The Mad Heiress and the Duke – Miss Georgette Quinby: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 1)

by Isabella Thorne

  "But we have already planned out ball gowns," Georgette said. "And we've discussed so much strategy, I've even started dreaming about it."

  She closed her eyes again. "Besides," she said, "it is a relatively simple plan."

  And it was. The ladies had decided that Georgette would hide in the study. Fanny would hide outside of it, while Delia would keep an eye out for anything amiss at the ball. There had been some disagreement about the roles --Delia and Fanny felt they should be doing something more-- but Georgette prevailed. She didn’t want the younger girls involved with anything that might cause scandal. Her reputation was already in tatters. Hers didn’t matter so much.

  "I still wish I was hiding with you," Fanny said.

  "I told you, we need you to be stationed outside, to provide a distraction or sound the alarm if need be," Georgette said.

  Fanny let out a huff. "Any word from Eversley?" she asked.

  Georgette shook her head. She had lowered herself even further yesterday, by stopping to call at his residence, and asked to wait in the drawing room while the butler inquired.

  The residence had been just as Georgette remembered. Decorated exquisitely and tastefully, it was an ode to Her Grace. The Duchess had been known for her remarkable ability to decorate, Georgette remembered.

  Many of the ton decorated in the latest style. Each Season was an excuse for new drapery, new wall paper, new upholstery. Greek and Roman motifs, gilded furniture, china figurines.

  Georgette had long stopped paying attention to the latest trends. When she was sixteen and in love, she had decorated many a room in her head. The room where she and Sebastien would eat their supper, the room where she would do her sewing, the room where she would play her music and Sebastien would sit, entranced. Then Sebastien had run away with the Duke's sister, and decorating imaginary rooms lost its appeal. Why spend time decorating a room when Sebastien would never sit in it? Then, as the years passed, she had stopped bothering with trends altogether, simply because she did not see the point. If she was to be a spinster, she wanted to exist for the rest of her life in spaces she enjoyed. She didn’t care about fashion. She cared about comfort. When she agreed to join Fanny in Town, she had left all the decorating decisions to her cousin, who was decidedly a la mode.

  The Duke's residence was not fashionable. Even Georgette could recognize that it was ten years out of date. But it remained comfortable and pleasant, filled with enjoyable and beautiful things. Just like Blanche.

  For a moment, as she had stood in the Duke's drawing room yesterday, she had fancied she could see Her Grace. She was standing by the mantle, smiling at Georgette, a mischievous look in her eyes. What would she say to her, if she were there? Your husband still mourns you. He will never love another. And yet, I think I may be falling in love with him. I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t plan it.

  And what would Her Grace say back? The Blanche she had known, so briefly, all those years ago, what would she have said? Georgette liked to think that perhaps Her Grace would smile and tell her that it was a good thing, that he needed someone to love, and be loved by, that people could not be forever trapped by the tragedies of long ago.

  She looked back over at the mantel piece. The vision of the lady was gone. A throat cleared and Georgette looked up from her wool gathering.

  "I beg your pardon, Miss Quinby." The butler gave a short bow. "His Grace is unfortunately not at home."

  Georgette was stunned. She stared at the butler for a full minute before she gathered her wits.

  Georgette lay back in bed, thinking of the hot blush of embarrassment she had felt, the sympathetic smile of the butler.

  His Grace had been home, but ignored her. What did he think she was there for? To throw herself at him, like some sort of harlot? The fact that he thought so angered her.

  Very well, she had thought, as she swept from his drawing room. Let him treat her so callously. She did not need him to save her country. She did not need him to care for her. She could do it on her own.

  Georgette looked at Fanny, who was still in her bedroom, looking like a sad-eyed hound, eager for the hunt to begin.

  "Oh bother," Georgette said. "I suppose I won't be getting any more sleep. You may as well ring for some chocolate."

  Fanny bounced on the bed again and hugged her cousin.

  ~.~

  Chapter Four

  "Merry Meryton is waiting downstairs, Your Grace." Rokesby stood in the doorway.

