Izzy whimpered in apprehension but took Georgie’s arm anyway. They proceeded into the dark house, the interior seeming to be dated at least a good hundred years, and yet without any of the grandeur of that era. And given the layer of dust on the currently empty sconces on the wall, without any of its cleanliness.
“Mind tha’ step,” the servant said brusquely. “Don’t need any turned ankles.”
They avoided it dutifully, then followed him into a small drawing room, which was much better cleaned than the corridor had been, and in surprisingly brighter colors. It was still rather old and faded, but far more pleasant than Georgie had expected.
“Herself’s comin’,” the servant grunted, giving the slightest bow ever known to man before leaving the room.
“Georgie…” Izzy whispered, pulling her arm tightly.
“Hush. It will be all right.”
Just then, a woman of moderate height and slight frame entered the room, startling them both with her beauty and her small smile, her dark hair neatly pulled back, green eyes sparkling. “Miss Allen, Miss Lambert,” she greeted, her brogue delightfully present in the soft tones. She curtseyed, then clasped her hands before her. “I hope you weren’t put off by Owen. He’s very fond of me, but not entirely trained as a butler. Or footman, for that matter, but he tends to serve as both.”
“Lady Edith,” Georgie said, stepping forward. “Thank you for letting us call. I know you’ve only just arrived…”
“Oh, it is my pleasure,” Lady Edith interrupted gently, gesturing for them both to sit, and doing so herself. She pulled a tartan shawl around her simple grey dress, smiling. “I don’t know a soul in London, and while we haven’t really opened the house fully yet, I felt I had to welcome you.” Her smile broadened briefly, which had to be a thing of perfection itself. “The tone of your note was rather convincing.”
“That would be Miss Allen’s way,” Izzy replied with a laugh. Then she sobered quickly. “But may we, from the bottom of our hearts, express our condolences on the loss of your husband, Lady Edith. We know you’re just out of mourning, so we’d hate to impose.”
Lady Edith tilted her head, her full bottom lip pulling as though she bit it. “I’m afraid, Miss Lambert, that the bottom of your heart is rather too far to go for those condolences. I didn’t go that far myself. But then, as you’ve no doubt heard, I was only married for about five minutes.” She shrugged a shoulder, again startling them both.
No hint of remorse, even the pretense of it, and nothing mournful about her. Yet she did not seem a vindictive sort, nor the kind that would wish ill on anyone. Aside from her honesty just then, she rather reminded Georgie of Prue, if Prue were a little less shy and a little more open.
She and Izzy looked at each other, then back at Lady Edith, who did not seem surprised by their confusion. But she made no efforts to explain herself and only dipped her chin. “Owen has gone to fetch a tea tray, so perhaps until he returns, you might tell me how you became aware of me? I have no great acquaintances here, and no one to recommend me.”
Izzy looked at Georgie expectantly, and Georgie tucked a resigned smile against her cheeks. “Actually, it’s a bit out of the ordinary, Lady Edith, for the person who recommended you doesn’t know you either.”
He’d kissed Georgie. Not once, not twice, but three times.
It was madness, it was absolute madness!
What was worse was that all he’d been able to think about since kissing Georgie was kissing her again.
Not that any of it had been unpleasant, or worthy of any sort of regret. Not in the least. In fact, it was probably the sanest, truest thing he’d ever done in his life.
What was mad was how consumed he suddenly was by the thought of her. Georgie. Everything she said and did, everything about her was now chief in his thoughts. Moment after moment of their association seemed to be forefront in his mind, and he was so distracted by it that he was perfectly useless. Sleep had been absolutely uprooted and disturbed by thoughts of her, by dreams and imagining future occasions with her. He was utterly exhausted, practically delirious, but not entirely aware of any of it, he was so delighted.
Not that anyone would know. Tony had determined he was not safe around those who knew him well enough to notice and inquire, and so had spent the day before cooped up in his apartments. Rollins thought he was ill, and then thought he might actually have gone mad, so he was vastly relieved to have Tony leave the place today.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do with himself, but a long walk about London would do for a start.
Hyde Park was more crowded today than it had been when he had walked with Georgie, but as he still did not know many people, he was not concerned with that. Nobody would care that he was in Hyde Park today without direction or purpose. No one would be stopping to speak to him or ask him questions, and everybody would go about their merry way without noticing him at all.
“Tony!”
Perhaps it would have been better for him to go for a ride out of London and feel the fresh countryside fill his senses. It would have given him more time to think and process, and there would be less need to mind his expressions and behavior.
“Tony!”
His horse was stabled at the local mews, and it had been some time since he had taken him for a good ride. He rarely rode about London, and as he was not settled in a country house anywhere, there was nothing to call him away.
“Tony!”
That was his name. Faintly, it occurred to him that someone had been calling him, and as he processed that in his mind, he stopped in his tracks.
He knew that voice. He blinked hard and told his feet to turn towards it.
His feet would not listen.
He couldn’t blame them. No one would have expected him to hear that voice in London, let alone on a day when he was feeling only slightly less tossed about than he had been the day before. That voice belonged to a person who was entirely too intuitive, and entirely too meddlesome.
