A Damsel for the Mysterious Duke

by Bridget Barton

  “But yours was not an entirely loveless transaction, surely.”

  “You feel pity towards my husband that he loved me only to discover that I did not love him. He would have liked that, my dear.” She laughed again, although it was less of a cackle this time. “He would have appreciated your concern, I am sure.”

  “That is truly very cold.” Georgina wanted to turn on her heel and leave the room never to return.

  “He was a very good choice in many respects, although his propensity towards softness was perhaps something that I should have eradicated in him.”

  “How can you possibly eradicate a kind nature?”

  “Believe me, it is possible.” The old woman closed her eyes, and Georgina feared that the interview would soon be coming to an end again.

  “But why should you have eradicated it? Once you had him in your grasp, once you had married him, surely it did not matter,” Georgina spoke hurriedly, not wanting to waste a moment.

  “Because it passed on to my daughter. She was weak, the silly romantic creature. Worse even than you, I suspect. It was almost as if her heart ran her entirely, and there was no room for sense or logic anywhere.”

  “Could you not have appreciated a tender heart in your own child?”

  “I pitied her at first.” The old eyes flew open again. “But when I could not change her, I pitied her less. I would have turned her loose, but Lizzie knew what to do.”

  “Turned her loose? You would have denied your own daughter?”

  “Lizzie always knows what to do. Thank God she no longer has a tender heart, or she would be as stupid and useless as everybody else. She would be as pathetic as my brother. As pathetic as my daughter. As pathetic as my husband.”

  “And what did Lizzie do?”

  “They are all so pathetic that I cannot stand them. I wish they would just disappear.”

  “Your husband? Your daughter? But they are gone.”

  “I must write to Lizzie. She is so clever.”

  As Beatrice’s eyes closed, and her voice trailed away to nothing, Georgina realized that her second conversation with the most unsettling person she had ever met in her life had come to an end.

  Without another word, Georgina turned and walked towards the door.

  Chapter 26

  With his driver acting as valet, Emerson was ready for the Earl’s social evening in no time. He was so early, in fact, that he dismissed his driver and simply sat in his chamber and waited for the evening’s engagement to begin.

  The Earl had invited several of the local families to spend the evening in the Duke’s company. Emerson knew that he was being shown off essentially but realized that that was all part and parcel of his visit to Wighton Hall. It was his part of the trade.

  The whole thing had been a bargain, and this was simply his part of it. As much as he had not particularly warmed to Oscar Montgomery, Emerson had decided to play his part well that evening. He owed the man, he knew that much. Although it was true to say that the Earl had no idea that he had offered any assistance at all.

  And, in the end, Emerson could not help wondering the real value of that assistance, given that Beatrice Ellington was clearly still the girl she had always been, the girl who had written such awful letters containing unashamed excerpts from her cold heart.

  That the old woman was amusing herself at Georgina’s expense was clear, and so far they did not seem to have come out of it with much at all. He felt worse for Georgina, of course, for she had borne the brunt of it all.

  It was true that he had got them there, but Georgina had certainly had a harder task. She had twice been in to see the old woman, and each interview had lasted but a few minutes. However, the effect on her was clear each time, and in his heart, he did not want to subject Georgie to another moment in that woman’s company.

  And yet Georgie was so determined that she would have just one more audience with her if she could secure such a thing. How hard she had fought in her quest to help him.

  In the end, Emerson sat in his chamber for more than an hour before the time came for the family and guests to reconvene in the great drawing room.

  He had spent much of that time in thoughts of Georgie, closing his eyes and remembering the feel of her soft lips on his own in the grounds of Winton House. It was magical to him that she had not pulled away but very clear that she had not participated either. She had simply been frozen on the spot, and he could not tell if it was nerves or if she did not have even a shade of the feeling for him that he had for her.

  Emerson’s life being what it had been, so insecure and based on so much that was not true, he did not want it to continue in that vein. He did not want to lie to himself as he had always been lied to, and so he chose to believe that Georgie simply did not want him as anything other than a friend. And there was a certain amount of comfort in that brutal honesty, even if it brought pain with it.

  When he descended the winding staircase and strode into the drawing room, he could see that the Earl’s servants had truly been put to work that day. The furniture had been moved around all over the place, giving a little room around the piano for dancing, at least that was his assumption.

  There was a table of light refreshments for the guests, and Emerson, feeling suddenly very hungry, wished that he could tuck into them immediately.

  “I do believe I recognize that look,” Georgie said, appearing suddenly at his side. “Should we wait until nobody is looking and steal something away as if we were back at Ashdown and Mrs Townley had turned her back?”