  Eversley looked up. Rokesby had been giving him mildly reproving looks for the last day, ever since Miss Quinby had come for a visit and he had refused her.

  "Do you wish me to tell him you are not at home?" Rokesby asked, stiffly. The note of censure was unmistakable. Eversley ignored it.

  Eversley sighed and pushed back from his desk. "No," he said. "No, I will go see what Merry wants."

  Merry was standing in the entryway, slapping his hat against his leg.

  "Ah, Eversley," he said, as the Duke descended. "Get your hat and coat."

  Eversley blinked. "Am I going somewhere?" he asked.

  Merry nodded and shrugged. "Seeing as no matter where I go, you are bound to show up; I decided to call upon you before heading to the club. Saves you the effort of tracking me down, old boy."

  "Was I so very obvious?" Eversley asked.

  Merry snorted. "I don't particularly care for your meddling," he said, "although I appreciate that it comes from good intentions."

  Eversley forbore stating that it had actually not stemmed from good intentions at all. He had originally believed Merry to be a traitor to the Crown. He motioned with his head to Joseph, who ran lightly up the stairs to retrieve his things.

  "You could save me the effort altogether," he said to Merry, "and stop gambling."

  Merry snorted. "Coming from the man who could do whatever he wished."

  Eversley bristled. "I cannot do everything I might wish," he said.

  "I beg your pardon," Merry said, and he sounded genuinely sorry. "I did not mean to suggest that you have not experienced loss. I simply meant to point out that should you ever decide to do anything --woo another woman, travel the world, build a bloody castle-- you could do it. You have the means and the ability."

  "Merry, I am fortunate, I know this. If all you needed was funds, I would gladly give you the money--"

  "I am not a charity case." Merry's voice was suddenly low and dangerous.

  "I never said you were."

  For a long moment, Merry stared at him. "I'm going to the club," he said. "And I will gamble until I win, or until my funds are entirely depleted. And you shall not stop me, Eversley. I will accept the companionship, but I will not accept anything else. If you wish to offer something more, you can go find Miss Quinby. Rumor is she's desperate for you."

  "Careful, Merry, or I should call you out," Eversley said.

  A smile crossed Merry’s lips. “Good,” he said.

  Joseph returned with Eversley's coat and hat and sword cane, which he had taken to carrying years ago when he first began his work in France. Eversley accepted them silently, still seething over Merry's words regarding Miss Quinby.

  Yes, she was desperate for him. He knew this. Two notes and a visit? Lud, the woman should have some dignity. He'd just paid her a modicum of attention. He'd visited a couple of times, and sent her some music. That was it. He should not have sent the music.

  Yes, he had found himself frequently thinking how nice it would be to tell Miss Quinby about the events of his life, about his visits to Parliament and about Merry and about the little moments of his day which brought him joy and sadness. But that did not mean anything. It had simply been nice, that was all. It was nice to have a friend.

  And yes, once or twice he had allowed himself to envision her as more, to consider how it might feel to be able to reach out and touch her cheek, to allow his hand to settle possessively on the small of her back, to be with her as a man. But that was simply loneliness. That was simply being in this
house, alone.

  Without Blanche.

  ~.~

  Chapter Five

  The Fletcher Masquerade was one of the Great Events of the Season, according to Fanny, who had it on good authority from the Smith sisters. Mrs. Fletcher had hosted the ball for the past five years, and every year it became more and more extravagant. Ladies and gentlemen of the ton were known to spend months planning their costumes. The sheer amount of feathers and jewels and satin and velvet that went to one single night was astonishing.

  Georgette had elected to wear a simple domino, much to Fanny's dismay. She had only been allowed her "incredibly boring and dismal" costume after she had pointed out to Fanny that one could not easily hide in cupboards in Rose Rooms if one was dressed as a swan. Fanny, on the other hand, was dressed as a magnificent peacock, with a beaded skirt and an astonishment of feathers.

  "I know, I know," she said. "I'm dressed as a male peacock. But I wasn't about to go as a female, although no doubt wearing a large brown sack would be slightly more comfortable. Who knew beading was so heavy?" She shifted her shoulder and grimaced.

