Having partnered George for the supper dance, Georgiana was obliged to accompany him into the dining room where the gentle strains of Pandean pipes floated lightly on the air. Georgiana tried to match the festive mood in the room. Candles burning in the crystal-draped chandeliers turned the fluted columns amber gold and caused flickering shadows to play hide-and-seek among the fruit, flowers, and game birds of the Grinling Gibbons carvings. But she felt her spirits oddly sagging. More than once her attention wandered from her escort as she sought the stranger she had determined to ignore.
The supper table held a fine assortment of dishes and Georgiana discovered that the dancing had sharpened her appetite. She accepted servings of haricot of mutton, veal, olives, brown soup, and macaroni pie. She was, however, just about to refuse the ragout of pullet and sweetbreads when George tugged at the narrow frill on his shirt cuffs. “I advise you to refuse the ragout, my dear. Taken at a late hour, it can be quite as unsettling to the digestion as a fricassee.”
Georgiana allowed the footman to place a serving of ragout on her plate. “Jensen, after you’ve served this around, I should like a portion of the fricassee of chicken.”
“Very good, milady.”
Georgiana refused the fish, the almond pudding with coconut, and the blancmange; but she accepted the floating island after George turned it down.
“I understand it was always the habit of the excellent Walpole to retire at an early hour,” she chided her partner, knowing George sought to copy the Earl of Orford in all things. “I’m surprised you stay so late.”
“If the author of The Castle of Otranto had had such inducements as your fair self at Strawberry Hill, he might have found himself with greater stamina,” George replied gallantly. And then he added with just a touch of archness, “But because one admires a man’s literary taste and style, one need not go to extremes.”
“My sentiments precisely, sir.” Georgiana winced at her own words. In spite of his taste for the overblown, George was a pleasant companion. She wished he didn’t bring out such contrariness from her. She resolved to behave in a more ladylike manner henceforth.
Tea would be served later in the drawing room. Now the strains of the orchestra announced that the ball was resuming with a country dance, and Georgiana was certain that George was considering the impropriety of asking her for a third dance. “Oh,” she cried suddenly, “I see Mama and my sister just going into the garden to take the air. Pray excuse me, sir. I must speak to them.”
Not waiting for a reply and hoping fervently that the duchess was not standing somewhere in plain view of Mr. Agar-Ellis, she slipped quickly through the open French door. Just in case George might be thinking of following her, Georgiana sidestepped from the light of the long windows into the shadows. Instead of the open space she expected, however, she collided soundly with a solid muscular chest. Two strong hands gripped her arms firmly to support her. “Steady as she goes, Georgie.” A deep masculine voice with a hint of a smile in it spoke near to her ear. “In the old days you were always throwing yourself at me as I recall but I hadn’t dared hope for as much after all this time.”
Georgiana pulled away. “I fear you mistake, sir…” She stopped mid-turn. “Georgie? No one has called me that for years.”
“Indeed, not for nine years I should hope. Not since I went off to serve His Majesty in the Royal Navy.”
With an almost audible click, memory slipped into place. “Gran! How extraordinary! Imagine you the scrawny boy who lashed me to the cherry tree and then forgot to come back until after luncheon.”
“Not at all! I’m certain I couldn’t have done that. I may have lashed you to the cherry tree, but I would never have forgotten you. And I was not scrawny. I do, however, possess distinct memories of Miss Primrose repeatedly scolding you for smudges on your face and rips in your lace.”
“A gentleman would not recall such things, sir.” But she said it with a smile in her voice as she placed her hand on the arm he offered. “But how extraordinary of you to show up out of the blue like this. Do tell what brings you here.” They began strolling along the garden path.
“I found life in the navy didn’t suit. So I sold out.”
Georgiana gave a gasp, followed by a small trill of laughter. “You sold out, and here you are? Just like that?”