His stepmother, Miranda.
Tony swallowed hard and turned his head, which decided to obey, towards the sound.
Seated in an open barouche on the lane was indeed his stepmother, her beauty catching the eye of several gentlemen both young and old, and making her look far younger than she was, as her hair was still the same dark shade it had been in her youth. She wore a large, expensively adorned bonnet that only highlighted her perfectly sculpted cheekbones, and the ribbons danced on the breeze too perfectly. Her complexion was flawless, nearly without line, and her eyes were a brilliant crystal blue. She was graceful, poised, and the picture of utter refinement. It was no wonder she attracted so much attention, she was almost the description of perfection.
Almost.
No one looking at her would know she was the most mischievous woman he had ever known in his entire life, including any of the Spinsters.
One look in that barouche told him that he was in a great deal of trouble and would have to proceed with caution.
He’d rather not have proceeded at all, but proceed he must.
Miranda was not to be ignored.
His feet complied with his order to move this time, and he turned on his path, making his way towards the barouche, forcing himself to smile. It wasn’t so difficult, as he adored Miranda, but at this moment, he wished her miles away.
Miranda smiled benevolently as he approached, and he chuckled to himself at how perfectly “Miranda” this all was. She was out for a ride in the fashionable hours in Hyde Park, wearing what seemed to be a newer gown, its sleek lines slimming her where she would wish and enhancing her favorite assets; and all the while she had spotted the stepson she found the most amusement in. She was being admired while doing something she knew could cause some trouble.
It was her dream come true, in his estimation.
“Miranda,” Tony greeted, sweeping off his hat and bowing to her. He examined the barouche quickly, then raised a brow at her. “What, Rufus didn’t come w
ith you?”
Miranda narrowed her eyes at him, trying not to smile at the mention of her beloved bloodhound. “You know perfectly well that Rufus would never tolerate an open carriage with so many people about. This isn’t the country, Anthony, and he might think the passing members of Society rather large foxes.”
“You could get a smaller dog,” he pointed out.
“Rufus suits me perfectly well, and I don’t recall asking your opinion on the subject.”
“This is true.” Tony shook his head, allowing himself to grin freely at his stepmother. “You are looking lovelier than I recall.”
She gave him a small, bemused smile and inclined her head. “Tony, dear, don’t flatter me when you don’t mean it.”
He rested his arm on the wheel of the barouche, peering up at her. “I always mean it when I flatter you, Stepmama.”
Miranda’s nostrils flared slightly, and her smile tightened. “Anthony Sterling, you know better than to call me that horrible name, even in jest.”
Tony adopted a would-be innocent expression. “But that’s what you are. Isn’t it a mark of respect?”
“It will be a mark of something if you do it again.”
He chuckled and smiled up at her. “I hadn’t expected to see you in London, Miranda. You’ve never expressed an interest in returning before.”
Miranda sighed as she adjusted her kid gloves. “Well, Mr. Johnston had some business in London, and Arabella decided to join him, and I decided to join Arabella. Now Mr. Johnston has extended his business indefinitely, so we’ve rented a house.”
Tony bit back a groan. Indefinitely was a dangerous word with Miranda, and if she was in London long enough, she would know about Georgie.
That would be a disaster.
“Don’t mind me,” chimed in another voice, seated beside Miranda, but barely visible at all from his vantage point. “You two keep chatting away and ignore me.”
Tony made a show of peering around his stepmother and smiled warmly at his aunt, who was not and never had been a match for her sister in looks but was certainly a handsome woman in her own right even now. “Good morning, Aunt. How are you?”
She smirked at him and folded her hands primly in her lap. “With my sister attracting all of these men like bees to honey? I’m worn out and desperate for a cup of tea.”
“Oh, hush,” Miranda scolded, her delicate brow knitting as she looked at her sister. “They only want to look, and I’m not going to encourage anybody. I never do. I’m far too old to marry again, and I don’t care who hears me say it.”
Tony rolled his eyes at that. Miranda was determined to remain devoted to the memory of his father, which he approved of, but she also made a point of reminding everybody that she could marry again, if she wished to, while at the same time determining herself to be older than she was.
“Why are you walking Hyde Park alone, Tony?” Arabella inquired, pointedly ignoring her sister’s proclamation, as per usual. “It’s a fine day, should you not have a lady on your arm?”
“Or at the very least a horse at your disposal,” Miranda added, returning her focus to him. “A gentleman on horseback is a fine sight indeed. One walking on his own a rather poor one.”
“Then a poor sight I am, and it will undoubtedly do me a world of good.” He gave them both a cheeky grin, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Miranda frowned a little and turned more towards him. “Tony, could you not convince Ben to come up from Dorset with you? Surely he would be sound company for you.”
Tony shuddered for effect. “One month with the good doctor was more than enough, I can assure you. He’s very well set up, I’ll grant you, and his house is very comfortable, even for you.”
She gave him a dubious look at that but smiled in amusement.
“But no,” Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Ben has no desire to come to London, nor to take up Mawbry House. He says he feels uncomfortable, as it is your house, and not our father’s.”