  “Would you even dare?” He turned to look into her eyes and saw how they sparkled with his challenge, just as they always had when they were children.

  “Of course,” Georgina said so matter-of-factly that he laughed. “You might laugh, but I am going to do it.” She seemed suddenly determined, and he hastily looked all around the room to see who was there.

  Oscar Montgomery was just a few feet away with the Countess at his side as they greeted two couples who had arrived at the same time.

  Emerson watched as they each tried to hold their interest upon the Earl, all the while desperate to look around the room for any sign of this Duke they had been promised. It was with great amusement that Emerson realized that their eyes continually flickered over to where Jeremy Allencourt and his sister Fleur were in conversation with one another and enjoying a glass of the Earl’s very fine sherry.

  “They think that Jeremy is the Duke,” Georgina said in a whisper and laughed gently. “Do you mind very much?”

  “Not at all; I like Jeremy very much. And I think he rather looks like a Duke, do you not? He is fair and handsome enough.”

  “He most certainly is,” Georgina said in a teasing tone. “Perhaps a little too fair for my taste, though,” she added and looked at his own mop of unruly ash brown hair significantly.

  There was something in her tone which excited him; perhaps it was the challenge he had laid down and the return to their old childhood excesses that had lightened her mood and made her just a little mischievous. And yet the result of it reminded him that they were no longer children; they were adults. A man and a woman; could she be as drawn to him as he was to her?

  “Wait, what are you doing?” he said and watched in disbelief as she prettily chewed at something that was in her mouth.

  “Chewing,” she said through barely parted lips. “And now swallowing.” She smiled broadly.

  “You took something?”

  “Was that not the challenge?”

  “Yes, but I did not see you do it.”

  “That is the whole point with stealing, Sammy. One is not supposed to be caught doing it.”

  “How do I know that you really did eat something? How am I to know that you are not acting the whole thing out?”

  “Some things never change, do they? Really, you might still be nine years old at this moment.”

  “I am not the one who just stole something from the table.” He smiled at her, thoroughl
y enjoying the banter.

  “Ah, so now you believe that I did?”

  “I suppose I will just have to take your word for it in the absence of any proof.”

  “Here you go. Here is proof.” She opened her immaculately white-gloved hand to reveal tiny savoury pastry. “I took one for you too.” She peered over his shoulder, and he realized that she was acting as his lookout, just as she had done so many times in the past, and he was reminded how she had often peered around the edge of the kitchen door for any sign that Mrs Townley was returning.

  With a mischievous grin, Emerson took the pastry and hurriedly popped it into his mouth. It tasted wonderful, all the more so for having been part of such a moment of closeness.

  Emerson had always loved Georgina, even when they had been parted so long, but now he knew for certain that he was in love with her; he loved her as a man loves a woman, not as a boy loves his friend.

  And she looked so very beautiful dressed in an ivory gown with an intricate lace overlay in faded green. Her peachy cream skin was radiant, and her blue eyes twinkled with a wonderful, youthful merriment.

  Yes, Emerson Lockhart was very definitely in love with Georgina Jeffries.

  He wanted the rest of the room to stay away, to keep to what they were doing and to never advance upon the pair throughout the remainder of the evening. Emerson simply wanted to stand there with Georgina all night, to hold onto the carefree mood that seemed to have them both in its grip.

  “Your Grace.” As the Earl of Wighton approached, Emerson detected a bold familiarity in his tone that had not previously been in existence.

  No doubt it was for the benefit of his guests, to give them all the impression that the two men were much better acquainted than they truly were. Emerson felt his hackles rise a little, though not through any snobbery.

  He did not think himself above the Earl of Wighton, anything but. He simply despised the way of things, the easy acceptance that one man was better than another based on nothing more than a title he had been handed. And in the end, was that not what titles were? Were they ever truly a right, or was it a simple folly, nothing more substantial than a common man naming his first son after himself? Why did any of it matter?

  However, Emerson remembered his determination to repay the favour that the Earl had not been aware of bestowing and smiled broadly as his host and a selection of guests advanced upon him and Georgina.

  “Might I introduce Baron and Baroness Archer?” the Earl said brightly as the first two of his guests put themselves forward.

  “Lord Archer,” Emerson said grandly and bowed. “Lady Archer, what a pleasure,” he cooed and bowed deeper still.

  “How nice to meet you, Your Grace,” Lady Archer said in a purr as she surveyed him appreciatively.

  It was not the first time that Emerson had been so closely appraised by an older woman, but he had to admit that its effects did not lessen with time and familiarity, and it was as uncomfortable then as it had been the first time it had happened.