“More or less. Yes.” He paused. “No, there’s more to it than that. Ever since the defeat of Napoleon, naval work has been largely a matter of patrol duty. I didn’t want a job that was just putting in time. But worse, I found that I had exchanged an exacting father for an exacting superior officer. The final straw was realizing the pointlessness of promotions that weren’t really earned.”
“And only something you’ve earned yourself has value?” She didn’t mean to argue with him; she was just trying to understand.
“I have been taught that one must strive for things of true value, unlike the simple inheritance of money and title so natural to our rank.”
“Yes, but—” Light from a flaming torch lighting the path fell across his face. His stormy countenance made her change what she was about to say. “But fancy Mama not informing me of your homecoming. Surely your mother would have written the news to her.”
“Perhaps my mother thought to bring the news herself. My parents are to arrive tomorrow. I came directly here from Southampton after only a brief stop to visit my tailor in London.”
“And now that you’ve sold out of the navy, what will you do?” Georgiana remembered to speak a bit more loudly as her cousin shared his aunt’s tendency to deafness. They turned their steps back toward the house, the light falling from the long dining room windows making golden stripes on the lawn.
At her question Granville seemed to withdraw from her. For the first time since their abrupt encounter, Georgiana saw the aloofness that she had interpreted as arrogance earlier. “That remains to be seen. With Sandon having taken his seat in Parliament now and our honorable father serving as President of the Council, our family is not lacking for useful employment. There may be no place for the younger son.”
They strolled in silence for a few moments, Georgiana wondering at the sharpness of his words—so unlike the Granville she had known as a boy.
“Well, if you find life too tedious, there’s always compassionate work.” She spoke lightly, although the interest both of their families took in religious and charitable activities was hardly a matter for frivolity.
To her surprise, her attempt at lightness seemed to darken her companion’s mood even more. “And just which one would you suggest I put my energies into?” His tone was very near a taunt. “Let’s see, I might turn my talents to The London Orphan Asylum for the Reception and Education of Destitute Orphans, Particularly Those Descended from Respectable Parents; or The General Benevolent Institution for the Relief of Decayed Artists of the United Kingdom; or The Association for the Refutation of Infidel Publications. Or perhaps I could use my naval training in The Institution for the Cure of Various Diseases by Bandages and Compression. Or maybe you could recommend The Cloathing Society for the Benefit of Poor Pious Clergymen of the Established Church and Their Families?” The list had taken them to the top of the path. He turned sharply. “Or better yet, why not The Friendly Female Society for the Relief of Poor, Infirm, Aged Widows, and Single Women of Good Character Who Have Seen Better Days?”
Hearing the aversion in his voice, Georgiana held back her laughter. “There is certainly a variety of possibilities,” she managed with only a hint of the humor his list of inflated titles aroused. “But you must allow that many of them do accomplish their purpose.”
“Perhaps, but I can’t help wondering how many are subscribed to by people who are as destitute, decayed, and infirm spiritually as the people they try to help. That would certainly be the case if I were to add my name to the lists.”
At these words, Georgiana’s desire to laugh died. What did he mean? Spiritually destitute—Granville? Perhaps she had misunderstood. But it was
obvious that he was deeply troubled. And that troubled her.
There was no opportunity to explore Granville’s quandary further, however, as Lord Lauderdale, her brother’s closest friend, appeared in the entrance. He caught sight of the strollers and came to claim Georgiana for the dance she had promised him earlier. “Lord Lauderdale, I believe you know my cousin, Granville Ryder, newly returned from service in His Majesty’s Navy.”
The gentlemen exchanged bows. “I ride out before breakfast,” Georgiana said over her shoulder to her cousin as she moved back to the music and lights of the ballroom.
When the dance ended, she rapidly surveyed the room for Granville. Since his height placed him several inches above every other man in the room, it should not be difficult to see him.
But he was not there. And she had not had a dance with him yet. His final words to her continued to plague her—did Gran truly feel himself spiritually inadequate? She had never known her cousin to be inadequate in anything, nor had she ever had reason to think any member of the earl’s family lacking in spiritual commitment.
