needed to remember to not become attached to another gentleman. Only grief and lost pride could result. Today was a good example. For a moment, she had allowed herself to feel for the Duke. No doubt he had realized her affection. She imagined he had been quite disgusted with her for it. How could she disregard his wife, the one, true love of his life, and feel for her? How could she believe that the friend of her erstwhile fiancé would be interested in her?
Her cheeks burned with mortification, fortunate for her that the gardens were already dark.
"There is Delia!" Fanny pointed a gloved finger towards her friend, who was in another party alighting from a boat. "How fortunate!"
She called after Delia and dragged Georgette over to the Ditherfield party.
Delia clapped as she saw the two ladies arrive. "I did not know you would be here," she said. "I would have invited you to join our party."
"You may invite us now," Fanny told her. "I promise Mr. Fellows shall not mind."
"Mr. Fellows?" Delia blinked. "I had believed the Duke intended to escort you tonight."
"Yes, well." Fanny looked slightly put out by her friend's memory. "He sent his regrets."
Delia looked at Georgette in surprise. Georgette nodded, confirming.
"I do not believe it," Delia said. "Perhaps we should form a club," she said to Georgette. "Ladies in love with stupid men."
Georgette opened her mouth to tell Delia that she was merely friends with the Duke, and, especially after his regrets this evening, not even especially good friends. "Sends his regrets." Hah! She thought. Then she realized that she was his friend, no matter.
She was still standing there, her mouth half open, when Mr. Foster appeared.
"And who might these lovely ladies be?" he asked.
Delia introduced Georgette and Fanny, her particular friends, to Mr. Foster, who was all that was amiable. He was wealthy and had a vast estate in Hertfordshire, and his manners were excellent. He spoke with a quiet precision as if every word must be weighed.
Georgette could see why Delia could not stand him. The others of the party had now crowded around them, and were asking which direction they should take.
"I'm afraid it appears all of the supper boxes have been engaged," Mr. Foster announced. "But no matter, we shall survive."
Mr. Rupert Fellows joined them at that moment. "You shall simply have to join us," he told the others. "I have managed to procure a box for Miss Markham and Miss Quinby and myself. There is certainly room to spare."
The entire party looked at him. Georgette wondered if this truly was the same man who had trod on Fanny's feet several times the last time they danced.
Fanny evidently felt likewise. "Why Fellows," she declared, "you astonish me."
He gave Fanny his arm and positively beamed.
~.~
Chapter Seven
They made their way down the Grand Walk. The lanterns had been lit, and the gardens were truly magnificent. Around them, other people strutted, taking in the sights; families, lovers, and dangerous young men looking to lure away unaccompanied females.
They could hear the orchestra playing. Georgette thrilled at the idea of music. She nestled in her fur-lined cloak. She was glad of its warmth. It was still cold, despite all of the lights and thrills around them.
Delia took her arm. "Walk with me," she told Georgette. "If I am seen with another lady, Foster will not press upon me quite so much."
"Certainly," Georgette said. They walked in silence for a few moments, enjoying the sights. "Is he so very bad? Foster?"
Delia sighed. "No," she said. "But he is not Merry." She shrugged. "Nevertheless, I begin to wonder if perhaps I must let Merry go." She took a deep breath and exhaled. "But tonight, I refuse to think about such matters. Rather than think of Merry, I shall be merry!"
Georgette laughed. "Very clever," she said.
The group continued along their way, passing by acrobats and other entertainers.
Two men, cloaked in black, passed Georgette and Delia, headed in the opposite direction.
"Oui, je lui ai dit," one of them said.
Georgette stopped. It was him! She twisted, to watch the men.
"Delia, come with me," she whispered. Delia, whose eyes had widened when Georgette had stopped so abruptly, gamely nodded. Georgette turned them and followed the men.
They were speaking French. Blast! She had never bothered much with French. She'd been more distracted by mathematics and reading and music.
"Is there any chance you speak French?" she asked Delia quietly.
Delia nodded. "I learned it at school," she said. "It was my best subject."
"Grand," Georgette said. "Can you hear what those men are saying?"
Delia nodded again.
"Good," Georgette said. "Remember what they say. We must keep following them, but cannot let them see us."
Delia licked her lips. "Excellent," she said. "I love an adventure."
The two followed the men, who turned off onto one of the dark paths. Georgette could make out phrases and bits, but had no idea what they were saying. She hoped Delia was paying close attention.
Eventually, the men stopped along the path. It became clear that they would be separating: they stood in with the postures of an imminent goodbye. Georgette looked around. It appeared the one of them that she had not recognized would take the path to the right, back towards the orchestra. The other could either continue forward, or turn back.
"Don't turn back," she whispered, under her breath.
He turned back. He paused when he saw the ladies, standing so near.
"Keep walking," Georgette muttered to Delia under her breath. "Pretend we are simply ladies exploring the gardens."
"Only naughty ladies explore the gardens," Delia said.