Miranda snuffed loudly, surprising him. “Fiddlesticks. I don’t have any children that I have borne, and I promised your father when we bought my cousin’s house that it would stay within the family. Ben’s the eldest, it’s his estate!”
Tony shrugged a shoulder, grinning at her vehemence. “Ben wants to make his own way.”
“He can make his own way in a large house in Dover,” she snapped. She huffed in irritation and looked at Arabella. “Don’t say a word, I refuse to deed it to Simon.”
Arabella raised her hands in surrender. “I didn’t ask. Simon has his own inheritance, and I doubt he’ll deserve that one.”
Tony did not want to begin a conversation about Arabella’s fat and useless son, and he certainly did not need to start a series of rumors about him and a beautiful older woman holding an in-depth conversation in Hyde Park where anybody could see them. He looked around almost apprehensively, trying to keep his pleasant demeanor. Rumors about him would not help the Spinsters, and if Miranda was about in Society as much as he feared, she would hear about his involvement with them.
She would have a great deal to say on that subject when that fateful day arrived.
Especially if she caught word of Georgie. Of him and Georgie.
If there was a word to be said about them.
He hoped there would be. He hoped there would be many words to be said.
But what would they be?
A low, amused hum met his ears, and he looked up into the sparkling eyes of his stepmother, now smirking at him.
“What?” he asked sharply, forcing himself not to rear back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Miranda still smirked and nodded to herself a few times.
“What?” Tony looked at Arabella wildly. “What is she doing?”
Arabella chuckled and gave him a knowing look. “She’s your stepmother, Tony. What do you think?”
That was what terrified him. Miranda had been his stepmother since he was twelve years old, and she had always had far too much intuition where he was concerned. She had always known when he was lying, what he was really thinking, where he had been, and knew exactly how to make him laugh when he’d been determined not to. She’d always tried to be more of a friend than an authoritarian, sometimes opting not to tell his father when he had misbehaved, and it was because of that kinder hand that they had such a warm relationship now.
But Miranda’s intuition couldn’t possibly extend to his secrets now, could it?
He was far too old for her to analyze as she had done before, wasn’t he?
Miranda laughed in a tone that he did not trust at all, then sat back against the barouche seats. “I do hope you will bring her to take tea with us soon, Tony, dear.”
He reared back a little, eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”
“The woman who has you so tangled in knots,” she elaborated, her smile turning coy. “The one running rampant through your mind, no doubt throwing your life into complete chaos. It is all over your face, and I must know who she is and how she claimed you.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,” Tony retorted hotly, folding his arms.
Miranda glowered at him, a look that he knew all too well. “Don’t let her know that. She’d never forgive you for lowering her to such an extent.”
Tony forced himself to have a completely blank expression, despite his rapidly quickening heartbeat. “Miranda, I’m sorry to have to contradict you, but…”
“I wouldn’t,” Miranda interrupted with a shake of her head.
“Nor I,” Arabella added, intentionally not being helpful, to be sure.
“It’s too easy.” Miranda sighed and adjusted her bonnet. “We are at Number 14 Mount Street. Bring your lady by, or I will be forced to make inquiries.”
He shouldn’t have, but he pressed his luck and asked, “And to whom would you inquire?”
The look Miranda bestowed upon him made his heart stop in his chest. �
�Everyone, Anthony Sterling, beginning with your cousins, Lord Sterling and his wife. I have heard remarkable things about Lady Sterling, and as we were not able to become fully acquainted at their wedding, I feel obliged to make her better acquaintance now. I must say, I am quite looking forward to the prospect.”
Tony forced a swallow. “You would start rumors about me, Miranda?”
“Darling,” she replied in a very pitying tone, “I am quite sure that the rumors are already started.” She nodded at Arabella, who called to the driver, and they pulled away, Miranda waving her dainty fingers at him.
Tony watched them go, feeling rather tossed about by that exchange. Miranda was meddlesome, tiresome, and altogether too clever for her own good. Unfortunately, he was the one that would undoubtedly suffer for it, and who knows what other chaos would ensue as things unfolded. His feelings for Georgie were too fresh, too new to be explored so thoroughly by himself, let alone anyone else.
He had to warn Georgie.
He had to see Georgie.
He had to…
Well, seeing Georgie would be enough. He would be at once calmer and more agitated, but only in the best of ways. There wasn’t an explanation for it, but he didn’t need an explanation.
He didn’t want one.
Tony exhaled slowly, amazed that he could smile with ease once the thought of Georgie returned. He turned back the way he had come, thinking quickly on how the day would need to proceed now, and plotting his course to circumvent Miranda’s efforts while pursuing his own agenda with Georgie. The Spinsters would need to be alerted, and a plan put into place.
The thrill of battle suddenly rose within him, a long-forgotten friend, and his smile deepened.
His stepmother might be conniving, but she had never met Georgiana Allen.
There was no telling what madness could unfold.
Chapter Thirteen
A group of women when banded together with a common purpose is the most terrifying thing on the planet. Unless their purpose is something foolhardy and doomed to fail, and then it may descend into the worst sort of madness. Or it may rise triumphant and surprise all who doubted its cause. One never knows from the beginning how victorious the end might be.
The Merry Lives of Spinsters Page 18