Could something have happened in the navy to turn him from his faith? The thought depressed her. Not Gran. Not the dear companion of her youth to whom she could always turn… Childhood memories flooded back. Life was at its best when her mother’s sister Aunt Susan visited Badminton bringing her sons with her. When Gran was there, Georgiana had no worries; if she skinned her knee, he would bandage it for her rather than make her face Miss Primrose; if she was late for luncheon, he would make an excuse for her; if she was afraid of a jump, he would take it first or find a way around it for her. And always he could make her laugh. There seemed to be no laughter in him now.
Surely those days weren’t gone forever. The harshness and self-recrimination she had glimpsed in him tonight were unbearably out of place in her Granville.
Tomorrow most of the guests would be gone, and she would have a proper conversation with him. She must understand what had happened. She must help him.
Two
The air was crisp and golden with September as Georgiana walked to the stables the next morning. Although she could have made her way inside the house directly to the stable yard behind, she preferred to use the east exit and walk across the great green expanse of lawn. Capability Brown, the most fashionable landscape architect of his day, had laid it out in the time of the fifth duke. The golden Cotswold stone of Badminton House reflected the rays of the early morning sun. It was going to be a glorious day. If Georgiana had been a few years younger, she would have skipped, but the duchess’s well-drilled lessons on proper decorum for young ladies had done their work.
One other thing kept her feet from springing. She still worried about Granville. Would he accept her implied invitation from the night before? Did he even hear her? Perhaps his hearing had worsened. If he did come, would he tell her what troubled him? Would she be able to help if he did?
She did not see him yet, but she would delay her ride a few minutes to give him time to arrive. If he were going to. She turned her steps up the hill toward the kennels. Waving to the children playing in the lane beside the servants’ stone cottages, she continued along the stone-walled walk between the twin fox statues at the entrance of the kennels. A riotous yapping told her the Beaufort pack had spotted her approach.
“Good morning, Payne,” she greeted the new huntsman who was preparing to walk the hounds in the park.
As he returned her greeting, Will Todd and Will Long, the two whippers-in, appeared with leashes. Payne turned sharply to the servants. “What are those for?”
“To put on the ’ounds, sir.” Will Todd held out a leash. “We allus couple up the ’ounds when exercisin’ in the park fer fear of their runnin’ riot amongst the deer.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” the huntsman replied. “They won’t run the deer while I’m with them.”
“Quite right, Payne,” Georgiana agreed. “If the hounds aren’t obedient to your voice in the park, I can’t imagine the chaos there would be during the hunt.”
She moved into the pack to be greeted by her favorites. “Good morning, Flyer.” The sturdy Belvoir tan hound returned her greeting with a lively wagging of his tail. Whirlwind, a badger pie, received a brisk scratch behind his ears. Potentate, the most famous of the Beaufort Pack, stood a little aloof from the pack, waiting for the young mistress to come to him rather than vying with the others for her attention.
“They’re looking fine, Payne,” she said.
“Yes, miss. Powerful, full of bone, and with ready tongues, just the way the duke likes ’em.” The pride in his voice was clearly justifiable.
After watching the pack head for the park under the huntsman’s competent command, Georgiana turned toward the stables. The stone buildings were ornamented only by a fox weather vane on the small Wren cupola, but the soft cooing of doves in the eaves and the scent of new-mown hay added their own embellishment.
Georgiana stepped from the bright early morning sunshine into the cool dimness of the stone-floored building. She walked down the row of mahogany stalls where a leather halter hung by each gate. The sounds of horses rustling and munching their hay and the smell of clean straw, horsehide, and leather never failed to evoke memories of her childhood—and especially this morning, memories of rides with her cousin Granville.
Her white Arabian mare greeted her with a soft whicker. Georgiana drew a sugar lump from her pocket, and the horse nuzzled her outstretched palm. “Hello, Mayflower.” She ran her hand over the mare’s satiny neck. “Are you ready for a run?”