"I suppose that makes us naughty ladies," Georgette said.
"Excellent. I shall tell Merry and drive him into a rage."
They sauntered forward, as if there was nothing odd about encountering two lone men in this darkened path. And it appeared as if he intended to let them glide by. Georgette began to give a sigh of relief.
His hand shot out. His fingers curled around her arm.
"Well, well, well," he said. "What have we here?"
His French accent was thick. It was just as she remembered near the Rosetta Stone.
"Unhand me, sir," she said, attempting to sound steady.
"And why should I wish to do that?" He laughed, a mocking laugh. "Here I find two ladies. Les deux poulettes. Why should I not stop to play?"
His tone was sinister and threatening. Georgette's stomach clenched.
"There you are!"
They all turned. Mr. Rupert Fellows was ambling down the path. He bore more than passing resemblance to a Labrador, Georgette thought. He grinned happily and mopped his brow.
"Fanny is terribly put out with you two," he said. He looked eagerly at the two of them. "She had every intention of toeing the line of respectability and exploring the dark paths herself. And then the two of you left her with the rest of the party. She is positively seething, I will have you know. I had to promise her I would find you both and restore you back to the supper box, safe and sound."
He gave the Frenchman a friendly slap on the back. The man let out what sounded like a groan. Then Mr. Fellows took his hand. "My thanks," he said to the man. "For seeing these ladies went unharmed. Capitol, capital."
Bowing, he took the hands of the two ladies and t
ucked them into the crook of his arm and led them away.
Georgette cocked her head and stared at him as they walked.
"Mr. Fellows, how in heaven's name did you find us?" she asked.
He grinned. "I've five younger sisters," he said.
"Say no more," Georgette said. She laughed. She had been about to ask the man if he too was a secret spy. But no. No, he was not. He was an older brother.
He restored them to the supper box, where Fanny was deliberately ignoring them. Georgette, recognizing her cousin's hurt. Fanny could never bear to be left out, and it looked as though Georgette had purposely left her, to say nothing of the fact that she was not exactly an attentive chaperone. Georgette sat next to Fanny and patted her arm.
"I'm terribly sorry I dragged Delia away," she said. "But I needed someone who understood French."
Fanny's brow lifted. "French?" she asked. Her mouth set. "I understand French."
"Your French tutor swore to never teach again after having you," Georgette said. “I meant I needed someone who understood French, not simply parroted French phrases—badly.”
She knew Fanny wished to refute her, but it was true. She bit her lip.
“Tell me a single phrase you remember in French,” Georgette challenged.
“Not in polite company,” Fanny said.
Georgette laughed.
The swear words the family had learned when Fanny's tutor finally turned in his resignation had been truly remarkable. Georgette still heard Fanny use them under her breath when she was truly upset.
Fanny gave a huff of exasperation. "Why did you need someone who understood French?" she asked.
"I cannot explain all of it," Georgette said. "It isn't my secret to share. But I believe that the man we followed is engaged is some very nefarious dealings. I overheard him some days ago, when we were at the British Museum."
She turned to Delia. "Can you tell me what you heard?"
Delia nodded and leaned forward eagerly. "The two men were discussing how to transport money. They were saying that they had the necessary coin. Then one of them said that he would be contacting the man about the exchange. I could not quite tell who this man was. They simply referred to him as the Englishman."
Georgette nodded. It was the Frenchman! And they had been discussing the very same transaction she had overheard at the British Museum! What were the chances? They had to be extremely low. If she were a betting woman, she would have bet against the odds.
It was Fate, she thought. She'd long suspected that Fate had played a heavy hand with her. Tripping her down those stairs rather than allowing her to toss herself off the roof. Leading her out into the garden, where the Duke had been smoking a cigar. Sitting her next to the potted plant, where the cryptic note had been left. But this last one, it truly defied belief. Had the Duke not sent his regrets, Fanny would not have been disgruntled enough to insist on Vauxhall. And if they had not arrived when they did, if Delia had not taken her arm, if Mr. Rupert Fellows had demonstrated heretofore unplumbed depths, she would never have heard or seen the Frenchman again.
Please, Fate, she thought. Please give me just a tiny bit more.
"Did they say anything else?" she asked Delia. “Any details about the exchange?"
Delia chewed her lip, thinking. "They said a man would bring it to the ball, but neither said which ball. They only said he would meet them in the Rose Room."
"The Rose Room?" Fanny groaned. "Why? Why is there always a Rose Room. No doubt it is yellow and covered with Egyptian artifacts."
Georgette smiled. But then she thought more about what Delia said. "Were there no other details?" she asked.
Delia chewed her lip once more. Then shook her head. "That was it," she said.
Georgette rubbed her forehead. So close!
"I believe Delia and I might need a bit more explanation," Fanny said.
Could she tell them? She did not wish to betray the Duke's confidences. And yet, if they wanted to stop the Frenchman, she would need Fanny and Delia's help. Perhaps she could reveal a small amount.