  "You look wonderful," Georgette said.

  Mr. Rupert Fellows promptly arrived to escort them. He too had gone for the simple domino.

  "I once attempted to dress as a knight of the realm," he explained to the ladies as he handed them up into the carriage. "But my breastplate fell off during the jig and injured my companion."

  Fanny patted his arm. "Best to leave the extravagant costumes to others," she said soothingly.

  He nodded. "I should probably keep a wide berth of your costume." He shuddered. "All that beading."

  Fanny nodded, but did not look overly thrilled by the idea of Mr. Fellows not being nearby.

  "Perhaps best if I skirt you entirely."

  "Why, Mr. Fellows, your wordplay astonishes me," Fanny said.

  Mr. Fellows grinned. Georgette glanced over to Fanny, who was trying to hide her smile.

  The ride to the ball took no time at all --the Fletcher mansion was only two squares over. They also managed to avoid the normally excruciating wait to disembark, as they had arrived very early. A fact Mr. Fellows remarked upon.

  "Deuced early," he said.

  "I like to arrive promptly," Fanny said. "To spend as much time as possible."

  Mr. Fellows nodded, as if this was an entirely reasonable statement. Georgette sent up a silent thanks that Mr. Fellows appeared to be willing to serve Fanny's every whim.

  The three of them entered the ballroom, Georgette and Fanny on Mr. Fellow's arms. Georgette scanned those assembled. Very few guests were at the ball. They milled about in small groups, sipping on punch, eyeing each other's costumes and comparing extravagance.

  Mr. Fellows murmured about finding the ladies refreshments, and left them near one of the mantels, by a fire. The room was not yet filled with people, and so that warmth of the fire was appreciated. An orchestra was stationed at the other end of the room, but they were not yet playing dances.

  "Any sign of the Frenchman?" Fanny asked.

  Georgette skimmed once more over the ball guests and shook her head. "No," she said. "I believe I should make my excuses and go to the retiring room. It would not do to have the Frenchman arrive before I am in place."

  Fanny nodded. They had discussed this before the ball. Georgette would retire to mend a hem, and then hide herself in the Rose Room. Fanny would distract Mr. Fellows. Hopefully Delia would soon arrive, and she could also scan the ball guests.

  "Go," Fanny said. "Before he returns with our drinks."

  Georgette squeezed her cousin's hand and made her way out of the ballroom.

  What had the Smith sisters said?

  "If you were to, say, be on the second floor."

  "Off to left."

  "Facing south."

  "You might find it."

  She trod silently down the carpeted hallways, her slippers making barely a sound. Past sitting rooms and blue rooms and gold rooms.

  There. The Rose Room.

  It was dark, just one lamp was lit. No one appeared to be in the room. She made her way around, poking her head under tables and into cabinets, ensuring no one was there. It was deserted.

  Where could she hide? It had to be somewhere comfortable. Who knew how long she would be there. There was the side table over on that side --the long lace covering would likely keep her from view. There was the lacquered Chinese trunk in the middle of the room. She raised the lid. It was mercifully empty, but also very dirty. And both of these were bound to be cramped, and make any sudden escapes or movements impossible.

  She looked about in frustration. There had to be somewhere.

  Hmmmm. She peered at the long heavy drapes that flanked the windows. She could hide behind those, but no doubt they would notice her bulk. But if she drew a chair in front, it might seem less noticeable.

  Well, she supposed that was the only option. She may as well give it a try.

  She untied one of the drapes, and then dragged over one of the lighter, balloon-backed chairs in front of it. Carefully, trying not to disturb the chair, she slid behind the curtains. She hoped her slippers were not visible. Hopefully, the lights would remain relatively unlit.

  Time to wait.

  ~.~

  Chapter Six

  The club was not overcrowded this evening, as Eversley and Merry made their way in.

  Why was he here? Why did he follow Merry? The man had insulted him, his honor, and Miss Quinby. He should let Merry ruin himself.

  Merry aimed for one of the higher stakes tables. Normally, he confined himself to the lower stakes, never trusting himself with too much money --never having enough to lose. Tonight, however, he was even more reckless.