“She’s everything she should be, miss, in fine mettle. You’ll be wantin’ me to accompany you?” The groom stepped forward and led Mayflower out of the stall and into the cobbled yard before tossing a gleaming leather sidesaddle on her back.
“Not this morning. Thank you, Dick. Has Mr. Ryder been down yet?”
“Would that be Mr. Granville Ryder? That young scamp what was al’ays tearin’ off on my ’orses a few years ago?”
Georgiana laughed at the apt description. “The same, Dick. But you’ll find him much changed, I believe.” She placed her foot in the groom’s cupped hands, and he tossed her into the saddle. “If Mr. Ryder puts in an appearance, you may tell him I’ve gone into the park.” She spoke briskly as if it were a matter of indifference to her, but she couldn’t ignore the weight of disappointment in her chest. It was such a beautiful morning. Where was her cousin? Why had he refused her?
Well, she didn’t intend to allow him the satisfaction of spoiling her morning. She hooked her leg firmly over the saddle horn, smoothed the gores of her Clarence blue riding skirt, and adjusted the veil floating from her narrow-brimmed top hat.
She had merely to raise the reins in her hands and apply the slightest pressure of her heel for Mayflower to move briskly across the stable yard and through the ivy-covered entrance into Badminton Park. Once inside the park, one of the largest in England, Georgiana gave Mayflower free rein. Almost before she was bidden, the little mare broke into a smooth, flowing canter over the brown earthen trail between beech and lime trees turning gold and orange under a bright autumn sky.
After several minutes of exhilarated flying through the woods, Georgiana checked her mount. At a more leisurely gait she took in the beauty around her. The grass still grew a rich summer green. Clumps of Michaelmas daisies burst forth in lavender and yellow mounds, and wood doves cooed from the trees. It would be perfect if only Gran had chosen to join her. The fact that he hadn’t was, indeed, worrying.
Georgiana’s mind drifted back to the evening before, but she staunchly refused to let her cousin’s odd behavior depress her. With a lift of her chin she lectured herself: If it pleased the Honorable Granville Dudley Ryder to spurn dancing with all the guests except Lady Charlotte and to be moody in my company and to disdain my invitation to ride this morning it is nothing to me I’m sure. No matter how much I had determined on a tête-à-tête with him. With each thought her nose lifted a tilt higher i
nto the air.
“Hullo. How about a race to the lake?” A voice from just beyond her on the trail broke her reverie.
“Granville! How did you get ahead of me? Dick said he hadn’t seen you in the stables.” She sternly commanded her voice to sound more surprised than pleased.
“I shouldn’t think he saw me. I saddled up myself. You know, I believe old Tom Thumb remembers me.” He patted his mount’s glossy chestnut neck.
“Saddled up yourself? What a singular thing to do when Papa employs thirty-three stable men.”
“I wanted to be sure I still remembered how. Nine years is a long time to be away from horses. How about that race? I never knew you to refuse a challenge!”
She didn’t bother replying, just gathered her reins and pressed her heel against Mayflower’s side. They were off at a gallop, their horses’ hooves striking the firm earth solidly, patches of gold and shade flying by. At the edge of the lake, they pulled up sharply.
“I won,” Granville announced triumphantly, “as usual, if memory serves.”
“Memory, sir, does not serve. And no gentleman would defeat a lady anyway.”
“Oh, bosh! You didn’t have to be treated like a lady when I last knew you.”
“Need I remind you that was nine years ago? I was a mere schoolgirl then. It has been three years since I made my come-out. You would think me very ramshackle indeed if I had not grown up in that time.”
“And you have become an elegant young lady.” His grin was the most like the old Granville she had yet seen. And his mild compliment gave her a pleasure she didn’t wish to contemplate. “Shall we dismount and walk a bit, or do you want to ride further?”
“It was my intention to ride to the end of the lake,” she replied.
Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4) Page 2