"It is my understanding that a certain Englishman managed to take a very valuable document. I don't know precisely what was contained in this document, but I do believe it is vital in our war efforts against France."
Fanny and Delia stared at her.
“Oh dear,” Delia exclaimed.
"How did you learn this?" Fanny asked.
"I cannot say," Georgette said. "I overheard something, by chance."
"So, these Frenchmen, the ones you just followed, they intend to pay the Englishman for this document?" Fanny asked.
Georgette nodded. "I believe it's taken them some time to gather the funds."
"And they are going to make the exchange at the ball, in the Rose Room," Fanny said.
"That is what I heard," Delia said.
"There is just one small problem," Georgette said. "It's as you said earlier today. There are balls every night."
Fanny groaned again. "And they all have Rose Rooms."
Georgette nodded.
Mr. Rupert Fellows approached. "Might I request the pleasure of a dance, Miss Markham?"
Georgette could tell that Fanny wanted to continue discussing what she and Delia had overheard. She herself was still trying to understand it. But Fanny, recognizing that the gentleman who stood in front of her was a good one, smiled.
"I would like that, very much," she said.
"I promise to not step on your feet this time," he said.
Georgette could hear Fanny's gay laugh. "Oh, Rupert," she said, "Don't make promises you cannot keep."
~.~
Chapter Eight
The Duke of Eversley’s head was sore. He stared at the bed curtains, which some understanding servant had been kind enough to draw. He pulled one of them aside, blinking at the light. What time was it? He sighed. He was too old to drink this much.
"You are too old to drink this much." Blanche stood by his bedside in all her ethereal beauty.
"You're back." He stared at her, drinking her in. She was dressed in a nightgown, covered with a wrapper. Her curls tumbled down her back.
She looked less clear than before. Perhaps it was the sunlight. He turned his head, trying to block out some of it.
"Not for long," she said. "I merely wished to chastise you. Imbecile. Why must you always be so, how do you say? Bull-headed?"
"I am not," he said. "How am I bull-headed?"
"Hah, let me count the ways." She ticked them off with her fingers. "You refused to rest properly when you were injured."
"I did once I arrived in Vienna."
"You continue drinking and gambling all night, simply to prove a point," she said.
"I was assigned to follow Merry," he said.
"You were wallowing, mon Chéri. Merry must make up his own mind. You know this. Instead you left that poor lady without an escort."
"I have no doubt Miss Quinby and her cousin managed. They are both extremely resourceful young women. And I sent my regrets."
She looked at him sadly.
"You refuse to let me go," she said.
A lump rose in his throat. He squeezed his eyes.
"I cannot," he said.
“How long must I stay?” she asked sadly.
“I cannot let you go, Dear Blanche. I cannot forget.”
"Letting me go does not mean forgetting me," she said. "It does not mean that you betray me, or the love we had. Mon Chéri, you will always love me; I know this. I was your first love, and you were mine. But it was a man ten years younger who loved me. You are different now. You will continue to change. It is not a bad thing, to find someone else to change with."
"I do not want to find someone else," he said. "I want you."
She reached out, as if to smooth away the hair from his forehead, but there were no fingers to touch his brow.
"You see? Bull-headed," she said. He closed his eyes and she was gone.
~.~
Chapter Nine
The ladies gathered in their sitting room the following afternoon. The original plan had involved a very early meeting. Unfortunately, the splendors of Vauxhall did not allow for an early return home. It had been nearly dawn by the time they returned home, full of arrack punch and fireworks and music and intrigue. Comforted by the knowledge that balls never occurred before evening, the three decided that indulging in sleep would be acceptable.
Georgette suspected that Eversley would have insisted on an early meeting. He tended towards more intense behavior. His insistence on devoting himself to a life of espionage against the French after the death of his wife was a prime example.
She respected it. She understood it. How could she begrudge him this decision? He had loved Her Grace. It had been apparent in their every interaction, even for the young lady she had been. When she had seen them, she had dreamt that she and Sebastien would one day share that same such love.
That dream had well and fully died. Fortunately, she reflected, she had not. She rubbed a hand on her hip, trying to ease the slight ache. While she had not danced at Vauxhall, there had been a considerable amount of activity – walking up and down the paths, watching the orchestra, sitting in a boat.
Georgette, seated at the delicate desk, set her writing materials in front of her. She dipped her pen into the ink.
"We must approach this methodically," she told the other two ladies, who were seated on one of the settees.
"Right," Fanny said. "A list of balls."
"And a list of Rose Rooms," Georgette said.
"But, how can we possibly know of everyone with a Rose Room?" Delia asked.
"We cannot," Georgette conceded. "I know of very few. But if we narrow down to the balls taking place over the next several days, we can then make inquiries as to whether or not the hosts have Rose Rooms."
"And how do you plan on making these inquiries?" Delia asked. “We cannot tell what we are about.”
The Mad Heiress and the Duke – Miss Georgette Quinby: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 1) Page 9