  He stared aggressively back at Eversley, daring the Duke to tell him not to play. But Eversley remained silent. Instead he wandered over to the window, staring out the wavy glass onto the rainy street below, at the horses standing in the mud. From this vantage point, he could see the pedestrians and carriages that turned into the street, rounding a corner not too far away.

  Merry continued to play. Most of the gentlemen at the club tonight were ones Eversley did not know. He supposed there must be some important social event that kept away the others. No doubt he had received an invitation to it. He wondered if he had accepted.

  "Ten thousand pounds." It was Lord Bramblehurst. He and Mr. Turner had entered the room.

  Mr. Turner chuckled. "I heard you the first time, Bramblehurst, and it's a fool's bet, I tell you. I only make bets with the chance I can win."

  Lord Bramblehurst grunted. "Twenty," he said.

  Mr. Turner waved him off. "Pick a different bet," he said.

  Lord Bramblehurst turned to the Duke. "What say you?" he asked, his jowls waggling like a bulldog's. "Interested in the bet?"

  "What are you betting?" Eversley asked.

  "Ten thousand to guess what the next person who comes around that corner looks like," Bramblehurst said.

  Eversley laughed and shook his head.

  "Twenty," Bramblehurst said, as if increasing the amount would increase the temptation. "Twenty thousand pounds. If you get the sex and color of dress correct. That's not so hard is it?"

  Eversley smiled. "You must forgive me, Bramblehurst," he said, "but that's not a bet for me."

  The lord raised his voice. "Is there no one in this bloody club interested in the bet?"

  "I'll take it."

  Heads turned. It was Merry. He was staring at Lord Bramblehurst. Then his gaze slid to the Duke, again daring him to stop him.

  Eversley started. What was Merry doing? Then he stopped himself. Let him lose, he thought. Let him destroy it all. At least it would mercifully be over.

  He stared back at Merry and shrugged.

  Bramblehurst grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Capital," he said. "Twenty?"

  Merry nodded.

  "And what do you think the person shall be?" he asked.

  Merry thought for a
moment. "A lady," he said. "Green coat over a plum dress. And your wager?"

  "Gentleman," Bramblehurst said. "Navy coat, top hat."

  He held out his hand. Merry shook it. They walked to the window and peered out.

  "Any moment," Bramblehurst said. "Someone will turn the corner at any...ah."

  The room was hushed, as the other occupants waited to hear what they saw.

  "It's a woman," Merry said.

  Lord Bramblehurst blinked. "With a green coat," he said.

  Silence. Eversley could hear rain against the window.

  "Over a plum dress," Merry said, the astonishment in his voice evident.

  "What?" One of the other gentlemen finally spoke. "I say, Merry, does this mean you've won?"

  Merry blinked. "I..." he said. "Yes." He gave a little laugh. "I suppose I have."

  The room erupted with laughter. Merry Meryton, winning the gamble!

  Lord Bramblehurst was looking decidedly uneasy. Eversley imagined that he never actually had to pay up on his bets. However, Merry would no doubt be requesting immediate payment. Twenty thousand pounds would solve a multitude of Merry’s problems.

  After the noise had died down somewhat, and several gentlemen had stopped by to slap Merry on the back, Merry turned to Lord Bramblehurst.

  "I believe you owe me," he said, holding out his hand. "Twenty pounds."

  Eversley wanted to laugh. Twenty? Merry had clearly misspoken.

  "Ah," Lord Bramblhurst fingered his cravat. "Might take me some time," he said.

  "Oh, never matter," Merry said. "You've got credit here, have you not? Simply tell them to give me twenty pounds of it."

  A second time, he'd left off the thousand. Eversley looked at Merry, questioningly. What was the man doing?

  Lord Bramblehurst looked equally confused. "Young man," he said. "It takes time to transfer those funds. I must see my solicitor, and my banker." Sweat began to trickle down his temple.

  Merry set a hand on his shoulder. "No," he said. "We wagered twenty pounds. You asked twenty, and we shook on it. That's all you owe me."