  “And this is Mr Charles Wesley, and his wife, Esmeralda. They are a great part of this area of Cornwall and own a very fine estate just five miles from here,” the Earl went on, and Emerson found himself greatly amused by so thorough an introduction.

  He momentarily caught Georgina’s eye and could see that she was equally amused by it, her blue eyes dancing and the corners of her mouth turned up in a way which led him to think that she might laugh at any moment.

  “Mr and Mrs Wesley, what a pleasure.” He bowed at one and then the other.

  “And this is our daughter, Your Grace,” Mrs Wesley said with a determined look he recognized of old. “This is Miss Ariadne Wesley.” She introduced her daughter with a flourish.

  “How charming to meet you, Miss Wesley.” Emerson bowed but was careful not to maintain eye contact with the pretty young lady.

  As much as he was keen to be the perfect house-guest, he did not want to find himself cornered by Ariadne Wesley and her hopeful parents the rest of the evening.

  As his eyes scanned the room, he realized that more guests were arriving. And he realized with an inward groan that almost all of them had arrived with a very carefully turned out daughter or two in tow.

  “And please allow me to introduce you all to my friend and companion, the Honourable Miss Georgina Jeffries,” he said and saw her eyes widen at his use of her own small title.

  He had quickly realized that the Earl was going to treat Georgina as an afterthought, something of an inconvenience when there were so many hopeful parents in the room. And as far as Emerson was concerned, Georgina was anything but an afterthought. She was his first thought; his only thought.

  The evening dragged on in what seemed to be an endless succession of just such introductions. The Earl was growing ever more pleased with himself with each minute that passed, with each introduction that was made, and his tone became ever more familiar as if the two of them were the oldest of friends.

  Continuing her mischief, Georgina eyed him with amusement before absenting herself from the little party so that she might join Fleur and Jeremy for a while. Emerson looked at her often, wishing that it could be just the two of them again. And every time he looked at her, he noted that Georgina was looking at him.

  Resigning himself to an evening where it would be necessary to conduct the same mundane conversation over and over again with every little party he was subjected to, he let his thoughts stray and remembered how Georgina’s hand had felt in his hair.

  He knew that she had straightened it by instinct, almost like a sister might have done. But had her hand lingered just a little longer than was necessary? Or was that simply wishful thinking on his part?

  When the musicians that the Earl had hired for the evening began to play, Emerson felt the familiar sensation of so many eyes upon him. With a practiced air of not having noticed any of them, he smiled broadly and strode across the room to where Georgina stood.

  “Would you do me the honour, Miss Jeffries?” he said and raised his eyebrows as he held his hand out to her.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  As they made their way to the space which had been specifically cleared for dancing, he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  “Truly I do want to dance with you.”

  “I know,” she whispered back and looked into his eyes.

  At that moment, he thought he had never been more certain. Surely she looked back at him with the same excitement, the same notions of a wonderful romance?

  “Good.” He smiled at her.

  “I am passed that jealousy now.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Yes, I should have admitted myself envious of all the young ladies you attracted before, instead of treating you so coolly.”

  “But you are not envious now?” he said, and his spirits began to plummet, thinking she must surely have no interest in him whatsoever after all.

  “No, but only because I know you better. I know you are not so easily flattered.”

  “But you have not lost your interest? I mean … I did not mean to suggest an interest in the first place … I … Forgive me, Georgie,” he said and realized he was stuttering badly. “Forgive me, I have turned you away. I ought not to have kissed you that day; I should not have been so forceful.”

  To his almost eternal agony, he had to wait for her response until the end of the dance. They had been joined by several other couples, and it was not possible to continue the conversation.

  “You have done nothing to turn me away,” she whispered into his ear the moment the dancing was over and he was escorting her back to Fleur. “And I do not regret that you kissed me, so you ought not to regret it either.”

  “I did not offend you?”

  “No, you could never offend me.” She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and he realized that she had something important to say. “I want you to know that my feelings for you are constant. They will not wax nor wane, and they are not dependent upon th
e outcome of our inquiries. If we never discover who you are, or if we discover that you are truly the Duke, or even if we discover that you are not a part of the Lockhart family at all, my feelings for you shall be the same. I am not waiting for something, Sammy. I really am not waiting, although I cannot help thinking that you are.”

  “I want to be the man you deserve.”

  “You already are,” she said and blinked hard as her beautiful blue eyes shone with emotion.

  “I must find out who I am, Georgie. I have to know if I am a Duke or a servant.”

  “I understand,” she said, and he was sure that her shoulders sagged just a little.